Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So what exactly do you need to do?” Chan asked, his back turned to his computer where a new track was being produced. 

Jisung envied him to be honest. The way he could easily produce the most romantic song ever, one that could be in the soundtrack of those cheesy romantic movies Jisung loved, to then just straight up write a diss track. 

It was annoying really. He hated how much he admired him.

“To write a love song.” Jisung said from the couch of their living room where he laid, drowning in his self-pity. His lips jutted out and eyebrows drawn together in annoyance.

“Well that’s not so bad, Sung”. Chan said, finally turning around in his chair to face the youngest. “You write love songs all the time.”

“No.” Jisung argued, looking at him annoyed. “I write heartbreak songs,” he corrected. “Because that’s all I know. Heartbreak. And misery, and heartbreak.” 

“Well it’s not our fault you fall in love every thirty seconds.” Changbin joins in, sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

Jisung remembered at that moment that he hadn’t hit Changbin in a good while. So he proceeds to hit Changbin on his head with his foot. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He says. “It’s not my fault romance is dead in this generation! Not everyone can find a perfect boyfriend who bakes brownies and has a sunshine smile like you.” He rolls his eyes.

“Ew, don’t touch me with your disgusting feet.” Changbin hisses. “And don’t you even dare, Felix is my boyfriend, he is taken.” He says, casting Jisung a glare.

“I don’t want Felix, I want a Felix!” Jisung defends. “God how does he keep up with you and your loud ass…” 

“Jealous bitch.” Changbin mutters.

“Triangle face.” Jisung counterattacks. This makes Chan laugh.

“Can you guys stop bickering for five minutes?” Chan says, his face more serious now. 

“Sorry Hyung.” Jisung and Changbin both say at the same time.

“Anyways Sung, even if your dramatic ass doesn’t believe in it… you can write a love song.” He says, dimples showing in the comforting smile he sends to Jisung. 

“But how?” Jisung huffs. His hand comes up to ruffle his curly hair in frustration. His hair is getting longer, and he should probably think about cutting it soon, but he has bigger problems now. “It’s not like we are talking about a feeling like happiness or some shit like that. You don't…” 

He stops talking to take a deep breath, sitting up on the sofa cross legged. “You don’t- you don’t experience love so easily,” his fingers start playing with the hem of his socks, “It’s not something you can force, it’s not something you experience on a regular basis like sadness or anger… Hyung, you-” he looks up at Chan with a grimace that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “You can't force it.” He concludes.

“Jisung,” Chan says, “I understand what you mean, but the way you just spoke about love? Shit, maybe you’re way more capable of doing this than you give yourself credit for.” This earns a small huff of laughter from the youngest.

“I agree with Chan,” Changbin speaks. “And you know what? Maybe you just need to go out more to get inspired and all.”

“Get inspired?” Jisung asks, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Get inspired by what? The couples on the street that make me feel even lonelier? And what does that even have to do with writing a love song?”

“Dude, you’re killing me”. Changbin groans. “I’m really trying here. What I mean is that you can go do different activities, try romanticizing your life a little! Stop being so depressing.” 

“I’m not depressing.” Jisung pouts, hands still fumbling with his socks. 

“No, but I think he’s right,” Chan says, thoughtful as always. “Just do what you usually do—watch movies, stare at cherry blossoms or whatever—”

“It’s January,” Jisung deadpans.

“Okay, okay,” Chan waves him off. “You’re missing the point. It’ll be good for you. Look, Sung—we’re composers. We don’t need to live every emotion to write about it. We just need... inspiration.”

He says the word like it holds weight. Like it’s more sacred than experience.

“Inspiration,” Jisung repeats, unimpressed. “Right.”

“Yeah! Maybe you just need someone to admire from afar. A muse,” Chan says, grinning now.

Jisung scoffs. “Hyung, this isn’t a movie.”

“Hey, you never know,” Chan shrugs, both hands raised like he’s absolving himself of any consequences. “Sometimes the best songs come from a person you don’t even talk to. Someone you can romanticize, idealize... without them ever ruining it by opening their mouth.”

“Oh my God,” Changbin gasps. “That’s genius.”

Jisung turns to him slowly. “Don’t encourage him.”

“No, think about it,” Changbin insists. “You always say you get your heart broken or end up disillusioned. This is perfect. You fall for the idea of someone, not the real thing. Safe, simple, poetic.”

“You guys are insane,” Jisung mutters. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting is just stalking?”

“It’s not stalking,” Chan laughs. “It’s like having a crush, but responsibly.”

“A responsible crush?” Jisung repeats, deadpan.

“A muse,” Chan says again, dreamy now. “Not an obsession. Just someone to orbit around, quietly.”

Jisung frowns. “It still sounds weird.”

“Well, do you have a better idea?” Changbin counters.

And no, he doesn’t.

He’s written songs about couples on reality shows before—one about a couple who dated thirteen years and then broke up. That one hurt to watch.

They got back together later, thank God.

“Fine,” Jisung exhales. “I’ll try. Do you guys have any ideas where I should start?”

Changbin grins like the devil. “I do.”

The community center isn’t where Jisung usually finds himself on a Friday night, but here he is—dragged by Changbin, armed with nothing but mild resentment and a Bingo card.

“It’ll be fun,” Changbin had said. “Bingo’s retro now. Cool even.”

Jisung stares up at the ugly neon green sign like it personally offended him. Still, he follows his friend inside, slumping into a seat with a sigh loud enough to be dramatic.

“Remind me again how this helps?” he grumbles.

“It’s new,” Changbin insists. “You said you wanted new.”

“I wanted inspiration, not sedation.”

“Will you shut up? Do you ever shut up?” Changbin snaps.

“No,” Jisung replies instantly, without a hint of shame.

Changbin mutters something under his breath. It’s low, barely audible—but Jisung catches it.

“No wonder you’re alone.”

The words land like a punch that wasn’t meant to hit. His shoulders stiffen, smile vanishing.

“Thanks,” he says flatly, rubbing at his nose to distract from the sting in his chest.

Changbin’s face falls. “That’s not what I—Jisung, come on—”

“Forget it,” Jisung cuts in, his voice sharp. “Just play your dumb game.”

The first few rounds blur together. The same old lady wins. Every. Time.

“This is rigged,” Jisung mutters, half to himself.

“Definitely cheating,” Changbin agrees, grinning.

“She has to be. I’m going for a smoke.”

“Dude, the game’s about to start—”

“Dude, I don’t care.” Jisung mimics his tone with mocking precision. “Your fault I’m here anyway.”

“You really can’t appreciate vibes,” Changbin says dramatically. “This place is like a Wes Anderson set.”

“And that is supposed to help me write a love song?”

“Well—”

“I’m smoking.”

He’s halfway up when someone walks in.

A guy, around Jisung’s age, strolls in like he doesn’t quite belong—but also like he doesn’t care. Tousled dark hair, sharp eyes, bright blue hoodie too big for him, and a tote bag slung over his shoulder like a prop.

He drops into a seat across the room like he owns it. Opens a notebook. Leans back. Disconnected. Cool.

Jisung forgets the cigarette.

The woman next to him whispers something about bingo starting again, but he barely hears her.

He’s too focused. The guy doesn’t glance up once. Just draws—or writes, maybe. Whatever it is, he’s all in. Calm. Self-contained. Unbothered.

Changbin tugs at his sleeve. “Jisung. Sit.”

He does, mechanically.

The game begins. Numbers are called. Cards are marked.

Jisung doesn’t hear a single one.

He just watches.

Who was this guy? Why was he here? Why wasn’t he playing? What the hell was in that notebook?

Another round ends. The old lady finally loses. She’s pissed.

She complains loudly—something about a distraction, how she should’ve won—and the guy across the room lifts his eyes just long enough to smirk, say something low.

Jisung can’t hear it. Doesn’t need to. The look on the old lady’s face says it all.

He snorts. Tries not to, but it slips out.

God. He’s beautiful.

And a little mean.

It’s perfect.

Just as Jisung starts working up the nerve to speak, the guy stands. Bag over his shoulder. One glance back at the room. Then he’s gone.

Vanished, like a smoke ring in the dark.

“Changbin,” Jisung breathes.

His friend looks up, mid-scribble on his card. “What?”

“I found my muse.”

“Damn Sung…” Seungmin whispers. “You own Changbin an apology then”

“Shut up. I don’t owe him anything.” Jisung pouts, playing with his phone on the table of the cafeteria.

“It sounds like his stupid idea got you closer to finishing your project.” Jeongin argues beside him, making Jisung groan in annoyance.

“No.” He says, looking at his two friends. “You seem to forget, I will probably never see him again.” He means to say it as an argument, but the realisation ends up making his smile disappear. “Fuck.” He mutters. “I lost my muse.”

“Yep.” Seungmin says, because it's as simple as that. 

“Hyung, don’t say that.” Jeongin warns. 

“Thank you Jeong-” 

“You’ll make Sung cry.”

“God, I hate you both.” and he means it, that’s why he even throws one of Jeongin's fries to them, which they easily avoid. “And Changbin.”

“Totally valid.” Seungmin mutters, while Jeongin asks “Why the sudden Changbin hate?”

Jisung looks at the younger, “Well, I ended up in that boring place because of him.”

“You also found your muse.” Jeongin remembers. 

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Jisung admits. “And I’ll also never see him again because of Changbin.” He concludes. “I mean, who even goes to bingo night? We were the only young people there, and he wasn't even playing!”

“Wait, he wasn’t playing?” Seungmin asks.

“No! He spent the whole time drawing at a table at the end of the room.” Jisung remembers. This makes Seungmin hum in thought.

“What are you thinking?” Jeongin asks.

“Just… nevermind.”

“What?! Oh come on, Seungmin!” Jisung whines. “What is it?” He tries, hands coming together in front of his face, begging the other to share whatever he is thinking with him.

“Well, I was thinking maybe he wasn't there playing because he works there.”

“Oh!” Jeongin says. “That would make sense.”

“No,” Han disagrees. “No he- he wasn’t wearing a uniform or something. And the other workers all had uniforms.” Jisung says, eyebrows pitching together. Yeah, he’s one hundred percent sure they all had uniforms, so he can’t work there.

“Hmm, then I guess not.” Seungmin shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “Well then yeah.”

“Yeah what?” Jisung asks.

“You definitely lost your muse.”

The thing about Jisung is that he never was in love, not really. He knows that. But crushes? Oh man, he knew how obsessed he could get with them. 

And the bingo guy? That was his worst crush in a long time. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

His looks, his dark hair, feline eyes, his playful smirk when pissing off the old lady. How his eyebrows drew together when he drew. 

God.

It was bad. 

Jisung needed to see him again. 

So here he was. One week later, on a Friday night, on his way to the community center. For bingo night.

In all honesty, he knew this would be a lost cause. That the stranger didn’t work here most probably. But maybe… just maybe, he would come back tonight. 

This time Jisung was alone, neither Changbin or Chan knew where he was and thank God for that because he was embarrassed for coming back just because of a guy. His muse. 

Even though he hadn't really written anything yet. But the amount of ideas he got for songs just from seeing him? Yes, they were all sad love songs but that’s why he needed to see him again. 

He needs to make sure he is real.

So Jisung enters the room, sits down on a random table, and starts looking around for him. He is not there, but Jisung will wait. 

He’ll stay here one hour, and if he doesn’t show up, he will accept he lost his muse.

“Bingo!” An old lady yells from the other side of the room. Jisung looks at her and of course. Of course it's the same lady from last week.

“Fucking God.” Jisung mutters, the doors making an obnoxious squeaky sound whenever new people enter or leave the place. “She is definitely cheating.”

Someone sits behind his table, a snort accompanied by the squeaking sound of the chair on the floor dragging Jisung’s attention, his hands immediately covering his ears.

He hates noises like this so much. The way they scratch your brain and give you chills. 

He hates it.

“Sorry, I hate it when chairs do this too.” Jisung can’t control the way his back automatically straightens at the voice. Something about it makes him want to be good. Composed. There’s something about its calm timber mixed with a nonchalant nature. 

It feels cold and warm.

Shit.

“By the way,” the person behind him says, taking something out of his bag in the meantime. “You’re right.” Jisung registers the sound of a bag being opened and then some shuffling.

“About what?” Jisung asks.

“The lady.” The stranger simply says. “She’s cheating.” 

Jisung hears it now. The clear sound of a pencil sketching on a piece of paper. He’s drawing. 

“She always does.”

Drawing. The stranger is drawing. 

Fuck.

“How do you know that?” He asks, bingo game completely forgotten. His attention focused solemnly in this carefree voice. 

“Because I know.” He says, a clear smirk visible in his voice. “Plus, I used to work here.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I caught her cheating.” He explains, “and then I got fired for causing a small chaos.” A snort falls from his lips after saying this.

Jisung decides in this moment that he is in love with him. “That’s interesting.” He says. “Sorry you lost your job tho.”

“Yeah…” He hears more scribbling, “It’s not that bad, the money wasn’t even that good.” More scribbling, this time faster. Like he was actually mad at the memory of the incident.

Jisung smiles at this. “It sounds like you still have some unresolved feelings to process.”

The stranger stops drawing at this. Jisung gets scared that he crossed some sort of limit at this. But then he hears the sketchbook closing, more shuffling around and the sound of the zipper of the bag closing.

“Nah.” 

There is that nonchalant tone. Then he hears him getting up, and Jisung is just about to turn back to face him when he feels a face coming closer to his ear, followed by a small whisper against it. “It was so much fun.” 

Jisung can’t help the way he shivers at the voice. He is one hundred percent sure this is his muse. It has to be. 

“You should start playing soon, it looks like you haven’t been paying much attention.” He says, that same smirk still so clearly visible in his voice. “And she’s gonna cheat again.”

“Bingo!”

Of course, it’s the same old lady. He can’t help but scoff. 

Then he remembers what just happened. 

“Fuck,” he curses, turning around as fast as he can, just to be met with the sight of the entrance door closing, and the glimpse of that same bright blue hoodie. 

“Fuck. Fuck, Fuck-“ Jisung gets up from his seat, and runs outside. He looks around for his muse but to no luck, he can’t seem to find him.

He runs his hands over his hair. “Shit.” He huffs, stomping his foot on the ground like an angry child. 

He lost his muse. Again.

Jisung goes insane. His friends tell him so and well, they’re right. 

He looks insane.

“I’m not insane.” He pouts. “I found my muse, that’s what you guys advised me to do.” 

“Yeah but you went back to the bingo place to see him again,” Changbin points out, “and let’s not forget how much of a pain in the ass you were the whole time.” Chan and Felix both laugh from the couch where they’re playing a game.

“Don’t worry Sung,” Felix says, “I think you’re romantic.” His eyes not once leaving the TV screen. “Plus, the fact that you actually found him again is super cool! It means he goes there frequently.” 

“Yeah…” Jisung trails off. “He has a beautiful voice, he-“ he stops talking to bring his hands to his face and scream. “He was so, so hot.” He admits, his hands still hiding his face because he can feel how warm his face is. His friends only laugh at his despair.

“Sung, you saw him once from afar and then you just heard his voice.” Changbin points out. “I think you need to calm down.” 

“Yeah that’s Han Jisung for you.” Chan says. “An incurable hopeless romantic.” 

“For better or for worse.” Completes Felix.

“You guys suck.” Jisung says, uncovering his face to throw a pillow at his two friends playing. 

“Hey! Watch the TV!” Chan screams and Felix giggles, because this is normal for them.

“Whatever,” Han rolls his eyes at them, “I just don’t know what to do… I want to talk to him so bad, I want to get to know him and- and see him again.” 

“Jisung,” Changbin warns, “the point of you getting a muse was for you to romanticize about them and write a love song. You don’t want to meet him, and you won’t talk to him because we all know how that is gonna end.” The older says, leaving the kitchen with a mug of warm tea. “There you go baby,” he says, dropping the mug next to Felix on the couch.

“Thank you.” Felix says, kissing his boyfriend on the cheek. This makes Changbin smile all soft and cute. Jisung hates them.

“But- I think this one would be different.”

“How so?” Chan asks, pausing the game to give him his full attention. Felix could argue about it but now he has Changbin next to him, which means the game is no longer important.

“I don’t know, I-“ His mind drifts back to last night. The small talk between them, the jokes they easily made. “He was… so easy to talk to.” He ends up saying. “You know me, I’m awkward and loud but, but with him? I wasn’t scared or thinking about what to say, I just talked and he talked back. Like it was a regular conversation, with someone you already are friends with.” It was that, the comfort he felt, the calm timber in his voice… “I need to see him again.”

Changbin sighs while Felix and Chan both smile. 

They already knew what this meant. Jisung wasn’t gonna give up.

“Fine Sung, you do you.” Changbin gives up. “But hey! If anything happens, just remember that you saw him with the same clothes one week apart.”

“Hyung!” Jisung screams, making his friends burst out laughing. 

He hates them all.

Jisung is a lot of things, but a morning person is not one of them. That’s why he needs extra motivation - coffee - and ends up stopping by a random coffee shop on the campus of his college before class. 

When he enters the cafe, he appreciates the warmth that greets him. He looks at the menu and decides to drink an iced americano, his one true love.

“Hello! What would you like to order?” Jisung looks at the waiter and damn, he is beautiful. With dark long hair and an eyebrow piercing, plump lips and cute smile with dimples. 

“Oh.. one iced americano please. Large.” He says.

“Damn, must be a tough day. Large iced americano in this weather?” The waiter laughs.

“Not really.” Jisung shrugs, hands coming inside his pocket. “More like a tough class.”

The waiter snorts loudly, scaring Jisung. Who knew he was this funny?

“I hear you. What class are you in?” He asks.

“Modern literature.” 

“Oh! I have a friend of mine in that class!” The waiter says. “He hates it. In fact, I had to call him one thousand times to make sure he would attend it today.” He smiles.

“Uh… he would be better asleep.” Jisung wonders out loud.

“Funny.” The waiter says, “You two would probably get along well. Do you know any Lee Minho?”

“That’s half of the male population in South Korea.” Jisung says, hearing another snort from the other. “But no, I don’t. Sorry.”

“Well, maybe one day I can introduce you two.” The waiter finishes his drink and gives it to him. “What’s your name?”

“Han Jisung. You?” 

“Hwang Hyunjin.” He says. “See you next Monday Jisung!”

Jisung takes a sip from his drink, a content smile on his face at the taste of the bitter coffee. “Until then, Hyunjin.” He smiles, leaving the coffee shop and making way to his class. 

When he arrives at his classroom, he purposely avoids looking up from the floor to the students waiting for the Professor’s arrival. He moves almost in autopilot, going to the far end of the room, and sitting down on the chair next to the wall, tucking himself safely in the corner of the room.

The Professor comes in moments after, almost closing the door behind him until someone else enters at the last minute. 

Jisung can’t see the face of the student because of the hat he wears, but even the accessory fails to hide the lack of enthusiasm the student seems to have to attend this class. 

He mutters a small apology to the teacher and then proceeds to move to the far end of the classroom, stopping by on the table right behind Jisung’s. 

Jisung doesn’t look at him, partially because something about his aura makes him feel small, hiding himself further against the wall. What Jisung does notice though, is his smell. 

He smells good, like strong black coffee and cigarattes. It’s really nice. 

Feeling creepy, Han decides to ignore this as the rest of the class goes by painfully slowly. He can feel this guy’s smell during the whole class. It stays engraved in his mind.

He seriously needs to stop being so weird. 

Jisung spent the entire time zoning out, nodding to the teacher’s words but not really processing anything. Then he hears it.

The sound of a pencil drawing on a notebook. 

No, it can't be. It can't be him, surely Jisung is just far too desperate. 

But then the teacher announces that class is over and Jisung can't even process how or why he is already looking behind. The moment he sees him his breath hitches. 

Dark black hair slips through the hat, tall nose and sharp features with cat-like eyes look at him. Jisung freezes. 

“Do you need something?” The stranger, his muse asks. That same calm voice says to him with one eyebrow lifted. 

Jisung doesn’t say anything. He can't. He just can’t believe he is finally seeing him again. Finally.

When he stays silent, the stranger just nods to himself and keeps packing his stuff, getting up and leaving the class and Jisung behind.

Jisung just stares after him. He can't believe it. 

His muse attends the same college as him, his muse attends the same class as him. 

Jisung promises himself two things at that moment. One, he will definitely never skip Modern Literature again, and two, he will not lose his muse again.

He packs up his stuff real quick and runs after him. When he gets out of the class, he can still see his muse with his hat at the end of the hallway.

He has no idea of what the fuck he is doing, but he can’t stop. He will not lose him. 

The stranger keeps walking, his first stop being the coffee shop where Jisung went to this morning. He sees him from outside the shop, talking with Hyunjin, who greets him with an eye roll and annoyed face. A very stark interest in contrast to how sweet he was with Jisung this morning.

Either they’re enemies or very close friends, he concludes because that’s how he interacts with Changbin on a daily basis. He sees them talking with each other for a few minutes. His muse talks to him with his hands tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants and a small easy smirk on his lips. 

He is beautiful. Jisung will never not think that. Then he gets his coffee, an iced Americano, just like he did. He hates the way his cheeks warm up at this, he really needs to stop falling in love so easily. 

The guy bids goodbye to Hyunjin, and then proceeds to keep walking around the campus. Jisung staying close by. 

Wait, I know where he’s going.

Soon after, his muse stops walking. Jisung smiles, he was right. 

He was heading to the college gardens, known for being the place where college students went to smoke cigarettes and- 

Jisung scoffs because of course. Of course this beautiful person smokes weed. 

On one of the benches of the garden, his muse sits down with his iced coffee next to him and a — now alighted — joint in between us fingers. 

Maybe that’s why he always looks so carefree. 

He sits down on another bench where he still watches the guy smoking calmly, stopping a few times to either take another sip from his coffee or light up the joint again. Jisung watches him while he himself also keeps drinking from his americano, lighting up a cigarette. 

The stranger then takes out his notebook and starts drawing, lips tugging in a small smile around the joint . This makes him do the same, his lips around his cigarette. 

There's something calm about watching him. Jisung is facing a dilemma. 

He loved watching his muse be beautiful doing mundane things, but he also wanted to speak to him. So, so bad.

His mind drifts back to their small interaction in class minutes ago. He cringes at himself because why the fuck did he not say anything? His phone ringing brings him back to reality.

He looks at the caller ID and prepares himself for being lectured. 

“Morning Kim Seungmin, what did I do now?” he says.

“Han Jisung, where are you?” A pissed Seungmin whisper-yells. “We were supposed to meet at the library at ten to study!”

“Shit…” Jisung mumbles, “Sorry Minnie, I completely forgot. But I have a good reason-”

“I don’t care, get your ass in here.” The younger cuts him off.

“Fine, fine.” Jisung suddenly remembers why he was late in the first place and immediately looks up. 

Shit. Where did he go? 

“Han.” 

“Yeah, yeah on my way.” He grumbles, hanging up the phone. He looks around the garden one last time, but there’s no sight of him. 

“Guess I’ll see him next Monday.” 

As Jisung heads to the library, he fails to notice the figure tucking behind one of threes, the lighted blunt rolling in between his fingers. 

Minho smiles at the sight of the distressed boy sprinting away. 

Why are you following me, Han Jisung?

At the end of the day, Jisung goes back home and he writes. He writes everything he wants to do, to ask his muse. He wants to get to know him so bad.

What’s his name, what’s his age, where does he live, what he does in his free time. He just wants to know him. 

He needs to, even if that means he embarrasses himself a great amount of times in the process, that he stutters across his words and rambles in nervousness. He would do anything, anything to speak to him.

Jisung writes the whole song in twenty minutes, and he’s more than happy with the results. That’s why he gets out of his room and quickly calls Changbin and Chan to show them the lyrics.

“What do you think?” He asks, playing with the rings on his fingers. 

“Dude…” Changbin says, and then stays silent for one more minute. “You’re totally in love with him.” 

The younger can’t help the blush that appears on his cheeks at the statement, and Chan looks at him and laughs at his misery.

“Well he is definitely a good muse to get you to write a whole song in the little two times you saw him.” 

“Three.”

Chan looks up from the notebook at this. “Three?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Yes,” Jisung says, gulping down before speaking up again, “He’s from our college.”

“What?!?” Changbin yells, the other two bringing their hands up to cover their ears.

“Don’t scream.” Jisung warns.

“Oh my God, Jisung-“ Chan starts, “What- How did you find out?”

“He- well he takes Modern Literature with me.” He explains. “I never saw him until today, he’s- God hyung he is so beautiful.” Jisung whines.

“I’ll be damned.” Changbin says. “Your muse was right in your class the whole time and you never saw him?”

“I don’t know how!” Jisung yells. “He is definitely very noticeable…” 

“No! No, no Jisung-“ Changbin starts, already understanding what this means. “That’s why, your lyrics- You want to talk to him!”

“Shit!” Chan exclaims. “He’s right, you’re totally thinking about it!”

“I- Well I know I’m not supposed to talk to him because it will ruin the whole muse thing but,” He huffs out a breath of air. “God, I feel like this would be different. I think- I think he’s different.”

“Dude-“ Changbin starts, only to be cut off by the oldest of them.

“That’s cool! You should try!”

This makes both Han and Changbin look at him in shock. “What, no?! Hyung, that's awful advice!” Changbin yells 

The younger glares at him. “Hey! I can talk to him!”

“Sung, you have awful luck in the romance field.” Changbin points out. “Do you remember the point of this? It’s for you to romanticize about him, if you get to know him your love song will be gone.”

“But Hyung! I swear he’s not like that-“

“You don’t even know him!”

“I’m telling you it’s not!” Jisung yells, his friends looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m, I’m sorry okay? I know I look insane but he- I need to speak to him. I think you’re wrong.” He says. “I… I want you to be wrong.”

This makes both of the older boys soften instantly. 

“Oh Sung…” Changbin mumbles, voice soft and gentle.

“Jisung, I trust you. We both do.” Chan says. “If you want to talk to him, if you think it will work out, we trust you.”

“Thank you-“

“But.” Chan interrupts. “But first finish the song. The whole song, not just the lyrics. You’re gonna start working on the melody and produce it and then you show it to us, and only then you can speak to him.”

“You’re treating me like I’m a child.” Jisung says. “I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions.”

“I think that what Chan hyung means is that this way your assignment will be finished, and if it doesn’t go well with mystery boy you at least did your work.” Changbin explains. “Come on Sung, you know why we're acting like this. We’ve seen you get heartbroken enough times.” Jisung can’t help the way he flinches at the words. 

Because he knows they’re right. They’ve seen it all. 

“…Fine.” He finally agrees. “Thank you.” He says after.

“No need to thank us,” Chan smiles, “We are best friends.” Next to him, Changbin nods in agreement.

“Any, any feedback for the song though?” He just wants to drop the subject about his love life as soon as possible. 

His friends smile at him one last time before starting to talk. 

"The lyrics are about love but it’s still kinda sad. Make the melody sound romantic, make it sound more like a love song."

Chan’s words ring in the back of his mind during the whole week as he keeps working on the song. 

More romantic. More like a love song. 

Got it. He can do this.

He just needs more inspiration. That’s how he finds himself walking around campus in search for one specific person again. 

This is so stupid, he can’t believe this is how far he would go to look for that guy again. Walking around like a freshman lost on campus. 

After looking around for about twenty minutes with no luck, he stops by the coffee shop from monday, more than happy with the smile he gets from Hyunjin once he walks in.

“Jisung!” Hyunjin greets, “Long time no see!” 

“Hello Hyunjin,” Jisung smiles, “Can I get a hot chocolate to go?” 

“No iced americano today?” Hyunjin asks, brows furrowed in confusion, though the smile on his lips tells Jisung he is just playing. 

“Iced Americano is for morning classes and happy occasions only.” Jisung explains, “I’m mourning my loss now.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Loss? Loss of what?”

“My muse.” It leaves his lips before his brain can even process the words. Fuck, he sounds like a lunatic. 

Hyunjin looks at him with wide eyes and an unreadable face, before bursting out laughing. “I’m so sorry I just-“ He tries to keep talking but apparently Jisung really is that funny. Or pathetic, he prefers the first option.

“No it’s-“ Jisung can’t help but snort. “God, it’s more than fine. I’m so stupid.” he laughs.

“Hey it’s fine,” Hyunjin says, “Lucky for you, I love stupid people. My best friend is the dumbest person I know.”

“Really?” Jisung laughs.

“Yeah, but don’t tell him that or he will kill me.” Hyunjin says, panic slowly appearing in his face.

“Damn, is he that scary?” Jisung asks, genuinely curious if it’s true or if Hyunjin is just very dramatic.

“Well, yeah.” He says.

“I wish you good luck then.” Jisung shakes his head.

“Whatever- So you lost your muse?” Hyunjin asks, “Betting you’re either an arts major or music major.”

Jisung blinks his eyes at him. “How did you know?”

Hyunjin snorts. “Because I’m an arts major, and I speak like that.” He says, shrugging his shoulders because it’s that simple. “But you’re a music major right?”

“Yes,” Jisung sighs. “You got me there.” 

“Who’s your muse?” Hyunjin asks, genuinely interested. “Do you know their name?”

“Sadly no… I know he goes to this college tho, and has a class with me.” He adds.

“Hmm, sounds interesting. So you met him in class?”

“Not really,” Jisung remembers the bingo salon again. “Just noticed he was in my class this week, I saw him a few times before.”

“Well, I wish you good luck then, Sungie.” The pet name makes Jisung snort. “Here’s your hot chocolate. Be happy.”

“Thank you Hyunjin.” Jisung smiles. “But uhm hey, since you're in arts…”

“Yes?”

“Well… did you see a guy with a hat, black sweatpants and black hoodie on Monday around your building?”

“That sounds like a criminal.” Hyunjin states, making Jisung laugh. “But no I didn’t. Why? You think your muse is an arts major?”

“I don’t know…” Jisung whines, sipping his hot chocolate with a pout. “But he’s always drawing… Oh and on monday he came here to pick up an iced americano!”

“Jisung… are you stalking him?”

“What no!” Jisung defends. “I just- come on!!! Do you remember anyone like that?”

“Sorry Sungie, that order is what all college students go for. And the clothes? That’s also an average college student outfit.” Hyunjin says. “He clearly didn’t wash his hair though.” 

“But Hyunjin,” Jisung whines, “I saw you talking to him! You seemed really close!” 

Hyunjin stops what he’s doing to look at Han. “Wait… you- you’re talking about Minho?” 

“Minho?” Jisung looks at him confused. Minho. Minho! “I think so! Minho, your friend who also takes Modern Literature!” He practically yells.

“Yes!” Hyunjin gawks. “Oh my fucking- Ew, he is your muse?” He seems to have a hard time believing that.

“I-“ Jisung blushes. “Don’t talk about him like that!” 

“I’m just, really?” Hyunjin asks again. “Lee Minho is your muse?”

“I’m what now?” 

Both Jisung and Hyunjin stop their small debate at the new voice. 

There’s no way…

Jisung swears he can feel the color of his face leaving once he turns back and is eye to eye with Lee Minho. His muse.

His muse who is staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, one hand grabbing the stripe of his backpack and the other inside his sweatpant’s pockets.

He looks confused as fuck, which okay, more than fair. But Jisung can only think about how beautiful he is, black hair framing his face perfectly, fringes covering his dark eyes as he tilts his head to the side, a smirk now forming on his lips.

A dangerous one. And then-

“I’m your muse, Han Jisung?”

Jisung is completely fucked.

“I’m… so, so sorry.” He says, too embarrassed to look up from his hands who keep playing with the rings on them. 

“For what?” Minho says. “Stalking me around or claiming I’m your muse?”

Jisung is just so embarrassed, he really can’t do this. Then, a hand comes up to his thigh and squeezes it. This manages to make him look the other in the eyes, his eyes wide.

Minho must read his confusion easily because he only smiles, small and teasing, before squeezing the flesh one last time and removing his hands. 

“Jisung-ah, you’re very fidgety.” He looks at him again and then proceeds to drink his iced americano like nothing happened, like it was all normal. “Did you know?” he says, moments after noticing the silence between them.

“I-” Shit, he really was easy to read. “I didn’t even notice I was shaking my leg.” is what he ends up saying, because what else is he supposed to say?

For some reason, this just makes Minho huff out a laugh and shake his head. “Of course you didn’t. You’re not very observant are you?” Minho asks. 

Like this was normal. Like they were old friends who knew each other for years. 

Jisung was nervous, sure, but not because of Minho. Just the situation, because in all honesty he was strangely comfortable with him. That’s why it felt so easy to answer back.

“And you are very observant,” He countered, “Am I right?”

“You seem awfully confident Jisung-ah.” Minho smiles. “I don’t understand why you needed to stalk me then.” He smirks once he sees the way Jisung’s cheeks warm up and he avoids his eyes again, looking ahead of them. 

“I was not stalking you.” Jisung says. 

“Really?” Minho asks, head tilting to the side. “Then why did you follow me around the other day after class?”

“I-” Jisung is fucked. “You- you noticed that?”

“Of course I did, Jisung.” Minho answers. “You’re not very slick.”

“I wasn’t following you.” Jisung defends. “I was… getting inspiration.” He says, which really doesn’t sound much better. 

“Yeah, from me,” Minho points out, “and without my consent.”

Jisung grumbles, hands ruffling his hair in frustration. “Okay, okay I’m so sorry.” He practically begs. “I’m sorry Minho, I really am-”

“Hyung.” He interrupts. 

“What?”

“It’s Minho hyung for you.” He must love making Jisung confused. “I’m older than you.” He says. “By two years actually, I’m twenty two.”

“You- How do you know that?” Jisung asks. “How do you know who I am?” because now that he thinks about it, Minho knows him. He knew his name, and apparently his age. 

Minho smiles at this. Instead of answering him, he simply grabs his backpack and takes from one of the pockets a half finished blunt. JIsung can’t do anything but stare.

He stares the whole time, watching as Minho takes out a lighter and brings it to the joint to light it up before starting to smoke. 

No cares in the world. No sign of answering Jisung any time soon.

“Minho hyung…” 

Jisung is not sure what it is, but Minho stills a little at this. His nonchalant façade drops for a few seconds, but then it’s like Jisung just imagined it all in his head. Like it never happened, and he was just imagining things. 

“I’ll be your muse.” Minho says, successfully making the younger forget whatever question he was about to ask. 

“You- really?” Jisung asks, hands gripping the bench where they’re at right now in anxiety. “Why?”

The older one only shrugs. “Why not?”

“But you don’t even know why I’m doing this?” Jisung asks. He feels so lost right now. 

Minho laughs at this, all soft and cute. Han can only look at him in awn. He is gorgeous, his smile is beautiful and his teeth remind Jisung instantly of a bunny. “Jisung-ah, I don’t care.”

“Why?” The other questions. 

“Why not?” 

Jisung hasn’t known Minho for a long time, but he sure can be a pain in the ass. Nevertheless, he still is very much intrigued. And well, he can be stubborn too.

“Why.” This time, it leaves his lips more like a statement, a way to show the older he won't budge too. 

Minho looks him in the eyes and raises the blunt to him. A silent offering in the way his eyebrows raise. 

Jisung loves a good challenge. So he raises his own hand to pick up the joint from the other only to be refused of such a thing. When he furrows his eyebrows at the other, he only gets a small tilt of his head towards the blunt.

Oh.

Oh.

So that’s what they’re doing. 

Jisung looks at him one last time before bringing his lips closer to it, wrapping them around it and taking a good inhale of the weed. 

He ignores the way his heart rate speeds up when he feels his lips slightly touching one of Minho’s fingers holding up the joint for him. Then he’s moving back and exhaling the smoke out, the smell of it enveloping them in a small smoke bubble. 

Minho only hums in approval, bringing what’s left of it to his own lips. Then he’s getting up, bag lazily slinged over his shoulder. 

“Because I like the attention, Jisung-ah.” And then he leaves Jisung alone on the bench of the campus gardens. 

He scoffs to himself. 

What the fuck just happened. 

“So that’s it?” Jeongin asks. “He like- gave you permission for you to follow him?” 

Jisung can only groan. “Yeah pretty much! But he didn’t even care about why I was doing this.” He pouts.

“Oh my God Jisung,” Jeongin sighs, “Don’t tell me you’re sad about that.” This makes the older blush, his ears turning red.

“Well-”

“God, you’re a lost cause.” The other says. Jisung is about to defend himself but the younger one interrupts him. “You want him to care. Am I right?”

“No.” That’s a poor lie. 

“Han Jisung,” Jeongin snorts, “I know you. You want him to care.” He repeats. “You want him to ask you questions, you want him to talk to you and most of all, you want him to want to listen to your song.” He finishes. “You want him.”

“I don’t- I don’t want him!” Jisung whines. “And don’t it make it sound like that!” He almost yells.

“Oh sure, I'm the one making this story look weird,” Jeongin rolls his eyes. “Hyung, you are writing a song about him!” Again, Jisung can only blush. “Plus he knows who you are and all. He’s weird”

The other doesn’t know why his friend’s words make him smile. Yes, Minho was weird but so was Jisung. And let’s not forget Jisung was the first one acting weird here.

“Hyung? Are you listening to me?” 

Han looks back at his friend, a smile still on his lips at the memory of his muse. “I am,” he answers, “I’m going back to the studio Jeongin.”

“Of course you are.”

“See you later!” Jisung bids goodbye, the image of a silhouette wearing sweatpants and a comfy hoodie with a finished blunt on his hand filling his mind. 

He likes Minho. 

Monday comes back rather quickly again and Jisung can’t help the excitement at the premise of seeing him again. 

His friends all say he is crazy for still being into the guy, but then again they haven’t seen him. They will never understand that Minho, despite wearing mostly sweatpants and hoodies, is not only the most beautiful person he has ever seen but also how captivating he is. 

They don’t understand how much of a strong yet calm aura he carries with him. 

They don’t understand how addictive he is, especially to someone like Jisung. Maybe if they saw him they would understand, maybe not. Then again, he doesn’t care.

Jisung decides on wearing a blue shirt with a chess pattern and large jeans. Before leaving his house he makes sure to look at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his dark curly hair.

He hopes he can see Minho today. Not only because he wants to but he could use the inspiration. He has the lyrics and the idea of a melody for the song. However, he can’t help but feel like something is missing.

He wants the song to start calm, like how he was at the beginning and then just become more fast, the same way he feels whenever he catches sight of the other or like when they talked last time. 

So yeah, he’s crossing his fingers in hopes Minho attends today’s class.

Jisung heads to college soon, arriving a few minutes before class like he usually does. This time though, he looks up once he enters the room, looking around for his muse yet there’s no sign of him. He goes to his usual seat and eventually class begins. 

Whenever someone opens the door he feels his breath catch in his throat, only to then sigh in disappointment. 

He hates the way he feels whenever he looks up only to lose hope over and over again. During the whole class he can’t focus on anything the Professor is saying.

Eventually the class ends, making him sigh for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. He gets up and puts his backpack on his shoulder before starting to head outside, looking down in annoyance. 

He is only able to take a few steps outside the door before he feels a hand grabbing his waist from the side, followed by a small whisper against his ear. 

“Why are you pouting Jisung-ah?” 

Jisung stops walking, a shiver running down his spine at the voice. His sudden stop makes the other also stand still, staying right by his side, hand still wrapped around his waist. 

He knew who it was, but still, looking up and seeing him, so close to him, that teasing smile on his cupid lips? Jisung felt everything stop. 

“Minho hyung…” he whispers, feeling the way the hand around him tightens its hold for a second. 

Minho hums back. “Did you miss me?” 

He definitely notices the way his ears turn red. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment on that which Jisung is grateful for because even though he doesn’t really know Minho, it seems like he had mercy on him for once. 

“Shut up.” He mumbles, ignoring the way the giggle he gets with this makes him fall in love instantly with him. “Why are you here? You didn’t come to the class.”

“Oh my Jisung-ah,” Minho exclaims, “maybe you are observant after all. Or you know…” he wanders off.

“What?” Jisung asks, already knowing whatever reply he gets back will make him want to call into a hole and die of embarrassment.

“Well you know,” Minho shrugs, “you just pay attention to your muse.”

“Okay- I'm going now-” And if Jisung misses the warm hand on his waist the minute he detaches himself from the older, he is quick to shake his head in denial and try to forget about it. Though it proves to be more difficult than what he imagined, especially when certain someone goes after him. 

“Come on,” Minho smiles, “are you embarrassed?”

“No.” Jisung lies. “I’m going out for a smoke.”

“Can I join you?” 

Jisung eyes him cautiously before nodding in response. “Sure.”

Minho doesn’t seem to care about where Jisung is guiding them, happy to just stay next to him, their shoulders brushing the whole time. Soon, Minho understands where they’re heading. 

The younger notices the way the other’s steps seem to slow for a second. 

“Are you…okay?”

“Are we going to the rooftop?”

“Yeah,” Jisung answers, “why?”

“Nothing.” Minho shakes his head. 

“You're acting weird.”

“You don’t know me.” Minho points out. “How would you know this is me acting weird?”

“You seem to be getting a little defensive.” This makes the older glare at him.

“I’m not,” then he starts walking ahead of the younger, “Let’s go.”

Jisung keeps eyeing him the rest of the way. When they finally get to the stairs leading to the rooftop, he finally can keep up with him. The silence enveloping them during their way up still stuck in the younger’s head. 

Some people are also there, some hanging out with friends and others smoking.

“Let’s sit here.” Minho says, grabbing Jisung by the wrist and pulling him down in a place right by the door against the wall. It seems like the younger has no say in it even if he tried. He ends up giving up, taking one cigarette out of his pack and then lightning up. 

“Didn’t take you for a smoker, Jisung-ah.” Minho says after a while. He can feel the way the older watches him closer whenever he takes drag out of the cigarette. 

“I’m not,” Jisung says. “Not really, just you know… sometimes it helps.” 

“With what? Anxiety?” Jisung stops smoking at this, looking the other in the eyes, the wind slightly ruffling both of their hairs.

“Is it that obvious?” He hates the way it comes out with a hint of fear.

“No.” The other is quick to answer. “I just like to think I’m good at reading you.”

Jisung hates the way his stomach does a flip at the words. But two can play this game. 

“Are you afraid of heights?” He asks back, noticing the way the other gulps. He can’t help the little smirk that takes over his lips. 

“No.”

“Liar-”

“I’m not lying.” Minho says, voice losing that nonchalant just a little bit. Still, Jisung notices it. 

“No?” The younger tilts his head to the side playfully, being met with that same glare. 

“No.” He repeats. 

Jisung nods his head. “Okay,” taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it down on the floor and getting up, “Let’s go then.”

He doesn’t miss the way the other’s glare falters for a bit. “Where?”

“There.” He answers, pointing to the far end of the rooftop. “Normally I sit right there with my legs dangling on the edge. Let’s go then.” he says one more time. 

“Jisung-ah.”

“Minho hyung.” he calls, a dare visible in his eyes, a dare for Minho to just tell him the truth. He extends his hand out to the other. “Hold my hand now.”

Minho does consider keeping up the lie, his hand coming up for a bit, but then he just sighs, his eyes avoiding the other ones. 

“Sit back down.” He says instead. 

Jisung snorts at the rare shyness he is showing. He does sit down again, a little closer to him than before, their shoulders back to brushing against each other’s. 

“There’s a party this friday night.” Minho starts saying. “Did you hear about it?”

Han looks at him. “Yes, I’m going with my friends.”

“Which friends?” Minho asks. 

“Jeongin, Seungmin and Felix.” Jisung says. “I usually go with my roommates, but they have some assignments left to do.”

Minho hums. “The famous 3Racha.” 

Jisung chokes on air, making the other smile. “You- How do you know us?” He whispers in amazement. 

“You’re famous around campus.” Minho says. “Did you not know that?” but from the way Jisung keeps staring at him with wide eyes, he gets his answer. “My, you really are dense Jisung-ah.”

“I’m not dense.” Jisung pouts, completely missing out the way Minho stares at him. “I just don’t pay much attention to what’s happening around me.”

“Clearly.” Minho states, earning a small tsk sound from the younger.

As the silence lingers, he notices the way Minho shifts his posture slightly, trying to appear unaffected but failing to mask the subtle unease in his movements. Jisung can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips.

Minho’s defensiveness is endearing in a way Jisung isn’t quite ready to admit, so he just lets the moment hang between them.

“So, this party…” Jisung trails off, feeling the need to move past the awkward tension building up. “What’s the deal? Is it the one everyone’s been talking about?”

Minho’s smirk returns, but this time, it feels more like a mask, like he's hiding something. “It’s just another college party. You know how these things go.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ll be there, won’t you?” Jisung presses, narrowing his eyes with a sly grin.

Minho meets his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe. Why? You planning on stalking me again?” His voice has that familiar teasing edge, but this time it seems more playful than confrontational.

Jisung laughs, but there’s a hint of nervousness beneath the sound. “Not stalking,” he insists. “Just wondering if you’ll be there. After all, you know, your reputation precedes you.”

Minho’s brow raises, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “My reputation? What reputation?”

“The quiet, mysterious guy who shows up, smirks, and disappears into the night. The one everyone whispers about.” Jisung shrugs casually, but in reality, he’s dying to see how Minho reacts.

Minho chuckles softly, almost amused. “Is that what you think of me?” His gaze softens for just a second, and Jisung feels a strange shift in the atmosphere.

They stay there, the hum of the college students below them the only sound filling the space. Jisung tries not to overthink it, but it’s impossible not to notice how his heart beats a little faster whenever Minho looks at him like that.

“Yeah, maybe,” Jisung answers finally, stretching his legs out in front of him. “But, you know… I don’t really care what people think. We all have our own things.”

Minho doesn’t reply immediately, and Jisung wonders if he’s said something wrong. The older guy’s eyes drift toward the edge of the rooftop for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’re right,” Minho says quietly. “I guess we do.”

It’s the way Minho says it, so calm and honest, that sends a wave of warmth through Jisung. He wants to ask more, to dig deeper into that quiet vulnerability Minho barely ever shows, but the moment is fragile. Instead, he lets the silence stretch out, willing to wait and see where things go next.

They sit there for a while, the only sound between them being the soft rustling of the wind and the distant hum of people moving below them.

Jisung can hear a clear melody in his head now.

He doesn’t see Minho during the rest of the week but it’s okay for two reasons: one, their rooftop moment was enough to make Jisung make new progress in his song, and two, it’s friday night, and he’s heading to the party with his friends right now. 

If Jisung asked Felix to do his make-up and style his hair because he’s hoping to find Minho tonight, Felix didn’t comment on it, just happy to help his friend. He ended up doing a smokey eye makeup with small black eyeliner and a golden eyeshadow to compliment the look, while for his hair he just made some of his natural curls pop out more, adding two hairpins on one side only. He looked good.

Jisung loved it, especially because it was just a nice touch to add with his simple outfit that consisted of yet another chess patterned shirt, this time a red one, with a pair of black baggy jeans. 

The night is already buzzing with energy as Jisung steps into the crowded party. The music is pounding, the lights flashing in chaotic patterns, and bodies swaying in sync with the rhythm. It's everything he could have imagined, and yet, his mind isn’t fully here.

His friends are excited, chatting and laughing as they settle into the chaotic atmosphere. But Jisung’s eyes scan the room, hoping, waiting, for a glimpse of someone he can't seem to get out of his head.

Felix is the first to notice his distracted gaze. “Looking for your muse, Sung?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

Jisung feels his cheeks flush, immediately trying to cover it up with a laugh. “I—uh, I’m just looking around.”

Jeongin snickers from the side, holding his drink in one hand. “Well, he must be, because why would he ask you to doll him up for any other reason?”

Felix smiles. “Exactly. If you're not looking for him, why all the effort?”

Jisung swats their teasing away, a little embarrassed but secretly pleased that Felix had gone all out with his makeup. “Shut up! I’ve asked you to do my makeup before!”

Felix grins, the teasing still visible in his eyes. “I just like making you look extra pretty, that’s all.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes at the entire exchange, already looking bored of the playful banter. “I’m going outside,” he says, his voice dry but still carrying a smile. Without another word, he slips away from the group, disappearing into the crowd.

Felix watches him go, then shakes his head. “Classic Seungmin. We’ll see him tomorrow, alive and well.”

Jisung chuckles but his attention snaps back to the crowd, his eyes darting between people, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone.

“I’m gonna explore a bit,” Jisung announces, making an effort to sound casual. He’s hoping he’ll just spot Minho in a corner somewhere, his trademark smirk always easy to identify, but he knows better than to admit he’s specifically looking for him.

Felix grabs his arm before he can slip away. “Wait. Jisung, we just got here!” he exclaims with a grin.

“I know, but I need to…” Jisung trails off, knowing he can’t say what he’s really thinking. He’s desperate to find Minho, but doesn’t want to admit it out loud.

Jeongin notices the slight change in Jisung's demeanor, sensing his discomfort. He hesitates before asking gently, “Sung, will you be okay? It’s very loud and crowded.”

The concern in Jeongin’s voice pulls at Jisung’s heart, and he softens at the thought of his friends looking out for him. He smiles reassuringly and reaches out, gently taking Jeongin’s hand in his. His touch is warm and steady, the contact grounding him for just a moment.

“I’ll be fine. I have my phone,” Jisung says, his voice soothing. “I’ll text you or call if anything happens, I promise.”

Jeongin looks at him for a moment, still unsure, but his smile returns when he sees the determination in Jisung’s eyes. “Alright,” he finally agrees. “Just... don’t get lost, okay? And text if you need us.”

“Of course,” Jisung replies, giving a small nod, before turning away to navigate the sea of people around him.

Jisung moves through the crowd, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of Minho. The flashing lights and the pounding beat of the music make it hard to focus, but still, he’s determined. He navigates around groups of people laughing, dancing, and talking, feeling more out of place with each step. He moves through the house, trying to find a quieter corner where he might spot Minho without the noise overwhelming him.

After searching almost everywhere he can think of, he realizes he hasn’t found him yet. His heart sinks slightly, though he tries to shake it off. It’s a big party—there are plenty of places Minho could be. Still, the more he searches, the more his mind circles back to their rooftop conversation, and a strange feeling begins to settle in his chest.

He can feel the way his head starts overthinking about it. Needing just some quiet, Jisung finds himself at the top of a small staircase leading to another part of the house. The sound of music is muffled here, and the air feels slightly cooler. He turns a corner and steps into a dimly lit room, where several people are seated, talking quietly. It’s not as chaotic as the main party, but there’s an energy here too — more intimate, like the calm before the storm.

And that’s when he sees him.

Minho is standing by the large window, leaning against the wall with a lighted blunt in hand. He’s not surrounded by a crowd like Jisung expected. Instead, it’s just him—looking almost out of place in his own way. He’s gazing out the window, his expression soft, contemplative. The moment feels strangely intimate, as if the noise from the rest of the party doesn’t quite reach this little corner of the world.

Jisung hesitates, his heart racing in his chest. For a moment, he wonders if he should leave, but something keeps him rooted to the spot. His gaze lingers on Minho, who is completely unaware of his presence. The older man’s posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way he holds himself that makes Jisung’s chest tighten.

Minho suddenly turns, catching sight of him.

Their eyes meet for a brief, charged moment. It’s like the air shifts, and Jisung feels his pulse quicken. Minho’s lips curl into a small, almost amused smile.

“I thought you’d be here,” Minho says, his voice low and steady, his tone laced with something Jisung can’t quite read.

Jisung’s heart skips a beat, and he feels a surge of nervous energy flood through him. “You were looking for me?” he asks, his voice teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of something else — a deeper curiosity, maybe.

Minho shrugs, taking a drag from his blunt. “Maybe.” His eyes don’t leave Jisung once. And then he’s extending the blunt to Jisung, just like the first time they talked. “I don’t know. I thought we were past the point of pretending we’re not looking for each other.”

The words hit Jisung in an unexpected way, a rush of warmth flowing through him at the honesty in Minho’s voice. He feels that familiar flutter in his chest — something between admiration and something deeper, something almost magnetic.

“Is that so?” Jisung says, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. He moves a step closer, trying to gauge Minho’s mood, his heart still beating fast. When the older taps the place next to him on the window, the younger takes it as his queue to sit down there, facing him directly from the window where they both stay, passing the joint to Jisung who takes a drag out of it, feeling the way he immediately relaxes after.

Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s Minho, but Jisung thinks it's both that makes the torment of anxiety in his head suddenly come to a halt. They stay like this for a few minutes, just passing the blunt to each other in this safe bubble they have created as soon as they met again.

Minho’s gaze flickers briefly to the side, like he’s considering whether to reveal more. “Maybe it’s just that... people don’t always show their true colors, Jisung-ah.” His voice is calm, but there’s a sharpness to it that makes Jisung’s stomach flip. “They hide behind things like parties, like distractions... But it’s only when you stop and really look that you see what’s real.”

Jisung stands still, absorbing his words, and the shift in the air between them is palpable. The tension feels thick, almost electric, and for a moment, Jisung doesn’t know what to say. Minho’s gaze holds his, steady and unflinching, almost as if he’s daring him to respond in kind.

And that’s when it hits him.

The inspiration.

Everything about this moment—the quiet intensity, the way their words linger in the air, the way their gazes never quite break—has sparked something in him. Jisung feels it flood through him like a rush of clarity. This is what he’s been missing in his song.

The vulnerability. The unspoken emotions that hang in the air between two people.

The dissonance, the tension, the space between them—it’s all part of the melody he’s been struggling to capture. Jisung suddenly knows exactly what he needs to do.

He takes a step back, breaking eye contact for just a moment as he pulls out his phone. His fingers fly over the screen, tapping the words, the melody, the rhythm that’s been building in his mind. Minho watches him, still silent, the quiet hum of the party now completely distant in Jisung’s mind.

Minho speaks again, breaking the moment.

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, but there’s an edge of curiosity in it.

Jisung looks up, meeting Minho’s gaze once more. He can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips. “You just gave me the inspiration I needed,” he says quietly, his voice almost in awe of the realization.

Minho raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Jisung replies, more confident now, the lyrics and melody starting to flow freely in his mind. “This... this moment. The tension. It’s perfect.”

Minho’s expression shifts, like he’s about to say something, but then he just looks away, the corner of his mouth quivering. “I’m glad I could help.” He takes one last drag from the blunt before putting it down on the ashtray next to him. “I’m a pretty good muse right?” He says after, head tilting to the side and his bangs covering his face

Jisung feels a surge of energy, more alive than he’s felt in days. It’s like the song that’s been stuck in his head, has suddenly clicked into place. Minho’s words, his presence—they’ve unlocked something in him, something he didn’t even realize he needed to see.

Without another word, Jisung pulls up his music app and starts recording the melody in his head, already shaping the next verse. He knows, without a doubt, that this song—this one—will be the best one he’s written yet. And Minho? He’ll be the heart of it.

“Hannie…”

Jisung freezes, blood rushing to his chest, ears, everywhere. He gulps before speaking up.

“Yes hyung?” 

Minho smiles at him, a sudden wave of stronger wind blowing his hair in every direction.

“You look pretty.” 

“I-” Jisung stutters. “Th-thank you.”

But as the older only hums back, looking outside the window again with his hair still ruffled from the wind, Jisung doesn’t understand how he is supposed to be the pretty one.

Maybe he is just high. Or maybe the weather is just nice.

Jisung wakes up the next day and immediately feels how dry his mouth is.

As he passes by their living room, he finds Jeongin and Seungmin sleeping on the couch snuggled together. Smiling at the cute image, he then heads to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water.

That’s when memories from last night come back to him. Jisung stayed with Minho through most of the party, the two of them talked about everything and nothing in their designated place at the window. They made jokes, talked about music, hobbies, cats, coffee, always in that comfortable bubble they have created.

Minho did end up rolling another blunt for them to share and this time when the older would just motion for Jisung to take a drag from the blunt still in Minho’s fingers, JIsung wasn’t so caught off guard. Then again, he was high and feeling extremely at ease, which could be bad and good.

Their night was brought to an end when his friends called Jisung announcing they would be leaving soon. Jisung saying he will meet them soon and then turns off his phone.

“That was Seungmin,” he says, “We’re gonna leave soon.”

Minho looks at him and Jisung thinks he saw a glimpse of sadness pass through his eyes in that one second, almost like he too didn’t want the younger to go just yet. But then Minho is back to his normal nonchalant self, and he thinks he might just be imagining things.

“Okay.” He says. “Well, goodbye Jisung-ah.”

Jisung gives him a small smile back. “Bye hyung,” then he finally gets up from the window, “See you around.”

He is almost sure he can feel eyes following him while he’s leaving, but he is too scared to look back and check it for himself. 

It still feels like a haze to Jisung, a strange mix of clarity and confusion. He knows he should be feeling some level of regret or embarrassment about how freely he let himself go with Minho last night, but instead, he only feels… comfortable. Almost like he had found a rare moment of peace in the chaos, tucked away in a corner with Minho, where everything seemed to slow down.

As Jisung finishes his glass of water and leans against the kitchen counter, his thoughts drift back to the night before. He remembers the way Minho looked at him, how the intensity of their conversations felt like they were peeling back layers—almost too much, but not enough at the same time. Jisung can’t ignore the fluttering in his stomach at the thought of Minho’s smile, how it was always there when he least expected it.

He’s startled from his reverie by a sleepy voice from the couch. "You okay, Sung?" Jeongin’s voice is soft, still groggy from sleep.

Jisung turns, offering a small smile. "Yeah. Just thinking about last night."

Seungmin shifts beside Jeongin, his face scrunching up as he slowly wakes up. "Ugh, was the party that great? You look like you just got hit by a truck," Seungmin mumbles.

Jisung laughs softly, shaking his head. "I’m fine. I didn’t get that wild. Just… a little tired." He doesn’t mention Minho, doesn’t want to bring up the night just yet. He’s not sure how to talk about it—he’s still processing everything.

Jeongin blinks sleepily, stretching and yawning before looking over at Jisung. "Did you find him?" His voice is casual, but there’s an underlying curiosity there.

"Find who?" Jisung asks, his heart giving a little jump as he looks at Jeongin.

"You know, Minho," Jeongin says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You were acting like you were on some secret mission to find him all night."

Jisung’s face flushes slightly, but he tries to play it cool. "Maybe. But, you know, we just ended up talking and stuff. It wasn’t anything big."

Seungmin sits up, fully awake now, eyeing Jisung with a mischievous grin. "Talking and stuff, huh? That’s a new one. I thought you were gonna be too busy worrying about your song and the fact that Minho’s way too cool to even notice you."

Jisung rolls his eyes, but there’s a laugh escaping him. "I wasn’t worried. I was… busy, alright?" His fingers fiddle with the edge of his shirt as he recalls the night’s events. How Minho’s words felt like they clicked with something inside him—how they helped him finally get the breakthrough he needed for his song.

Jeongin’s grin widens. "Uh-huh. Sure, you were busy." He winks. "But hey, whatever works."

Jisung shakes his head, walking over to the counter to refill his water. His mind’s still a little foggy from the party, but the more he thinks about it, the more certain he feels. That night, Minho had unlocked something in him. A feeling he hadn’t been able to grasp until now—raw, real emotions that are now shaping the song he’s been working on.

A song that will be the most honest he’s ever written.

As the days pass, Jisung finds himself sinking deeper into his music. There’s a sense of clarity and purpose in his work that wasn’t there before, and he knows it’s because of the moments he’s shared with Minho. The rooftop conversation. The quiet connection at the party. The way their energy had aligned in such an unexpected, natural way.

He can’t get enough of the feeling, the inspiration that pulses through him whenever he thinks of Minho. Jisung’s fingers fly over his keyboard, crafting melodies that mirror the fluttering in his chest when Minho smiles at him, when their eyes meet and something unspoken hangs between them.

But Jisung still isn’t sure what all of this means. They’re still not exactly friends. Minho is still a mystery to him in so many ways. But one thing’s for sure—he can’t stop thinking about him.

And that’s the very thing that makes the music flow.

On the next monday, Jisung prays Minho either attends class or meets him after like last week. He finished his song, and he wants to tell him. He wants to show it to him and thank him, because he knows there would be no song if there was no Minho.

To his disdain, there is no sign of the older. Jisung spends the rest of the day sighing in sadness. He was really hoping to meet him today. He goes as far as to pass by the caffe Hyunjin works and ask him if Minho had said anything to him.

“Sorry Sung, he didn’t reply to any of my texts or calls.” He informs him. “Have you tried checking around the dance building? Maybe he is there.”

Dance building? “Why would he be there?” Jisung asks, confusion written all over his face. 

This only makes Hyunjin laugh. “Well because-” he then looks weirdly at Jisung. “I’m confused, aren’t you two friends?”

“I-” Jisung stutters, cheeks turning pink. “It’s… I don’t know yet.”

Hyunjin stares at him for a few seconds, his gaze not faltering. Jisung on the other hand, is more than pleased to look to the side, one hand coming to his hair to ruffle the curls. 

“You guys are weird.” He states, the red in the other’s cheeks becoming only darker. “Check Building 14.”

“Thank you!” He says, being fast to leave the coffee shop.

Jisung stands outside Building 14, hesitating. He isn’t sure why he’s nervous—he just wants to see Minho and show him his song, nothing more. Maybe it’s because, for the first time in a while, he feels like he’s chasing after someone.

Taking a deep breath, he steps inside, the hallways quieter than he expected. He walks past empty practice rooms, hearing only faint music in the distance. When he finally reaches the largest studio at the end of the hall, he peeks inside through the small window on the door.

There he is.

Minho is in the center of the room, moving fluidly to music Jisung can’t hear from outside. His expression is focused, his body sharp yet effortless in each movement. Jisung has never seen him like this before—completely lost in his own world. The way Minho dances feels different from how he usually carries himself, like this is the one place where he isn’t hiding behind something.

Jisung realizes he’s been watching too long when the music stops, and Minho turns toward the door. Their eyes meet through the glass, and Jisung freezes. Minho tilts his head slightly before walking toward the door, opening it just enough to lean against the frame.

“You’re stalking me again?” His voice is amused, but his eyes are unreadable.

Jisung clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “I was not.” He glares. “You weren’t in class,” he says, like that explains why he’s here.

Minho raises a brow. “And?”

“And…” Jisung falters, feeling ridiculous now that he’s actually here. “I-” the words die in his throat. He freezes as he remembers what this means. 

He finished the song, but that means he doesn’t need Minho anymore. His muse has completed his purpose, and suddenly Jisung is scared. 

He doesn’t want to stop seeing Minho. He had just started to share actual conversations with him and getting to know him and if he shows the song now it will be the end of that, this whole arrangement finished.

If he shows him the song, he loses Minho. He doesn’t want that.

“Jisung.”

The sound of his name being called brings him back from his spiralling thoughts. 

“Y-yeah?” 

“Are you feeling okay?” Dark feline eyes stare at him. Jisung feels a shiver run down his spine at the intensity.

“I’m- Of course hyung.” Jisung lies, “I just needed to- Well, I'm uhm-”. Hands hold his own one, making the younger look at the older in surprise. “What-”

“You’re picking on the skin of your fingers.” Minho says, “Don’t do that.”. The words, though normally laced with negative things are said more like an order. An order filled with softness in the other’s calm voice. 

Instantly, Jisung relaxes, his hands squeezing once the other’s one before Minho removes them. He misses the warmth of it already.

“Good, that’s good Hannie.” Minho is gonna be the death of him. He is sure the older heard the gasp that left his lips at the new nickname he had chosen to adopt at the party, if the way a smirk appears on his lips doesn’t make it more obvious. “Is this about your project? Do you need uhm… me?”

The younger instantly darts his head up at the words. “W-What?”

Minho snorts at his shyness. “Jisung, aren’t I your muse after all?” He asks, head tilting to the side. “Do you need inspiration to finish your project?”. Oh, that’s what he meant. “Do you need me?”

Yes. Desperately so. “I- no-no!” He almost yells. “Of course not- I just, I wanted to see you.” It leaves his lips before he can even process it.

The older’s eyes open widely in a way that could be funny in other circumstances. However, given these circumstances, it just makes the younger panic even more.

“I- Hyung I’m so sorry,” He sighs, “I don’t know why I’m being so weird.”

“Sung-ah, it’s okay.” Minho finally says, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between the two of them. “You’re not being weird. I…” at his sudden hesitance, Jisung finally looks up.

Instantly his heart rate speeds up. Minho looks normal, but the younger one doesn't miss the way he gulps slightly and his ears turn red before he keeps talking. “I also wanted to see you again.” 

Jisung swears fireworks explode around them at this very moment. He feels so much, it doesn’t even make sense. The sight of a shy Minho will be sure to stay with him until his last day.

“You… really?” Because he can’t believe Minho would like to spend time with him again.

“Jisung-ah, I waited for you at the party.” He says, frustration laced around his voice. “How can you be so surprised?”

“I am actually.” 

This makes Minho huff in annoyance. “Fine, if that’s the way you want things to go then I take back what I said.” Turning around, Minho picks up his stuff and starts leaving.

Panic rises inside Jisung. “What- Minho wait-” Jisung goes after him, barely able to catch him. “Minho wait, it’s not that! I swear I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“Jisung, stop following me. I have another class to attend.” Minho sighs. Turning around in the hallway, the younger keeps running after him.

“Hyung, you’re not listening! Let me explain please!” This seems to make Minho lose the little patience he has left because not even a second later he is grabbing Jisung by the wrist and pulling them inside an empty classroom, locking the door behind them.

“Alright.” Minho speaks. “Explain.”

Jisung wants to, but he is still amazed by how fast Minho seemed to drag them away from the rest of the students.

“What classroom is this?” He asks instead.

“Oh my God…” Minho sighs for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes before turning around and starting to unlock the door.

“What no!” Jisung basically jumps on top of him, legs wrapping around the other’s waist while one arm goes around his neck and the oher reaches for his hand around the doorknob. 

Minho barely has time to catch himself and prevent them both from falling down. “Oh- Jisung!” He screams, “Get off!”

“You need to listen to me!” Jisung screams back. “Minho-”

“Get off! You’re gonna make us both fall-”

“Please!” At this the older finally stills, the arm he had extended going back to instead go under Jisung’s legs to hold him better. 

“Please… please Hyung,” Jisung whispers, the room filled with silence and the sounds of their puffs of breaths due to their current use of physical strength.

Sighing, the older makes sure to jump a bit to make sure Jisung doesn’t fall off from his back, the act making the younger gasp.

Minho is mad at him, and still he is making sure he doesn’t get hurt when really they’re in this position because of his impulsive actions.

“...Fine, you can talk.” 

Jisung isn’t sure why he does it, but he ends up hiding his face on the crook of the older’s neck, feeling the way the other goes rigid at the action for a few seconds before relaxing again.

“I… I didn’t know.” He begins. “Hyung I- I swear I didn’t do this on purpose, I was really surprised to know you like hanging out with me too.” Gulping once more, he inhales the older’s scent of black coffee mixed with sweat and weed. Only Minho could make such a weird combination smell good. “You- you don’t really express yourself, it’s really hard to read you-”

“Well then just stop stalking me-”

“Minho please.” Jisung begs. “Let me finish. Our hangouts are weird, we haven’t been together many times and the few times we were it’s mostly me going after you!” He doesn’t miss the way Minho’s red ears darken. “I thought I would be annoying you. Yes, you waited for me at the party but- but if I hadn’t gone looking out for you myself I don’t know if we would have seen each other! The only time you came after me was the other day when you came to get me after class… and today… today you were not there and I thought maybe you were avoiding me or something. I'm so, so sorry.”

He hears him sigh and then a tap on his leg signalling him he’s about to drop him back on the floor and Jisung gets off from Minho’s back with a loud huff. After this, Minho finally turns around, his back resting against the door.

“You-” he starts, only to sigh once more. “You are so dense Jisung-ah.” The use of the nickname restores hope in the other’s heart. But then he processes the words being said to him and-

“Can you please stop calling me dense?” He pouts, looking up at the other’s relaxed figure.

Minho smiles, that feline smirk he loves so much appearing. “Jisung.” putting his hands inside the front pocket of his black hoodie, he leans his head back and laughs once more. 

Jisung thinks it’s unfair how beautiful he looks right now in the dark classroom, light only coming from behind him through the small glass of the door. His hair a dark mess sticking to the sides of his face because of the sweat. 

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Minho sighs, head bumping softly against the door. Jisung’s pout disappears and he is once again awestruck by his looks, his everything. 

“W-What-” A flustered stuttering mess, Minho finally detaches himself from the door, bringing his hands to either side of Jisung’s waist, palms pressing softly against his skin. 

“Sung-ah,” Minho begins, enjoying the way Jisung’s breath hitches and he immediately shivers. Minho seems to enjoy making him blush. “I knew you before you knew me, and I accepted to help you even without knowing why the fuck you need a muse for a class.” He laughs. “I picked you up from class because Hyunjin told me you seem to always attend it, even if you hate it as much as I do. And…I went to the party because I knew you would be there, and I only spoke to you.” He finishes. 

“So…” Jisung says and Minho nods in affirmation, the hands around his waist moving softly

“So.” Minho mirrors, “Do you get it now?” He asks. “I also like being with you.”

“Oh.” Jisung whispers. “That… that is good to know.”

Minho only laughs in disbelief, head shaking. “Yes.” He says. “Come on,” removing his hands from around the younger, he unlocks the door behind them, “Let’s go.”

“But hyung your class-”

“Isn't that important.” Minho interrupts. “Come on.” And then he’s opening the door, throwing one last look to Jisung before starting to walk.

JIsung stares at him a little, and then he’s moving as if on autopilot. 

He would follow Minho everywhere. 

The two of them end up going to the college’s garden, sitting down on the grass as they keep talking to each other. Both of them at ease.

“Aren’t you a bit curious about what my project is?” Jisung eventually asks.

Minho looks at him for a second before turning his face away again. “I think I have an idea.” He says.

“Really?” Jisung asks, surprised evident in his voice. “What do you think it is?”

“Well… based on your behaviour at the party, I’d think you need to write a song.” He finishes. “Am I right?” He says, looking the younger in the eyes once more.

“Wow… you really are good at this.” This makes the other laugh.

“I’d like to think I’m just good at reading you.” He says. “You’re probably the only person I know I can figure out in seconds.”

Jisung’s heartbeat fastens at these words. “You're very weird, hyung.” 

He would regret his words, if not for the way Minho laughs. Taking his sketchbook from his bag, he gets a pencil and starts drawing. Because they’re facing each other, Jisung can’t really see what is drawing. 

“I’m not weird.” Minho says after a while, scribbling on his notebook. “I’m normal.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” Jisung says. “I’m weird too but just- you’re weirder.”

Minho stops drawing and looks at him. “I’m not.”

“You are.” Jisung retorts and before the older can deny it again he hurries to continue. “You’re weird, but that’s not a bad thing.” He says. “That’s what I like about you.”

Minho blinks at his words, another habit Jisung has noticed. Minho blinks a lot, and it’s really cute. “Really?”

Nodding in affirmation, Jisung continues, “Yes. I’m normal right?” He asks after. “Compared to you?” He teases, but when Minho only keeps blinking at him with no sight of a smile he gets worried he has crossed the line.

“I like normal.” Minho says instead, his voice a little softer than usually, and then he just keeps drawing.

Jisung is sure he is in love with the older. 

The sun’s lower now, warmth lingering faintly on their skin. They lie back on the grass in silence for a while, Minho’s sketchbook forgotten by his side. Jisung dares a glance over.

Minho’s eyes are closed. He looks peaceful. Unreachable. Beautiful.

Jisung turns his face back to the sky. His hand rests beside Minho’s, fingers barely apart.

He almost says it—I finished the song because of you.

 He almost says—I’m in love with you.

Instead, he murmurs, “The weather’s nice again.”

Minho hums softly. “Yeah,” he replies, and for the first time, he doesn’t sound guarded. Just there. Present.

Their fingers never touch. But neither of them moves away.

“So you’re both aliens.” Changbin says, making Chan laugh next to him.

The three of them are currently at the studio working on a few songs. Jisung has just finished telling them his and Minho’s latest interactions. Changbin clearly has his own conclusions already.

“Yes.” Han agrees. “I guess we are.” He smiles, the other two looking at him with knowing smiles.

“Sung,” Chan calls, “you are clearly in love with him.”

“What-” Jisung stutters. “I’m- I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” Chan teases, from beside him Changing only grins. “If it makes you feel better, I think this one might not be one-sided…”

This has him drawing his attention to the older, “R-Really?” He stutters. “I mean- I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” Changbin says. “Not wanting to put your hopes up, but I agree with hyung on this one.”

“Okay,” Jisung sighs, “please stop now.”

“I’m not joking!” Chan says. “Jisung, his reaction was weird.”

“In what part?”

“Every part!” Chan almost yells. “Have you thought about it? He got scared you were joking with him and then got angry at you. Then there’s the whole classroom episode-”

“Very weird.” Changbin says in agreement.

“And what he said to you in the garden?” Chan laughs. “That’s a love confession. He definitely likes you.”

“Will you please stop?” Jisung huffs. “It’s not that. Minho he is… he is Minho.” He sighs. “He is funny, and beautiful, charismatic and random and, so weird…” he smiles. “That’s why I don’t think he means anything he says like that.” 

Jisung doesn’t look back at the olders because he knows they’ll never believe him. But he is so tired of getting his hopes up for nothing, for it all to be just a big misunderstanding or one sided.

He likes Minho, sure. He likes him so much he would never do anything to put their well — whatever they have — at risk. 

That’s how much he likes him. 

He will not lose Minho. He will not risk it.

Not Minho.

Minho takes a slow drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling, the hazy air curling between them. Hyunjin watches from where he’s sprawled across Minho’s couch, legs propped up on the armrest. His own joint rests between his fingers, forgotten for a moment as he studies the older.

They’ve done this a million times before—smoked together, talked about nothing—but tonight, Hyunjin has an agenda.

“You and Jisung are weird,” he says, tilting his head back against the cushion.

Minho, who had just lifted the joint to his lips again, pauses. He flicks his eyes toward Hyunjin before exhaling, looking as unbothered as ever. “And?”

Hyunjin smirks. “And… what’s going on there?”

Minho snorts. “Nothing.”

“You sure about that?” Hyunjin presses. “Because I saw Jisung today, and he was acting like a lovesick puppy.”

Minho hums, tapping the ash into the tray on the coffee table. “That’s just how he is.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “Okay, but I’ve known him longer than you, and trust me, he’s not like that with just anyone.”

Minho shrugs, pretending to be unaffected, but Hyunjin sees the way he exhales a little too quickly, how his fingers tense slightly around the joint. Interesting. 

“You’re not even close to him Jinnie,” Minho huffs, feeling tired already from Hyunjin and his antics. “I can count by the fingers the times you’ve talked to each other. Always at the caffe,” he pauses to take another drag from the blunt, “always less than five minutes and always about me.”

Hyunjin squints his eyes as he keeps observing the older. “You sure paid a lot of attention.” He states, inhaling smoke too. “Anyways, Jisung and I are practically besties.” 

Minho laughs. “Sure.”

“You waited for him at the party,” Hyunjin continues. “I know because I was watching. You kept looking around, barely spoke to anyone else and then disappeared.”

Minho exhales through his nose, a lazy smirk forming. “You were watching me? Didn’t know you cared so much.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Don’t dodge the question, asshole. What’s your deal with Jisung?”

Minho is quiet for a moment, taking another slow hit. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Bullshit.”

Minho huffs a small laugh. “Believe what you want.”

Hyunjin sits up now, leaning forward. “You like him.”

Minho freezes for just a second—so quick that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Hyunjin does. The way Minho hesitates before responding, how he looks away, eyes flickering to the window.

“I don’t do feelings,” Minho says finally, voice even.

Hyunjin raises a brow. “You sure? Because from what I’ve seen, you’re already in deep.”

Minho stays silent, eyes fixed on the joint between his fingers.

Hyunjin smirks. “You touch him a lot.”

Minho scoffs. “I touch you too.”

“Not like that,” Hyunjin counters. “I saw you two at the party. You shared a blunt with him, called him Hannie.” He watches as Minho’s expression hardens just a fraction, jaw tightening. “You only use nicknames when you actually like someone.”

Minho sighs, tilting his head back against the couch. “You’re annoying.”

Hyunjin grins. “You’re deflecting.”

Silence falls between them for a beat, thick with smoke and unspoken things.

Then, Minho murmurs, “It doesn’t matter.”

Hyunjin’s smirk falters. “What do you mean?”

Minho shrugs. “If he figures it out, he’ll freak. Jisung’s got this whole thing about not wanting to ruin whatever we have.” He flicks ash off the joint, voice quieter now. “So I’m just… letting it be. Plus, he’s really dense.”

Hyunjin watches him carefully. “That’s stupid.”

Minho lets out a dry chuckle. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “No, it’s really stupid. Because if you keep acting like this, he’s gonna think he’s imagining things, and you’re gonna lose your chance.”

Minho says nothing, just takes another drag.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re so fucking frustrating, dude.”

Minho smirks. “I know.”

Hyunjin groans, flopping back against the couch. “God, you two are gonna drive me insane.”

Minho just laughs, but Hyunjin sees it now—sees the way Minho’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around the joint, the way his smirk doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

For all his nonchalance, Lee Minho is absolutely, undeniably fucked.

Jisung doesn’t know why he’s nervous.

He’s already seen Minho plenty of times this week. They’ve hung out, texted (sort of), and even had lunch together yesterday. But tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s because Minho was the one who texted him first.

[Minho]: are you coming or not

[Jisung]: i never said i was coming????

[Minho]: i’m saying you are. bring food.

And because Jisung is Jisung, he finds himself outside Minho’s apartment thirty minutes later with a bag of takeout, heart beating way too fast for something as simple as hanging out.

He knocks.

A few seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Minho in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair damp like he just showered. He gives Jisung a once-over before stepping aside to let him in.

“You actually came,” Minho muses.

“You told me to,” Jisung retorts, stepping inside and kicking off his shoes.

Minho hums noncommittally and takes the bag from his hands, heading toward the kitchen. Jisung follows, watching as Minho unpacks the food onto the counter.

There’s music playing softly from a speaker, something lo-fi and easy. The apartment smells like Minho’s usual mix of fabric softener and something warmer, something distinctly him.

It’s comfortable. And that alone is enough to terrify Jisung.

“So,” Jisung starts, hopping onto one of the stools by the counter. “Why’d you invite me over?”

Minho raises a brow. “Do I need a reason?”

Jisung shrugs, picking at the hem of his hoodie. “I guess not. Just… felt kinda sudden.”

Minho smirks. “Would you have come if I’d asked nicely?”

Jisung glares. “That was you asking nicely.”

Minho laughs, and Jisung suddenly feels so stupid for how much he loves the sound.

They eat, talking about nothing and everything, and for a while, Jisung lets himself pretend this is normal—like there isn’t something pressing against his ribs every time Minho looks at him for too long.

Then, after they’ve finished eating, Minho leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Hyunjin has been annoying lately.”

Jisung perks up. “Oh? Do tell.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “He thinks he’s so smart.”

Jisung grins. “Well, he’s not not smart.”

Minho glares. “Shut up.”

Jisung laughs. “What’s he even saying?”

Minho huffs. “He asked me what we are.”

Jisung’s breath catches, fingers stilling against the table. “Oh.”

Minho doesn’t look at him, playing with the ring on his finger. “He thinks I like you.”

His first instinct is to laugh it off, because it’s Minho, and Minho doesn’t do that. But Minho’s expression is unreadable, his voice too casual, like he’s being very careful with his words.

Jisung swallows. “And?”

Minho finally meets his eyes. “And what?”

Jisung’s mouth is dry. “Do you?”

Silence.

Minho watches him, gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at his lips. “What do you think?”

Jisung hates him. He hates him.

Because he doesn’t know how to answer that. Because his brain is already spiraling, heart hammering. Because Minho knows exactly what he’s doing.

Jisung forces a breathy laugh. “I think you like messing with me.”

Minho tilts his head, looking amused. “Maybe.”

Jisung huffs, pushing himself off the chair. “You’re the worst.”

Minho just watches him, something almost knowing in his gaze. “You keep coming back.”

And Jisung doesn’t have an answer for that.

“Jisung, you have to tell him.” Jeongin says. 

“I- I really don’t know what to do…” Jisung whispers. “He keeps- keeps teasing me and I feel like I’m a toy!” He screams, hands coming up to ruffle his curly hair. “Like the other day, we were hanging out at the gardens and then he just kept poking my cheeks and saying I look like a squirrel. Then he laid his head on my legs and made me play with his stupid beautiful hair!!” God, he hates him.

“He made you play with his hair?” Seungmin muses. “What he had a gun pointed at your head?”

Jeongin and Seungmin are having fun at least. Jisung also hates them.

“Did you know he is a dance major?” He randomly adds. “I only found out because last week I asked his friend Hyunjin if he knew where he was because he didn’t attend class and he- he was dancing! In the dancing building! In a dance room!”

“Shocking.” Seungmin states, Jeongin playfully slapping his shoulder. 

“Yes!” Jisung says, completely missing the other’s sarcasm. “I mean it makes sense he has the best thighs I’ve ever seen and he has the frame and the face and you guys didn’t see him dancing. He practically whines. “It’s literally impossible to be around him without falling in love!” His head drops on the table, where a muffled scream finally leaves his lips.

“Jisung,” Seungmin sighs, “you need to show him the song.” 

This makes Jisung lift his head back up. “I- I can’t!”

“Why not?” Seungmin asks. “You were afraid he would stop hanging out with you, but he told you he likes hanging out with you already! And I mean-“ he trails off for a second before speaking again. “I don’t know the guy aside from what you tell us, but he clearly seems to also like you. It also looks like he might have some communication issues.”

“Then again, so does Jisung hyung.” Jeongin adds, earning a glare from the boy himself while Seungmin nods in agreement. 

“Just… put an end to both of your miseries. Show him the song. If he likes it, great! If he freaks out or rejects you, move on.”

“It’s not that simple…” Jisung pouts. “Seungmin, I don’t want to lose him.”

His friend's eyes both soften at the words.

“Hyung…” Jeongin whispers. “It hurts to see you like this too, this can’t be good for you either.” He reasons. “If he rejects you, it’s his loss.”

The tense silence that falls between them is broken by a loud voice. 

“Sung!!!”

Jisung turns around to see Hyunjin coming up with a big smile, his dimples showing and hair tied up. 

“Oh. Hyunjin.” Snorting, the boy in questions sits down on their table like they’re all old friends.

“What kind of greeting is that?” Hyunjin snorts, turning his attention to his other two friends. “Hi! I’m Hyunjin!” He almost yells. 

Hyunjin’s sudden appearance at their table causes an immediate shift in energy. He’s all smiles, bright eyes crinkling as he waves enthusiastically at Seungmin and Jeongin.

“I’m Hyunjin!” he repeats, as if they didn’t hear him the first time. “Nice to meet you! I’m friends with Jisung and Minho!”

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. “We know who you are.”

Seungmin, however, is silent.

Which is weird.

Because Seungmin is never silent.

Jisung turns to look at him, and oh.

Oh.

Seungmin is staring at Hyunjin, blinking like he just got hit in the face with a basketball. His usually sharp, unimpressed expression is completely wiped off, replaced with something dangerously close to awe.

Jisung barely suppresses his smirk.

“Oh,” Seungmin finally says, voice coming out a little too light, a little too forced. “Hi.”

Hyunjin grins. “Hey!” He turns to Jisung, eyes lighting up. “I just came from my art class, and I’m heading to work now—figured I’d find you first.”

Jisung hums, pretending to be uninterested even though he’s already invested. “Tough class?”

Hyunjin sighs dramatically, dropping into a seat next to them. “We had a figure drawing session today, and my professor didn’t like my proportions. Again. Apparently, my people look too beautiful. Which, honestly? Not my fault.”

Jeongin snorts, but Seungmin hasn’t said a word.

Jisung’s grin grows.

“Oh, right,” Hyunjin continues. “I have work now, though. Coffee shop duty.”

Seungmin finally blinks. “You work at the campus coffee shop?”

Hyunjin tilts his head. “Yeah! Didn’t I mention that before?”

“No,” Seungmin replies, too quickly. Then as if to make up for his quick reply he adds, “It’s our first time meeting.” 

Jeongin smirks. “You work with charcoal and coffee? That’s a lot of mess for one person.”

Hyunjin pouts, holding up his fingers, still smudged with charcoal dust. “I know, right? My hands are permanently stained at this point.” Then, turning back to Jisung, he grins. “Come with me?”

Jisung frowns. “What?”

“You love coffee,” Hyunjin says easily. “And I don’t like walking alone.” Then, in a sing-song voice, he adds, “Minho's Stopping by later, by the way.”

Jisung stiffens.

Hyunjin grins. “He told me to find you, actually.”

Jisung groans. “Of course he did. What does he want?”

Hyunjin shrugs. “No idea. He just said I’d probably find you sulking somewhere.”

Jeongin laughs while Jisung scowls. “I’m not sulking.”

“You were screaming into the table like a second ago,” Seungmin points out, still slightly dazed.

Hyunjin gasps, dramatic as ever. “Oh, was it about Minho? Are you finally confessing?”

Jisung nearly chokes on air. “What? No!” Then he processes the words being said to him and he starts again, and since when did everyone start thinking we like each other?”

“Oh Sung…” Hyunjin coos. “You guys are gonna kill me, the both of you.”

Jeongin snickers.

And just like that, Jisung groans. “Ugh. Fine.” He stands, grabbing his bag. “You’re the worst.”

Hyunjin beams. “I know!”

As Jisung reluctantly lets Hyunjin drag him away, he doesn’t miss the way Seungmin is still staring after them, eyes locked on Hyunjin like he’s processing something very concerning.

And as soon as they’re gone, Jeongin turns to Seungmin with the smuggest expression ever.

“Oh my god,” he says, drawing out the words.

Seungmin looks at him, dazed. “What?”

Jeongin grins. “You totally have a crush on Hyunjin.”

Seungmin scoffs, turning away. “I don’t.”

“You so do,” Jeongin teases. “You literally forgot how to speak when he looked at you. I’ve never seen you act like that.”

Seungmin huffs, trying to look unaffected. “He’s just… loud.”

Jeongin smirks. “And pretty.”

Seungmin doesn’t respond.

The coffee shop is warm, thick with the scent of roasted beans and vanilla syrup, soft jazz curling in the corners of the room. The low murmur of conversation blurs into the hum of the espresso machine. Jisung steps inside with Hyunjin, hands buried in the folds of his hoodie, eyes flicking across the room with no real intention—until they catch on something that stops him cold.

Minho.

Corner table. Sketchbook open, pencil in motion. He doesn’t look up. His brow is drawn in faint concentration, the tip of his tongue just barely pressed to his lower lip. There’s a stillness to him that unsettles Jisung, like he belongs to a quieter world entirely.

Hyunjin nudges him. “He’s here,” he says, too lightly. “Come on.”

Jisung hesitates. But Hyunjin is already pulling him toward the table, leaving no room for retreat.

Minho glances up as they approach, gaze cutting clean through the noise. The sketchbook closes in one smooth motion, tucked under his arm without ceremony.

“You’re late,” he says, eyes shifting lazily to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin shrugs, unbothered. “He dragged his feet,” he says, nodding toward Jisung. “Didn’t want to come.”

Jisung’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t get a word out before Minho speaks again.

“Hm,” he hums, gaze settling on Jisung. “That’s surprising. I thought I had a fan.”

There’s something unreadable in his voice—dry, edged with amusement, but quiet. Controlled.

Jisung stiffens. “Excuse me?”

Minho leans forward, resting his chin against the heel of his hand. His eyes flicker with something sharp. “You wrote a song,” he says. “About me, wasn’t it?”

Hyunjin lets out a short, delighted breath. “Wait. Seriously?”

“You already knew,” Jisung mutters.

“Yeah, but it’s funnier hearing you squirm.”

Minho’s lips curl, slow. “You could’ve just asked,” he says. “I would’ve posed.”

Jisung sinks into the chair across from him, jaw tight. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” Minho says, almost gently. “If I’m your muse, I’d say we’re past that.”

Hyunjin’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, already stepping back. “Gotta work,” he says. “You want anything?”

Jisung shakes his head.

And then it’s just them. The table between them feels too small.

There’s a silence. Not awkward—something heavier. Familiar.

Minho’s voice cuts through it, low. “What kind of song is it?”

Jisung doesn’t look at him. “Just… a song.”

Minho doesn’t press, but the silence shifts. Waits.

Jisung glances up, and Minho’s watching him—really watching. He looks calm, but there’s tension in the line of his mouth.

“You’re not going to tell me,” Minho says, more statement than question.

“No.”

Minho exhales through his nose. “Fine,” he says, sitting back. “Then I’m not showing you what I draw.”

Jisung frowns. “What—why not?”

Minho tilts his head. “It’s personal.”

“So is the song.”

“Exactly.” He pauses. “And you’re the one who doesn’t want to share.”

Jisung bites the inside of his cheek. His fingers drum quietly on the edge of the table. “Do you always deflect like this?”

Minho lets the question hang. Then: “Only when it matters.”

Jisung looks at him. Really looks. “So it matters?”

Minho’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes softens, just a fraction. “Maybe.”

The silence returns, heavier this time. Charged.

Then Minho leans forward again, voice low. “You want to see it?” he asks, tapping the sketchbook. “It’s a trade.”

Jisung swallows. “I’m not giving you the song.”

Minho nods, unsurprised. “Then I guess you’ll never know.”

“That’s unfair.”

“It’s honest.”

Jisung glares at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Minho murmurs, “You wrote a song about me.”

Jisung opens his mouth, then closes it again. He leans forward, tired, eyes flicking toward the sketchbook.

Minho sees it.

Without a word, he flips it open—just an inch, just enough to reveal a glimpse of a face rendered in pencil.

Jisung’s breath hitches.

Then the sketchbook shuts again with a soft snap.

Minho doesn’t smile this time. “Drink something,” he says. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not,” Jisung lies, voice too thin.

Minho lets it go. His hand rests near Jisung’s on the table—close, but not quite touching. “Tell me when you're ready,” he says, quiet. “I’ll wait.”

Jisung drops his gaze.

He doesn't answer. But he doesn’t move away either.

Jisung stares at the older through his eyelashes. “Hyung…” Minho’s eyes drift to him and he stares at the younger's doe eyes, “what do you draw?” He almost whispers.

Sighing he leans forward too, feline eyes and that lazy smirk on his face.

Minho holds Jisung’s gaze, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. He tilts his head slightly, as if considering the question, before answering in a slow, deliberate drawl.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Jisung groans, flopping back in his chair. “That’s why I asked, dumbass.”

Minho chuckles, clearly enjoying himself far too much. He reaches for his coffee, taking a slow sip as if he has all the time in the world. Jisung watches him impatiently, lips pressed into a pout.

The air outside is cooler now, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the campus in golden light. Jisung shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket as he and Minho walk side by side, the warmth of the coffee shop still lingering in his skin.

Minho, of course, looks completely at ease. Hands in his coat pockets, shoulders relaxed, an infuriatingly smug expression still playing at the corner of his lips.

Jisung, on the other hand, is a mess.

The whole time they were sitting in the café, Minho had been relentless—poking and prodding, teasing him mercilessly. And now, even as they walk, he can still feel Minho’s gaze flicking toward him, like he’s waiting for something.

It makes Jisung nervous.

“So,” Minho finally says, voice light but expectant. “Are you gonna let me hear it or what?”

Jisung stumbles mid-step. “H-Hear what?”

Minho side-eyes him. “Don’t play dumb, Hannie. The song.”

Jisung’s throat goes dry. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Minho lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

Jisung clenches his jaw, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He knows Minho won’t let this go. He knows that if he keeps pushing, Jisung is going to crack.

And sure enough—

Minho sighs, tilting his head dramatically. “Guess I’ll just have to keep wondering, then. Shame, really. I was looking forward to hearing how you serenade me.”

Jisung groans, heat rising to his cheeks. “It’s not a serenade, you ass—”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Minho hums.

Jisung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. He hates this. He hates how Minho gets under his skin so easily, how he teases him so effortlessly, like it’s nothing.

But more than that—he hates how much he wants to let him hear it.

Because as much as he’s embarrassed, as much as he wants to pretend the song isn’t the most painfully obvious love confession in existence…

It’s for Minho.

And some part of Jisung wants Minho to know.

He stops walking. Minho takes another step before noticing and turns back, raising an eyebrow.

Jisung takes a deep breath. “…Fine.”

Minho blinks. “Fine what?”

Jisung crosses his arms, glaring at the ground. “I’ll play it for you. At the studio.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then—

Minho grins.

Jisung immediately regrets everything.

Jisung’s hands tremble slightly as he presses play. The studio fills with sound—the soft, familiar melody of Close, his own voice spilling from the speakers.

Minho is quiet.

Jisung doesn’t turn around. He can’t. 

The lyrics are too much, too revealing, too honest. Every word laced with a yearning he’s never been able to say out loud.

“Will you tell me about yourself? You, who was seen from afar, I don't want to just watch without doing anything. Yeah, just tell me about you"

Minho makes a sound. A sharp inhale.

Jisung’s heart stops.

The song plays on, the confession laid bare in every note, in every breath.

“I still don't know anything about you, but I'll get to know you slowly and steadily, no matter how long it takes”

When the last line fades into silence, the room feels thick—charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

Jisung swallows hard, forcing himself to turn.

Minho is frozen.

His lips are parted slightly, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles are white. His entire face is flushed, and his eyes—

His eyes are wild.

Jisung panics.

“…Hyung?” His voice is small.

Minho doesn’t respond at first. He just stares at Jisung, something unreadable in his expression. Like he’s trying to process, like he’s trying to breathe.

Then, finally—

“You—” Minho swallows, voice rough. “You actually wrote this about me?”

Jisung gulps, dragging a hand down his face. “I—yeah. I did.”

Minho exhales sharply, like the confirmation just hit him. He leans back against the couch, blinking rapidly. “That’s a love song.”

“I know,” Jisung says.

Minho laughs—breathless, disbelieving. His hand runs through his hair, tugging slightly at the strands. His entire posture is tense, like he’s fighting something.

Jisung watches, unsure whether he should be scared or amused.

Then, without warning, Minho moves.

He surges forward, pushing Jisung back against the couch, his hands bracing on either side of Jisung’s thighs.

Jisung’s breath catches.

Minho is close.

Too close.

His face is hovering just inches away, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, and the heat radiating off of him is suffocating.

Jisung forgets how to breathe.

Minho’s gaze flickers to his mouth.

Jisung swallows. “H-Hyung…?”

Minho doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He just stays there, eyes dark and hungry, his fingers curling slightly against the couch cushion.

Jisung feels his own body reacting, feels his own breath come quicker. He can hear Minho’s breathing too—shaky, uneven.

This is dangerous.

This is insane.

This is—

Minho’s lips crash against his.

Jisung gasps, the sound swallowed instantly as Minho kisses him, deep and desperate, like something in him just snapped.

Jisung barely has time to process before his body reacts on instinct—hands gripping Minho’s hoodie, pulling him closer.

Minho groans into the kiss, tilting his head, pressing in harder. He tastes like coffee and something warm, something intoxicating. His fingers dig into Jisung’s thigh, his body pressed against him, heat searing through every inch of contact.

Jisung is burning.

It’s too much, too fast, too intense—but he doesn’t stop. He can’t.

Minho’s mouth moves against his with a hunger that makes Jisung’s head spin, makes his fingers tighten in Minho’s hoodie, makes his entire body shiver.

Suddenly, Minho jerks back.

His eyes are wide, his chest heaving. His lips are swollen, red, and he looks terrified.

Jisung is dazed, barely able to think past the pounding in his skull. “Hyung—”

Minho scrambles off him, stumbling back like he just touched fire. His breathing is ragged, his expression wild with panic.

“I—” He shakes his head, backing up toward the door. “I have to go.”

Jisung blinks. “What—”

But Minho is already turning, already reaching for the handle with shaking hands.

Then he runs.

The door slams shut behind him.

Jisung just sits there, stunned.

His lips still tingle. His body still burns.

And Minho is gone.

Minho is freaking out.

His feet move on autopilot, carrying him anywhere but the studio, anywhere but near Jisung. His hands are still shaking. His lips still feel—

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, dragging both hands through his hair.

What the fuck did he just do?

He kissed Jisung.

Jisung, who wrote a love song about him.

Jisung, who looked so wrecked under him.

Jisung, who kissed him back.

Minho stops walking, pressing his forehead against the nearest wall. His heart is beating so fast it hurts.

This was not supposed to happen.

He was just teasing, just pushing, just playing their usual game. But then Jisung had looked at him like that, had sung those lyrics, had practically handed Minho his heart on a silver platter—

And Minho had lost it.

His body had moved before his brain, had given in to something he’s been pretending didn’t exist.

And it had felt so fucking good.

And that’s the problem.

Minho exhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut. He needs to think. He needs to breathe. He needs to run away a little longer.

Before he does something even stupider.

The next day, Jisung doesn’t go to his classes. He feels too much, too much to do as much as leave his room. When he arrived back home yesterday, his roommates had tried to talk to him but he said he wasn’t in the mood and completely shut them off.

Whenever he remembers their kiss his breath still comes in uneven gasps, his lips tingling, his entire body buzzing from the heat of what just happened.

Minho kissed him.

And then Minho ran.

Jisung groans, rolling around his bed. “What the fuck?”

It was just teasing. It was always just teasing. Right?

Then why—why did Minho look at him like that? Why did he kiss him like that? And why the hell did he look so terrified afterward?

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, trying to piece everything together. But his brain is a mess, looping the same few seconds over and over again.

The press of Minho’s body.

The way his hands trembled against Jisung’s thighs.

The way he had moaned into the kiss.

Jisung groans again, flopping onto his back, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers.

What the hell is he supposed to do now?

Jisung is pissed.

Not at Minho. 

Okay, maybe a little at Minho. But mostly at himself.

He should’ve known better. He should’ve expected this. Minho never reacts the way Jisung wants him to.

And yet the way Minho kissed him… that wasn’t fake. That wasn’t teasing. That wasn’t a game.

So why the hell did he run?

Jisung glares at the door.

Fine. If Minho wants to run, he can run.

But Jisung will find him.

And when he does, Minho is going to explain himself.

The next day Jisung storms into the dance building looking for the older. He checks in all the classrooms he knows Minho has classes, but no sight of him. It’s fine, Jisung is not about to give up.

He deserves an explanation.

Frustrated, he then goes to the art building. He needs to find Hyunjin. He is rather surprised when he finds Seungmin at the entrance.

“Seungmin?” He asks. “What- why are you here?”

“I’m…” he starts, “Well-“

“Seungminnie! Sorry for keeping you waiting, I had to wash the paint out of my hands!” Hyunjin rambles, “Thanks for waiting- Oh sung!!” He smiles, then he catches the annoying look on the other’s face and the smile disappears. “Why are you mad?”

“Hyung.” Jisung simply says. “Where is he, Hyunjin? Where is hyung?” 

Hyunjin sighs, “What did he do?”

“He owes me an explanation.” Jisung says, hand running over his hair in frustration. “He fucked up.”

Hyunjin looks puzzled. “How come?”

“How come?” Jisung huffs. “Have you spoken to him lately, Hyunjin?”

“Yes I saw him yesterday.” Hyunjin replies. “He said he would go home to visit his parents.”

Jisung gasps. You have got to be kidding with me. “He- He is in Gimpo?” He asks, hands fidgeting. Seungmin is quick to catch this.

“Sung… what happened?” He asks, stare still stuck on the other’s hands.

“What happened?” He repeats. “What happened was that we made a deal. I showed him my song and he-“ kissed me and ran, “didn’t- didn’t show me his drawings and left.”

“That’s… that’s it?” Seungmin asks, while Hyunjin gasps next to him.

“He was going to show you his notebook?” He almost yells. “Damn Sung, that’s- He never shows it to anyone.”

Jisung glares. “He didn’t.” He snaps. “He didn’t show me anything and he ran and-“ taking a deep breath he takes a step back. “If you see him, tell him to act like an adult and come find me. He-“ his voice becomes shaky, he hates this. “He needs to explain himself and he better- better be honest and drop his fucking attitude.” 

Hyunjin looks at him with something he can’t understand. “I will talk to him, I promise Jisung.”

“Good,” nodding his head he feels tears threatening to leave his eyes, “thank you.”

Turning away, Seungmin looks at Hyunjin. 

“You weren’t mad? Minho is your best friend, he said some pretty hard stuff.”

Hyunjin laughs. “I love Minho hyung, and I would defend him against everything. But this…” he sighs, “I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know when it comes to facing his feelings? To face Jisung? Jisung deserves that explanation.”

Seungmin hums. “You’re a very good friend.”

Hyunjin’s shy smile is beautiful, intertwining his fingers with the younger’s he then asks, “Take me to work?”

Seungmin squeezes his hand back. “Of course.”

A week goes by and nothing. Jisung kept checking his phone but nothing. No calls, no texts, no attempt at talking to him. 

He keeps seeing Hyunjin on campus, lately a lot with Seungmin. He still needs what that is about. Jeongin and Felix said last time he went out with them he was on the phone the whole time texting the older. 

Clearly something is going on between them but Seungmin never budges, even with all the teasing. Sure he gets flustered, but he stays silent.

And that’s weird, because Seungmin is never silent.

And Hyunjin? He has tried talking to him but he says he doesn’t know either. They hangout a lot but nothing happens. He stopped asking when last time Hyunjin ended up describing it as the same as it is with you and Minho.

Of course, he immediately regretted saying it and apologized to the younger. Still, it hurt like a bitch. 

Minho just vanished since their kiss and left no trace. It does make him feel a little better to know he hasn’t talked with Hyunjin too. Apparently when he had informed he would be visiting his hometown, it was the last conversation between the two friends.

Jisung isn’t sure what he feels. He knew he was mad and hurt but now? He is just disappointed. 

And pissed. Fuck he is so so pissed at him. 

Sighing, he keeps zoning out while watching TV. 

“Sung,” Chan calls. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a bitch.” He states, hands playing with the remote. Out of his friends, only his roommates are aware of what happened. 

Changbin was pissed, ready to go to Gimpo and kill Minho for hurting Jisung like this. However, Chan was quick to interfere and calm down the other boy’s rage. 

His friends would do anything for Jisung. 

Changbin would kill for him. Chan would die for him. 

“He hasn’t said anything yet?” He asks.

“Hyung, what does it look like?” He snorts. “Clearly I’m very happy. Peachy, breezy.”

“What can I do?” Chan sighs, sitting next to him on the couch. “How can I help Sung?”

The younger shrugs. “I don’t know, you can punch Minho.” Drawing a laugh from the other he feels arms wrapping around him and pulling him in for a hug.

Sighing, Jisung hugs back, his head hiding on the older’s chest. 

“Did you give your song to the teacher?” This makes him go rigid on the older’s hold. “I- I know that this is what triggered all this, but the song was good. You finished your assignment, and the song is really really good.”

“I-“ stuttering, he holds onto the other tighter. “I can’t do it. It- the song ruined everything.”

“Sung-“

“Hyung, he ran.” His voice comes out all shaky. “He heard it, smiled, kissed me and then ran away.” It hurts to remember it. 

“But the song was made based on what he made you feel. Jisung you love him-“

“No.” Jisung stops. “God don’t say that. I can’t do that.” He says, voice filled with hurt. “I need to move on. The song- the song was good but- it’s ruined now.”

“Oh sung-“

Sighing he removes his head from where it hid on the other’s chest. “It was a love song, but now? It hurts to listen to it, Chan.” The older looks at him, concerned evident in his eyes. “It’s just another sad song.” 

As he notices the younger’s shiny eyes filling with tears, he immediately hugs him tighter. Jisung cries for the rest of the night.

It takes almost two full weeks for it to finally happen. 

It’s Monday and Jisung is just about to leave his morning class when two hands grab at his waist, pulling him aside.

He feels his smell first. The dark coffee cologne he loves so much mixed with the smell of nicotine and weed. 

He notices his grey sweatpants and sneakers first, then his black sportive jacket and the hands at his waist covered by the sleeves of it. 

“Hannie.”

That sweet voice, that nonchalant tone he loves so much now filled with some fake confidence. Worry. 

That’s a first. 

He looks up and there he is. Feline dark brown eyes stare down at him, black hair becoming longer and all messy, that defined nose with a mole on it and those cupid pink lips becoming shining as he runs his tongue over them. 

He is nervous. 

Good. He should be.

“I’m… do you wanna talk?” He asks, voice uncertain.

Jisung laughs, scoffing in disbelief. “Do- Do I wanna talk?” He repeats. “Are you being serious hyung?”

“I’m-“

“No.” Jisung cuts him off. “No Minho, I don’t wanna talk.” He says. “I’m so- so fucking pissed at you!” His arms come up to remove the other’s hands from around his waist. 

He hates the way the other’s eyes become sad. He hates that he misses the warmth of his hands around him already. But-

“Jisung,” Minho sighs, “don’t be like that…”

“Are you for real?” Jisung asks, trying his best to keep his voice hushed in the busy hallway. “Don’t be like that? Minho you- you fucking kissed me and ran away!” He yells. “And then you disappear for two weeks and don’t say anything, don’t even try to call me, send a message and now you’re saying for me to not be like this?” 

Minho stays silent, eyes still looking at him. “I was scared-“

“Yeah, so was I!” Jisung yells, drawing the attention of a few students. Huffing, he grabs the older by the wrist and drags him to the nearest empty classroom he can find. He is quick to push him in and close the door behind them. 

“I’m so-“ he starts, voice failing. He feels so much right now. “You were a fucking idiot.” He says.

Minho looks at him, eyes widened. “There’s no need to call me names.” He says.

“No there is.” Jisung argues. “You were an idiot. You left me alone and it- do you have any idea how I felt? You ran Minho!” He yells. “You ran and left me here worried that I had done something wrong when you were the one who kissed me!”

“Jisung-“ Minho starts again.

“You kissed me!” Jisung repeats. “You kissed me. And then you acted as if I was the one who had crossed the line! Who had read it all wrong between us!” He feels all his anger come back. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“You wrote me a fucking love song Jisung!” Minho yells back. This makes Jisung stop, look at him confused. 

“What- So what?!?” He yells back. “That doesn’t justify this!”

“Yes it does!” The other says. “You followed me around like a puppy and claimed me as your muse!” 

“You accepted it! And I didn’t follow you like a puppy!”

“You never said you were gonna write a love song!”

Silence falls between them.

“What-“ The younger stutters. “That’s what this is about?”

“Fuck! Yes- No!” The older ruffles his hair in despair. “I don’t fucking know! You- Jisung, it’s a love song!” He repeats. “I am allowed to fucking freak out after that! We’ve known each other for little more than a month and only recently became closer !” Minho says. “I f-freaked out!” He stutters. “It was… too much.”

“Too much?” Jisung asks. “Hyung, I would have understood that! I would understand your shock but you- then why did you kiss me?”

“I don’t know-“

“No! You have to know!” Jisung interrupts. “I know I should have told you sooner what the song was about but I was scared! I was scared something would happen- I was scared this would happen, because I didn’t want to lose you.” He admits, his voice becoming a whisper at the end.

Minho looks at him, his own eyes becoming glassy. “Lose me? Jisung you never had me!” It leaves his lips before he can even think about it.

Jisung freezes.  

He stops breathing for a second, his mind racing to process what Minho just said. 

You never had me. 

It rings in his ears, louder than the chatter in the hallway, louder than his own rapid heartbeat. His hands curl into fists at his sides as he swallows down the lump forming in his throat.  

Minho looks just as shocked as he does, his lips parted as if he wants to take the words back. But it’s too late. 

They hang in the air between them, heavy and suffocating.  

Jisung lets out a breathless, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Wow.” He chuckles bitterly, running a hand through his hair. His throat burns. His chest aches. “That’s—wow. Okay.”  

“Hannie, I didn’t mean it like that,” Minho rushes to say, stepping closer, but Jisung flinches back.  

“No, you did.” he mutters. “You meant it.” He finally looks up, and Minho's breath catches at the sheer hurt in his eyes. “I never had you. That’s what you’re saying, right? That I was just… delusional this whole time?”  

Minho shakes his head. “No, that’s not—”  

“Then what, Minho? Because from where I’m standing, it really looks like you’re just trying to make me feel like an idiot for believing in something that you made me believe in.” Jisung's voice cracks at the end, and he hates it. He hates how vulnerable he sounds, how weak he feels. “You kissed me.” His voice is quieter now, almost broken. “You kissed me.”  

Minho closes his eyes, exhaling harshly. “I know,” he whispers. 

“Then why?” Jisung demands. His voice is desperate now, pleading for something—anything—to make this all make sense. “If I never had you, then why the fuck did you kiss me?”  

Minho stays silent.  

That silence is what breaks Jisung completely.  

He lets out a shaky breath, his vision blurring as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill. “You know what?” He steps back, nodding slowly as if he’s coming to terms with something. “You’re a fucking coward.”  

Minho's head snaps up, eyes wide. “Jisung—”  

“No.” His voice is firm, cutting through the air like a knife. “You’re a coward, Minho. You kissed me, you made me feel everything, and then you ran. And instead of owning up to it, instead of explaining yourself, you come here weeks later and act like I’m the one overreacting?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to decide when this conversation happens, or how I should feel about it.”  

Minho clenches his jaw, looking away. “I never meant to hurt you,” he mutters.  

Jisung lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Well, congrats,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You did anyway.”  

Minho opens his mouth to respond, but Jisung doesn’t give him the chance.

“I’m done.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but it feels final. The weight of those two words sinks deep into Minho’s chest, suffocating.  

Jisung steps past him, hand on the door handle. “Don’t—” His voice wavers, and he pauses to steady himself before continuing. “Don’t come looking for me when you finally decide what you want.”  

“Jisung plea-“

“Don’t you dare.” Jisung warns, his cheeks wet with tears. “Don’t you dare say it. Don’t you dare begging me to listen to you.” His hands come up to clean the tears. “You had two weeks to figure something out, Minho. Two weeks.”

“I know.” Minho almost whines. It hurts to listen.

And then he’s gone, leaving Minho alone in the empty classroom, drowning in the mess he made.

Minho doesn’t move.

He stands there, frozen in place, staring at the door Jisung just walked out of.

His heart is still racing, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. His mind replays everything—Jisung’s voice breaking, the look in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped right before he left. You’re a fucking coward.

Minho swallows hard, forcing his breath to steady, but it’s no use. His chest is tight, the weight of his own words crushing him.

You never had me.

Why did he say that? Why the fuck did he say that?

It wasn’t true. It wasn’t even close to being true. Jisung had him—had him so completely that it scared him. That stupid song, those soft glances, the way Jisung always looked at him like he mattered—it had been too much. Too much, too soon. 

Minho didn’t know what to do with it. He still doesn’t.

But none of that matters now, because Jisung is gone. And Minho let him go.

His legs finally move, but all he does is sink into one of the empty desks, burying his face in his hands. His palms are cold, but his skin is burning. His head is pounding.

The thing is, Minho has spent his whole life keeping people at arm’s length. It’s easier that way. Safer. Feelings complicate things. Feelings make everything messy.

But Jisung had stormed into his life like a fucking hurricane, tearing through all his carefully built walls before Minho even had a chance to reinforce them.

And Minho—like the idiot he is—had let him.

And then he ran.

Of course he ran. That’s what he always does. That’s what he’s good at.

But Jisung had been right. Minho had kissed him first. He was the one who took that step, who closed the space between them, who pressed his lips to Jisung’s like he’d been dying to for weeks.

And then he panicked. Because it felt real.

Because it was real.

And that’s why it was so much easier to say something cruel than to admit the truth.

Because the truth is, Minho is scared. Scared of how much Jisung means to him. Scared of how much he wants him.

And now, he’s scared that he’s lost him for good.

He exhales sharply, leaning back against the chair, staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answers he doesn’t have. His throat feels tight. His eyes sting.

He wants to go after Jisung. Wants to grab his wrist like Jisung had grabbed his, pull him back, and take it all back. Tell him that yes, it was too much, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t want it. That he’s just a fucking idiot who doesn’t know how to deal with emotions properly.

But he doesn’t.

Because he’s a coward.

Just like Jisung said.

And the worst part?

Jisung isn’t going to wait for him to figure it out.

Chapter Text

Minho exhales, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling before dissolving into nothing. His body is heavy against the couch, limbs slack, mind hazy. He takes another slow drag, letting the burn settle in his chest before releasing it in a long breath.  

His apartment is dimly lit, curtains drawn even though it’s barely past noon. The coffee table is cluttered with empty beer cans, an ashtray overflowing with half-burnt joints and cigarette butts. It’s a mess, but he doesn’t care.  

He hasn’t cared about much lately.  

Jisung hasn’t spoken to him since that day. No texts. No calls. Not even a glance in his direction when they pass each other in the halls. Minho tells himself he should be relieved—less drama, less confrontation—but all he feels is this gnawing, suffocating emptiness.  

His phone buzzes somewhere in the mess of blankets beside him, but he ignores it. He already knows who it is. Hyunjin has been trying to reach him all week, and Minho’s been doing everything he can to avoid him.  

Unfortunately, Hyunjin isn’t one to take the hint.  

The front door swings open without warning, and Minho doesn’t even flinch. He just sighs, taking another hit as Hyunjin steps inside, closing the door behind him.  

“Jesus Christ.” Hyunjin wrinkles his nose, waving a hand in front of his face as if that’ll do anything against the thick haze of smoke in the room. “It smells like a fucking dispensary in here.”  

Minho doesn’t respond, just leans his head back against the couch and exhales.  

Hyunjin walks over, shoving some empty cans aside before sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just watches Minho with narrowed eyes.  

“You look like shit,” he finally says.  

“Thanks,” Minho mutters, voice rough from the smoke. “Really needed to hear that.”  

Hyunjin sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Hyung, what the fuck are you doing?”

Minho doesn’t answer.  

“Seriously.” Hyunjin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve been holed up in here all week, getting high out of your mind, ignoring everyone. This isn’t normal, man.”  

Minho lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? Well, guess I’m not feeling very normal right now.”  

Hyunjin watches him carefully. “This is about Jisung.”  

The name alone makes Minho’s stomach twist, but he keeps his expression blank. “It’s not.”  

Hyunjin scoffs. “Bullshit.”  

Minho glares at him, but Hyunjin doesn’t back down.  

“You fucked up, didn’t you?” he continues. “You said something stupid, and now you don’t know how to fix it.”  

Minho clenches his jaw, looking away.  

Hyunjin sighs again, softer this time. “Minho. I get it, okay? Feelings are fucking terrifying. But you can’t just sit here and pretend this doesn’t matter to you.”  

Minho doesn’t respond, but the way his fingers tighten around the joint gives him away. 

Hyunjin leans forward. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to do,” he says. “But if you don’t figure your shit out soon, you’re gonna lose him. And I don’t think you want that.”  

Minho swallows hard, staring at the floor.  

He doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t.  

“Jinnie.” He calls, the other humming back. “What if- what if it’s already too late?”

Hyunjin looks at him with soft eyes. “Minho hyung… there’s only one way to find out.” 

Minho knows it too.

“You need to eat.” Felix says, dropping a sandwich in front of Jisung.”

“I’m working.” Han answers, pushing the sandwich aside to keep working on the computer.

“Sung.” The other’s voice is stern. “Eat. You’ve been working for the past three days and you barely leave the studio.” He says. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I had coffee two hours ago.” Jisung informs, eyes never leaving the screen. 

“Eat or I’ll call Changbin hyung.”

This makes him stop. “You wouldn’t…”

“Try me.” Felix challenges.

Huffing in annoyance, Jisung saves his work one last time before turning off the computer and grabbing the food. Once he bites the sandwich, his eyes close in delight. 

Fuck, he was hungry.

Turning around he faces the other. “Thank you Felix and, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah yeah.” Felix sighs. “Still not talking to each other?” Jisung notices the hesitation on his voice when he asks this, like he is scared of his answers.

Jisung can’t help but snort. “Also not talking to you Lix.” 

“Sungie…”

“Lixie.” Jisung calls back, taking another bite from his sandwich.

“You should talk to him.”

“No. No Lix-“ Jisung sighs. “He fucking hurt me. It hurts to talk about him, to think about him. It hurts.” He repeats. 

“Sungie but this is not healthy either! You will just keep avoiding him when you see him in the hallways or at Hyunjin’s work?” Felix asks. “What about in the class you two have.”

“Yes!” He yells. “Yes, because I’m done. I’m done running after him, chasing him wherever he goes.”

You followed me around like a puppy

Minho’s words ring in his ears and he feels tears building behind his eyelids. 

“Sung but- I know.” He says. “I know he hurt you, I know he was rude and I understand, I swear I do, that you’re mad. You want to move on.” He doesn’t. He can’t move on. “But you guys need closure.”

Jisung looks at him. “Closure? Fuck that I need him to own up to his mistakes and apologize for being a bitch.” 

“That’s called closure.” Felix points out. “I agree, he should be the one stepping up but clearly he has issues!”

“Well so do I!” Jisung screams, scaring the other a little. “I also have issues Felix! I have lots of them, I have anxiety, I am scared of meeting people, I don’t know how to process my feelings and I- I still would have never, ever said the things he did.” He takes a deep breath. “I want closure, I do. But he will be the one talking to me.” 

“Sungie…” he hates that he can hear the pettiness in the other’s voice. He hates it so much. He feels like a kid again. “Can’t you see it?” Felix asks

“See what?” He asks. 

“How similar you two are.” 

Jisung doesn’t say anything. 

The next day Jisung decides to meet Hyunjin at his work. He’s about to enter the cafe when someone steps out.

Feline eyes stare back into his doe eyes.  

Jisung freezes, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, neither of them move. They just stand there, staring at each other, both caught off guard.  

Minho looks… tired. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, dark circles forming under them. His black hoodie is slightly oversized, sleeves covering half of his hands, his sweatpants hanging a little too low on his hips. His hair is messy, slightly damp like he just ran his hands through it too many times in frustration.  

Jisung wants to ignore the way his stomach twists at the sight. He wants to ignore the way his heart clenches seeing Minho like this, looking almost as miserable as he’s felt.  

But he doesn’t care. He can’t care. Not after everything.  

Minho is the first to move, stepping back slightly to make space for him to pass. “Hey,” he says, voice quieter than Jisung remembers. Almost cautious.  

Jisung exhales sharply through his nose. He wants to keep walking, pretend he didn’t hear him, pretend Minho doesn’t exist. But his feet won’t move.  

“Jisung.” Minho tries again, voice a little firmer now. “Can we—”  

“No.” Jisung cuts him off before he can finish. His grip on his bag tightens. “We can’t.”  

Minho visibly flinches at the coldness in his tone, and for a split second, Jisung feels guilty. But then he remembers—he remembers all of it. The avoidance, the silence, the fucking words Minho threw at him like knives.  

You never had me

Jisung clenches his jaw. No. He won’t do this. Not again.  

He steps past Minho, brushing against his shoulder as he moves toward the entrance.

“Wait.” Minho’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jisung’s wrist before he can walk away.  

Jisung stops. His whole body tenses at the contact, heart slamming against his ribs. Minho’s hand is warm, just like it always is. It’s familiar. It’s painful.  

“Let go,” Jisung says, voice tight.  

“Please,” Minho whispers. His fingers flex around Jisung’s wrist like he’s afraid to let go. Like he’s afraid Jisung will disappear. “Just—just listen to me.”  

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing. “Why?”  

Minho swallows. “Because I—” He stops, inhaling sharply like he’s struggling to find the words.

Jisung wrenches his arm away. “You had time,” he spits, voice sharp like a blade. “Weeks to say something, anything. And now, suddenly, you want to talk?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “That’s not how this works, Minho.”  

“I know.” Minho looks at him, and there’s something raw in his expression. Something desperate. “I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. I just—” He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to fix this.”  

Jisung stares at him. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—maybe another excuse, another reason to push him away. But this? This feels like Minho is actually trying.  

But it doesn’t matter. It’s too late.  

“You can’t.” Jisung says simply. His voice is steady, even as his chest aches. “You can’t fix this.”

Minho looks at him like he wants to argue. Like he wants to reach out and grab him again. But he doesn’t.  

Jisung shakes his head, stepping back. His throat tightens, but he forces himself to keep going.

Minho’s face falls. His hands clench at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back. “Jisung—”  

“What?” He exhales. So tired.

“Are you… going to see Hyunjin?”

“We don’t have to do this Minho.” Jisung breathes out, exhaustion evident in his voice. 

“Oh.” Minho says. “Well, goodbye Hannie-“ 

But Jisung is already turning away. Already walking through the doors and leaving Minho standing there, alone, with nothing but the weight of his own mistakes. The nickname that used to melt his heart now just makes it ache.

As the door swings shut behind him, Jisung lets out a shaky breath, forcing himself to keep moving.  

Because if he stops—if he looks back—he knows he’ll break all over again.

“Sung!” Hyunjin greets happily and then- “Did you meet hyung? He just left?” 

Jisung sighs, “I did. Can you give me an extra large iced americano?” 

Hyunjin laughs. “Sure. How-“

“If someone else asks me how I’m doing I will kill someone.” Jisung interrupts.

Hyunjin’s lip purse. “Sorry. Here’s your coffee.”

“How- How is Minho?” Jisung asks after a while.

“Thought you didn’t want to know.” Hyunjin says back, the younger throwing him a glare.

“About me.” Jisung says. “I’m still mad at him but… even if I say it out loud, I don’t actually want him to hurt. Even if he deserves it…” he mutters at the end.

Hyunjin watches Jisung carefully, stirring his own drink before taking a slow sip. There’s a moment of quiet between them, the low hum of the café filling the space where words should be.

“You’re a good person, you know that?” Hyunjin finally says, voice softer than usual.  

Jisung scoffs, picking at the lid of his coffee cup. “I don’t feel like one.”  

“You are,” Hyunjin insists. “Even now, after everything, you still care.”  

Jisung exhales through his nose, leaning back against the chair. “Yeah, well, it’d be easier if I didn’t.” He taps his fingers against the side of his cup, eyes flickering down to the table. “I don’t want to care, Hyunjin. I don’t want to sit here and wonder if he’s okay, or if he’s eating properly, or if he’s getting enough sleep.” His grip tightens. “I don’t want to worry about someone who didn’t worry about me.”  

Hyunjin hums, nodding slowly. “But you do.”  

Jisung closes his eyes for a brief second before letting out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I do.”  

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything at first, just watches him with that knowing look that makes Jisung feel a little too exposed. Then he sighs, setting his drink down. “Look, I don’t know all the details. But I do know Minho.” He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “He’s a stubborn idiot, but he’s not heartless. If he’s like this, it means he’s probably been feeling just as shitty as you.”

Jisung shakes his head. “That’s not my problem.”  

“I know,” Hyunjin says. “But you still asked.” 

Jisung opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He knows Hyunjin is right, and that just makes him more frustrated.  

Hyunjin sighs. “He’s not doing great, Sung. If you want the truth, he looked like shit when he left.”

Jisung’s stomach twists, but he says nothing.  

“He asked about you,” Hyunjin continues, watching for Jisung’s reaction. “Didn’t say much, but he wanted to know how you were. I think he wanted to stay, actually, but…” he shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. “I guess he thought you wouldn’t want that.”  

Jisung swallows around the lump in his throat. “He was right.”  

Hyunjin tilts his head, skeptical. “Was he?”  

Jisung looks away. “I don’t know,” he admits. His voice is quiet, barely audible over the noise of the café.  

Hyunjin watches him for a moment, then reaches out to nudge his arm. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now, Sung. Just… give yourself time.”  

Jisung exhales, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Time.” He takes a long sip of his coffee, letting the bitter taste ground him. “And maybe a few more of these.”  

Hyunjin laughs. “Don’t come crying to me when you get a caffeine overdose.”  

Jisung cracks a small smile. “I make no promises.”  

Laughing at the other Hyunjin then adds. “But he does care for you Sung.” He says.

“Really? It doesn’t seem like that at all.” He rolls his eyes.

“You know that’s not true.” Hyunjin says. “Look- Minho is my best friend. I don’t know everything that happened but I know most of it. And…” taking a deep breath he then continues, “He is miserable. He is out of control and I can’t- Jisung I can’t reach him.”

“Hyunjin-“

“I’m trying.” Hyunjin cuts off. “I’m trying but he won’t let me help him. He refuses to leave the house and keeps getting high out of his mind and I know.” He says. “I know you don’t own him anything and that he fucked up and most probably he doesn’t even deserve your forgiveness but Jisung-“ he stutters. “He is my best friend. He is my best friend and I need him to not give up.”

“Hyunjin hyung, I would do anything to help you.” Jisung says. “But talking to him? I’m not ready yet.”

“Okay.” Hyunjin says, his eyes watery. “I understand that but please, please Jisung. Let him talk to you because he will reach out to you again. He tried today and he will try again.” Taking a deep breath he continues, “and one time you’ll have to let him in. Because otherwise it will kill you both.”

“Okay.” Huffing out he runs his fingers through his curly hair. “I will give him one last chance. I will listen to him,” Hyunjin’s eyes light up at this, “but… I’m not obliged to accept his apology.”

“Yes, yes of course!” Hyunjin says. “I- Thank you Jisung, I know this is a really selfish thing to ask…”

Jisung shakes his head. “Not selfish.” He disagrees. “You said it yourself, he is your best friend. I’d do the same thing for mine.” 

Hyunjin smiles at him. “Thanks… anyways,” shaking his head he then looks at Jisung, “let’s change the subject.”

“Gladly,” the younger snorted, "so what's your deal with Seungmin?”

Hyunjin almost drops a glass to the floor.

“Let’s go to tomorrow’s party!” Changbin says as he shakes Jisung by the shoulders. 

“Fuck- Get off you’re hurting me!” Han yells, slapping the other’s hands.

“Calm down Sung, no need to be violent,” Chan smiles, “but come on! It’s been a while since we went out all together!” 

“Yeah!” Changbin agrees. “And you need to start doing something for fun!” 

“I don’t understand,” Jisung frowns, “we are always together.” Turning around he finds his two friends on the couch of their dorm, their eyes almost pleading.

“Come one Sung…” Changbin whines. “We can go with all the guys! Felix, Jeongin and Seungmin!”

“Yeah and I bet Seungmin would even bring Hyunjin with him.” Chan snorts. “I need to meet the guy now.”

Jisung’s stomach flips at this. “I don’t know… I mean nothing against Hyunjin but if he is coming maybe Minho will join and I’m-“ stuttering he stops.

“Not ready.” Chan finishes, a soft smile on his lips. “Look Sungie, I know you’re still not ready to face him but come on…” extending one of his legs out he starts poking Jisung’s one with his foot. 

Jisung looks at his foot before grabbing him by the ankle to remove it from him. “Don’t touch me with your feet, it’s still disgusting even if you’re not Changbin hyung.”

“Hey! Don’t be mean, I didn’t even do anything right now!” The other complains, arms up in frustration. “And I’ll let you know Felix thinks my feet are adorable.”

“Gross.” Both Chan and Han say at the same time, laughing after. 

“I miss my baby.” Changbin pouts. “I’m gonna go call him and you’ll see. He’ll love the idea of going out.” Before leaving he turns to Chan. “You keep trying to convince him.”

“Got it.” Chan says, thumbs up in encouragement. As soon as the other leaves the room, he turns to the younger. “Sit down, let’s talk.”

Jisung huffs out in annoyance. “I don’t want to talk-“

“It’s not about Minho.” Chan cuts him off. “I promise.” Patting down the place next to him on the couch, Jisung caves him and finally accepts the seat.

Fumbling with his fingers, Jisung keeps looking down. “What is it then?”

Chan shuffles around to face him. “I’m worried about you Jisungie.” He starts, slowly. 

Jisung swallows, fingers tightening around the hem of his sweater. “I’m fine.”  

Chan gives him a look. The kind that says, I know you’re full of shit, but I’m gonna let you keep talking anyway.  

Jisung sighs. “I mean it, hyung. I’m… managing.”  

Chan doesn’t look convinced. “You’re barely sleeping, you’re overworking yourself in the studio, and you avoid any mention of Minho like it’s the plague.” He pauses. “That doesn’t sound like managing to me.”  

Jisung scoffs, shaking his head. “What do you want me to say? That I miss him? That I still think about him even when I don’t want to? That I—” His voice catches, and he clamps his mouth shut.  

Chan softens. “Sungie…”  

“I don’t know how to stop.” Jisung whispers. “I don’t know how to stop caring about him.”  

Chan lets out a slow breath. “You don’t have to. Caring about someone doesn’t mean you have to forgive them right away.”  

Jisung frowns, looking up at him. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”  

Chan leans back against the couch, arms crossed. “You give yourself time. You figure out what you need, not what Minho needs, not what I need, not what anyone else wants from you.” He nudges Jisung’s knee with his own. “And maybe… you let yourself have a little fun in the meantime.”  

Jisung exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t know, hyung. A party just—”  

“Just what?” Chan tilts his head.  

Jisung hesitates. “What if I run into him?”  

Chan considers this for a moment. “Then you’ll deal with it. The same way you’ve been dealing with it all this time.” He offers a small smile. “And you won’t be alone. We’ll be there.”  

Jisung looks down at his hands, fingers twisting in his sleeves. The thought of seeing Minho again—seeing him somewhere loud and crowded, where there’s no avoiding him—makes his stomach twist.  

But at the same time… maybe he does need a break.  

Maybe, for one night, he can let himself breathe.  

“…Fine,” he finally mutters. “I’ll go.”  

Chan grins, clapping him on the back. “That’s my guy.”  

Jisung rolls his eyes but doesn’t fight the small smile tugging at his lips.  

Changbin suddenly enters the room. “Just talked with Lixie, everyone is in.” He grins.

“Okay then!” Chan smiles. “Tomorrow will be awesome.”

The party arrives faster than Jisung could’ve prepared for. Soon, all of his friends are outside the door ready to go in.

“Let’s have some fun!” Felix exclaims, his arms draped around his boyfriend’s who just smiles at him. The sight makes Jisung smile. 

Changbin and Felix have been dating for over two years now and they’re still so in love with each other. Jisung always hoped he’d find a love like theirs. Lately he’s not sure if he’s even lovable.

Shaking his head, he tries to free himself from those thoughts. 

Tonight it’s about having fun with his friends. That’s all. 

No Minho, no nothing. Just fun, and for a good while he manages to do that.

The party is in full swing, music pulsing through the walls as Jisung lets himself get lost in the energy of it all. The bass thrums under his feet, people dancing around him, laughter and voices blending together in a chaotic but strangely comforting blur.  

He hadn’t expected to actually enjoy himself. But with Changbin hyping up the music, Felix and Jeongin dragging him onto the dance floor, and Seungmin handing him a drink that was definitely stronger than it looked, he feels lighter than he has in weeks.  

The alcohol buzzes in his veins, loosening his limbs, making everything feel just a little funnier, a little easier to handle. Even when Hyunjin arrives, with Seungmin close behind him, Jisung doesn’t let his mood falter. He just grins, accepting the shot Hyunjin hands him, and lets himself enjoy the night.  

Until he needs air.  

The heat of the crowded house becomes overwhelming, the noise pressing in too much all at once. Jisung slips out the sliding glass doors and into the backyard, cool air washing over him in a relief he hadn’t realized he needed.  

The pool glows an inviting blue, reflecting the soft string lights hanging above. It’s quiet here, the muffled sound of the party still present but distant enough that he can breathe.  

He decides to sit by the pool, exhaling, he runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for just a moment—  

“I was wondering when I’d find you.”  

Jisung’s eyes snap open, body tensing before he even turns. He doesn’t have to see him to know who it is.  

Minho stands a few feet away, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, gaze steady.  

Jisung’s heart clenches. “What are you doing here?”  

Minho tilts his head slightly. “Didn’t know I needed an invitation.”  

“That’s not what I meant,” Jisung says, irritation flaring before he can stop it. He sighs, shaking his head. “Why are you here, Minho?”  

Minho doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a slow step forward, his face unreadable in the dim lighting.  

“I heard you were coming,” he says finally. “So I came too.”  

Jisung scoffs, a humorless sound. “Right. Sure.”  

Minho exhales through his nose, looking away for a moment. “I mean it.”  

Something about the way he says it makes Jisung pause. He studies him, searching for something—some kind of sign, some kind of proof that Minho isn’t just here to mess with him.

But all he finds is that same frustrating mix of familiarity and distance.  

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jisung says, his voice quieter now.  

“I know.” Minho’s gaze flickers to his, moving to seat by him at the pool. “But I did anyway.”  

Jisung swallows. His hands tighten into fists at his sides, like holding onto something will keep him steady.  

“This is weird,” he mutters.  

Minho huffs a small laugh, but it’s not really amused. “Yeah. It is.”  

They stand there in silence, the sounds of the party fading into the background. Jisung doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know why Minho is looking at him like that, or why his chest feels too tight, or why even now, after everything—  

He still wants to reach for him.  

Minho shifts, his expression unreadable. “Do you wanna talk?”  

Jisung lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what there is to talk about.”  

Minho nods, like he expected that. “Okay.”  

More silence.  

It’s frustrating. It’s confusing. It’s them.  

Jisung licks his lips, debating. Then, before he can stop himself, he says, “Did you actually come here for me?”  

Minho doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flickers to the water, then back to Jisung.  

“…Yeah.”  

Jisung’s breath catches. He doesn’t know what to do with that.  

Minho shifts, rolling his shoulders like he’s bracing himself. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just… I don’t know.” He lets out a soft, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “Guess I just wanted to see you.”  

Jisung exhales slowly. His head feels too full, too messy to think straight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s just Minho.  

He looks beautiful, but then again he always does. It’s just that today Minho looks different from usual.

He’s wearing oversized blue ripped jeans and a black leather jacket that accentuates his body frame perfectly. And his hair, usually a mess, is now partially tied up, framing his perfect face perfectly.

Jisung hates how beautiful he is, how his voice never fails to make his whole body vibrate with anxiety and curiosity, how his voice makes his heart both calm and fast. 

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to handle the way Minho is looking at him.  

So he does what he’s always done. He deflects.  

“Well,” he says, forcing a smirk, “you’ve seen me. Now what?”  

Minho huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”  

Jisung searches his face, and for just a moment—just a split second—he thinks he sees something real.

But it’s gone too fast to hold onto.  

Minho shifts again, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to do something but doesn’t know what.  

“Go back inside,” he says eventually. His voice is softer now. “Have fun with your friends.” 

Jisung furrows his brows. “What about you?”  

Minho hesitates, then offers a small, almost sad smile. “I think I got what I came for.”  

Jisung doesn’t know why that makes his chest ache. Minho starts getting up but he stops when he hears it.

“Min…” it’s so soft, gentle and fragile and all Jisung. The nickname slipping from his lips immediately affects Minho’s brain.

For all the times they were together, Jisung never called him by a nickname. No one does, not even Hyunjin. So you can only imagine how much he’s trying to keep his posture right now.

Because his first time having a nickname is by the person he now has the most complicating feelings for and keeps hurting without even trying.

“Hannie…” It’s almost like he’s calling his name out for help, and Jisung can hear him but doesn’t know how to help someone who can’t deal with people caring for him.

“Do you..” Jisung starts, “Uhm want to smoke a cigarette with me?” He doesn’t know why he is trying to prolong this interaction between them. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time since their kiss that they have a civilized conversation, where they both seem to finally understand and respect each other’s limits.

Or maybe it’s just because he missed Minho and he is dumb. He doesn’t really care right now, he’ll just call it a liquid courage.

Minho smiles down at him. “Sure.” 

Shoulders brushing against each other, Jisung takes from his pocket the pack of cigarettes and a lighter, giving one to the older. Their fingers brush against each other in the process and both of them realise how much they’ve craved being together again.

Familiar feline like smirk back on his lips, Minho takes the cigarette and waits for Jisung to finish lighting his own up. Then he expects the younger to just give him the lighter but it looks like he has different plans.

A small heart-shaped smile takes over his features as he lights up the lighter and waits for Minho to bring his cigarette there. 

The older snorts. “Looks like you learned something from me.”

Jisung joins in with a small laugh. “Oh you have no idea.” He then keeps staring at him and Minho avoids his gaze after a while.

God he missed Hannie so much. He can’t believe he let himself ruin this because of his crappy communication skills.

Shaking his head Minho looks back at him. “Maybe I have a little.”

The pool light reflects on the younger’s honey skin and his black curly hair. Jisung is beautiful.

Minho has always thought so. Even before knowing him, he knew who he was. His infatuation for the shy music prodigy was always there, it’s just that Jisung is not aware of it.

Minho might be Jisung’s muse, but Jisung? Jisung is the reason Minho would go to classes most days. Just to catch a glimpse of the musician.

He smiles at the memories, the amount of times he would catch Jisung around campus and watch him with mild curiosity. 

Maybe one day he will share this with the younger, maybe not. 

Jisung exhales, watching the smoke curl into the night air. He tries to focus on that—the way it dissipates, the way it fades into nothing—rather than the weight of Minho’s presence beside him. 

They sit in silence for a while, and it should be uncomfortable. It should be stifling. But it’s not. It’s just them, existing in this strange, complicated space they’ve built between themselves.

Minho takes a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoothly before speaking. “You still write?”

Jisung glances at him, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected that question. “Yeah,” he admits. “Not as much lately, though.”  

Minho hums, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “Why not?”  

Because of you. 

Jisung hesitates. He doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to admit that the reason he hasn’t been writing as much is sitting right next to him, cigarette between his fingers, looking unfairly beautiful under the dim glow of the string lights.  

Minho might have hurt him and ruined his song, but he doesn’t want to think about that now. 

This moment right now, this is the happiest and most at ease he has been since everything crumbled. He wants to enjoy this, isn’t that why he came to the party after all?

So he shrugs. “Dunno. Just… haven’t felt like it.”  

Minho makes a quiet sound, something like understanding. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. Just nods.  

Jisung should leave it at that. Should let the conversation drift into something safer, something easier.  

But maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way Minho is looking at him like that again—like he sees right through him, like he always does.  

So he takes a breath and says, “What about you?”  

Minho blinks. “What about me?”  

“You still dance?”  

There’s a beat of silence. 

 Then Minho huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Jisung smirks slightly, but it fades when Minho exhales, gaze flickering to the water.

“Not as much lately,” he admits.  

Jisung studies him. “Why not?”  

Minho doesn’t answer right away. He presses his lips together, rolling the cigarette between his fingers like he’s thinking.  

“Dunno,” he says eventually, echoing Jisung’s words from earlier. “Just… haven’t felt like it.”

Jisung exhales, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Fair enough.” 

Minho chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I walked into that one.”  

Jisung shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Seems like we both lost a little bit of ourselves, huh?”  

Minho stills. His fingers tighten around the cigarette, but he doesn’t say anything right away. 

Then, so softly Jisung almost doesn’t hear it, he says, “Yeah.”  

Jisung looks at him, and Minho looks back, and for a second—for just a second—there’s nothing but this. Nothing but the quiet understanding that neither of them have to say out loud.  

Jisung swallows. “Do you think we’ll find it again?”  

Minho tilts his head slightly, considering. “Maybe.”  

Jisung lets out a breath of a laugh. “That’s not very reassuring.”  

Minho smirks. “Well, I don’t know everything, Hannie.”  

Jisung’s breath catches. The nickname. Again.  

Minho doesn’t say it like it’s something new, like it’s something unfamiliar. He says it like it belongs to him, like it’s always belonged to him.  

Jisung looks away, pretending his face isn’t burning.  

Minho chuckles. “You always get quiet when you don’t know what to say.”  

Jisung scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And you always think you know everything.”  

Minho grins. “Maybe I do.”  

Jisung shakes his head, but he’s smiling, just a little.  

They fall into silence again, but it’s different this time. Lighter. Easier.  

And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough. For now.

“I should go…” Minho says, looking at the other after. 

“Oh.” Jisung mutters. “Is it because of me?

Minho can’t help but huff out a laughter. “No, it’s not because of you.” He reassures. “But you’re here with your friends and even though I like stealing you away a lot,” he smirks, the younger ducking his head down to try hiding the blush he feels rushing to his cheeks, “I don’t think they would like knowing you ditched them to be with me.”

Jisung looks up at him. “Hyung, you give yourself a lot of credit.” He tilts his head to the sides, his bangs coming to the side and he notices the way Minho follows the movement. 

“Maybe…” his hand come up to push back the hair, but then he remembers everything. Where they’re at, their current situation, and puts it down. 

Something passes by the younger’s eyes. Maybe realization of the same thing. 

It must be, right?

“I should go-“

“You should go-“ 

They both say at the same time, eyes widening up in surprise at this. 

Minho feels his ears burning up. Freaking out he clears his throat before getting up.

Jisung shakes his head so as to bring himself back from whatever headspace he was just in. He too moves to get back on his legs.

“So…” he starts.

“So.” Minho repeats. “I’ll see you around Jisung-ah”.

Jisung smiles. “Actually before you go-“ he stutters. “Can you- can you take me back to my friends?”

“I-“ Minho stops. He thinks it’s better if he doesn’t but as he is met with doe eyes staring at him, it’s impossible for him to say no. “Sure.”

They both head back inside, not close but not far. Their familiar push and pull game back after the past month.

A month. It’s been a month since their fight.

They start walking through the mass of people dancing. Soon Minho finds Seungmin and Hyunjin, the rest of the group following behind them.

Leaning down to whisper in Jisung's ear, he then points at them. “Jisung-ah, over there.”

Jisung fights the shiver that runs through his body as the words are whispered in his ear. The warm air feeling ticklish.

Fuck.

Jisung seems to have forgotten how easy his body reacts to Minho. Gulping to himself, he then looks in the direction he is pointing at and sure enough he sees his friends.

“T-Thank you hyung.” He stutters, feeling stupid for not being able to act normal around the older.

Minho on the other hand seems to keep finding his humiliation the funniest thing in the world. Of course.

Nodding at the younger one last time, he smiles before signaling him he would be on his way out.

“Bye Hannie.”

The fireworks come back.

“Goodbye Min.” 

Jisung’s heart smile makes his stomach do a flip. Looking at each other one last time, Minho dissipates between the sea of people.

As Jisung approaches his friends, he sees Changing looking ahead of them. 

“Was that Minho?” He asks, jaw tense.

Jisung sighs. “Hyung, it's fine.” he reassures, “We- actually we had a really good time.”

Besides the older, Felix’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“Yes.” Jisung nods. “Really,” 

“See baby,” Felix teases, “no need to kill him.”

Jisung laughs in agreement, “Yeah… Now let’s have fun!”

“Alright!” Felix joins in.

The party goes on with them dancing, drinking and even playing some games. They decide to call it a night when Jeongin pukes, making Hyunjin puke too.

They make sure to take Hyunjin home, Seungmin staying over to take care of him, and Jeongin sleeps over with Felix at the other’s dorm. 

For the first time in almost a month, Jisung has a good sleep.

Minho was never a morning person, but after last Friday and the glimpse of hope he got from his interaction with Jisung, he knew immediately he would wake up for his Modern Literature class at six thirty only to meet the younger again.

There was no way he would miss this chance. 

When he arrives, he passes by their campus coffee shop and asks Hyunjin for two large iced americanos to go.

“You’re buying him coffee?” Hyunjin teases. “You’re so cute, hyung.”

“Oh fuck off.” Minho barks back, but the other is only paying attention to his red ears. “Hyunjin,” Minho starts, his friend humming back while he works on his order, “He’ll forgive me, right?”

Hyunjin snorts, turning back once he finishes the drinks. He's more than ready to tease his friend but the look he gives him instantly changes his mind. 

Minho is scared. He might look normal, but Hyunjin knows him. He is scared.

The way he’s slightly shuffling his weight from one leg to the other, his under lip tucked by his teeth. 

He is nervous.

Hyunjin softens, sliding the drinks across the counter before leaning forward slightly. “I think,” he says carefully, “Jisung wants to forgive you, hyung.”  

Minho exhales, gripping the cups tightly. “Yeah?”  

Hyunjin nods. “But you have to let him.”  

Minho furrows his brows. “What does that mean?”  

Hyunjin gives him a knowing look. “It means don’t just show up and expect things to be okay. Let him come to you too.”  

Minho presses his lips together, annoyed that Hyunjin might be right. But there’s no time to dwell on it. He checks the time on his phone before muttering a quick thanks and heading out toward Jisung’s building.  

His heart is pounding harder than it should be as he climbs the stairs two at a time. He knows Jisung has Modern Literature every Monday at eight thirty (he does too but really he doesn’t care). Knows that he always gets to class early, because he likes to sit in the back and people-watch while sipping his coffee.  

Minho would never call himself a morning person, but for Jisung, he’s willing to be. He’d do anything for Jisung.

As he steps into the hallway outside the lecture hall, his breath catches.  

There he is.  

Jisung is leaning against the wall, headphones in, scrolling on his phone. He’s wearing a loose sweatshirt and ripped jeans, looking soft and still half-asleep, but Minho can tell from the way his foot is tapping lightly against the floor that he’s listening to something upbeat.  

Minho takes a breath, steels himself, and then steps forward.  

Jisung notices him instantly. His eyes widen slightly as he pulls out one earbud, blinking up at Minho like he isn’t sure if he’s real.  

Minho swallows. “Hey.”  

Jisung hesitates. “Hey.”  

There’s a beat of silence. Minho shifts awkwardly before holding out one of the iced americanos. “I, uh.” He stops. “Got you this.”  

Jisung blinks at the coffee, then at Minho. “You… got me coffee?”  

Minho rolls his eyes. “No, I got it for some other Jisung who takes Modern Literature with me.”

Jisung scoffs, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Asshole.”  

Minho smirks, but it softens into something more hesitant as he watches Jisung take the coffee from his hands. Their fingers brush again, and Minho feels it everywhere.  

Jisung stares down at the cup for a moment before speaking. “Why?”  

Minho shifts on his feet. “Because,” he starts, then stops. His throat feels tight. He exhales and tries again. “Because- it’s…uhm ice americano.” he lies, but it only takes one look from the younger for him to give up. “And… because, well because I wanted to.” 

Jisung looks up at him, and for once, Minho doesn’t look away.  

Jisung studies him, like he’s trying to figure out if Minho is messing with him.  

Minho holds his breath.  

“Really?” He asks.

“Yes.” His immediate response seems to please the younger.

Then, slowly—so slowly—Jisung takes a small sip of the coffee.  

Minho doesn’t even realize he’s been tense until he feels himself relaxing.  

Jisung hums, licking his lips. “It’s good.”  

Minho exhales, his lips twitching. “Of course it is.”  

Jisung rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He looks down at the coffee again, turning the cup slightly in his hands. “Thanks,” he murmurs.  

Minho nods. “Anytime.”  

They lapse into silence.  

Jisung shifts on his feet. “Are you—” He hesitates, biting his lip. “Are you gonna start coming to class?”  

Minho smirks. “Why? You miss me?”  

Jisung scoffs, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “Shut up.”  

Minho chuckles, but there’s something softer in the way he watches Jisung. Something hopeful.  

“Maybe,” he admits. “If you want me to.”  

Jisung glances at him, then looks away, hiding a small smile behind his coffee cup.  

Minho sees it anyway.  

And for the first time in weeks, something inside him eases.  

Maybe this isn’t a fix. Maybe they’re not magically okay, but God does it feel good.

“Sung-ah” Minho calls, the younger looking at him with wide eyes. Good to know he still seems to affect him just by breathing. It’s cute.

“Hyung.” Jisung says back.

“I uhm…” He trails off. “If you’d like, I still owe you something.”

Jisung immediately perks up at this. “What is it?”

“I still have to show you my drawings.”

Jisung stops. His brain short-circuits. “I- Minho Hyung, I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it yet-”

“No need.” Minho shakes his head. “We don’t have to talk about it but-” he stutters. “I just want to show you my drawings. That’s all.”

When met only with silence, he becomes anxious he might have crossed the line. Things are still fragile between them, he knows. He hopes this doesn’t scare the younger away again.

“Is it true no one has ever seen them?” JIsung asks instead. 

Minho furrows his eyebrows. “Uh?” And then he processes the question. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Wow.” Jisung whispers. “No one?”

Minho smirks, taking a sip from his own coffee. “My art is not for the human kind.”

“What- What does that make me?” He whisper-yells, Minho dropping a breathy laugh in response.

“You’re not a human.” Minho says.

“What then?” Jisung huffs out, annoyance clear in his voice.

“You’re an alien Jisung-ah.” Minho smiles. 

Jisung’s breath hitches. Something about the way he said it, how soft his voice sounded, his small smile and his eyes? How gentil they looked. 

“You-” Jisung starts. “Yes, but- how did you-” he stutters, then stops.

Minho snorts. “What's wrong? Why are you acting like that?”

Jisung can feel how warm his skin is. “It’s just- I have a song called Alien.” 

Now it’s Minho who widens his eyes. “Really? What’s it about?”

“Just about me.” He decides to leave it at that, not wanting to explain it any further. The older seems to catch up on it, humming back so as to show him he’s listening. 

“Isn’t it funny? I’m weird and you’re an alien, yet you think I’m weirder than you.” He laughs.

Jisung looks at him, admiring the way his smile stays on his lips even after finishing talking, his hair covering most of his eyes, and then he joins in.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “it’s funny.”

The next few minutes are spent with them teasing each other while enjoying their coffee. 

Just as the teacher walks in, Han speaks. 

“Okay.” He looks at Minho. “Show me your drawing after class.”

Minho smirks, dropping his head on the table to take his usual nap.

“Deal.”

Jisung swears this class went by ridiculously slow. Maybe he understands why Minho never comes.

He sighs, giving up on trying to write notes based on what the teacher is saying.

“Min.” he whispers, trying to be quiet so that the other students- or even worse, the professor - looks at him. 

Looking to his side his heart melts at the sight of the sleeping boy. Minho’s cheek is squished against his arms, making his lips puff out. 

Jisung lets out a breathy laugh. No matter how badly he hurt him, he always knew he couldn’t possibly stay mad at the older.

He knew from the moment he set his eyes on him and deemed him his muse. His.

“Hyung.” Trying again, he touches his shoulder lightly, but the older only shrugs him off. Sighing, Jisung stares at the boy's puffed out cheek.

He wants to poke it.

Just in that moment Minho lets out a loud sigh from his lips. Jisung covers his mouth with his hand to laugh.

He's definitely poking it.

Bringing his hand up he sticks his pointer finger out as he gets closer to the other’s face. 

He expected a lot of reactions but he never thought Minho would giggle once his finger made contact with the squishy skin. 

Grabbing Jisung’s hand down with his Minho keeps laughing as he speaks. “Hannie what the fuck.”

The younger can’t contain his own smile at how sleepy he looks and sounds as he tries to keep the volume of his laugh down. 

“Hyung, I was expecting you to kill me, not giggle.” Jisung teases. Minho snorts, lifting his head up he yawns, a hand coming up to brush his black hair.

“You tell this to anyone and I’ll kill you.” Softness gone, Minho gives him a glare before turning his head back. 

Cute. “Min, I’m bored.” He mumbles. He doesn’t miss the way the older’s breath hitches at the nickname, a proud smile coming to his face.

“Well sleep.”

“What-” Slapping the older’s shoulder, Minho purses his lips to avoid laughing. “I am not sleeping in class.”

The other sighs, drinking what's left of his melted ice americano. “God,” his nose scrunches, “That tastes like shit, give me yours.”

Jisung doesn’t even have time to say something back as the older immediately steals his drink and starts sipping from it.

“Asshole.” He calls.

“You love me.” Minho shrugs. 

Jisung hates that he can’t hate him.

“I’m still bored.” He says after a few minutes, Minho grunting in frustration. 

“Jisung-ah,” he starts, voice overly sweet, “there’s a reason why I don’t come to this class.” He tilts his head to the side. “It is indeed very boring, and the teacher is a fucking dinossaur and I hate it. I do.”

“Yes.” Jisung agrees. Because duh.

“Right, so…” his glare comes back. “Imagine how fucking pissed off I am to now understand that you also are miserable every class and still come anyways.”

JIsung opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “I- I don’t like skipping.” He mutters, fingers fumbling with his ripped jeans.

His eyes soften at the quiet confession. “Oh baby,” he coos, the pet name leaving his lips without him even processing it, “then let’s just leave.” He finished.

Jisung is still shocked, both from the baby and this new idea. 

“W-What?”

Minho smiles. “Let’s leave class Jisung-ah.” Minho repeats, eyelashes fluttering as if in slow-motion. 

Uhm what the fuck. “Min-”

“Come on honey…” he whispers.

“Did you just call me honey?” JIsung interrupts, his cheeks most definitely red.

“Uhm?” Minho tilts his head to the side playfully. “You wish, I said Hannie.” He smirks. “Are you disappointed at that?”

“N-No.” He stutters, the other’s smirk widening. “And that's not- I’m not leaving, everyone will stare.” He whispers. “I don’t like that.”

“Here.” Minho shuffles, taking from his bag pack a basic black jacket with a hoodie. “Put it on.”

“I-”

“Jisung. Put it on.” He whisper-yells. 

Feeling warm everywhere, the younger caves in and puts on the piece of clothing. Pulling the hood over his hair he then looks at Minho.

“How do I look?” He says jokingly.

“You look even more beautiful in my clothes…” Minho whispers, more to himself than to Han.

“What?”

His breath catches in his throat. Shaking his head he then says, “Nothing, I said you can keep it if you like it.”

“Really?!” Jisung gasps, “I love it, it’s very cozy.” He smiles. 

“Sure.” Minho smirks. “Alright.” he stares at the younger one last time, “Follow my lead.” And then he’s already getting up.

Jisung leaves out a surprised gasp, being as fast as possible to follow the other. 

Jisung hears the Professor talking and can feel the stare of the students they pass by. Darting his head now, a shaky breath falls from his lips.

Minho instantly hears it and looks down to see the other slightly fumbling with his bag strap.

From his floor occupied view, a hand suddenly appears. He looks up only for a second, but it’s enough to see Minho smile at him before looking ahead of them again.

Jisung allows a smile to form on his own lips, his hand tangling with the other’s. 

An instant shock curses through his veins. 

This is their first time holding hands. 

Minho’s hand is smaller in size than his, but his fingers have a wider range and they seem to envelop Jisung’s thin one’s perfectly. 

Suddenly he hears a door opening, the teacher stopping his class at this.

“Sorry.” Minho mutters. “He's not feeling very well.” 

Just like that they’re out of the classroom.

“You jerk!” Jisung says. “Why would you use me as an excuse!”

Minho laughs from his nose. “I’m sorry, okay! He was looking at me and ready to kill me.” He defends himself.

“That doesn’t mean you get to use me as your shield.” The younger argues, his free hand coming up to punch the other on the chest.

“Uff.” Minho breathes out, still wearing that infuriating smile. “Fair enough.” he tilts his head to the side. “I’m sorry Jisung-ah, forgive me?” He half smirks, shaking their tangled hands together.

This seems to remind them of their current state, Staring down, he notices Minho blinking. Jisung is about to detangle their hands when Minho holds on tighter, preventing him from doing so. 

“So uhm,” Minho starts, “gardens?”

“Sure.” Jisung smiles, his ears definitely red. He’s glad he’s still wearing the hood over his head.

As they make their way to the gardens, Jisung is hit with a million thoughts.

Just what are they doing? They're not exactly friends again and he still feels conflicted, but God did he miss Minho. He missed this – them – so much.

“I can’t believe you made me ditch class.” Jisung smiles.

“Hey! You were the one who was being a menace!” Looking over his shoulder he smirks. “I was completely fine sleeping it off.”

“Of course you were.” He shakes his head.

Arriving at their destination, they sit down on the grass.

“So uhm…” he starts, “You still draw?”  

Minho huffs. “Not as much lately.”  

Jisung snorts. “That’s what I said.”  

Minho smirks slightly but doesn’t respond. 

“Alright.” Opening his backpack, he takes off the notebook, staring at it for a bit.

“You know, you don’t have to show me if you don’t want to, hyung.” Jisung mumbles.

“No.” Minho shakes his head, looking at him in the eyes. “No, I want to.”

He hesitates, taking a deep breath and then flips the sketchbook open and turns it toward Jisung.  

The younger looks at him one last time as if asking for confirmation and Minho nods with a shy smile.

Jisung leans in— then immediately recoils.  

“What,” He starts off, trying to be careful with his words. And then - “…Hyung, what is this?”  

Minho glares. “My art.”  

Jisung stares at the page in horror. It’s a drawing of—presumably—him, but it looks like something out of a cursed webcomic. His eyes are mismatched in size, one of them comically larger than the other. His nose is a single crooked line, and his mouth is—why is it shaped like that?  

“This is me?” Jisung asks, voice slightly high-pitched.  

Minho crosses his arms. “Yeah.”  

Jisung looks down at the drawing again. Then back at Minho. Then back at the drawing.

“That’s what I look like to you?” He is too stunned right now.

Minho smiles, a sly smirk on his lips. “Hm.”

“I—Minho. Be honest with me. Did you draw this with your left hand?”  

“No.” his eyebrows scrunch. “Well yeah actually. Both of them,” He snorts. “I’m ambidextrous.” 

“With your eyes closed?”  

“No.”  

“While actively fighting for your life?”  

Minho scowls. “Shut up.”  

Jisung presses his lips together, trying to contain the laughter bubbling in his chest. “No, no, it’s—uh—unique.” He glances at another page. The proportions are somehow worse. His hands are huge, like he’s part of some failed superhero mutation experiment. 

Minho watches him expectantly. “Well?”  

Jisung clears his throat. “You know… art is subjective.”  

Minho smacks his arm. “Just say it’s bad.” 

Jisung bursts into laughter. “Okay, fine! It’s bad! It’s so bad, Minho. Why do I look like a cursed cartoon character?”  

Minho sighs dramatically, closing the sketchbook. “I was trying to be sentimental. Clearly, that was a mistake.”  

Jisung covers his mouth, still giggling. “No, no, I love it. Can I keep one?”  

Minho raises a brow. “Seriously?”  

Jisung nods, still grinning. “Yeah. I’m gonna frame it.”  

Minho rolls his eyes but rips out a page and shoves it into Jisung’s hands. Jisung looks down at it, biting back another laugh.  

He looks insane.  

But somehow, the thought of Minho sitting down and drawing him—even this cursed, disproportionate version of him—makes his chest feel warm.  

“…Thanks, Minho.”  

Minho scoffs. “Whatever.”  

Jisung tucks the sketch into his pocket, smiling to himself. “Can I see more?”

Minho glares at him. “Ugh… fine.”

Jisung beams at this. Flipping through the rest of the drawings, he tries to keep his laugh in as much as possible. 

There’s drawings of the other’s cats, some random people and views. 

Each one is more awful than the other. His mission to stay quiet finishes the moment he comes across one portrait of presumably-

“Is that Hyunjin?!” Jisung asks, mouth agape. The blank stare he gets in response is all the answers he needs. “No!” He laughs.

Minho wants to be mad, but hearing Hannie’s bright loud laugh? With his heart-shaped smile? He can only do the same.

“Okay.” He starts, the other’s laugh so contagible that he too lets a few laughs out. “That was actually the first drawing I made ever.”

“What?!” Jisung almost yells. “How? Didn’t you have art class when you were younger?”

“Well- It was the first time I actually put effort into a drawing.” He corrects.

Jisung snorts. “This is your best effort?” 

“Shut up.” Minho glares, the younger pursing his lips in response. “It was when I first met Hyunjin in highschool.” He starts, “We got along very fast because he was very persistent, and then we were hanging out and Hyunjin had the idea of making portraits of each other.”

Jisung hums. “And how did it go?” He teases.

“Great.” Minho deadpans, the other snorting. “Obviously, I didn't know back then how much of a talented artist he is.” He explains. “I told him to show his drawing first and it was so good… I was so embarrassed.” Jisung loves how his voice turns whiny at the end.

Like the mere memory of it brings him back to that day. 

“Oh wow.” Jisung realizes. “You never showed him the drawing.”

Minho smirks. “I never showed anyone any of the drawings.”

JIsung feels butterflies in his stomach. “So, you uhm- why did you keep drawing if you know you suck at it?”

Minho punches his shoulder, JIsung giggles. “I just… I liked the feeling of drawing whatever I wanted how I wanted. I have all the control and even though I know I’m no Hyunjin,” he smiles, “It’s still nice.”

Han looks down at the drawing in his hands. “It is.” He mutters.

For the next couple of hours it all feels like before. They bicker with each other, share a blunt between the two, Minho draws and Jisung lays on the grass and relaxes. 

“You really hurted me, you know.” Jisung mutters, his vice soft but heavy.

Minho stops drawing, his breath hitching. He stares down at the other, still laying on the soft grass. “Jisung-ah…”

“Why did you do it?” He needs answers. He deserves answers.

“What? Kissing you or running away?” Minho asks, biting his lower lip. Nervous.

Jisung notices it. “Both.”

He hears some shuffling, and then Minho is next to him. The younger’s head turns to the side at the same time Minho looks away, facing the cloudy sky with sun peeking in.

“It’s already march.” The older says. 

“Minho hyung.”

“I’m not trying to change the subject.” Minho smiles, his hand coming up so that he can take another drag of the almost finished blunt. “We started talking in January.” He then adds.

Jisung looks up to the sky too. “Oh… Yeah.” 

“Did you turn your assignment in?” Minho asks. 

For a moment Jisung is confused, then it clicks in his head. 

The song. “No.” 

Minho looks at him, Jisung looks back. “No?” The younger nods in confirmation. Minho tilts his head “Why?”

JIsung starts picking at the skin of his fingers. “It no longer made sense.”

“What do you mean?” The older stutters. Why is he the one nervous?

“Hyung you- you freaked out once you heard it.” Jisung lets out a bittersweet smile. “You kissed me and ran away. How was I supposed to hand in the love song that broke us apart?”

Minho's heart shatters. “Sungie, “ he calls and then looks back up to avoid the other’s hurt look, “I didn’t mean it like that.” He says.

Jisung huffs out a fake laugh. “I know. I know you didn’t mean to kiss me, that I get now-”

“I-” That’s not what he meant. He’s losing him again. That's not what he meant.

“Minho, it's fine.” Jisung says. “I- I’ve come to terms with what is happening here.” 

Minho gulps. “And what is that?” 

“I like you.” Jisung says. “I like you so much Min.” He says as they stare at each other.

“Hannie-” Minho smiles.

“I like you.” He interrupts. “I like you and I’d do anything to stay close to you. I like you so much that I know you can keep kissing me and running away and hurting me and I would forgive you. I will be mad but it doesn’t compare to how much I like you.” He says

Minho stays silent. An unreadable expression on his face. 

“Hyung, I like you so much that I’m pretty sure I love you.”

Minho’s eyes widen. “Jisung.”

“I know I sound insane.” The younger interrupts. “But I do. I really believe I do.”

Minho snorts, looking up at the sky and smoking again

“That’s pathetic.” 

There it is, the walls coming back up. 

“Yes Minho, I’m pathetic.” Jisung says, voice becoming angry. Minho looks at him in panic.

“No Jisung, that’s not what I meant-”

“No. No, you did,” Jisung huffs out. “Alright, I should go.”

Getting up so fast, Jisung definitely feels the weed. However, that doesn't stop him from still leaving the other. 

“Fuck. Jisung!” Minho screams, putting out the joint and hurrying over the other. 

Han chooses to ignore him, entering the closest building to him - funny enough, it’s the dance department. “Minho leave me alone, please.”

“No Sung- Fuck you have got to give me the benefit of the doubt-” He is about to grab the younger by the wrist when he abruptly turns back. “What-” 

Fuck, Minho gulps. He is pissed.

“The benefit of the doubt?” Jisung repeats, exhaling through his nose. “The benefit of the doubt?!” The sudden rise of voice grabs the attention of the few students waiting in the hallway for the other students' classes to finish.

“Okay, that’s not-”

“Minho! You kissed me and then disappeared!” Jisung just knows he must look bat shit insane right now, if Minho's clear fear is something to go by. 

“Uhm…” Minho mutters, walking backyards while the other walks towards him. “Yes.”

“Yes?!” He most definitely yelled now.

“Jisung please, please don’t scream-”

“Why?” Jisung asks, faking innocence. “Are you worried someone will recognize you and know the shit you made? Or think you’re friends with a maniac?” 

“Jisung-”

“You called me pathetic.”

Minho freezes. The hallway feels suffocating, every curious glance burning into his skin. His heart pounds in his chest like it's trying to escape, like he is.  

“I didn't mean it like that!” Minho pleads, voice cracking. “You know I didn't. Please, Hannie.”  

Jisung steps closer, chest heaving. His anger buzzes through his veins, amplifying every hurt he's been swallowing for weeks. “Then what the fuck did you mean? Because it sounded pretty clear to me.”  

Minho stays silent. 

"Do you ever mean nothing at all?” Jisung asks, his voice going from angry to just plain hurt.  

Minho’s hands shake, frustration bubbling over. Without thinking, he grabs Jisung's wrist, pulling him toward the nearest door—the empty dance studio.  

“Let me go, Minho!” Jisung snaps, yanking his arm, but Minho doesn’t relent.  

“No. Not this time. You’re not running, and I’m not letting you think I don’t care.”  

The door slams shut behind them, and the sudden quiet makes the tension feel unbearable. Minho finally releases Jisung, running both hands through his hair, pulling at the strands like it'll somehow keep his thoughts from spiraling.  

Jisung looks at him weirdly. “What are you-”

“I’m not used to this!” Minho bursts out, pacing like a caged animal. “I don’t know how to do this. I don't know how to be with someone without fucking everything up.”  

Jisung’s glare softens, but his arms remain crossed. “What are you talking about?”  

“I’m talking about you. Us. Whatever the fuck this is.” Minho gestures between them, voice rising. “I kissed you because I wanted to, Jisung. I’ve wanted to for months.” The admission makes the younger’s arms go limp beside him.

“Min…”

“Oh God Sung-ah, I noticed you way before you noticed me.” The younger’s eyes widen. “I have been aware of your existence since you first performed with Chan and Changbin at the spring festival in your freshman year.” Minho says. “Did you know that?”

“N-No.” Jisung stutters.

“Yeah well, that’s the truth. Jisung I-” Minho exhales through the nose. “I kissed you because- because how could I not? How could I not when you wrote a whole love song about me? You made- you made me your fucking muse!” His hands go up in frustration. 

The younger just keeps staring at him, his doe eyes shining even more than usual. 

“I kissed you because you- that was the most romantic thing anyone ever did to me.” The quiet admission hangs between them. “You wrote me a love song, Sung.” He repeats.

“I did.” Jisung nods. “I could write so many more.”

The raw words make his chest burn. “You see? How am I supposed to react to this normally?”

“React-” Jisung shakes his head. “React normally to what, Min?” 

Minho opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. “I wanted to kiss you, I really did.” He repeats. “But the second I did, it hit me—what if I ruin you like I ruin everything else? What if you get tired of how fucked up I am? What if I make you hate me?”  

Jisung's mouth opens, but Minho cuts him off, stepping closer.  

“You’re so... normal. You love so easily. You laugh so easily. And me? I don’t know how to let someone in without feeling like they can destroy me. That’s why I ran. Because I’m terrified.”  

The rawness in Minho’s voice knocks the wind out of Jisung's lungs. He’d seen Minho guarded, angry, sarcastic. Never this—never stripped bare, voice shaking with honesty.  

“Terrified of what, Minho? Me?” Jisung whispers, anger melting into heartbreak.  

Minho shakes his head, eyes glistening. “No. Of losing you. Of you realizing I’m too much work. That I’m not worth it.”  

Silence. Heavy. Thick.  

“Can’t you see it? How similar you two are.” 

Felix’s words ring at the back of his head. He now finally understands what he had meant.

Jisung stays still and then he moves, grabbing Minho’s face between both hands, forcing the older to look at him.  

“You idiot. You absolute fucking idiot.”  

Jisung’s hands grip Minho’s face, fingers pressing into his jaw like he’s anchoring him in place. His thumbs brush over Minho’s cheekbones, soft despite the anger simmering beneath his skin.  

“I don’t care if you’re messy, or scared, or stubborn. You think I didn’t already know that? I like you, Min. I love you, even when you’re running from your own feelings. I’m not leaving. I’m not tired. I’m right here.”  

“Han…”

Jisung keeps staring at him in the eyes, gaze never faltering. “Minho, I’m scared too, I don’t like how much of this I can’t control and I’m terrified this will all go wrong and we’ll end up hating each other and ourselves.” He admits

“I’m- I’m terrified, Sungie.” his voice is breathless. “I just keep hurting you with my words. I hate it so fucking much.”

“Minho we are the same.” Jisung says.

“What?”

“You and me, we are two sides of the same coin, like- like two perfectly fitted puzzle pieces who couldn't be more different from each other yet- yet they fit because they’re the same!”

Minho smiles, his palms pressing against the other’s small waist. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Shut up, I am!” The younger whines. “I- I’m not going anywhere Min. I will never leave you, I can promise you that.”

“How?” Minho whispers.

“How?” Han repeats, the proximity between them becoming smaller as each second passes by. “Because you said I was normal.” He starts. “You're the first person to ever say that and- if I’m normal it’s only because you make me. You make me feel normal, hyung.”

Minho blinks, like the weight of those words is too much for him to hold. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”  

Jisung’s lips twitch into something between a smile and a dare. “Try me.”  

And then it happens—Minho surges forward, kissing Jisung like he’s starving, like he’s been holding back for far too long and has finally snapped. There’s nothing gentle about it. Teeth clash, lips bruise, and Jisung gasps into Minho’s mouth as he stumbles backward, only to have Minho’s arm wrap around his waist, keeping him from falling.  

“Fuck, Minho—”  

“Shut up.” Minho growls, “ God whenever you talk you just make me go more insane.” He mutters against the other’s lips. Swallowing the words with another kiss, deeper this time. His hand slides up Jisung’s back, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as if letting go would mean losing him entirely.  

Jisung doesn’t mind the desperation. If anything, it lights a fire in his chest. He fists the collar of Minho’s shirt, yanking him closer, bodies pressed flush together. The heat between them is suffocating, but neither of them pulls away.  

Minho bites at Jisung’s lower lip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make the younger moan into his mouth, and the sound alone has Minho losing the last thread of self-control he was clinging to. He spins them around, backing Jisung against the mirrored wall of the dance studio, hands sliding down to grip his hips.  

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Hannie.”  

Jisung gasps, head tilting back against the cool glass as Minho mouths along his jaw, down the column of his throat. “Better me than your own damn insecurities.”  

Minho laughs, breathless, before biting just below Jisung’s ear, making him shiver. “Brat.”  

And there it is—no more walls, no more running. Just heat, hands, and the unspoken promise that neither of them is going anywhere.  

Jisung’s nails scrape down Minho’s back as their mouths crash together again, and for once, Minho doesn’t pull away. He sinks into it, into Jisung, like he finally believes he’s allowed to have this.  

Like he finally believes he’s worth staying for.

“As much as I am enjoying this,” Minho says in between kisses, “I know there’s a class about to start here.”

Jisung whines. “So?” He whispers against the other’s ear, biting his ear lobe slightly after. 

Minho groans. “Jisung.” Something about the voice combined with how one of his hands comes to wrap around the strands of the younger’s dark hair, makes him instantly want to be put. 

“Y-Yeah?” He gulps slightly.

Leaning down, Minho nuzzles against his neck before whispering in his ear: “Behave.”

Well. Fuck. 

“Fine…” Jisung sighs. 

Minho laughs through his nose. “Come on baby,” he says as he extends his hand out for Jisung, “hold my hand now.”

Jisung sees fireworks again. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Minho says, his voice low.

“What is not a good idea?” Jisung whispers back, mocking him.

“Your friends must hate me!”The older admits, turning around he then adds. “I think I'll just go.” 

Jisung snorts, grabbing the other by his hoodie sleeve. “Minho hyung don’t you even dare.” He warns, pulling back next to him. 

“Jisung-ah…” Minho pleads, his voice with a funny desperation in it. “They’re gonna kill me.”

“They will not.” The younger laughs, hand wrapping around the other’s one more firmly now. “And you need to face them eventually.” He points out.

“But does it have to be today?” Minho mutters, pulling the other closer by the waist with his free hand. “What if we just go to my place instead?” He asks, head tilting to the side.

Jisung sighs. “Hyung, don’t try to seduce me.” Jisung snaps. Nevertheless, he does press himself closer to Minho. 

“Why?” Minho asks, his nonchalant look making him seem completely innocent. “Is it working?” The faintest hint of a smirk takes over his lips.

The younger sighs, his arms resting on the other’s shoulders. He leans in closer, their eyes meeting before he closes the gap between them to kiss him. 

Minho’s response is immediate, his arms wrapping around the other’s middle. 

“Hmm, I love kissing you.” Minho mumbles against his lips making him smile. “Imagine how much fun we could have if we just went to my place.” 

Han sighs, leaning back to look the other in the eyes. “Imagine.” He repeats.

“Oh I am.” Minho says, getting closer to kiss him again. However, Jisung is quick to slip away from him, knocking on the door. 

Minho looks at the door scared, his eyes wide. “What-” He mumbles, a betrayed look in his eyes when he locks eyes with Han. 

“I guess you’ll just have to keep imagining.” Jisung smirks.

“Fuck, Hannie-”

“Sung!” Jeongin greets excitedly, his smile vanishing once he notices the other. “...And MInho.” 

He looks at the man besides him

The awkward silence that follows Jeongin’s greeting is so thick it could suffocate them all. Minho freezes, his hand tightening around Jisung’s without realizing it. Jisung, ever the brave one, just grins like this isn’t the most painfully uncomfortable situation Minho’s ever found himself in.  

“Innie!” Jisung chirps, ignoring the tension. “Is Chan hyung here yet?”  

Jeongin nods slowly, eyes flickering to Minho like he’s assessing a threat. “Yeah. Him and Changbin hyung are in the living room. They brought food.” His gaze drops to where their hands are still clasped, and his brows furrow. “You’re really bringing him?”  

Minho flinches.  

Jisung, on the other hand, doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I am. You got a problem?”  

Jeongin raises his hands in surrender, stepping aside to let them through. “Nah, man. It’s your life.”  

Minho follows Jisung inside, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. This was a mistake. He should’ve insisted on ditching.  

“Stop looking like you’re about to get jumped,” Jisung mutters under his breath, squeezing his hand. “They’re my friends. They’ll get over it.”  

“That’s easy for you to say,” Minho grumbles. “They love you. I’m just the asshole who made you cry.”  

Jisung stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to face him. “No. You’re the guy who made me cry and the guy who wiped my tears away. Who apologized. Who’s here because he’s trying.”  

Minho swallows hard. “Sung…”  

“Trust me, hyung,” Jisung says softly. “I don’t do this lightly. You’re worth it.”  

Before Minho can respond, another voice calls out from the living room.  

“Yah, Jisung! Where’d you go?”  

Jisung smirks. “Come on. Time to face the firing squad.”  

The living room is loud, chaotic, the smell of weed and takeout food filling the air. Chan is sprawled on the couch, half-laughing, half-scolding Changbin for trying to stack empty soda cans into a pyramid. Felix sits cross-legged on his boyfriend’s lap, sorting through snacks like it’s his life’s mission.  

All conversation dies the moment Minho walks in behind Jisung.  

“Uh…” Chan blinks. “Minho?”  

“Hi,” Minho mutters, raising a hand in an awkward wave.  

Changbin narrows his eyes. “Why the fuck is he here?”  

Jisung sighs, dragging Minho to the couch and pushing him down beside Felix. “He’s here because he’s with me. Can everyone chill?”  

Felix, ever the peacemaker, offers Minho a small smile. “With you, like… with you?”  

Jisung sits on the armrest of the couch, his hand casually resting on Minho’s shoulder. “Yes. With me. Making out. All that.”  

Minho chokes.  

Chan rubs his face like this is all too much for him to process. “Jesus Christ, Jisung.”  

“Look,” Jisung says, more serious now. “I get why you guys are pissed. I was pissed too. But we talked. A lot. He was a dick, yeah. He also explained himself, and we worked through it. You don’t have to like him, but you do have to respect that I want him here.”  

Silence.  

Then Changbin sighs, his face hiding in the crook of Felix’s neck. “If he hurts you again, I’m breaking his nose.”  

Minho nods solemnly. “Fair.”  

Felix, always the first to fold, grins and nudges Minho’s knee. “Guess you’re stuck with us now, hyung. Hope you’re ready for that.”  

Minho exhales, tension finally leaving his shoulders. “I’ll survive.”  

Somehow, the night ends with everyone high, full, and laughing like nothing had ever been broken.  

Minho finds himself sandwiched between Jisung and Chan on the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips on his lap and Jisung’s head resting on his shoulder.  

“I hate to admit it,” Chan says, voice sluggish from the joint he and Felix passed around earlier, “but you’re not as much of an asshole as I thought, Minho.”  

Minho snorts. “Thanks.”  

Jisung hums sleepily. “Told you.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” Chan mutters. “Still don’t trust you completely, though.”  

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Minho replies easily, brushing his fingers through Jisung’s hair. “I’ll prove it.”  

That earns him a small smile from Chan before the older boy pushes himself off the couch, mumbling something about finding another blanket.  

“You awake, Sung?” Minho whispers.  

Jisung smiles without opening his eyes. “Mhm. Thinking.”  

“About?”  

“How much I love you.”  

Minho freezes. The words are soft, lazy, like Jisung didn’t even think before saying them.  

“Go to sleep, Hannie,” Minho murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.  

“I mean it,” Jisung mumbles, voice already fading.  

Minho swallows the lump in his throat, tightening his grip around Jisung’s waist.  

“I know,” he whispers. “I love you too.”  

The night stretches on, and eventually, everyone drifts off.  

But Minho stays awake for a while longer, holding Jisung close and finally, finally, believing he deserves it.

The night unfolds in a haze of laughter, alcohol, and the faint smell of weed lingering everywhere. The tension from earlier dissolves with each passing hour, the sharp edges of distrust rounding out into reluctant acceptance.  

Someone—probably Felix—suggests a game of Never Have I Ever, and that’s how Minho finds himself squeezed between Jisung and Chan on the floor, a half-empty beer in one hand and Jisung’s thigh pressed warm against his own.  

“Never have I ever…” Jeongin grins wickedly, clearly already tipsy. “Made out with someone in this room.”  

Jisung immediately drinks. Changbin and Felix following.

Minho hesitates. Everyone’s eyes snap to him.  

“Go on, hyung,” Felix teases, chin resting on his palm.  

Minho huffs, rolling his eyes as he takes a swig from his beer.  

The room erupts in laughter.  

“Jesus Christ,” Changbin groans, pretending to shield his eyes. “You two are disgusting.”  

“Jealous?” Jisung smirks, leaning into Minho’s side.  

“Of you? Never.”  

“Liar,” Minho mutters under his breath, and Jisung cackles, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek.  

The game spirals from there, the questions getting more ridiculous and the answers more incriminating.  

“Never have I ever,” Felix says, face flushed from both alcohol and weed, “written an entire love song about someone without telling them.”  

Jisung drinks.  

“Fucking hell,” Chan laughs, pointing at him. “You really are down bad.”  

Minho grins, nudging Jisung’s knee with his own. “Yeah, he is.”  

“Shut up,” Jisung mutters, cheeks burning as he downs another sip of beer.  

Sometime past midnight, the group starts to splinter off—Jeongin sprawled half-asleep across the couch, Changbin and Chan arguing about some obscure anime, and Felix raiding the kitchen for snacks.  

Minho tugs Jisung toward the kitchen under the pretense of helping clean up.  

“Hyung,” Jisung slurs, clearly tipsy and slightly high, “you’re so pretty, it’s actually unfair.”  

Minho chuckles, pushing Jisung against the counter. “You’re ridiculous.”  

The kiss that follows is lazy and warm, tasting like cheap beer and sour gummies. Jisung’s hands wander, fingers curling into the hem of Minho’s hoodie, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between them.  

“God, you’re clingy when you’re drunk,” Minho mutters against his lips, not sounding the least bit annoyed.  

“Only with you.”  

Minho’s heart stutters. He kisses Jisung harder, hands sliding down to grip his waist, thumbs brushing under the fabric of his hoodie.  

“Oh my God.”  

They jump apart like teenagers caught by a parent. Felix stands in the doorway, holding a bag of chips and looking thoroughly unimpressed.  

“Seriously?” Felix deadpans. “In the kitchen? Where we eat?”  

Jisung bursts out laughing, doubling over against the counter.  

“A lot of hypocrisy coming from you Lixie.” Jisung then says. “I caught you and Changbin in a way worse position.”

“Oh.” Minho smirks. “Sounds filthy!” Minho exclaims, his hand tightening its grip around Han’s waist. 

Jisung hums. “It was.” He pouts, earning a kiss from Minho almost immediately.

“Oh my god-“ Felix gags. “You’re even worse than Sung, hyung.”

Minho, face flushed, glares at Felix. “Mind your business.”  

Felix grins. “This is my business and Jisung, tell that to someone else and I’ll kill you.”  

“You touch him you’re dead.” Minho threatens back. 

Felix thinks of answering back, but the older’s cold glare never fails to scare the shit out of every single person.

“Got it.” The blonde gulps, leaving the kitchen after.

Jisung, still giggling, grabs Minho’s hand. “That was hot.”

Minho’s lips tilt up in a fond smile. “You’re drunk and high.”

“Yes!” Jisung says, heart-shaped smile appearing. 

“Let’s stick to water now.” 

“What-” Whatever protest he had died on his tongue the minute the other leaned down to kiss him, Jisung responding immediately.

Minho bites his lower lip before pulling apart. “Water only.” He says, pointy nose nuzzling against the younger’s curved one. 

“Fine.” Han giggles.

“Let’s go.” Minho smirks, dragging them back to the living room.

By the time they finally agree to sleep, most of the apartment is silent. Jeongin is snoring on the couch, Changbin passed out on the floor with a throw blanket haphazardly tossed over him.  

Jisung pulls Minho into his room, shutting the door quietly behind them.  

“You’re sleeping here,” Jisung announces, like it’s not up for debate.  

Minho smirks. “Was that ever in question?”  

Jisung grins, throwing himself onto the bed and patting the space beside him. Minho follows without hesitation, the mattress dipping under their combined weight.  

For a moment, they just lie there, the room spinning faintly from the lingering high.  

“Hyung,” Jisung whispers, voice soft in the dark.  

“Hmm?”  

“Do you really love me? Or was that just the weed talking?”  

Minho turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Jisung. His face is illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlamp outside, eyes wide and vulnerable.  

“I love you,” Minho says, voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. “High, sober, drunk, hungover—I love you.”  

Jisung blinks, and then he’s reaching up, fingers curling into the front of Minho’s hoodie to drag him down into a kiss.  

It’s slow at first—soft, almost hesitant. But then Jisung shifts, pressing closer, his thigh slotting between Minho’s, and the kiss deepens.  

Minho groans quietly, hand sliding down to grip Jisung’s waist, thumb brushing under the hem of his shirt.  

“Shhh,” Jisung whispers against his lips, grinning. “You’ll wake the others.”  

“Don’t start something if you don’t want me to finish it,” Minho mutters, teeth grazing Jisung’s lower lip.  

Jisung gasps, and Minho swallows the sound with another kiss.  

The room feels too small, too warm. Jisung’s hands wander—skimming up Minho’s back, tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.  

“Bed’s too small for this,” Minho grumbles, breathless.  

“Then you better get comfortable.”  

Minho laughs quietly, rolling them until Jisung is half on top of him, their legs tangled together.  

“You’re such a brat,” Minho murmurs, thumb brushing over Jisung’s cheek before pulling him down into another kiss.  

They don’t stop until they’re breathless and flushed, the world outside forgotten.  

Eventually, Jisung curls into Minho’s side, head resting on his chest, their heartbeats falling into sync.  

“You’re really staying?” Jisung mumbles sleepily.  

Minho presses a kiss to his hair, holding him close.  

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The first thing Minho registers when he wakes up is warmth.  

Jisung is wrapped around him—arms locked tight around Minho’s waist, legs tangled with his, face pressed against the curve of his shoulder. His breath is soft, steady, fanning over Minho’s skin.  

It’s grounding. Familiar.  

But the second thing Minho registers is the tightness in his chest.  

It starts slow—like an itch at the edges of his ribs, an ache in his lungs. Then it spreads. Heavy, suffocating, curling around his heart like a fist.  

Too much.  

It’s too much.  

Jisung shifts against him, murmuring something in his sleep, brow twitching. Minho freezes.  

For a split second, the fear is louder than everything else.  

The memories hit all at once.  

Jisung showing him that stupid love song.  

Jisung looking at him with all that raw, terrifying honesty.  

Minho kissing him just to shut him up.  

Running before he could see the way Jisung’s face fell.  

He clenches his jaw and shifts just slightly beneath Jisung’s hold. His fingers twitch against the younger’s back, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. 

He’s here. He’s real. 

Then why does Minho feel like he’s already lost him?  

The thoughts hit all at once, fast and merciless, like waves crashing over him, dragging him under.  

This won’t last.

You’re going to ruin it.

You always do.

You’re too much, you’re never enough.

He’ll wake up and realize it was never worth it.

You should just leave him already.

Minho had spent so long trying to pretend none of it mattered—trying to convince himself that Jisung's feelings weren’t real, that he wasn’t real.  

And then last night happened.  

Chan’s apartment. Meeting Jisung’s friends—his family. Watching Jisung laugh with them, fit so perfectly into their world.  

And somehow, Minho had still belonged.  

They had talked. Really talked. Minho had swallowed down every sharp-edged fear and let Jisung see him, really see him. And Jisung had stayed.  

Had held him. Had whispered against his skin that he wasn’t going anywhere.  

But now, in the cold quiet of the night, the fear is back.  

Minho clenches his jaw. Carefully, he pries Jisung’s arms off of him. The younger stirs but doesn’t wake.  

He slips out of bed and out of the room before he can second-guess himself.  

The balcony is cold. The city stretches out below him, endless and uncaring. Minho grips the railing, staring down at the world below like it might give him the answers he needs.  

He doesn’t hear the door slide open behind him.  

Doesn’t hear Jisung step outside—doesn’t notice him at all until there’s a soft voice breaking through the fog in his head.  

“Hyung.”

Minho freezes.  

Jisung steps up beside him, close but not touching, his presence a steady warmth against Minho’s side. He doesn’t say anything at first—just leans against the railing, watching him carefully.  

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” Jisung murmurs after a moment, voice thick with sleep.  

Minho swallows. “Go back to bed, Sung.”  

“Not without you.”  

A sharp exhale leaves Minho’s lips, his grip tightening on the railing. “I just needed air.”  

Jisung stops beside him, silent for a moment, close but not touching. “You ran again,” he murmurs.  

Minho swallows. He doesn’t turn around.  

Jisung sighs. “Talk to me.”  

“I’m fine.”  

“You’re full of shit.”  

Minho lets out a sharp exhale. His fingers tighten on the railing.  

Jisung waits. He always does. He never pushes, never demands. Just lets Minho crash against him like a wave against the shore, steady and unmoving.  

Minho's voice comes out quiet, rough.  

“I don’t know how to do this.”  

Jisung doesn’t move, but Minho feels his attention sharpen, all of it focused on him. “Do what?”  

Minho licks his lips. His throat feels tight. “I don’t know how to be someone you can keep. I don’t know how to not be scared of losing you.”  

Jisung inhales sharply.  

“Hyung…”

“I don’t—” Minho's hands tremble. “I don’t know how to not be terrified every time I wake up next to you. I don’t know how to believe that this is real. That you mean it when you say you’re staying.”  

Jisung moves before Minho can stop him. Steps forward, crowding into Minho’s space, reaching for him.  

Minho doesn’t pull away.  

Jisung cups his face, thumbs brushing against the skin beneath his eyes. His hands are warm.  

“You are someone I can keep,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “But more importantly, I am someone who’s keeping you.”  

Minho’s throat works around a swallow.  

Jisung leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “You keep waiting for me to wake up and leave,” he murmurs. “But Min, I already woke up. And I was still there. Didn’t that mean something?”  

Minho exhales shakily. “Sung—”. He lets out a shaky laugh, but it’s humorless. His nails dig into the metal railing. “I—fuck, Jisung, I love you. And it terrifies me. Because what if I ruin it? What if I—what if I mess up again, and you decide it’s not worth it? What if you wake up one day and realize I was never enough?” His voice cracks, splintering like glass.  

“Min, you won’t lose me.” He says, voice muffled against the other’s neck. “I’m right here. I’m right here Minho.”

A choked sound rips from his throat as he caves forward, head dropping onto Jisung’s shoulder. He shakes, trembling all over, barely holding himself up.  

“You met my family last night.” Jisung’s voice wavers. “You stayed last night.” His fingers tighten slightly against Minho’s jaw. “You didn’t run. Not really. And I know how hard that was for you.”  

Minho’s breath shudders out of him. “I didn’t deserve it.”  

Jisung pulls back just enough to meet his eyes. His gaze is sharp. “Don’t say that.”  

Minho looks away. “You wrote a love song about me.” His laugh is rough, humorless. “And I—” He swallows. “I kissed you just to get you to stop talking. I—”  

Jisung shakes his head. “And then you came back.”  

Minho’s stomach twists.  

Jisung swallows. His fingers brush against Minho’s jaw, gentle, grounding. “I was never scared of the fact that you ran,” he says softly. “I was scared that you wouldn’t come back.”  

Minho exhales hard, head tipping forward until his forehead pressed against Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung lets him, wrapping his arms around him and holding tight.  

Minho’s breath is shaky. “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”  

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jisung whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I promise you, Minho. I’m not leaving.”  

Minho swallows a sob, but it still escapes, breaking against Jisung’s skin.  

Jisung pulls back just enough to cup Minho’s face in his hands, tilting his chin up so their eyes meet. His own eyes are wet, filled with something fierce and endless.  

“Look at me,” he says softly.  

Minho does.  

“You think I don’t get scared too?” Jisung murmurs. “That I don’t think one night you might just wake up and realize I’m the one who isn’t enough?” He shakes his head. “But then I remember—I know you.”

“Jisung, we haven’t known each other for that long.” He sighs, some tears drying with the cold air. “How can you be so sure?”

“I know the way you love. Even when it’s hard.” His thumbs brush away the tears on Minho’s cheeks. “That’s why I’m never leaving.”  

Minho chokes on a breath.  

“Minho you’re my fucking muse.” He huffs out. “I love you,” Jisung says, firm and unwavering. “And I don’t care if you need me to remind you every single fucking day, okay? I will.”  

Minho’s hands tighten in Jisung’s hoodie, like he’s trying to anchor himself. “I don’t want to lose you.” His voice is small. Cracked open.  

Jisung presses his lips against the top of Minho’s head. “Then don’t,” he whispers. “Just hold my hand, hyung.”  

Minho squeezes his eyes shut. His fingers curl into the fabric of Jisung’s hoodie. He clings.  

He holds on.  

Looking down at their joined hands, Minho smiles. “Thank you.”

Jisung hums back in answer. “Come on, let’s go to sleep now.”

Morning comes and Jisung is the first to wake up. Rolling over he extends his arm out in search for the older only to find the place empty. 

Panic arises inside his chest. 

“Minho?” He says, his voice still hoarse from having just woken up. He sits up, running his hands over his wavy hair. “Fuck- Fuck, Hyung?”

No answer.

He stands up, running to the living room. “Min?” He calls out again.

He swears he is about to cry when he turns around and sees him. A peaceful figure sitting on a chair outside the balcony, a wave of smoke around him. 

The younger sighs. Walking next to the other, he smiles at the sight of his muse looking so peaceful. 

“You scared me to death just now.” He says as he slides the door open, successfully getting the other’s attention.

“Jisung-ah.” Minho clicks his tongue, a lazy smile pulled on his lips. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.”

“Really?” The younger asks. “Why is that?” He adds, planning on sitting down on the chair next to Minho’s. However, it seems like the older has other plans.

Jisung can feel it before it happens, if the way his cat-like grin is something to go for. And then Minho is pulling him by the wrist and JIsung is sitting on top of him.

Which okay, he prefers much more than a chair. Especially when he knows how much he loves the other’s thighs.

“Good morning honey.” Minho smiles, his arm wrapping around the other in a tighter embrace. 

Jisung doesn’t even have time to say anything before he’s already kissing him. The younger’s hands wrap around his neck and he loves the way Minho hums in approval when they tangle with his longer hair strands at the back. 

Pulling away, Han is sure he must be blushing right now. “You weren’t in bed.”

“I wasn’t.” Minho agrees.

“Why?” He pouts, nipping at Minho’s ear after, making him hum once more.

“Can you behave for once?” Minho warns, pulling Jisung back by his hoodie making him giggle.

“Fine…” The younger caves in. 

Minho laughs through his nose as he takes a drag from his blunt. “I made coffee for everyone.” He says, his voice almost a whisper.

Jisung’s eyes widen. “Oh.” He says, looking down to see the other boy purposely avoiding his stare, his red ears a sign of the clear shyness he feels after his admission. 

“I was also going to make breakfast.” He then adds.

“For all of us?!” Jisung asks surprised.

“God no, that would be too much.” Minho snorts. Looking up the other he then adds, “For you only. Breakfast in bed.”

Jisung’s breath catches.  

For a second, all he can do is blink at Minho, his heart stuttering in his chest. Minho, who never really says things like this outright. Minho, who loves with actions more than words—who teases instead of confesses, who cares quietly, subtly.  

And yet here he is. Admitting it like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.  

Minho shifts, taking another slow drag from his blunt, but his eyes flick up toward Jisung’s face, assessing his reaction.   

Jisung’s brain catches up about three seconds too late. “Wait—wait, hold on. You—you were gonna surprise me with breakfast in bed?”  

Minho exhales, smoke curling between them, and clicks his tongue. “I literally just said that.”  

Jisung lets out a breathless laugh, something warm blooming in his chest. “Min, that’s so—”  

“Don’t make it weird,” Minho warns, but his ears are still red, and Jisung knows he’s already lost this battle.  

“Oh my god,” Jisung grins, his hands sliding from Minho’s neck to cup his face. “You’re so soft.”  

“I will throw you off this balcony.”  

“You love me too much.”  

Minho huffs, lips pressing into a firm line. But he doesn’t deny it.  

Jisung beams, pressing quick, fluttering kisses all over Minho’s face, making the older groan. “Okay, okay, enough,” Minho grumbles, pushing him back half-heartedly. “Are you gonna let me finish this or—”  

Jisung snatches the blunt from his fingers before he can react, taking a slow drag with a smug little smirk. “Mmm, I dunno,” he muses, exhaling lazily. “You might have to earn it back.”  

Minho narrows his eyes. “Han Jisung.”  

Jisung just giggles, leaning in so their noses brush. “Lee Minho.”  

And then he’s kissing him again, deep and slow, the taste of smoke lingering between them. Minho groans against his mouth, hands tightening around his waist.  

“Okay,” Minho mutters between kisses. “You’re definitely not getting breakfast now.”  

Jisung gasps dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”  

Minho grins, all sharp and smug. “Try me.”  

Jisung squints at him for a long moment. Then, very deliberately, he takes another slow drag from Minho’s blunt.  

Minho watches him, unimpressed. “You know I have more of those, right?”  

Jisung huffs, pouting. “You’re so annoying.”  

“And you’re still in my lap,” Minho points out.  

Jisung opens his mouth to argue—but he really doesn’t have a rebuttal for that.  

“…Shut up,” he mutters instead, dropping his forehead against Minho’s shoulder.  

Minho chuckles, arms wrapping around him, fingers tapping absentmindedly against his spine.  

They enjoy their quiet moment together, the early morning air crisp around them, the world silent except for the few cars on the road.  

“You really scared me, you know,” Jisung murmurs after a beat, voice softer now.  

Minho’s fingers still for half a second before he exhales. “…I know.”  

Jisung shifts back, just enough to meet his gaze. “Next time, wake me up. Please?”  

Minho searches his face, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he nods.  

“Okay,” he says, quiet but sure.  

Jisung lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good.”  

And then he’s curling back into Minho’s chest, stealing another slow drag before pressing the blunt back to Minho’s lips. Minho takes it wordlessly, the warmth between them steady and unwavering.  

The sun creeps higher, casting a soft golden light over the city.  

Eventually, Minho sighs. “Fine,” he mutters. “Get off me. I’ll go make your stupid breakfast.”  

Jisung grins. “With extra eggs?”  

Minho groans. “You’re pushing your luck.”  

Jisung just giggles, hopping off Minho’s lap before dragging him inside by the wrist and Minho lets him, like always.

Once back in the house they’re greeted by Chan in the kitchen. 

“Oh, morning!” The older greets. 

“Hey hyung.” Jisung smiles. “Minho will be making me breakfast in bed!”

Minho sighs, flicking him on the forehead softly. “One, that was not for the others to know and two, you're no longer in bed so it will be breakfast on a table really.” 

Jisung should be mad but really he knows Minho is just embarrassed he exposed him. Then there's also the soft tone he used even when being sarcastic. 

Chan whistles. “Damn, I wish I had breakfast on a table.” He laughs.

“Sorry, that’s Jisung’s privilege only,” Minho explains, wrapping his hand around the younger’s middle. “I did make coffee for you guys.”

“Damn.” Chan says. “Warm coffee waiting for me once I wake up. Minho, do you wanna move in and we can throw Jisung out?”

“Hey-”

“That sounds perfect, thanks.”

“What- Hyung!” The younger protests, looking at Minho with clear disappointment.

Minho gives him a half smirk. “Relax Hannie, you also live with Changbin and we still have a lot of process to do before I move in.”

“Yeah that’s- Wait, stop saying you’ll move in, Minho!”

Chan’s loud laugh brings them back from their bickering. “Man, that's true tho. Although I'm sure it will get easier now that we know how much you care for jisung.”

Jisung smiles. From beside him Minho stills a little.

“How are you so sure?” He asks. 

Chan finishes pouring his coffee into a mug before looking back at him. Humming, he blows gently over his coffee before taking a slow sip. 

He doesn’t answer right away, just watches Minho over the rim of his mug, something thoughtful in his gaze. Then, finally, he sets the mug down and leans against the counter, crossing his arms.  

“Because you let us see this side of you,” he says simply.  

Minho stiffens just slightly. “What side?”  

Chan tilts his head, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “The one that wakes up early to make coffee for people you barely know. The one that looks at Jisung like he hung the damn stars. The one that’s here, standing in this kitchen, teasing and bickering with us like he belongs.”  

Minho swallows. His fingers tighten just slightly where they rest on Jisung’s waist.  

Chan shrugs, turning to grab the sugar. “That’s how I know,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  

Jisung beams, looking up at Minho with something warm and unshaken in his gaze. Minho exhales sharply through his nose, clicking his tongue. “You’re both annoying.”  

Jisung just grins wider. “But you still like me.”  

Minho scoffs. “Debatable.”  

Jisung gasps, shoving him playfully. “Lee Minho!”  

Chan snickers behind his coffee, and Minho just shakes his head, fighting the small, fond smile pulling at his lips.  

Changbin shuffles into the kitchen then, rubbing at his eyes, his hair sticking up in a way that suggests he just rolled out of bed. “Why are you all so loud?” he grumbles. Then he stops, blinking at the three of them. His gaze lands on Minho.  

“Oh,” he says flatly. “You didn’t run away.”  

Jisung stiffens, his stomach dropping.  

Minho tenses beside him, but his expression doesn’t shift. “No,” he says simply. “I didn’t.”  

Changbin watches him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he huffs, stepping past them to grab a mug from the cabinet. “Good,” he mutters. “Jisung would’ve been unbearable if you had.”  

Jisung lets out a breathless laugh, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Oh my God- Why are you all bullying me this early in the morning.”  

Minho just snorts, shaking his head. “That’s fair.”  

Felix appears a second later, his hair even worse than his boyfriend’s, looking half-asleep as he clings to Changbin’s arm. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles.  

Changbin pats his head absently. “Minho made coffee,” he says, nodding toward the counter.  

Felix brightens slightly. “Oh. Thanks, Minho-hyung.”  

Minho pauses at the word, blinking at Felix. Then, just barely, his lips curve into something small and soft. “No problem.”  

Jisung doesn’t think he’s ever loved him more.  

The morning unfolds naturally after that. Jisung sits at the counter, watching as Minho moves around the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, eyes half-lidded with focus as he makes their breakfast. 

Everyone is up already and together in the living room playing video games. 

At one point, Jeongin leans in and murmurs, “He’s really staying, huh?”  

Jisung glances at Minho, taking in the way he listens to Chan talk, the way he laughs quietly at how excited Felix looks to be talking to another dancer, the way his hand drifts absentmindedly to Jisung’s back every time he passes by.  

Jisung smiles.  

“Yeah,” he says softly. “He is.” 

“Smart choice.” Jeongin hums. “Seungmin said he would join us later.”

“Okay.” Jisung answers not really caring about anything rather than the hot man making him breakfast.

Jeongin smirks. “He said Hyunjin would come too.”

That manages to grab his attention. “What?!” He almost yells, “So what are they together?”

“Are you two together?” Jeongin asks back.

“Yes.” Jisung says with no hesitation. “I mean n-no, not officially but…” he trails off, sighing as he looks back at his— whatever — friend? “Okay nevermind.”

Jeongin laughs. “You should have that talk soon.”

The older is about to answer him back when Minho stops in front of him.

“Alright here is a bowl of yogurt with cereal and sliced fruits, and here-” dropping another plate in front of them Jisung gasps, “omelette with bacon.”

“You… made this all by yourself?” 

“Not really, only the omelette.” Minho shrugs. 

Jisung looks up at him. Minho has his hair up in a ponytail with some strands falling and is dressed in his regular black hoodie and black sweatpants, and he still manages to be the most beautiful creature ever. 

Sensing his staring, Minho looks back at him with his signature smirk. “What?” He asks, leaning down on his elbows on the counter to stay at eye level with the other.

“N-Nothing I- Thank you.” He stutters. From beside him he hears Jeongin laugh at the whole exchange.

“What is wrong with him?” Minho asks the younger.

“Oh he is just surprised Seungmin and Hyunjin will be joining us.”

“Really?! Minho asks, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Are they together?” He now asks Jisung who just chokes on his food.

“S-Sorry.” He says, coughing in the process.

Minho sighs, passing his cup of coffee to the younger. “Hannie what are you on right now?” He laughs, his gaze soft as he keeps staring at him.

“Well- Weed.”

Minho snorts. “Fair enough, but you had like what? Three drags?” He teases. “You’ve smoked way more.”

“Oh excuse me weed expert.” He rolls his eyes. “Sometimes it hits harder okay? And also I had just woken up.”

“Okay baby, no need to get defensive.”

Jisung chokes again. Minho on the other hand, is loving this.

“God. I hate you.” Jisung groans, his cheeks red. 

“No you don’t.” Minho smiles, slightly biting his lower lip to contain his laugh. This doesn’t make it any easier for the other.

Looking at him one last time, Jisung sighs and decides to just keep eating his food.

“Cute.” Minho whispers in his ear, dropping a peck on his forehead before turning away.

“Oh, he is in love with you for sure.” Jeongin teases.

“S-Shut up.” Jisung blushes, burying his face on his breakfast. 

The afternoon sun slants through the windows, draping the living room in a golden glow. The group has settled into a comfortable haze of bickering over video games, stealing each other’s snacks, and occasionally throwing pillows across the room when someone—usually Jisung—says something dumb.  

Minho’s still not used to this—this warmth, this ease—but he thinks maybe he could be.  

Then the front door bursts open.  

“Guess who’s back!”  

Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the room, loud and dramatic as ever. He struts in like he owns the place, Seungmin trailing behind him with significantly less enthusiasm. The two of them are holding hands, fingers casually laced together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

Jisung, who had been draped across Minho’s lap half-asleep, bolts upright so fast he almost headbutts Minho in the chin. “Wait, what—?”  

Seungmin sighs like this is the most exhausting reaction possible. “You heard him.”  

Chan squints. “You two are—?”  

“Dating,” Hyunjin confirms with a wide grin, swinging their linked hands in emphasis. “Surprise!”  

For a second, there’s silence.  

Then chaos.  

Felix lets out a delighted gasp. “Oh my God, finally.”  

Jisung practically lunges forward, grabbing at Seungmin’s sleeve. “I knew it!” He screams. “You could’ve told me sooner.”

Seungmin levels him with a flat stare. “Of course you knew, we weren't exactly being discreet. ”  

Hyunjin laughs, slipping an arm around Seungmin’s waist. “Yeah, we’ve been soft-launching for months”  

Jisung reels back dramatically, flopping into Minho’s lap like the weight of realization is too much to bear. “I’m happy for you but I still feel so betrayed.”  

Minho grunts at the impact. “Get off me.”  

“No. I need comfort.” Jisung clings harder, draping himself across Minho like a human blanket. “This is a moment of grief.”  

“You’re being ridiculous.”  

Chan, still looking faintly shell-shocked, finally shakes himself out of it. “Okay, okay—hold on, let’s focus on the important part.” He looks at the new couple. “Are you guys happy?”  

Hyunjin’s grin softens as he glances at Seungmin, who just hums in acknowledgment, but the look in his eyes is answer enough.  

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says simply. “We are.”  

For a moment, something quiet settles over the room.  

Then Jisung sits up, eyes gleaming mischievously. “So, when’s the wedding?”  

Seungmin groans, shoving him off the couch, and just like that, the room is filled with laughter again.  

Minho watches it all unfold—the noise, the warmth, the undeniable love woven into the chaos of their friendships. He leans against the couch, taking in the sight of Jisung, who’s still grinning even from his spot on the floor. Something in Minho’s chest tightens.

Yeah. He could get used to this.

Looking down at him, Minho reaches out, fingers brushing against Jisung’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey, wanna come over today?” he asks, biting his lip without realizing it.

“Oh.” Jisung’s ears turn red instantly. “I—uhm, I have some coursework to catch up on, but I guess I can still do it at your place.” He fidgets slightly, then adds, “If—if that’s okay for you!”

Minho smirks. Cute. “Of course you can, baby.” The nickname rolls off his tongue effortlessly, leaving Jisung blinking up at him, lips parting slightly.

Jisung’s stunned expression melts into a slow, bashful smile. “Okay,” he says, softer now. “Then yeah. I’ll come over.”

Minho hums, satisfied. His fingers graze Jisung’s wrist before he stands, stretching his arms above his head. “Cool. Let’s head out soon, then.”

Jisung nods, cheeks still pink, and Minho doesn’t miss the way Felix and Jeongin share a knowing look. He clicks his tongue. “Mind your business,” he mutters.

Felix grins. “We didn’t say anything.”

Jeongin smirks. “You didn’t have to.”

Minho rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch up despite himself.

Jisung stands too, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “Okay, let’s go before they bully me more.”

Minho just chuckles, ruffling his hair. “Too late for that.”

“Let me just pack up some stuff before going,” Jisung says.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting here then.” Minho smiles, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to Jisung’s cheek before letting him go.

Jisung packs up fast—faster than usual. Maybe it’s the excitement of staying over at the place of the guy he likes. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. With everything ready, he grabs his computer and notebooks before meeting the others in the living room.

“Okay, we can go!”

His arrival puts an instant smile on Minho’s face, who is already getting up from the couch.

“Bye, guys!” Jisung says, his signature heart-shaped smile appearing.

“Bye! Sung, let us know what time you’ll drop by the studio tomorrow,” Chan reminds him.

“Oh, right. I’ll probably come after our morning class.”

Minho’s head snaps up. “Wait, we’re going?” he asks, his eyes widening in horror.

“I never skip classes. Even the boring ones.” Jisung replies matter-of-factly.

“That’s not what happened last time—”

“Hey! I went to class, I just… left earlier,” he says, voice dropping to a mumble towards the end. “And that was your fault.”

“My fault?” Minho raises an eyebrow. “Do you remember why we left in the first place?”

Jisung’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “I—” He stammers before crossing his arms. “Whatever. We’re going tomorrow.”

Minho laughs at his resilience. “We can discuss this in the morning.”

“Hyung—”

“Bye, guys! See you around,” Minho cuts him off, grabbing Jisung’s wrist and dragging him along as the others chuckle behind them.

“How are we going to your place?” Jisung asks while they wait for the elevator.

“By car.” Minho shrugs. The words make Jisung’s eyebrows pull together in confusion.

“Oh, you mean like ordering an uber?” He says.

“No.” Minho half-laughs. “I mean by car.” He smirks.

“What car?” Jisung asks again.

“My car.” Minho answers.

This only makes Jisung more confused. “But… Minho, you don’t have a car.”

Minho rolls his eyes, clearly entertained. “I do have a car, Sung. I just let Hyunjin borrow it over the weekend.”

Jisung blinks at him. “Since when do you have a car?”

“Since forever,” Minho replies, stepping into the elevator and dragging Jisung along.

“That’s a lie,” Jisung accuses, pointing at him dramatically. “I’ve never seen you drive. Not once.”

Minho leans lazily against the elevator wall, smirking. “Maybe you just don’t pay enough attention to me.”

Jisung gapes. “Excuse me? I—” He stops mid-sentence, his face heating up because, okay, maybe he does pay a little too much attention to Minho, but still! “That’s not the point!”

Minho hums, looking way too pleased with himself. “So what is the point, Sungie?”

“The point is—” Jisung flails his hands, searching for words. “You let Hyunjin borrow a car that I’m still convinced doesn’t exist?”

Minho sighs dramatically. “He begged. Said something about needing ‘the full road trip experience’ to get in touch with his artistic soul.”

Jisung groans. “You let Hyunjin—a man who once got lost inside a mall—take your car?”

Minho shrugs. “To be fair, I had a tracking app on, and he only almost crashed it once.”

Jisung clutches his head like he’s in physical pain. “You’re insane. This is insane. I fear for you.”

Minho just grins, reaching out to ruffle Jisung’s hair. “Aw, you do care.”

Jisung bats his hand away, scowling. “Shut up.”

The elevator dings, and Minho strides out confidently while Jisung follows, still suspicious. But when Minho stops next to a sleek, dark sedan and unlocks it with a press of a button, Jisung freezes.

“…No way.”

Minho gestures grandly. “Behold. My totally real, very sexy car.”

Jisung narrows his eyes, poking the hood like he expects it to be a hologram. “This still feels fake.”

Minho snorts. “Get in, non-believer.”

With a dramatic sigh, Jisung does.

Once they’re on the road, soft music plays from the speakers, and the city lights blur past. Jisung, however, is too busy staring at Minho’s hands on the wheel.

It’s a problem.

Minho’s fingers move effortlessly—tapping lightly, gripping the leather in a way that is way too attractive for something as mundane as driving. And his hands are pretty, all long fingers and sharp veins, and—

“Really Jisung? A hand kink?” Minho asks, breaking Jisung’s trance.

Jisung immediately looks away, cheeks burning. “I—I was just—I wasn’t looking at—shut up!”

Minho grins. “Oh, you so were.”

“I wasn’t !” Jisung lies.

Minho tsks. “Sungie, if you wanna hold my hand, you can just ask.”

Jisung groans, covering his face. “You’re the worst.”

Minho chuckles but doesn’t push further, though he does flex his fingers on purpose, knowing full well Jisung is still sneaking glances.

Jisung, meanwhile, is dying.

By the time they reach Minho’s apartment, Jisung is still internally screaming about his weirdly intense hand fixation, and Minho knows it. 

A few minutes later, they pull into the parking lot of Minho’s building. Jisung fumbles with his seatbelt as Minho turns off the engine.

“Relax,” Minho teases. “You’re acting like this is your first time here.”

“It’s different now,” Jisung blurts out, then immediately regrets it.

Minho stills. He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked onto Jisung’s face. “Yeah?”

Jisung swallows, gripping the strap of his bag. “I mean… we’re talking tonight. Right?”

Minho doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches over, his fingers brushing against Jisung’s as he tugs his hand free from the death grip on his bag.

“Yeah,” he says, softer this time. “We are.”

Jisung looks up at him, eyes wide. Minho squeezes his hand once before pulling away, opening his door.

“Come on. Let’s go inside.” He says. Jisung following back.

Minho unlocks the door, stepping inside. “Make yourself at home.”

Jisung enters cautiously, the familiar smell of Minho spread around the whole place as he sets his bag down. “So… about that talk?”

Minho hums, shutting the door behind them. “Yeah, about that…”

Jisung turns around—and suddenly Minho is very close. Like, close-close. Like, “we could kiss right now and it wouldn’t be weird” close.

Jisung swallows. “Uh—”

Minho tilts his head. “You were staring at my hands the whole car ride, by the way.”

Jisung lets out a strangled noise. “Minho—”

“It was kinda cute,” Minho continues, stepping forward until Jisung’s back lightly hits the wall. “You get flustered so easily, Sungie.”

Jisung’s heart is pounding. “I—you—shut up.”

Minho smirks. “How are you planning on making me do that?”

Jisung stares at him for a while. Minho loved how even with his longer curly hair he can still see the clear red shade of his ears.

“Hmm.” Minho teases. “I knew you didn't have it in you.”

And then, oh, oh, Jisung is kissing him.

It starts as a desperate push forward, all flustered energy and pent-up tension, but Minho immediately takes control, cupping Jisung’s face as he deepens the kiss. His lips are soft, teasing, taking his time as Jisung melts against him.

Jisung grips Minho’s hoodie, pulling him closer. Minho chuckles into the kiss but lets himself be dragged in, pressing Jisung further into the wall.

“Mm,” Minho hums when they finally part, lips just barely touching. “See? So much cuter when you stop pretending you don’t want me.”

Jisung groans, hiding his face in Minho’s shoulder. “I will kill you.”

Minho grins, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Nah, you won’t.”

Jisung huffs. “…Fine. Maybe not.”

Minho kisses his temple, satisfied. “Good.”

Jisung sighs dramatically. “Still doesn’t mean I’m letting this whole car thing go.”

Minho laughs. “Of course not, baby.”

“Minho hyung.” Jisung starts, looking up at the other. He doesn’t miss the way Minho’s hands instantly tighten around his waist. 

“Jisung-ah.” Minho smiles, his fingers now rubbing small circles around the younger’s middle. 

“I do want us to talk but I really need to finish some assignments and email my music production teacher about the deadline for our final project.”

“Oh sure.” Minho easily agrees. “Well, you can either stay in my room studying or in the living room. How does that sound?” He proposes.

“That’s perfect.” The younger smiles. “I think I’d rather stay in the living room.”

“Hmm, whatever you want.” Minho reassures. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He says, leaning up to kiss him again.

Jisung had every intention of pulling away after that one quick kiss. Really, he did. But Minho—smug, unfairly good-at-this Minho—clearly has other plans.  

Just as Jisung starts to step back, Minho’s hands tighten around his waist, holding him in place. “Where do you think you’re going?” he murmurs, lips ghosting over Jisung’s jawline.  

Jisung shudders. “I—Hyung—”  

“Mm?” Minho presses another slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing lower, down to the soft skin just beneath his ear. “You always get this flustered when I kiss you?”  

Jisung lets out an embarrassing little noise, gripping Minho’s hoodie. “Shut up.”  

Minho chuckles against his skin. “Why? I think it’s cute.”  

Jisung groans. “Minho, seriously, I have work to do.”  

“I know, baby,” Minho murmurs, but he still doesn’t let go, tilting Jisung’s chin up so their eyes meet. His gaze is warm, teasing—but there’s something else there too. Something softer.  

Jisung swallows hard. “Minho—”  

“You’re so pretty,” Minho interrupts, thumb brushing over Jisung’s cheek. “It’s kinda unfair, actually. Makes me want to keep you here a little longer.”  

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh my god, you suck.”  

Minho laughs, finally loosening his grip. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you go—for now.”  

Jisung exhales sharply, stepping back like he needs to physically remove himself from Minho’s gravitational pull. He glares at him for good measure. “You’re insufferable.”  

Minho smirks. “And yet, here you are, still blushing.”  

Jisung groans and turns on his heel, stomping toward the living room. “I won’t tolerate you forever.”  

“Love you too, baby,” Minho calls after him, clearly enjoying himself way too much.  

Jisung flops onto the couch, determined to focus on his assignments. But his face is still warm, and his lips are still tingling, and Minho— 

Jisung is trying to focus. Really, he is.  

His fingers hover over his keyboard as he rereads the same sentence of his email for the fifth time, but nothing is sticking. Nothing at all.  

And the reason?  

Minho. Of course.  

Because instead of staying in his room and giving Jisung the space he so desperately needs, Minho is in the kitchen, making coffee. That alone wouldn’t be a problem—except Minho, with his stupidly pretty hands, just gathered his black hair up into a loose ponytail, securing it effortlessly with the tie around his wrist.  

Jisung watches the movement, completely hypnotized. His fingers twitch against his laptop.  

It’s unfair. It’s all so unfair.  

As if sensing his gaze, Minho glances over his shoulder, a smirk already forming. “You’re staring again.”  

Jisung jolts, snapping his head toward his screen. “I was not.”  

Minho hums in amusement, turning back to the coffee maker. “Sure, baby.”  

Jisung grits his teeth, pretending to type something important. Focus. Just ignore him. 

But then Minho, again, ruins everything by joining him on the couch, two mugs of coffee in hand. He sets one in front of Jisung before stretching out comfortably, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch.  

Jisung eyes him warily. “What are you doing?”  

“Helping you study,” Minho replies, taking a slow sip of his coffee.  

Jisung narrows his eyes. “No, you’re not.”  

Minho just smirks, reaching into his hoodie pocket and pulling out a pre-rolled joint. He holds it up between two fingers, expression unreadable. “This might help you relax, though.”  

Jisung swallows. He should say no. He really, really should. But Minho is looking at him like that, and Jisung is already feeling too warm, too restless.

Jisung watches as Minho takes his time with the joint, bringing it to his lips with a slow, practiced ease, lightning it up after. He inhales deeply, his long fingers resting against his lower lip as he holds the smoke in his lungs before exhaling in a steady stream. The sight alone has Jisung swallowing hard.

Minho notices. Of course, he does.

“You want some, baby?” Minho murmurs, tilting his head, eyes dark and unreadable under the dim light of the living room. His voice is low, teasing.

Jisung nods without thinking. “Y-Yeah.”

Minho smirks, leaning in just enough to make Jisung’s breath hitch. “Then come and get it.”

Jisung barely has time to process before Minho takes another slow drag, holding it in. He shifts forward, so close their noses nearly brush. Jisung doesn’t move—he can’t—as Minho grips his chin between two fingers, tilting his face up.

Then, deliberately slow, Minho exhales, blowing the smoke directly into Jisung’s parted lips.

The warmth of it curls into his lungs, thick and intoxicating, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of Minho’s fingers still holding his chin, his thumb grazing over his lower lip.

Jisung exhales shakily, blinking up at him, dazed.

Minho’s smirk deepens. “Good boy.”

Jisung’s brain short-circuits.

Minho laughs, low and satisfied, before leaning in again, this time pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Jisung’s lips.

Jisung melts instantly, gripping the front of Minho’s hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. The taste of smoke and coffee lingers between them, dizzying and warm. Minho kisses him lazily at first, dragging it out, taking his time like he knows Jisung is already falling apart.

And then—suddenly—it shifts.

Minho deepens the kiss without warning, tilting his head, his hands slipping under Jisung’s sweater to rest against the bare skin of his waist. He pulls him closer, swallowing Jisung’s quiet gasp as his fingers press in, teasing.

Jisung clings to him, chasing the heat, letting Minho take whatever he wants because, honestly, he wants it too. His entire body is buzzing—whether from the weed or Minho’s touch, he doesn’t know anymore.

Minho tugs at Jisung’s lower lip with his teeth, grinning when he feels him shudder. “You’re so easy to mess with,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement.

Jisung glares at him weakly, cheeks burning. “Dont- God, don’t say that.”

Minho only hums, brushing his lips against Jisung’s again, softer this time. “Sorry.”

Jisung exhales sharply. He really, really doesn’t.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice low.

Jisung hesitates for only a second before leaning in. This time, there’s no teasing. No slow build. Just heat.

Minho pulls him in, hands firm on Jisung’s waist as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to press even closer. Jisung melts against him, fingers tangling in Minho’s hoodie as he chases the taste of smoke and coffee on his lips.

Minho groans softly, shifting so that Jisung is practically in his lap now. His hands slip under Jisung’s sweater, palms warm against his skin.

“Minho,” Jisung gasps against his mouth.

Minho hums, pressing kisses down his jaw. “Told you,” he murmurs, lips brushing over Jisung’s pulse point. “You’re cuter when you stop pretending.”

Jisung barely has the energy to glare before Minho kisses him again, stealing the breath from his lungs.

Minho smirks against his lips, pulling back just slightly to study him. His fingers push up into Jisung’s curls, twisting them between his fingers. “Fuck, you look so good like this,” he murmurs.

Jisung blinks up at him, dazed. “…Like what?”

Minho chuckles, running a thumb along Jisung’s lower lip. “Curly hair all messy, flushed from kissing me, and these—” His fingers trail up, brushing lightly over the frames of Jisung’s glasses. “God, I love these on you.”

Jisung whines, cheeks burning.

He barely has a second to recover before Minho is kissing him again. His hands stay in Jisung’s curls, tugging just enough to make him shiver, while his other hand slides down, gripping Jisung’s waist.

Jisung feels like he’s burning alive.

The combination of the weed, the heat of Minho’s body against his, and the way Minho knows exactly what he’s doing is making him dizzy. He grips Minho’s hoodie tighter, like that’ll keep him grounded, but Minho clearly has no intention of letting him breathe.

“You like it, don’t you?” Minho murmurs against his lips, voice thick with amusement. “When I touch you like this?”

Jisung makes an embarrassing noise, which only makes Minho smirk harder.

“I knew it,” Minho teases, thumb brushing over Jisung’s lower lip. “You pretend to be all tough, but the second I get my hands on you…” He trails off, grinning.

Jisung glares at him, though it’s not very convincing when his lips are still slightly swollen from kissing. “I hate you.”

Minho laughs, low and satisfied. “You don’t.”

He shifts slightly, pressing Jisung back into the couch, his lips dragging from his mouth down to his jaw, then lower, to the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. Jisung gasps, head tipping back instinctively as Minho bites down, just enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes. His whole body feels overheated, buzzing with something more than just the weed.

Minho hums in approval, licking over the spot he just bit. “You’re so easy to mess with, baby.”

Jisung glares at him again, but it’s completely ineffective when his face is burning, his breathing uneven. “You—”

Minho interrupts him with another kiss, slow and teasing, just to shut him up. Jisung barely has time to register the way Minho shifts again before he’s pressed completely into the cushions, Minho settling between his legs like he belongs there.

Minho grins down at him. “You gonna let me keep teasing you, or are you finally gonna admit you like it?”

Jisung groans, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my god.”

Minho laughs, prying Jisung’s hands away just so he can kiss him again.

And Jisung lets him.

He finally manages to pull away, panting, his face burning hotter than ever. “Minho, I—” He swallows, trying to gather his thoughts. “I really need to focus.”  

Minho stares at him for a second, then sighs dramatically, rolling off of him. “Fine, fine,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll give you a break.”  

Jisung groans, running a hand through his curls. His body still feels way too warm, and the ghost of Minho’s hands on his skin isn’t helping.  

Minho watches him, smirking. “You look wrecked already, and we didn’t even do anything.”  

Jisung throws a pillow at him. “Shut up.”  

Minho catches it effortlessly, laughing as he tosses it aside. Then, as if flipping a switch, his teasing expression shifts into something more thoughtful. “You know what? Let’s go out.”  

Jisung blinks. “What?”  

“You need to focus, right?” Minho shrugs, standing up. “Let’s change the scenery.”  

Jisung frowns. “Where are we even gonna go?”  

Minho smirks. “The bingo hall.”  

Jisung stares at him. “Why?”  

Minho is already grabbing his keys. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I go there to draw sometimes-

“I am aware of that.” JIsungs cuts off, memories of his first times seeing Minho flooding his mind.

“Yeah, yeah.” Minho snorts. “But okay it’s quiet, weirdly cozy, and nobody bothers me.” He pauses. “Plus, the old ladies love me.”  

Jisung squints. “Were we at the same bingo salon?”  

“Fine, almost all the old ladies,” He corrects, “The old men for sure do though.” Minho grins. 

“God.” Jisung sighs. “You’ve been insufferable since birth.” He comments, making the older laugh.

“Let’s go, Sungie. You can’t write when you’re all flustered like this.”  

Jisung groans but ultimately sighs in defeat. “Fine. But if I don’t get anything done, I’m blaming you.”  

Minho laughs. “Fair.”  

As soon as they park, Minho is dragging JIsung by the hand. 

“I haven’t been here in ages.” Jisung admits.

“Well that’s because you realized after that we attend the same college.” Minho grins.

Jisung smiles. “Yeah, that’s–” His sudden halt makes Minho stop too. “Wait…” When he looks up he finds a rather amused Minho staring at the floor to contend his smirk. “Oh my God, you knew?!”

“Knew what?” Minho asks, furrowing his eyebrows to pretend being confused. It’s just that shitting ass grin ruins completely his plan. 

“Oh my- Hyung!” Jisung yells, punching his shoulder. “You knew I was following you?!”

Minho lets out a loud laugh, an adorable ah leaving his lips at the end. It’s cute.

Minho is cute. 

It still doesn’t make Jisung feel any better. He groans, “I’m so fucking embarrassed.” He says, his hands hiding his face.

He feels Minho coming closer to him and the way his hands come up to remove Jisung’s ones from his face. “I told you before,” Minho starts, “You’re not very observant Hannie.”

Jisung blushes. “I can’t believe you knew…” He mutters, jutting his lips out slightly towards the end.

Minho hums, taking his face in his hands to kiss his pout away. “Baby, I won’t tell you everything but you should remember” He starts, “I have been aware of your presence for much longer than you think.” 

The words make Jisung blush. Right, he forgot about that.

“Let’s go inside now. You have work to do.” Minho says.

“Min!” He whines, but Minho is extremely good at ignoring him.

They finally head inside and it’s just like Jisung remembered. Quiet, but not in an awkward way—just the hum of conversation, the occasional call of numbers over the speaker, the rustle of bingo cards. The air smells like old paper and cheap coffee, and the soft clatter of markers against tables fills the room.  

Minho leads him to his usual booth near the back, pulling out his sketchbook as he settles in. “See? Nice and peaceful.”  

Jisung exhales, nodding. “Yeah, okay. You win.”  

Minho grins. “I always win.”  

Jisung rolls his eyes but pulls out his laptop anyway, determined to actually get something done.  

For a while, they sit in comfortable silence—Minho sketching idly in his notebook, Jisung typing and erasing lyrics over and over again. But something isn’t clicking.  

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “It’s not working.”  

Minho doesn’t look up. “What isn’t?”  

“The song,” Jisung mutters. “It has to be about love, but everything I write sounds… forced.”  

Minho hums, still sketching. “Then don’t force it.”  

Jisung groans. “Wow, thanks, that helps so much.”  

Minho finally glances up, smirking. “You’re overthinking. Just write what you feel.”  

Jisung huffs, slumping back in his seat. “Easier said than done.” He sighs. “I know I have until the end of the semester to deliver it but still…”

Minho tilts his head. “Then stop thinking about ‘love’ as some big, complicated thing.” He taps his pencil against the table. “What makes you feel it?”  

Jisung opens his mouth—then hesitates.  

What makes him feel it?  

He looks around the room. There’s the familiar old lady cheating all the way through the game making Jisung scoff yet again. An old jukebox in the corner of the salon. 

Next to them an old couple bickers as they keep playing, their familiar banter a soft sight.

It’s sweet.

Jisung’s gaze drifts to the older.

It’s in the little things.

The way he tugs his hair up without thinking.

The way he teases but always listens.

The way he laughs, soft and unguarded, when he thinks no one is watching.

The way he looks at him—like he knows.

Jisung swallows. His hands still.

He looks up at Minho, who's completely focused on his sketch. His lips are slightly pursed, eyes flickering across the page. His fingers smudge the pencil lines with practiced ease.

Jisung’s chest tightens.

He’s so screwed.

Minho, still focused on his sketchbook, doesn’t notice the way Jisung stares at him, his fingers suddenly twitching with inspiration.  

He opens his laptop again. This time, the words come easier.

A few hours pass by and Jisung is finally content with the progress he’s made. He doesn’t have all the lyrics or even half of it really, but he feels it again.

Because of Minho. His muse.

His.

“Is it working?” Minho asks after a while, eyes stuck on his notebook.

“Uh? Oh- yeah.” Jisung says after a while, adjusting his glasses nervously. “I think I’m getting there.”

Minho looks at him. His feline eyes almost penetrating Jisung’s with how focused they are, his smirk softening into something unreadable. 

“There it is,” he murmurs.

Jisung blinks. “What?”

Minho just shrugs, tapping his pencil against his sketchbook. “Nothing. Just… you’re cute when you figure things out.”

The younger barely has time to process this before Minho is speaking again.

“Let me know when you wanna head back,” he says. 

Jisung shivers. “S-Sure.”

An hour later, Jisung stares at his laptop with a satisfied smile. “I did it…” he whispers, still managing to get the older’s attention. 

“You finished the song?” Minho asks amazed. 

“Obviously not.” Jisung snorts. “But I have the lyrics.”

Minho hums, putting his stuff away in his bag. “What’s it about?”

Jisung stops for a second. “You. Us.” 

The admission makes Minho’s eyes expand, mouth falling open. 

“I mean I- You said for me to think about what’s real and I know we’re not t-together but I-” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore.

Jisung is still reeling from his comment when Minho exhales deeply and leans back against the chair, drumming his fingers against the table. His teasing smirk has faded, replaced by something more serious, more thoughtful. 

“Let’s go back to mine.” Minho says after a long time.

Jisung blinks, his brain still lagging. “Huh?”

Minho tilts his head, studying him carefully, the loose hair strands from the ponytail framing his face perfectly. “We should talk… right?”

Jisung’s stomach twists. “Oh.”

The older watches him, waiting. His fingers still lightly tapping against the table – a nervous energy that Han isn't used to seeing from him.

So maybe that’s why Jisung nods. Because Minho looks just as unsettled as he feels, and if they don’t talk now, Jisung is going to spiral.

“Okay,” he says, voice quieter than before. “Let’s go.”

Minho hums back, both of them packing their own stuff in a heavy silence. 

The drive back is tense, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Jisung’s hands tremble slightly on his lap, his mind a hurricane of thoughts. Minho, usually so sure of himself, grips the wheel too tightly, his knuckles white under the dim glow of the streetlights.  

He pulls the car to a stop in front of his building but makes no move to get out. Instead, he exhales sharply and leans his head back against the seat, eyes shutting for a moment.  

Minho drags a hand through his hair, still not looking at him. “I’m fucking scared, Jisung.”  

Jisung stiffens. “I know, me too.” He gulps.

Minho turns then, his eyes dark, intense. “Just the mere thought of hurting you. Again.” He lets out a humourless laugh. “It scares me so fucking much.”

Jisung’s breath catches.  

“I keep thinking about that day,” Minho continues, voice low but rough with emotion. “The day I kissed you after hearing your song. And how I ran.” His jaw clenches. “And then I treated you like shit after. Over and over again.”  

Jisung swallows hard, because he remembers. Of course, he remembers. The push and pull, the whiplash, the way Minho had acted like Jisung’s feelings were nothing but an inconvenience—until they weren’t.  

Minho shakes his head, exhaling harshly. “I wanted you so fucking bad, Jisung. But I was scared of what it meant. Scared of losing control, of feeling too much, of—” He breaks off, pressing his lips together.  

Jisung’s heart pounds in his chest, and before he can stop himself, the words slip out. “You’ve always had control over me.”  

Minho’s breath catches, his eyes snapping to Jisung’s.  

Jisung lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t even realize it, do you? Every song I write, every lyric I bleed onto the page, it’s all you.” He exhales, voice shaking. “Since I first saw you Minho, it’s always-” He chuckles, “You’ve always been my muse, Minho. You have so much power over me, and it terrifies me.”  

Minho stares at him, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, after a long, heavy silence, he whispers, “You think I have control over you?” He shakes his head slowly, a dark chuckle slipping past his lips. “Jisung, you don’t understand.”  

Jisung frowns, about to question him, but then Minho reaches out, his fingers grazing Jisung’s jaw, tilting his face up. His touch is featherlight, but it sears.  

Minho’s gaze is molten, burning through him. “I would burn the fucking world for you.” His voice is low, intense, a confession wrapped in fire. “That’s how much control you have over me.”  

Jisung’s breath stutters.  

Minho’s fingers tighten, his thumb brushing over Jisung’s lips. “You think you’re the only one who’s scared? I’m terrified. Because there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Jisung. Nothing.”  

Jisung can’t breathe. The weight of Minho’s words, the sheer force of the emotions in his eyes—it’s too much. It’s everything.  

Then Minho surges forward, crashing their lips together, and everything else disappears.  

Jisung gasps into the kiss, his hands flying to Minho’s shoulders, gripping desperately. Minho kisses him like he’s drowning, like he’s starved for this, for him. Their mouths move together in a frantic, desperate rhythm, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.  

Minho pulls Jisung closer, dragging him across the console, not caring about space, about comfort—only about getting Jisung as near as possible. Jisung straddles his lap without thinking, his fingers threading through Minho’s hair, tugging. Minho groans into his mouth, hands gripping Jisung’s waist, sliding under his sweater, scorching his skin.  

“Tell me you’re mine,” Minho murmurs between kisses, voice rough, needy.  

Jisung whimpers, nodding. “I’m yours. Always.”  

Minho growls, his hands tightening as he grinds up against Jisung, drawing a sharp gasp from him. “Say it again.”  

Jisung tilts his head back as Minho’s lips trail down his jaw, his neck, biting, sucking. “I’m yours, Minho—fuck—”  

The older groans at hearing his name fall out from Jisung’s lips like that. “Fuck Hannie, do you want to-”

He doesn't even need to finish the sentence, the younger already nodding against his lips and then they’re moving to the backseat of the car, laughing at how messy the whole process turns out to be.

Minho’s hands roam, desperate, hungry. Jisung arches into his touch, gasping, moaning, heat coiling low in his stomach. The car windows fog up, the air thick with heat, with desire, with everything they’ve been holding back for too long.  

They don’t stop.  

Not until they’re both ruined, completely wrecked in the best possible way.  

And as they lay there afterward, tangled together in the aftermath, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat, Minho presses his forehead against Jisung’s and whispers, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. No more running.”  

Jisung exhales shakily, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “No more running.”  

The car is quiet now, save for the soft, uneven breaths they’re still catching. Jisung’s body is draped over Minho’s, their skin still buzzing from everything they just did. The windows are fogged, the scent of sweat and desire clinging to the air.

Minho’s fingers trail lazily down Jisung’s back, the touch featherlight, barely there, but it makes Jisung shiver all the same. Their legs are tangled, their bodies bare in the backseat, the lingering warmth between them keeping the cold at bay.

Jisung shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at Minho properly. There’s a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “We really just did that in your car.”

Minho lets out a breathy laugh, his fingers ghosting over Jisung’s hip. “And you thought my car wasn’t real.”

Jisung hums, dragging his fingertips over Minho’s chest, tracing patterns along his skin. His hand moves lower, teasing over Minho’s stomach, but before he can go further, Minho catches his wrist.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Minho murmurs, his grip firm but not unkind.

Jisung just grins, pushing their hands together, palm against palm. He watches the way Minho’s fingers twitch, then slowly, Minho interlocks them, squeezing gently.

Jisung’s smile softens. “You have really pretty hands.”

Minho scoffs, but his ears flush pink. “You just had my hands all over you, and now you’re getting sentimental?”

Jisung laughs, bringing their joined hands up to press a soft kiss to Minho’s knuckles. “Maybe.”

Minho rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he flips their hands, running his thumb over Jisung’s palm, tracing every line. His expression shifts, something more tender settling into his gaze.

Jisung watches him quietly, his heart full. Then he sighs, resting his forehead against Minho’s. “We should go inside. We need a shower. And food.”

Minho hums in agreement but doesn’t move just yet. “Think I like you better when you’re too wrecked to tease me,” he mutters.

Jisung grins. “Oh, you wish.”

Minho groans and playfully shoves him off, making Jisung laugh as they finally start gathering their clothes.

Inside, the warmth of Minho’s apartment wraps around them. Jisung stretches, rolling his shoulders, but Minho is already grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the bathroom.

“Shower,” Minho says firmly.

Jisung just smirks. “Together?”

Minho raises a brow. “Unless you wanna wait your turn?”

Jisung doesn’t.

The shower is slow, warm water cascading over them as they take their time, hands roaming lazily, fingers brushing over fading marks on each other’s skin. Jisung leans into Minho’s touch as he runs gentle hands through his hair, washing out the remnants of sweat and exhaustion. It’s intimate in a different way—no rush, no urgency, just them existing in each other’s space.

Jisung presses a damp kiss to Minho’s shoulder, and Minho hums in approval, turning to kiss him properly under the spray of the water.

They eventually step out, skin pink from the heat, and get dressed in comfortable clothes—Minho tossing Jisung an oversized hoodie he doesn’t even pretend to protest.

Dinner is simple, leftovers from Minho’s fridge, but they eat together, sitting close, their knees knocking under the table. Jisung steals bites from Minho’s plate despite having his own, and Minho lets him, rolling his eyes but smiling all the same.

As they finish eating, Jisung leans back in his chair, stretching with a satisfied sigh. Then he glances at Minho, a thought suddenly hitting him.

“Oh,” he starts, biting his lip.

Minho looks up, tilting his head. “Yeah?”

“I uhm- Bang Chan, Changbin and I were invited to play at a small venue next Friday.” 

Jisung hesitates for a second, suddenly feeling small under Minho’s gaze. He swallows and forces himself to push through.  

“I want you to come.”  

Minho’s chopsticks pause midair. His expression doesn’t change much, but Jisung can see the flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe even uncertainty.  

“You want me there?” Minho asks, voice quieter now.  

Jisung nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean- Min.” He exhales, dropping his hands into his lap. “I want you to see me up there, doing what I love.”  

Minho stays quiet for a moment, and Jisung can’t help but fidget, nerves creeping in. Maybe it was stupid to ask. Maybe Minho wasn’t ready for something like this—for something so deeply personal.  

The soft eyes that he’s met with after this make all his uneasiness go away. Then Minho sets his chopsticks down and leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. 

“You’re really asking me?”  

Jisung’s lips quirk up. “Yeah, dumbass. That’s why I said it.”  

Minho huffs, shaking his head, but his lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress a smile. He watches Jisung for a second longer, then sighs.  

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll be there.”  

Jisung blinks, barely able to hide his surprise. “Wait, really?”  

Minho shrugs, picking up his chopsticks again. “Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.”  

A warmth spreads through Jisung’s chest, and he grins, unable to hold it back. “Good.”  

Minho rolls his eyes, but there’s a softness to him now, the kind Jisung knows he doesn’t show just anyone.  

They finish eating, and soon enough, they’re curled up in Minho’s bed, limbs tangled under the sheets. Jisung rests his head against Minho’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.  

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside the window. Minho’s hand is warm where it rests against Jisung’s waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath Jisung’s cheek. It should be comforting—it is comforting—but Jisung still feels the nervous buzz in his fingertips, the way his mind won’t quite settle.  

Without thinking, his fingers start moving—tugging lightly at the hem of Minho’s hoodie, then shifting up to the strings at the collar, twisting and unraveling them over and over. It’s something he’s always done—something Minho has caught onto a hundred times before.  

And just like always, Minho notices.  

Before Jisung can even process it, Minho’s hand catches his, halting his movements effortlessly.  

“Stop,” Minho murmurs, voice thick with sleep. He doesn’t even open his eyes.  

Jisung huffs, heat creeping up his neck. “I wasn’t doing anything.”  

Minho finally cracks an eye open, giving him a pointed look. “You’re fidgeting.”  

Jisung sighs, but he doesn’t try to pull away. Instead, he lets Minho lace their fingers together, his thumb brushing lightly over Jisung’s knuckles. The warmth seeps into him, grounding him in a way nothing else can.  

After a moment, Minho shifts, rolling them both so that Jisung is tucked further against his chest, his arms snug around him. “What’s going on in that loud little brain of yours?”  

Jisung exhales slowly, pressing his face against Minho’s collarbone. “Just thinking about the performance. And… us.”  

Minho hums, tightening his hold. “Mm. What about us?”  

Jisung chews his lip for a second before speaking. “That this… still doesn’t feel real sometimes.”  

Minho goes quiet at that, but Jisung can feel the way his heartbeat picks up slightly. Then, after a moment, Minho shifts just enough to press a kiss to Jisung’s temple.  

“It’s real,” he murmurs. “I’m here. I’m not running again.”  

Jisung swallows, his chest tightening in that familiar, overwhelming way.  

“…Okay.”  

Minho nudges his nose against Jisung’s hair. “Sleep, baby.”  

And for the first time in a while, Jisung actually thinks he might.

The sunlight spills through the blinds, golden and soft, warming the room with the slow embrace of morning. But Minho wants no part of it. The alarm continues its grating buzz, a relentless force pulling him from the comfortable haze of sleep. He groans into his pillow, reaching out blindly to silence it. His fingers barely graze his phone before it slips further from his grasp, landing with a dull thud on the floor.  

"Fucking hell," he grumbles, voice thick with exhaustion.  

Jisung, already awake and watching him with a knowing smirk, barely holds back a laugh. Minho looks so impossibly stubborn, buried under the sheets like he can physically will the morning away.  

“You’re acting like a child,” Jisung teases, shifting closer, his voice still husky from sleep. His fingers trace lazy patterns over Minho’s bare shoulder. “Come on, we need to get up.”  

Minho only groans louder, pulling the blanket over his head. “No.”  

Jisung exhales through his nose, grinning. Minho is impossible. But Jisung is just as stubborn, and if words won’t work, he has other ways to get what he wants.  

He shifts on the bed, pressing himself against Minho’s back, his lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Hyung,” he whispers, voice sweet but laced with mischief. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”  

Minho hums lazily. “I’d like to see you try.”  

Oh, he shouldn’t have said that.  

Jisung takes it as a challenge. His fingers skim down Minho’s arm, his touch light, teasing. Then, without warning, he pulls the blanket down, exposing Minho’s bare skin to the cool air. Minho shivers, his body reacting before his mind catches up.  

Jisung grins and leans in, his lips pressing slow, deliberate kisses along Minho’s shoulder. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He lingers just enough for Minho to feel the warmth of his breath, the teasing press of his lips. Minho exhales sharply, but he still doesn’t move.  

Fine. Jisung can play dirty.  

His mouth moves lower, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along Minho’s neck, his collarbone, the spot just above his heart. He takes his time, savoring the way Minho tenses beneath him, his breath hitching, his fingers twitching against the sheets.  

"Jisung," Minho murmurs, but there's no real warning in his voice.  

"Mm?" Jisung hums against his skin, pressing a slow, teasing kiss just beneath Minho’s jaw.  

Minho finally moves, rolling onto his back, his gaze heavy as he looks up at Jisung. His hands find Jisung’s waist, fingers gripping firmly, possessively. “You’re such a little fucking brat,” he mutters, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

Oh, Jisung loves this.

He grins down at him, shifting so he’s straddling Minho’s waist. “And yet, you love me,” he teases.  

Minho’s hands tighten on his hips. "Too much," he murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher. His eyes darken, and before Jisung can say anything else, Minho pulls him down into a kiss.  

It’s not slow. It’s not teasing. It’s intense, searing, the kind of kiss that makes Jisung’s mind go blank. Minho’s fingers dig into his skin as he tilts his head, deepening it, pouring everything into the way their mouths move together. Jisung melts into it, gasping softly when Minho bites his bottom lip, tugging just enough to make his stomach twist with heat.  

Minho takes control easily, shifting them so Jisung is pressed against the mattress now, trapped beneath him. His hands roam, one gripping Jisung’s jaw, the other sliding down his side, tracing over his bare skin like he’s memorizing every inch.  

“You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?” Minho mutters against Jisung’s lips.  

Jisung shivers. “Maybe I do.”  

Minho chuckles darkly. "Of course, you do." His lips trail down Jisung’s neck, biting, kissing, marking. He wants to leave something behind, a reminder that Jisung is his, that no one else gets to see him like this.  

Jisung’s breath stutters, his hands gripping at Minho’s back, nails pressing into his skin. He’s getting lost in it, in the heat of Minho’s touch, the weight of him pressing him down.  

Then, suddenly, Minho stills. His breath is ragged, but he forces himself to pause, to look at Jisung properly. "We’re going to be late," he murmurs, though he doesn't sound the least bit concerned.  

Jisung blinks up at him, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Then, a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face.  

“We are,” he agrees, voice light. Then he tilts his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Guess I’ll just have to make it worth it."  

Before Minho can process what’s happening, Jisung flips them back over, his fingers trailing down Minho’s stomach with purpose.  

Minho exhales sharply, his head falling back against the pillow. "Fucking hell, Jisung—"  

Jisung hums, pressing a lingering kiss to Minho’s hip. “Shh,” he murmurs, smirking against his skin. "Don’t worry hyung… we will still be able to go to the class"

Minho looks at him with a raised eyebrow, his usual half-smirk more than ready to say something back, but his protests die on his tongue the moment he feels Jisung’s lips wrap around him. 

By the time they actually manage to get out of bed and get dressed, they’re already dangerously close to being late.

Jisung is pissed.

“I told you we had class this morning,” he huffs, tugging his hoodie over his head. “But no, you had to sleep in, and then—”

Minho smirks, casually adjusting his jacket. “You literally woke me up with your mouth, but sure, blame me.”

Jisung’s face burns. “That’s—not the point, and you know it!”

Minho just hums in amusement, grabbing his keys. “Come on, let’s go before you actually explode.”

They rush out the door, and Jisung is still grumbling under his breath as they pile into Minho’s car.

“I swear, if we’re late, I’m blaming you forever.”

Minho just laughs, leaning over to steal a quick kiss before starting the engine. “Sure honey, it’s my fault.” He barely makes it two blocks before pulling into the drive-thru of their favorite coffee shop.

Jisung glares at him. “Are you serious? We’re already late.”

Minho just grins, completely unbothered. “You’re the one who said I need to take responsibility. I’m taking responsibility by making sure you’re properly caffeinated.”

Jisung groans but doesn’t argue, knowing that Minho is impossible to rush once he’s made up his mind. Instead, he crosses his arms and watches as Minho orders their usual drinks.

When Minho hands him his cup a few minutes later, Jisung sighs, muttering, “This better be worth it.”

Minho smirks. “It always is.”

They slip into the lecture hall nearly fifteen minutes late. Jisung tries to be subtle about it, but Minho doesn’t even pretend to care. He walks in like they own the place, coffee in hand, before dropping into an empty seat near the back. Jisung quickly follows, shooting an apologetic glance toward the professor, who barely spares them a look before continuing his lecture.

Jisung pulls out his notebook and starts jotting down notes immediately, determined to salvage what he can from the class.

Minho, on the other hand, slumps back in his chair, sips his coffee, and then—without a care in the world—closes his eyes.

Jisung stares at him, jaw dropping. “Are you actually—?”

Minho tilts his head slightly in his direction but doesn’t open his eyes. “Wake me when it’s over.”

Jisung wants to strangle him. Instead, he huffs and turns back to his notes, doing his best to focus.

An hour later, class finally ends, and Minho stretches with a satisfied sigh, blinking lazily at Jisung.

“You’re such a nerd,” Minho teases, eyeing Jisung’s focused expression as he finishes scribbling the last of his notes. His gaze drops lower, taking in the way Jisung’s glasses sit slightly crooked on his nose, the way his oversized hoodie—Minho’s hoodie—swamps his frame. “A cute nerd, though.”

Jisung barely acknowledges him, still lost in whatever he’s writing. Minho leans in closer. “Look at you. So studious. So serious.” He pokes Jisung’s cheek. “Such a tiny little overachiever.”

Jisung swats his hand away. “I have to be if I don’t want to fail, unlike someone.”

Minho smirks. “Relax, babe. I have you.”

Jisung blinks, his brain stuttering for a second before his face heats up. “That’s— That’s not how it works!”

Minho just laughs, stealing a sip of Jisung’s coffee before standing up. “Come on, let’s go get food.”

Jisung scoffs. “Actually, I can’t.”

This makes the older stop in his tracks. “Why?” He asks, his eyes narrowing in a small glare. 

“I have rehearsal. With Changbin and Chan.” Jisung says, adjusting his glasses in the end. “We talked about that yesterday.”

Minho’s mouth hangs open, a small ah sound leaving his lips. “Right now?” He tilts his head,

“Pretty sure, yeah.” The younger hums. 

The moment they step out of the lecture hall, Minho is already grabbing Jisung’s wrist, pulling him close.  

"Hyung—" Jisung starts, but Minho silences him with a look.  

“You’re really leaving me for rehearsal?” Minho mutters, his fingers tightening around Jisung’s wrist.  

Jisung sighs, knowing where this is going. “Hyung, I'm not leaving you,” he chuckles. “You know that,” his hands come up to cup the other’s face softly, ”And… it’s an amazing opportunity for us to get spotted.”

“I know that.” Minho exhales sharply, jaw clenching. 

He doesn’t say anything for a second, just looking at Jisung like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory—like he knows he won’t get to have him again until the night is over.  

Jisung swallows, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. "Hyung..."  

Minho’s fingers ghost along the inside of Jisung’s wrist before his grip tightens again. Then, his voice drops lower, rough with something Jisung feels in his spine.  

“Come with me for a bit,” Minho says. “Before you go.”  

Jisung frowns. “Min, I don’t have—”  

Minho leans in, lips brushing just below Jisung’s ear. “Fifteen minutes. That’s all I need.”  

Jisung shivers, his resolve cracking immediately.  

He sighs. “…Fine.”  

Minho grins, fingers lacing through Jisung’s as he tugs him toward the back of campus.    

The garden is quiet when they get there, tucked away behind overgrown hedges and shaded by towering trees. It’s the place they always sneak off to, the place where the scent of weed lingers in the air, where they’ve spent countless nights tangled together, sharing whispers and smoke.  

Jisung barely has time to breathe before Minho is on him.  

His back hits the nearest tree, Minho’s hands already fisting in his hoodie, dragging him into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, rough and desperate. Jisung moans against his lips, fingers twisting into Minho’s jacket, yanking him closer.  

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Minho growls, kissing down Jisung’s jaw, nipping at the skin just below his ear. “Running off to rehearsal and leaving me like this.”  

Jisung’s breath hitches, his hands sliding under Minho’s jacket, gripping at his waist. “You act like I’m doing it on purpose,” he gasps.  

Minho huffs a laugh, his fingers already working at Jisung’s belt. “Aren’t you?”  

Jisung doesn’t get a chance to respond because Minho’s hand slips past his waistband, fingers wrapping around him with no warning.  

“Shit—” Jisung chokes, head falling back against the tree as Minho strokes him, slow and teasing. “Min—”  

Minho hums, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his throat. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.  

Jisung grips at Minho’s shoulders, his breath coming faster now. He tries to bite back the noises threatening to spill from his lips, but Minho makes it impossible, his hand moving expertly, his lips ghosting over Jisung’s ear as he murmurs filth into his skin.  

“You get off on this, don’t you?” Minho purrs. “Being out here, where anyone could see you—”  

Jisung whimpers, his fingers digging into Minho’s arms.  

Minho smirks against his throat. “That’s what I thought.”

Then, to make things worse—or better—Minho’s free hand slips under Jisung’s hoodie, fingers splaying over his stomach before sliding up, tracing over his ribs, his chest. Jisung gasps, arching into his touch, his entire body burning under Minho’s hands.  

“Hyung—” Jisung pants.  

Minho doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. “I know, baby,” he murmurs, kissing him again, swallowing every noise Jisung makes.  

Jisung is barely holding on, the pleasure coiling in his stomach, his hips jerking into Minho’s hand. His breath is ragged, his nails biting into Minho’s skin.  

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Min, I’m—”  

Minho tightens his grip, his pace quickening just enough to send Jisung over the edge.  

“My good boy.”

The words make Jisung’s whole body shiver. Biting down on Minho’s shoulder to muffle his moan, his entire body shuddering as he comes, his knees threatening to give out. Minho holds him up easily, pressing soft kisses to his temple as he rides out the aftershocks.  

“Fuck” Jisung curses, his head falling into his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

“Hmm not yet baby.” Minho calls, his free hand grabbing JIsung’s hair by the back to make him look him in the eyes. 

Jisung's pupils are wide and his eyes shiny. His curly hair a mess and the glasses stay at the end of his nose bridge with foggy lenses. 

“Shit…” Minho hisses. “You’re fucking beautiful Jisung-ah.” 

The compliment makes Jisung’s hips buck up instantly, his body aching in oversensitivity. 

“M-Minho hyung…” He calls, nuzzling his nose against Minho’s ear. 

A sudden jolt in his hair makes him come face to face with his boyfriend again only to then feel the hand wrapped around him leaving making him whine. 

Minho shushes him instantly. “You’ll want to watch this Hannie, I promise.” 

Jisung doesn’t even have time to ask what he means by that because the older is already bringing the hand up and sucking from it the others' cum. 

What the fuck.

His lack of reaction seems to satisfy the older if his growing smirk is something to go by. 

“Do you want some baby?” His voice has that familiar nonchalant to it that drives Jisung insane. 

Jisung doesn’t even think twice before nodding, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand to clean his own cum from it.

Minho hums approvingly, fingers tightening its hold around the younger’s hair. 

Jisung can’t help but moan. It’s all too much and so little at the same time. He wants more.

“How does it taste?” Minho asks with his honey-like voice. “How do you taste?”

The question has his boyfriend groaning as he licks off what’s left. “Good.”

“Good?” Minho repeats, head tilting to the side. “I would say you taste sweet,” his hands go under Jisung’s hoodie to grab at his waist, “Like fucking honey.” 

The other gasps, the feeling of Minho’s nails digging into his skin with the word sending him in a spiral. 

“Shit- Hyung…” He whines, his hands playing with the older’s longer hair strands. “Don’t say that.” 

And oh, oh Minho loves Jisung. So fucking much. 

“We should get going,” Minho murmurs, kissing him slow and deep. “Don’t want to late again.”  

Jisung groans, pressing his face into Minho’s neck. “This time it’s really your fault..”  

Minho just laughs, tucking Jisung back into his pants before zipping him up. “Are you saying it wasn’t before?”

Jisung scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope you’re not implying what you are implying”

Minho laughs, “Absolutely not.” Then, with one final kiss, he takes Jisung’s hand again. “Come on. I’m taking you to rehearsal.”  

By the time they get to the studio, Jisung is still flushed, his lips red and swollen, his legs just a little unsteady.  

Minho is looking way too pleased with himself.  

Changbin raises a brow when they walk in, arms crossed. “You’re late.”  

Jisung rubs the back of his neck, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, uh—”

“It was my fault.” Minho says, grabbing one of the other’s hands. “I stole him away.” The words make Jisung’s ears turn red yet again. 

Chan smirks. “Do we even want to know?”  

Minho just grins, giving Jisung an encouraging pat on his ass before turning to leave. “Nope.”  

Jisung groans. “You’re the worst.”  

Minho winks at him from the doorway. “Break a leg, baby.”  

Jisung limits himself to turning his back to him as he flips him off, yearning a laugh from the older. And he absolutely hates how he immediately breaks into a smile at the sound of it.

Rehearsal is barely ten minutes in when Changbin squints at Jisung’s neck and snorts. 

“Jesus.” Changbin huffs out. “Talk about possessiveness uh?” He teases, rolling his eyes as he points to his neck.

Jisung, who has been tuning his guitar, blinks up at him. “Uh?” 

Changbin gestures to his neck vaguely, then — Oh. 

Bringing his hands up he immediately remembers the evident marks he must have in it due to last night's event, and this morning… and nearly thirty minutes ago. 

Shit. He and Minho have a wild sex drive. 

Chan looks up from his laptop and raises a brow. “Minho?”

Jisung freezes, ears turning red. He tugs the collar of his hoodie up, but it’s way too late. The damage is done. Changbin is already grinning like an idiot.

“Oh my god, it was him.” 

Jisung groans, shoving his face into his hands. “Can we not?”

“Not my fault you’re walking around like a goddamn claim-staked kitten,” Changbin teases. “Wasn’t he just complaining about you leaving him for rehearsal? Guess he made sure you wouldn’t forget him.”

Jisung glares, but it’s weak—mostly because he can still feel Minho’s lips on his skin, still hear his voice in his ear, still feel the burn of his touch. And, if he’s being honest, a part of him likes that it’s obvious.

Which, of course, makes it worse.

Chan rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment, instead tapping a few things into his laptop before glancing at Jisung. “Alright, lover boy. You said you wanted to go over a new song?”

Jisung shifts, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. Uh. It’s—” He hesitates, fingers drumming against his guitar. “I kinda… want to finish the one I wrote yesterday. I already have the idea for a melody in my head”

Chan tilts his head. “For your final project?”

Jisung’s ears burn again. “No. Not that one.” He bites his lower lip, feeling exposed. “I haven’t worked on that one. This one is… just for Minho.”

Chan, on the other hand, just smiled, something soft and knowing in his expression. “You’re gonna surprise him with it at the concert, aren’t you?”  

Jisung hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… I want him to hear it for the first time when I perform it. I don’t know. I just—” He exhaled sharply, fingers drumming against his knee. “I want it to be special.”  

Chan’s smile widened. “That’s honestly really fucking sweet.”  

Changbin fake gagged. “I think I’m getting cavities just listening to you.”  

Jisung smacked his arm. “Do you want to help me finish this or not?”  

Changbin grinned. “Yeah, yeah, let’s finish your dumb love song.”  

“Alright,” Chan says. “Let’s hear it.”

Jisung exhales, gripping his pick a little tighter. “Okay.”

And he plays.

He plays, and he sings, and with every note, every word, he thinks about Minho—about the way he looks at him, the way he touches him, the way he stays, no matter what.

And he hopes—really hopes—that when the friday comes, Minho will hear this and understand everything Jisung can’t say out loud.

By the time rehearsal ends, Jisung is exhausted, but in a good way.

“Sung.” Chan calls, making him look at him. “Are you two finally together?”

Jisung smiles. “Yes. And I’m happy.” Looking at Changbin he then adds, “And we’ve talked, really talked.”

Changbin hums. “And?”

“We will be okay.” Jisung shrugs, the smile never leaving his lips. 

The olders both smile back, dragging him in for a hug. 

“I’m so happy for you.” Chan says. 

“If he hurts you again I will kill him.” Changbin says at the same time, making the three of them snort. 

“I know.” Jisung rolls his eyes, separating from them again. He picks up his bag and ruffles his hair. “I’ll see you guys back home?”

“I doubt Minho will let it happen but sure.” Chan snorts. 

“Probably right.” Jisung shrugs, smirking at the disgusted sound Changbin lets out in response.

He pushes out of the building, tugging his hoodie tighter around himself to fight the night chill— 

And then stops.

Minho.

He’s leaning against the side of the building, a joint lazily perched between his fingers, sketchbook balanced on his knee. His long hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, though a few strands had slipped free, framing his face.  

Jisung had always thought Minho was unfairly attractive, but something about this—his relaxed posture, the slight furrow of concentration in his brow, the orange glow of the streetlights catching on his skin—made Jisung’s stomach flip.  

He doesn’t even have to see the drawing to know it’s probably awful.

And yet, Jisung melts anyway.

He takes a second just to look—to take in the cigarette-smoke haze around him, the way his hoodie hangs off his frame, the curve of his lips as he idly exhales.

God, he’s so in love with this man it’s stupid.

He walked over quietly, peeking at the page. “What disaster are you creating this time?”  

Minho barely glanced up before smirking. “You just don’t get my artistic vision, Jisung-ah.”  

Jisung squinted at the drawing. “Minho. You gave the cat human hands again.”  

Minho took a slow drag from his joint. “And?”  

Jisung groaned, laughing despite himself as he stole the joint, taking a hit. “You’re ridiculous.”  

Minho hummed, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “You love me.”  

Jisung exhaled, smoke curling between them, and met his gaze. His chest ached, full of something so warm and overwhelming it made him dizzy.  

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”  

Minho’s smirk softened. He reached out, fingers brushing against Jisung’s wrist before lacing their hands together. “Stay over tonight,” he murmured.  

Jisung blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Minho’s tone. “I—”  

Minho squeezed his hand. “Just come home with me.” Looking up at the dark sky Minho smiles. 

It wasn’t like Jisung had anywhere else to be.  

And honestly, there was nowhere he’d rather go.  

“…Okay.”  

Minho smiled, giving Jisung’s hand a final squeeze before pulling him toward the car. “Good. I already stole your hoodie anyway, so it’s only fair.”  

Jisung smiles. “I was wondering where that went.”  

Minho glances up, immediately smirking. “Took you long enough.”

Jisung scoffs, walking over. “You didn’t tell me you were picking me up.”

“I didn’t.” Minho flicks ash off to the side, nodding toward the passenger seat. “Get in. You’re staying over.”

Jisung shakes his head as he grins and slides into the passenger seat. “No more smoking until we get home.”

Minho looks at him. “What?”

“Hyung, you’re not gonna smoke weed while driving.” He rolls his eyes.

“Not that you idiot” Minho says with no real meaning to it. “You said we are going home.”

His tone becomes softer towards the end. 

“Oh.” Jisung feels his cheeks burn. “Yeah.”

Minho snorts, leaning over to kiss him on the lips, his hand coming over his boyfriend’s chin to give him a small scratch after. Much like he would to a cat. 

“Fucking drive me insane.” Minho curses. “Let’s go home, Sung.”

Minho drives him insane too.

“I barely see you since you and Sung became a thing,” Hyunjin scoffs. “I mean- I’m glad you two figured it all out but you don’t care about me now!” He whines.

“You’re so funny.” Minho’s sarcastic tone earns him an eye roll from his friend. “You’re no better Hyunjinnie.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” The younger yells.

“Seungmin.” Minho simply says, as he keeps drawing in his notebook. 

The distinct sound of Hyunjin choking on his coffee at the words instantly make him smirk. 

“Well-“ Hyunjin stutters, “okay fair.” He sighs. “But at least I know when to listen to my heart!” 

Minho glances up only for a split second, but it’s enough for Hyunjin’s proud smile being replaced with a gulp. 

“You sound stupid by the way.” Minho snorts, focusing back on his new masterpiece, a small squirrel with glasses and music notes all around him. 

Obviously with nothing proportional about it. Still, he smiles once he looks at it. 

Hyunjin, who was looking at him through the whole process, scoffs.. “You look stupid by the way.” As he keeps drawing on his own sketchbook. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Minho gnarls. 

“Whatever,” the younger rolls his eyes. “What do you even draw, hyung?” He asks, eyes narrowed, “And why can’t anyone see it?”

“Not anyone.” Minho shrugs, “Hannie saw it.”

“Of course Hannie saw it.” The other muses. “Why did only Hannie saw it?”

Minho takes a sip from his iced americano, looking out the window. “The weather is nice these days.” 

Hyunjin only gets more confused. “You’re weird.”

The older smirks, lips wrapped around his straw. “I know.”

“Something is missing.” Han says, eyes stuck to the peace of paper with the lyrics on it. 

“What do you mean?” Chan asks.

“Dude it’s all good.” Changbin whines. “You’re overthinking.”

The younger shakes his head. “I- I don’t know how to explain it but I feel like something is missing in the performance. Something is wrong.”

“Sung, I have to agree with Changbin on this now,” Chan says, his voice soft, “I think maybe you’re just nervous about the performance tomorrow,” 

“Yeah dude, and it’s our first time doing solos too.” Changbin adds. “You’re gonna do great. They’ll love it.” He says. “He will love it.”

The implication has Jisung biting his lip. “Fuck,” He ruffles his hair. “Shit. You’re right.” He says. “You’re right. It will be okay.”

“It will.” Chan reassures. “Why don’t we start heading home? We should rest for tomorrow.” 

“I think that’s a great idea.” Changbin agrees. 

“Yeah… let’s uhm, let’s go.”

Chan stares at him for a while before nodding his head. “Great, let’s go.”

The whole drive back, Han keeps zoning out. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking nervous. He likes the song, he knows Minho will like it too.

It’s just that whenever he practices it he feels a certain emptiness to it. 

Shit, he needs a cigarette. 

“We’re here.” Chan announces, making him come back from his thoughts. 

Once the car is parked, Jisung sighs, getting ready to leave it. 

“I'm exhausted.” Changbin huffs. “Thank God Felix is home, I’m desperately needing one of his magic hugs.” He smiles, making Chan and Jisung look at each other with a knowing look.

“Sure…” Chan starts, “A hug.” He whispers, Jisung snorting back. The older then looks ahead of them and stops. 

“Hyung?” Jisung calls. 

“God, I think I’m gonna need a pair of headphones tonight to protect myself.” He sighs.

Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “Uh?” 

“Don’t worry Chan hyung,” That voice says, “I was thinking of stealing him away.”

Jisung immediately turns around.

Minho stares at him with that familiar smirk. His hair ruffled with the slight breeze in the hair and his body enveloped by his familiar blue hoodie.

The one he was wearing the day Jisung first saw him. 

“Hyung…” Jisung whispers.

“Hi baby,” Minho says, the nickname leaving his lips like a purr, making Jisung’s knees weak. “Thought I’d drop by to say hi.” He says as he makes his way to Jisung, patting his ass softly once he’s next to him. 

The reaction his immediate. Jisung basically melts into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar smell of man cologne with weed. 

Jisung barely notices the way Chan and Changbin sneak past him with poorly hidden smirks. His world narrows to Minho—warm, smug, achingly familiar Minho.

“Wanna go for a drive?” Minho murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Jisung’s ear. “It’s a nice night.”

Jisung’s voice is barely a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

They end up by the Han River, windows down, city lights blurring into soft orbs across the water. Minho's playlist hums low through the speakers—lazy guitar riffs and mellow beats—and his hand rests casually on Jisung’s thigh as he drives.

Neither of them says much, but the silence isn’t empty. It’s full of glances, touches, the kind of comfort that only comes from knowing someone inside out.

Eventually, Minho pulls into his apartment's garage. They head up without a word, their hands brushing, eyes doing more talking than their mouths.

The second the door clicks shut behind them, Minho tosses his keys onto the counter and walks to the balcony, lighting a joint. He takes a slow drag, then turns, offering it to Jisung with that half-lidded gaze that always undoes him.

Jisung accepts it, lips closing around the tip as Minho’s fingers linger a moment longer than necessary. The haze settles quick—soft, warm, grounding. They pass it back and forth, sinking into the couch, shoes off, legs tangled.

Jisung leans against him, cheek pressed to Minho’s shoulder.

“You okay now?” Minho asks, voice low, fingers carding through Jisung’s hair.

“Yeah,” Jisung murmurs. “Just nervous about tomorrow.”

Minho hums. “You’ll kill it.”

There’s a beat. Then:

“Is the solo the song you’ve been writing?”

Jisung freezes. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

Minho smiles, small and private. He presses a kiss to the crown of Jisung’s head, fingers trailing lazily down his back.

The blunt dies in the ashtray. The night stretches ahead, slow and golden. Clothes are peeled off without urgency. Kisses trail down familiar skin. Hands move like they’ve done this a hundred times but it never feels the same.

It’s slow. Intimate. Words are few, but the way Minho touches him, the way Jisung gasps his name—it’s all there, unsaid but loud.

Afterward, tangled in Minho’s sheets, with the city humming outside and the world quiet around them, Jisung rests his head on Minho’s chest, fingers tracing patterns along his side.

Minho’s hand finds his.

“You’ll sing it tomorrow?” he asks softly.

Jisung nods. “Yeah.”

Minho squeezes his hand. “Then I’ll be there. Front row.”

And Jisung falls asleep smiling, the lyrics echoing in his mind—and now, for the first time, feeling whole.

The first thing Jisung feels is warmth.

Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, painting slow-moving shapes across Minho’s sheets. He shifts slightly, still heavy with sleep, only to realize the warmth isn’t just the sun.

It’s Minho—under the covers, hands firm on his hips, mouth already working between his thighs.

“Hyung—” Jisung’s voice is a breathy mix of surprise and need. “What are you—”

Minho glances up, hair a mess, lips slick, eyes lazy. “Good morning,” he purrs, before diving back down.

Jisung gives up trying to form words after that.

By the time they’re dressed and out the door, Jisung is practically glowing. He leans against the passenger seat with his window down, still grinning like a lovesick idiot. Minho drives with one hand on the wheel and the other laced with Jisung’s fingers.

“Don’t forget to eat later,” Minho reminds him as they pull up to the studio. “You always forget when you’re nervous.”

Jisung kisses his cheek before getting out. “I’ll try.”

“Try harder.” Minho smirks, watching him disappear through the door.

It’s well past noon when the practice room door swings open and Minho walks in, paper bags in hand. Chan’s the first to notice.

“God bless,” he groans dramatically. “Minho, marry me.”

“No,” Minho deadpans, handing him his lunch. “But I will feed you.”

Changbin takes his bag like it’s a sacred offering. “You really know how to keep us loyal.”

Minho shrugs and turns to Jisung, holding out a smaller, separate container. “Yours is different,” he says.

Jisung opens it to find his favorites—homemade and neatly packed, a tiny post-it on the lid.

You’ve got this. I love you.

His throat goes tight.

“And here you have an iced americano and cheesecake” He says, passing a different bag to his boyfriend.

Jisung loves him. 

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, I did,” Minho interrupts, voice softer. “You need to eat. And I needed to see you.”

Jisung blinks at him, flustered all over again. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re no better, baby.” Minho smirks, stepping closer to fix Jisung’s fringe gently.

Jisung bites back a grin.

Minho leans in, barely brushing their lips. “Kill it tonight, Hannie.”

“I will.” Jisung says. “For you.”

“Not for me.” Minho shakes his head. “Well for me too if you want, but tonight you do it for you.” He says.

“O-Okay.” Jisung stutters. “Thank you.”

“Alright, I’ll get going. Still need to get ready” He tucks Jisung’s hair behind his hair. “See you soon, JIsung-ah.”

He leaves just as casually as he came, like he didn’t just reset Jisung’s entire nervous system with a kiss and a lunchbox.

Jisung stares at the closed door, cheeks red.

“You’re so whipped,” Changbin says through a mouthful of rice.

“Shut up,” Jisung mutters, but he’s smiling down at his food, and his hands shake a little less.

Three hours left.

Jisung feels like throwing up.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror. His outfit—black mesh layered over a sleeveless shirt, silver chains tight around his neck, the heavy combat boots—feels too much. Too loud. His makeup is flawless, smudged just right around his eyes, but it only makes him look more vulnerable, more exposed.

He doesn’t look like Han Jisung.

He looks like the version of Han Jisung who’s supposed to go out there and bare his soul in front of a thousand people. The one who’s not scared. The one who knows what he’s doing.

And right now? He doesn’t feel like that version at all.

His hands start to shake. His chest tightens. He can’t breathe.

He stands abruptly, the stool scraping the floor. “I—I need a second,” he mutters to no one in particular, stumbling out of the dressing room. No one stops him. Maybe no one even sees him leave.

Next thing he knows, he’s outside, night air hitting his face like a slap. He doesn’t have a destination in mind—his legs just carry him down the street, past the glowing windows of late-night cafés and the distant buzz of traffic.

He runs until he can’t anymore.

When he finally stops, gasping, hands on his knees, his eyes lift—and he realizes where he is.

The bingo salon.

It’s quiet. Warm. The neon sign outside flickers softly. He blinks, confused. Why here?

He pushes the door open. The familiar squeaky sound it makes greets him, the scent of old books and faint lavender hanging in the air. It’s almost empty—just like that night. The same calm hum of air-conditioning. The same low lo-fi music playing from somewhere behind the counter.

And there, in the corner, like he’s stepped out of a memory, is Minho.

Minho sits alone at the bingo salon, the warm overhead lights casting soft shadows across his face. He’s dressed differently—a relaxed, oversized white button-up with the sleeves messily rolled to his elbows, the fabric thin and slightly wrinkled, like he’s been wearing it for hours. A sleeveless black cardigan layering it, with cute pins oh it. 

His black shorts hang low on his hips, loose but elegant, the kind that sways subtly with movement, tailored yet effortless. One pant leg is slightly bunched up where he’s crossed his legs lazily. He wears simple silver rings on a few fingers, catching the light every time he flips a page in his sketchbook.

His dark hair falls in soft waves, a little unkempt—like he’s run his hands through it a few too many times while thinking. A pair of old sneakers rest on the tiled floor, the laces loosely tied. He looks like someone who didn’t mean to be beautiful but is anyway—quiet, present, and entirely at ease.

There’s something timeless about him—soft, contemplative, as he draws in silence. Like he belongs there. Like Jisung always finds him exactly where he’s meant to be.

Jisung just stands there, breathless, unsure if he’s dreaming.

The second Jisung takes a step, Minho senses it.

His pencil stills mid-sketch, head lifting slowly. His eyes land on Jisung—dressed in all black, chains catching the light, eyeliner smudged just slightly under wide, shaken eyes.

“Jisung-ah,” Minho says gently. Just that—soft, grounding.

Jisung doesn’t respond. He just stands there, blinking like he’s not fully in his body.

“You ran,” he says, voice soft. Not accusing. Just observant.

Jisung nods, eyes wide. “I—I couldn’t… I don’t know. I just ended up here.”

Minho stands and walks over, close enough that Jisung can smell the faint scent of dark coffee clinging to him. “Baby,” he calls softly, “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, gently taking Jisung’s hands in his.

Jisung doesn’t mean to, but he crumbles. Shoulders shaking, head falling against Minho’s chest.

“I can’t do it,” he whispers, voice cracking. “It’s too much. I feel like I’m going to fall apart on stage.”

Minho wraps his arms around him tightly, grounding. Steady. He doesn’t rush the moment. Just holds him, breathing slow and calm against his hair.

“Jagiya,” he says, after a while.

Jagiya. 

Suddenly nothing else matters to Jisung.

A hand comes under his chin to guide the younger’s head up. “Come on,” Minho murmurs, barely touching Jisung’s wrist. “Let’s get some air.”

Jisung follows without a word.

They slip through the back door, stepping into the narrow alley behind the salon. It’s quiet here, dim and familiar. The buzz of neon and the rustle of leaves from a nearby rooftop garden fill the space.

Minho doesn’t ask anything yet. Just pulls a joint from his pocket and lights it with slow, practiced fingers. He takes a drag, then passes it to Jisung with the kind of tenderness that never needs announcing.

Jisung takes it with a trembling hand, inhales.

“Thank you,” he says eventually, voice barely above a whisper.

Minho leans against the wall, watching him. “What happened?”

Jisung lets the breath out slowly, smoke curling from his lips. “I looked at myself in the mirror and I just… couldn’t breathe. I know it’s just a performance, but I felt like I was playing a character I don’t even recognize.”

Minho hums softly. Not dismissive—never. Just… listening.

“You ever look at yourself and feel like you’re not even in your own skin?” Jisung asks.

“Yes,” Minho says. “But you—you were never pretending. You’re not now either.”

Jisung looks down at himself. “I look—”

“Beautiful.” Minho cuts in, voice quiet but firm. “You look beautiful.”

Jisung’s eyes flick up to meet his, startled.

“You always do,” Minho adds, softer now.

Jisung laughs, breath catching. “You do too,” he says, stepping closer. “You look… like the first time I saw you.”

Minho smiles faintly. “Messy?”

“Home,” Jisung says before he can stop himself.

Minho’s breath stutters. Then he’s closing the last inch of space between them, resting a hand against Jisung’s cheek, the other slipping to his waist.

The kiss is slow. Sweet. Everything Jisung needs.

Minho pulls him closer, letting their foreheads rest together, eyes closed. “You don’t have to be anything tonight but mine,” he whispers.

Jisung nods, lips brushing Minho’s again.

Then it shifts.

Fingers curl into clothing. Breaths grow heavier. Jisung pushes Minho gently against the wall, and Minho lets him, tilting his head back to let him in.

They don’t speak. They don’t need to.

Minho groans softly the moment Jisung presses their mouths together again—no hesitation this time, just need. Raw and real. His hands grip Minho’s shirt tightly, like he's afraid to let go, like this is the only thing tethering him to earth.

Minho lets him take, lets him lead. He’s warm under Jisung’s hands, the fabric of his shirt crumpling as Jisung backs him into the wall. Their hips bump. Jisung gasps at the friction and Minho catches that sound with his mouth, kissing deeper now, tongue sliding against his, slow and confident and filthy.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes when Minho’s hands settle on his waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of his shirt—skin to skin. “Touch me.”

“I am,” Minho murmurs, but his tone turns rough at the edges, like he’s holding back.

“More.”

That’s all it takes.

Minho spins them with practiced ease, pinning Jisung between him and the wall. He kisses down the side of his neck, biting just enough to make Jisung squirm. One hand dips under Jisung’s shirt, fingers spreading over his stomach before trailing lower. His other hand cups the back of Jisung’s head, keeping him steady as he leans in close.

“You still nervous?” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of Jisung’s ear.

Jisung shudders. “Yes,” he chokes out. “But not about the performance anymore.”

Minho smirks, dark and soft all at once. “Good.”

He unzips Jisung’s pants slowly, teasing, and when he wraps his hand around him, Jisung’s back arches against the wall, a curse slipping past his lips. 

“Oh, Minho hyung…” He whines, the older biting his neck in response.

Their mouths crash together again, all teeth and tongue and breathless noise now. Jisung tugs at Minho’s belt, fumbling with it until Minho takes over, one-handed and quick, never breaking the kiss.

They don’t bother getting fully undressed—just enough. Pants pushed down, shirts rucked up, skin bared in all the right places. Jisung wraps a leg around Minho’s hip, anchoring himself as Minho lines them up and pushes in slow, inch by inch.

“Shit—” Jisung gasps, clutching at his shoulders. “Minho—”

“I got you,” Minho whispers, forehead pressed to his, lips barely brushing.

The rhythm is relentless but careful, Minho’s body moving against his like he knows every inch, every sound Jisung makes. He kisses him through every moan, every stuttered breath, hand slipping between them to stroke him in time.

It’s overwhelming—fast and dirty but intimate in the way only they can be. Like they’re speaking in a language only the two of them understand.

Jisung comes first, sharp and breathless, buried in Minho’s shoulder. Minho follows seconds later, groaning softly against his neck, arms tight around him.

For a while, all they do is breathe.

Then Minho presses a lazy kiss to Jisung’s temple and whispers, “Still think you’re playing a character?”

Jisung laughs, still catching his breath. “No. I feel… real now.”

Minho hums, lips curling into a smile against his skin. “Good.”

Minho’s head falls on JIsung's shoulder, breath still uneven. Jisung’s eyes widen as he checks his phone. “Shit.”

“What?”

“We’re late.”

Minho blinks, dazed. “Late for what?”

Jisung stares at him. “Minho.”

Minho stares back.

“Fuck—Get on the car. Now.”

They're scrambling to get their clothes in order, laughing breathlessly in the middle of it—zippers pulled too fast, buttons missed, hair hopelessly messy. Minho looks down at Jisung’s wrinkled stage outfit and says, “Shit Sung,” He curses, one hand coming up to ruffle his hair while the other wraps itself around Jisung, pulling him closer to him.

“Min..” Jisung whines, despite still tilting his head when his boyfriends starts nuzzling his neck and leaving small bites in it. 

Minho hums back, “You look- Fuck.” His hand wraps around the back of Jisung’s neck as he pulls him in for another kiss. “Are you sure we’re late?” He giggles softly, the younger snorting at this.

He pushes the older away, hand laying softly on his chest. “Minho, we do not have time for your boyfriend's delusions right now.”

Minho grins. “Bold of you to assume I’m delusional.”

They tumble into Minho’s car, still half-laughing, half-panicking. Minho peels out of the lot and onto the street, hand reaching out instinctively to grab Jisung and lace their fingers together.

The city is unforgiving. Traffic snarled like it’s out for blood. Horns blare, cars inch forward painfully slow, and Jisung groans, bouncing in his seat like he might explode.

“Let me out. I’ll run. I have to be there, Minho.”

Minho glances at the clock, jaw tight. “Fuck it.” He swerves into a narrow side street and slams the car into park. “We’re running.”

“Wait—what?”

“Come on, Sung.” He grabs his hand again. “Hold my hand, now.”

Jisung swears he would stop walking in this exact moment if it weren’t for his boyfriend already pulling him to get them going.

And they’re off—bolting through alleys and across crosswalks, Minho tugging him forward the whole time, hand locked tight with his. Jisung’s lungs burn, but he’s laughing anyway, breathless with adrenaline and something else entirely. Minho never lets go.

They dodge past pedestrians, Jisung yelling apologies over his shoulder, Minho muttering “excuse me” like it’s muscle memory.

Finally, the venue comes into view. The back entrance is open, staff waving frantically.

“Go,” Minho pants. “I’ll be out front.”

Jisung turns to him, flushed and wide-eyed and glowing. “Thank you. For everything.”

Minho leans in, steals one last kiss, quick and full of promise. “Kill it.”

Jisung nods, chest heaving. “I will.”

He runs inside, and Minho watches him disappear through the doors, heart pounding—but not from the sprint.

He smiles.

“Fucking star.”

The door barely clicks shut behind Jisung before he’s met with a storm of voices.

“Where the hell were you?” Chan demands, pacing across the dressing room.

“We thought you bailed—Hyunjin was two seconds away from grabbing a mic and freestyling for twenty minutes,” Changbin adds, visibly pale under his stage makeup.

Jisung’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. “I’m— I’m here. I’m sorry.”

Chan’s eyes narrow. “Are you okay?”

There’s a pause.

Jisung nods, slower this time. “I am now.”

Changbin watches him, then smirks. “Did you at least get your magic hug?”

Jisung snorts. “Shut up.”

They don’t push. Just crowd around him like a shield, helping fix his mic, patting his back, Chan smoothing down his hair with one last worried look.

“Alright, let’s go.” he says softly.

The lights outside dim. Cue time.

The crowd’s roar is thunderous, waves of sound crashing over the stage as the group takes their spots under the beams of flickering light.

Minho watches from the front row, his fingers curled tightly around the railing, flanked by Seungmin and Hyunjin on one side, Felix and Jeongin on the other. They’re all screaming, voices hoarse from shouting before the first verse even starts.

But Minho… Minho can’t look away from Jisung.

He’s all in black—dark mesh, fitted layers, silver glinting at his throat and fingers. His hair is pushed back, eyes smoky. But it’s not just the outfit. It’s the energy.

He owns the stage.

He moves like the music is part of him, every step, every breath synced to the beat. When he raps, it’s fire. When he sings, it’s heartbreak. And through it all, he smiles—wide, raw, radiant.

Minho’s heart is wrecked.

The group finishes the main set, bowing to a screaming crowd. The lights dim again, and a hush falls.

Jisung steps forward alone.

The screen behind him flickers to life—abstract visuals in muted blue and violet tones. He takes the mic slowly, his voice quiet but steady.

“Hello everyone!” He smiles. “I wrote this song very recently.” He glances to the side of the stage where his members are watching, then briefly—to the crowd, and right where Minho stands. Their eyes meet.

“I hope all of you know that you're worthy of love.” He swallows. “It’s called Hold My Hand.” Looking straight in Minho's direction, Jisung smiles one last time. 

Jisung closes his eyes, and sings.

His voice is clear, raw with emotion. Each lyric spills out like a secret: it’s about loneliness, emotional struggle, and the quiet desire for comfort and connection. 

Minho’s chest tightens with every word.

It’s about Minho. About them.

He’s frozen, lips parted, eyes shining.

Because every line is them.

“Every time I see you cry, 

I felt like drowning in the dark,

You said it's fine, but no, I'm not”

The chorus builds—drums kicking in, guitars swelling, the kind of sound that makes you feel like your heart might crack open.

"Cause all I want is you not your tears, Until the tears dried up,

I wanna make you the happiest one, no fear,

So baby, hold my hand now.”

Jisung sings like he’s breaking and healing all at once.

When it ends, it’s just silence.

And then—

A scream. A tidal wave of applause. Members clapping from the wings. Minho with his head bowed for a moment, overwhelmed.

Then Jisung finds him again in the crowd.

And he smiles. Jisung bows.

Minho’s never been prouder in his life.

After the concert, Jisung barely gets a second to breathe before he's swarmed by hugs, high-fives, and words of praise. The members are loud, warm, so obviously proud of them—and he tries to soak it all in, really—but his eyes keep drifting to Minho.

They haven’t really spoken since the show. Just a soft "You did great" and a pat to the back, and that was it. No kiss. No teasing. No usual Minho mischief.

He’s smiling. Laughing even, when Hyunjin says something stupid and Seungmin mock-scolds him. But something’s off. Not in a bad way—just… different. Jisung knows him too well not to notice.

And the silence eats away at him.

It’s not until they’re all hanging out at the rappers' place after the show—Changbin already half-asleep against the couch with Felix petting his hair lovingly and Seungmin sprawled out with Hyunjin in the free place between his legs and Jeongin dozing off with his head laying on Chan’s shoulder—that Minho finally does something.

Pizza boxes are open, drinks half-finished, someone’s playlist looping quietly in the background. But Jisung can’t stop glancing across the room.

Minho’s there. Sitting on the couch, nestled between Felix and Seungmin, legs sprawled, sleeves pushed up, expression unreadable. He’s quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes Jisung’s stomach twist.

Jisung’s mind races.

Did he hate it? Was it too much? Did I—

Minho suddenly stands. “Gonna get some air,” he says casually, stretching. Then, like it’s nothing, he glances at Jisung. “Come with me?”

Jisung doesn’t hesitate.

“Don’t be weird,” Chan teases, half-focused on his phone.

“No promises,” Minho deadpans.

Jisung follows him out the back door without a word, heart thumping. They slip out into the quiet of the balcony, city lights flickering around them. Minho pulls out a new blunt from his pocket—of course he came prepared—and lights it with a practiced flick of his lighter. He takes a slow drag before holding it out.

Jisung takes it. The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different.

They pass it back and forth in silence, the kind that settles rather than suffocates.

But Jisung can feel it—something thick under Minho’s skin, itching to spill. He watches the older’s fingers, how they twitch slightly. His jaw flexes like he’s chewing on thoughts too big to say.

“You’re being weird,” Jisung says quietly.

Minho lets out a breath, leans his head back against the wall. “Am I?”

“Yeah,” Jisung replies. “You barely looked at me after the show. Did I… Was it too much?”

Minho’s eyes snap to him, sharp and soft all at once. “Too much?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung shrugs. “You’ve been quiet. Thought maybe I freaked you out again. Or—”

“Jisung,” Minho interrupts, stepping closer. “I’ve been trying not to lose it”

The name — his real name — sends something fluttering deep in Jisung’s chest.

Jisung blinks. “What?”

“Hannie,” He all but purrs, “ you didn’t scare me, you ruined me.” Minho admits, voice low, raw. “If I look at you too long, I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid in front of everyone.”

Jisung blinks, startled. “Like what?”

Minho licks his lips, digesting with the lighter even though he's already used to it. “You stood there and sang that song and looked at me like- like I’m everything. And the thing is… that’s what you looked like, to me.”

“Minho hyung,” Jisung says, as if out of breath. Like he and Minho just finished running back to the venue as before.

Minho steps closer, takes the joint from his hand. “I’ve watched you perform before,” He goes on. “But tonight? You looked like something I’d dream about and then never be able to touch again.”

The silence between them is thick with smoke and honestly.

“Y-You’re nervous.” Jisung says softly, smiling a little.

Minho lets out a breathy laugh from his nose as he nears the younger. “Yes.”

“You're never nervous.”

At this the older scoffs, grabbing him by the waist once he’s close enough to his boyfriend to do so.

“Yeah, well….” He exhales the smoke in a low breath, then leans in—so close Jisung can feel the warmth of him—and exhales again, this time directly into his mouth. 

“You fuck me up, Han Jisung.” 

Jisung shudders, a whine escaping his lips at the words.

“Oh.”

Jisung’s lips part instinctively, and the moment the smoke lingers between them, Minho kisses him. Slow, possessive, tender and hungry all at once.

Jisung whimpers against his mouth, clutching at his hoodie.

“You looked like a goddamn angel out there,” Minho murmurs, pressing his forehead against his. “You sang like your heart was breaking and healing at the same time. And, shit. It was about me…”

“It is,” Jisung breathes. “You know it is.”

Minho kisses him again. Fiercer this time. His hands grip Jisung’s waist, dragging him closer.

Minho’s voice is lower now. Unsteady in a way Jisung rarely hears. “You were so… fucking beautiful. I couldn’t stop looking at you. I—” He stops, rubs a hand over his mouth like it’s the only way to hold himself together. “You got up there and made the whole world shut up. You sang like you meant every word and I just… I couldn’t breathe.”

Jisung doesn’t know what to say. His throat is tight, heart racing.

Minho reaches out, tugging him closer by the belt loops of his jeans. “I’m not used to feeling like this, Sung. You made me feel like I was watching someone fall in love with the world again. And it hit me how lucky I am that you love me.”

Jisung laughs wetly, tears burning. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” Minho murmurs, brushing his knuckles down Jisung’s cheek.

“I do.” Jisung whispers. “And you’re beautiful too, you know.”

That earns him a slow smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jisung presses closer, sliding his arms around Minho’s neck. “Even in that schoolboy cardigan.”

Minho snorts. “You literally said it made me look soft and edible last week.”

“Well. I stand by that.”

The next kiss is slow and messy—Minho’s fingers in Jisung’s hair, Jisung clutching his hoodie like he’ll disappear if he lets go. They kiss like they haven’t seen each other in weeks, like the high from the show hasn’t worn off and maybe never will.

Minho backs him up against the wall, hand sneaking under Jisung’s shirt, skin on skin. The joint dies in the ashtray, forgotten.

“I need you,” Jisung breathes.

“I got you,” Minho replies, already tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

Minho kisses him again. Fiercer this time. His hands grip Jisung’s waist, dragging him closer. “We need to go inside,” he whispers against his lips. “Now.”

They stumble back into the apartment, unnoticed as the others argue about movies in the living room. Minho pulls him into the nearest empty room—Jisung’s—and the door clicks shut behind them.

 Minho doesn’t hold back this time—he touches Jisung like he’s trying to memorize every inch, every sound he makes. They move in sync, tangled and breathless, their bodies saying everything their mouths can’t.

It’s desperate. It’s messy. It’s full of all the things Minho couldn’t say in front of the others.

“I’m yours,” he says against Jisung’s throat. “You know that, right?”

Jisung nods, gasping. “I know. I’m yours too.”

The rest is urgent, breathless—hands fumbling, mouths hungry. Minho moaning softly against Jisung’s neck, whispering things like so proud of you, mine, always, and Jisung gasping his name like a prayer.

Afterward, they stay tangled up out there for a while, warm and wrecked and silent again—but this time it’s a good silence. Minho kisses his temple, his nose, the corner of his mouth.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs.

“You’re soft,” Jisung teases.

“Shut up.”

“I love you too.”

Minho smiles.

Eventually, they drag themselves out of the room again.

“You guys are disgusting.” Hyunjin gags, “Can’t imagine all the suffering Chan goes through living with you and Changbin.”

JIsung flushes, his face hiding in Minho’s neck where he giggles. “Hey! You’re the one who introduced us two!” He tries to defend.

“What- That’s a lie! You stalked Minho hyung basically!” Hyunjin points his finger accusingly. 

“I-I did not stalk-” Jisung stutters.

“Told you you were a stalker, jagiya.” Minho shrugs.

“Hyung!” Jisung whines. “Whatever, I’m sitting next to Jeongin.” He huffs out.

“No, you’re not.” Minho sighs, grabbing the younger by the wrist to pull him down with him.

Jisung gasps, suddenly being in Minho’s lap,while the older wraps one arm around him. His free hand taking from his pocket yet another joint that he then lights up with ease.

“Hyung-” Jisung starts.

“Behave Jisung.” Minho all but purrs in his ear. 

Needless to say, Jisung listens to him.

The night goes on like this, they play games and keep drinking and smoking. 

And in the dim lighting of the living room, even if the others don’t say anything, they notice. The way Minho can’t stop touching Jisung—fingers brushing his knee, hand resting at the small of his back, pressing a kiss to his temple when he thinks no one’s looking.

Chan just grins into his drink.

And Jisung? He feels like his heart might explode.

Because Minho didn’t say much at first—but when he did, he gave him everything.

The morning slips through the curtains like a secret. Pale sunlight spills across the tangled sheets, kissing the curve of Jisung’s bare shoulder as he stirs awake. The world is still. 

Quiet. 

Wrapped in the warmth of breath and skin and the steady thrum of a heart that doesn't belong to him, but beats for him anyway.

Minho sleeps beside him—hair tousled, one hand curled loosely against the pillow and the other wrapped lazily around JIsung's middle. His lips parted in the softest sigh. He looks unreal in this light, carved in gold and sleep, vulnerability etched into every line of his face.

They’re both naked. Needless to say they had sex once again before sleeping, having washed their faces and brushed their teeth before parting from the rest of the group into their respective bedrooms.

Jisung and Minho loved this type of sex. Well, they loved everything as long as they were together, but there was something about the lazy, high and drunk sex that made it more intimate you could say.

It was small laughs and hushed confessions whispered in their skins, quiet moans and passionate kisses and just perfect. 

Jisung brings a hand up to his lower back once he remembers it. God, he loved Minho.

Jisung doesn’t move for a long time. He just watches, breath held like a prayer, fingers ghosting down Minho’s jaw, over the familiar slope of his neck. He leans in and presses a kiss there, featherlight. Then another. And another, until Minho shifts under the affection, a quiet groan rumbling from his chest.

"You're staring," Minho mumbles, voice coated in sleep.

Jisung grins into his skin. “You’re pretty when you sleep.” He says, his fingers drawing circles on the older’s defined pecs. 

Minho hums, eyes fluttering open just enough to find him. He blinks slowly, and his hand slides up Jisung’s waist, anchoring him close. “I’m always pretty.”

“You are,” Jisung whispers, smiling softly as their foreheads touch. “But especially now.”

Minho stretches, lean and lazy, then pulls back just enough to tie his hair into a loose ponytail, the ends brushing his shoulders. There’s something intimate about the motion—so casual, so him. Jisung watches, mesmerized by the quiet elegance of it all.

Without a word, Minho rolls out of bed and pads across the room, still bare, finding the little tray by the windowsill. He sits cross-legged, sunlight dusting over his skin as he starts rolling a joint, his fingers practiced and sure.

“Come here,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges.

Jisung wraps himself in the blanket and joins him, settling between Minho’s legs. Their shoulders touch, then their knees. Minho finishes, lights it, and takes the first slow inhale, exhaling toward the sky like he’s sending something out into the universe. Then he hands it to Jisung, their fingers brushing, gaze holding.

The smoke curls in the space between them, lazy and warm.

“We should go out today,” Minho murmurs, watching Jisung with soft eyes.

“Out?” Jisung echoes, lips curved.

“Yeah. Cherry blossoms are blooming.” He nudges his knee against Jisung’s. “Thought you’d want to see them.”

Jisung leans in, rests his head on Minho’s shoulder. “I’d love that.” The younger whispers, leaning in to kiss Minho passionaly, the blanket long forgotten. 

Minho hums, his nails digging at Jisung’s waist. “Honey,” he laughs, “You keep this up I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Jisung giggles, turning around on Minho’s lap to straddle the older, his ass grinding down on Minho right after. 

“God.” Minho groans. “Fuck Jisungie,” Minho smiles. 

Jisung laughs into Minho’s mouth, breath warm and sweet from the joint, arms curling around his neck as his hips rock forward again—teasing, slow, and just enough to make Minho bite back a moan.

“You started it,” Jisung whispers, brushing his nose against Minho’s, their foreheads pressing together like they’re trying to merge into one. “Saying I look like this and then tying your hair up like that… what was I supposed to do?”

Minho exhales a quiet laugh, fingers sliding down to cradle the back of Jisung’s thigh. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs, voice low, full of affection and the kind of fondness that lingers in someone’s chest long after the moment passes. “Completely unfair.”

Jisung only smiles, lips brushing Minho’s jaw before kissing along the sharp line of it, gentle and lingering. His hands tangle into the ends of Minho’s ponytail as he pulls back just enough to look into his eyes.

“You love it,” he says softly.

Minho nods without hesitation, eyes steady, hands still holding Jisung like he’s something precious. “I do.”

Minho’s breath catches the moment Jisung shifts, the blanket falling just low enough to expose the curve of his back, the soft skin glowing under the morning sun. The younger boy stretches a little, cat-like and loose, curls a mess around his forehead, lips still swollen from sleep and kisses. His cheeks are flushed—pink from the warmth, from the weed, from last night.

And Minho loses it a little.

Not dramatically. Just… quietly. Deeply. Completely.

He watches Jisung sit there, on his lap. Sunlight turning the outline of his body gold, like he’s been hand-painted by the morning itself. And it’s too much. His chest feels tight with it—with the need, the tenderness, the absolute reverence he has for the boy in front of him.

“Jisung,” Minho breathes, almost warning.

The younger turns, eyes heavy and soft, lips curved lazily. “Hmm?”

“You can’t sit there looking like that,” Minho says, his voice a rasp now, a low thing he can barely control.

Jisung blinks, curls bouncing as he tilts his head. “Like what?”

“Like that.” Minho’s eyes rake over him. “Sun on your skin. Hair a mess. Red all over. You look like you just rolled out of a dream meant to ruin me.”

A grin curls on Jisung’s lips, knowing, teasing. He leans closer, chest brushing Minho’s, and whispers, “Maybe I did.”

Minho groans, hand flying to Jisung’s waist, fingers digging in, grounding himself before he does something reckless. Too late.

Jisung’s hips shift forward just slightly, and it’s all Minho needs.

The joint, half-finished and forgotten, flickers out on the tray as Minho grabs Jisung and flips them, pressing the younger into the sun-warmed hardwood floor, lips crashing to his in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and longing.

Jisung gasps into it, hands flying to Minho’s shoulders as he arches into him, letting himself be taken, loved, devoured. His legs fall open, inviting. His thighs squeeze at Minho’s sides, grinding up into him as their bodies find that familiar rhythm again.

Minho kisses down his jaw, the curve of his throat, muttering something raw in between—something like mine, like you drive me insane, like I don’t care what time it is.

And Jisung just moans softly, arms locked around Minho’s neck, skin sticky with warmth and sweat and morning heat.

They move like they’ve done this a hundred times and still, every time, it feels like the first.

It’s messier this time—needy, unrestrained. Minho can’t stop kissing him, gripping his hips, whispering against his skin how he looks like sin wrapped in sunlight.

And Jisung? He just clings tighter, curls damp with sweat, cheeks impossibly pink, smiling even as he whimpers Minho’s name.

When they finally come down, breathless and wrecked and tangled together again on the floor, Minho presses soft kisses all over Jisung’s face. His nose. His eyelids. The corner of his mouth.

“I still want to take you to see the cherry blossoms,” he murmurs.

Jisung laughs, fingers tangled in Minho’s now-loose hair. “Are you sure you’ll let me out of bed next time?”

Minho grins, kissing the tip of his nose. “Not making any promises.”

Later that morning, after they both managed to pry themselves off the floor with lazy limbs and lingering touches, Jisung emerged from the closet holding up two outfits with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Matching,” he declared.

Minho raised a brow, still shirtless, hair tied into a loose bun. “Seriously?”

Jisung stepped closer, holding the hangers like a peace offering. “Come on, you said we’re going to see cherry blossoms. It’s basically a date.”

Minho gave him a long look. He wanted to roll his eyes. He really did. But Jisung was grinning so brightly, standing there in just boxers and bed hair, that all he could do was sigh dramatically and mutter, “Fine. But only because I look good in pink.”

Jisung lit up like sunshine. “You look good in everything.”

They stepped out into the cool spring afternoon like two characters from a dreamy indie film.

Jisung wore a soft green cardigan over a white mesh tank, tucked into loose cream pants with green Converse to match. His curls were still slightly damp, face glowing, and he wore a little silver chain Minho had given him once and never asked for back.

Minho had on a pastel pink short-sleeved button-up with white embroidery on the collar, sleeves rolled up, half-tucked into high-waisted trousers in the same shade. A pearl earring dangled from one ear, catching the light whenever he turned to look at Jisung—which was often.

They walked hand-in-hand under a sky sprinkled with pink.

The cherry blossoms had bloomed in full, like a secret the city was finally ready to share. Petals fluttered around them with every breeze, catching in Jisung’s hair and on Minho’s shoulders.

Jisung kept stopping to take photos—of the trees, of Minho, of Minho pretending to look annoyed but smiling when Jisung wasn’t looking.

At some point, Minho tugged Jisung close, arms wrapped around his waist, and just held him under a tree as petals fell gently over them.

“Come here,” Minho murmured against his temple.

Jisung smiled into his chest. “What?”

But Minho only kisses the top of his head and says nothing—because yes. Always. Every part of him did.

“The weather is nice today.” Minho mutters, looking up at the cherry blossoms petals falling down, his arm still wrapped over Jisung’s shoulders.

Jisung mumbles. “Yeah, it is.”

“Let’s go get takeout food, baby.” Minho says, squeezing his hand softly.

The sun had dipped lower now, casting everything in the warm amber of early evening. The Han River shimmered beside them, soft ripples catching the light as cherry blossoms floated lazily through the air. Minho and Jisung sat in a quiet patch of grass, petals like confetti beneath them, half-finished skewers and paper cups scattered around.

Jisung leaned back on his elbows, head tilted toward the canopy of pink above, curls haloed by sunlight, cheeks flushed from the warm soju and weed they were sharing. His green jacket was too big on him, the sleeves falling over his hands. Minho watched him in silence, his pink windbreaker catching the breeze, his eyes lingering on the curve of Jisung’s mouth, the softness in his expression.

“You ever feel like… your chest is too small for everything you’re feeling?” Jisung asked, voice hazy, half-laughing, half-serious.

Minho’s brow lifted slightly. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Right now. With you. With this.”

Minho looked at him — really looked — and his heart squeezed. Jisung always spoke like he was confessing poetry he hadn’t written yet.

“You’re high,” he said softly, but his smile gave him away.

Jisung grinned. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Minho passed the joint back, fingers brushing Jisung’s. “Then tell me what’s in there. In the too-small chest.”

Jisung took a slow drag, held it, then exhaled into the sky. He was quiet for a while. Thoughtful.

“I want to touch you even when I’m touching you,” he whispered. “I want you so bad, it doesn’t make sense. Like—physically, emotionally, even in my dreams, you know? I want you in ways I can’t even name.”

Minho blinked, his breath catching. Jisung didn’t look at him. He was watching the blossoms drift like snow. Something bloomed in the silence.

“I think I need to write,” Jisung said, suddenly sitting up straighter. “I think—shit, yeah. I think it’s happening.”

Minho chuckled, low and fond. “You’re having a song moment?”

“I am. Right now. Fuck.” Jisung grabbed for his phone, fingers flying over his notes app, murmuring under his breath. He paused, blinking fast, high and focused. “God- Hyung you’re- my beautiful muse, I love you!” He yells, throwing himself into Minho’s arms.

“Fuck- Hannie.” Minho smiles, arms wrapping around him either way. “You almost burned yourself.”

“Sorry!” Jisung says, leaning back. “It’s just that-” He laughs. “Before I met you, Chan said for me to go watch the cherry blossoms when I first got this assignment and–” He stops, looking into Minho’s eyes with such fondness. “I’m here with you.”

Minho can only smile back. Watching as Jisung starts typing away in the notes. He leans over on Jisung’s shoulder, watching him type. “That’s hot.”

“Shut up,” Jisung muttered, cheeks pink. “You made me say it.”

“You feel everything too big,” Minho whispered, arms sliding around him. “That’s what I love about you.”

Jisung turned his head, face so close their noses brushed. “You’re gonna be in every lyric, you know.”

Minho kissed him there, under the fading sky, with cherry blossoms tangled in their hair and the taste of smoke still on their tongues.

“I know,” he said. “I want you so bad too, Sung-ah.”

And Jisung just smiled — the kind of smile that would become a chorus someday.

The light was soft, creeping through the blinds, just enough to stir Minho from his slumber. He groggily reached out for the alarm, slamming the snooze button with a half-conscious swipe. 

They spent the next few days at Minho’s apartment. The room was still warm, and the sheets felt too comfortable to leave, so he buried himself deeper, barely aware of Jisung stirring beside him.

"Minho…" Jisung's voice was barely a whisper, but the words were enough to poke through the haze of Minho’s sleep. "We’re gonna be late, get up."

Minho groaned in response, his body protesting against the idea of moving. “Five more minutes, please…” he mumbled, pulling the blanket over his head like a shield from reality.

Jisung rolled over, giving Minho a nudge with his shoulder. "Seriously, we're gonna be late again. Get up. It's Monday."

Minho grumbled but finally dragged himself out of bed, blinking against the morning light. He glanced at Jisung, who was still tangled in the sheets, looking half-asleep and cute. Minho couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at his lips. "I’ll just take a quick shower first."

Jisung blinked lazily, his mind still waking up. But when he heard the word ‘shower’, his eyes snapped open, and he immediately shot up. "No, no, no," Jisung protested, his voice suddenly sharp, though still full of sleep. “Don’t even think about it.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the bathroom door. "What? I’m just trying to get clean," he said with an exaggerated innocence, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind joining me. We can make it quick."

Jisung rolled his eyes, sinking back into the pillows but keeping his gaze locked on Minho. "I know how this goes," he said, shaking his head slowly. "You get all... touchy-feely and next thing we know, we’re late for class, and I’m tangled in your arms while you give me that ‘I’m too hot for my own good’ look."

Minho’s lips curled up into a teasing grin. "Who says you don’t like it when I’m all touchy-feely?" he said with a wink, walking toward the bathroom with exaggerated slowness, his hand trailing along the doorframe. "Come on, Jisung, just a little bit of fun."

Jisung sat up straight, now fully awake, though clearly trying to keep his composure. “If you think I’m falling for that again,” he said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, “you’re out of your mind.”

Minho stepped into the bathroom, turning on the shower. "Oh, come on," he said, his voice laced with teasing warmth. “You know you like it.” He gave a playful glance over his shoulder. "We’ll be in and out. I’ll even let you keep your hoodie on. Deal?"

Jisung swallowed, his mind already racing with thoughts of what could happen if he gave in just this once. The image of Minho, water running down his body, hands pulling him close in the steam... It made his heart race, and he cursed himself for even considering it.

"No, no, no," Jisung muttered, shaking his head furiously. “If we get in there together, we’ll never get to class on time, Minho.”

Minho let out a dramatic sigh, feigning disappointment as he stepped fully into the shower, the steam beginning to fill the bathroom. "Such a buzzkill," he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You could at least pretend to be interested."

Jisung stayed seated on the edge of the bed, still fighting the urge to just say "screw it" and jump in with him. But no—he couldn’t. He had to be the responsible one. Right?

He grabbed the pillow and threw it toward Minho, the impact soft but the message clear. "Just shower, I’ll meet you outside."

Minho caught the pillow with ease, tossing it onto the counter with a grin. "Fine, fine. You’re no fun, though," he called out, stepping under the water and letting out a soft groan as the warm stream hit his skin.

Jisung flopped back onto the bed, flustered, the battle between temptation and self-control raging inside him. He could hear Minho humming to himself under the shower, and for a moment, Jisung let himself close his eyes.

But just before he could give in and get up to join him, he took a deep breath, reminding himself why he had to stop. Class. They would be late. Minho would distract him until there was no way they could leave.

But that didn’t stop Jisung from imagining for just a moment—what it would feel like to let go, to fall into it, to let Minho tease him until there was no way to resist.

He groaned softly to himself, but then forced himself to sit up. "No," he muttered under his breath, "You’re better than this."

But his thoughts weren’t fully convinced yet, especially when he heard Minho’s low chuckle from the bathroom

"Stop thinking about it too much, you know you want to," Minho called out, his voice almost too knowing.

Jisung gritted his teeth, shaking his head, even though his cheeks were flushed. “Shut up, Minho. Get your shower over with.”

Minho didn’t reply, but the sound of his laughter echoed from the bathroom, leaving Jisung to stew in his own thoughts.

It was too much—his mind racing with possibilities, his body aching for the closeness. But no. He wasn’t going to give in this time. He couldn’t.

Not today.

Minho and Jisung walked down the cobbled path toward the café on campus, their footsteps heavy from the early start to the day. Minho was dragging his feet, still not fully awake, but he couldn’t help but notice how Jisung seemed a bit more jittery than usual. His leg kept bouncing up and down, a nervous habit Minho hadn’t seen in a while.

Jisung was dressed in Minho's oversized bright blue hoodie—his favorite one, which was far too big for Jisung but somehow always looked good on him. Minho, in turn, wore Jisung’s gray hoodie, the one that fit just a little too snugly around his shoulders. They looked like two mismatched puzzle pieces, effortlessly comfortable with each other, even as Minho's exhaustion tugged at him.

“Let’s hurry up and get the coffee, okay?” Minho muttered, wiping his tired eyes. “I’m about to collapse from lack of caffeine.”

Jisung gave him a quick nod, though Minho noticed he was still chewing on his lip like he had something on his mind.

When they entered the small café, the warm, rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit them immediately. The cozy atmosphere was familiar, like a comforting second home. Hyunjin stood behind the counter, his signature messy hair falling over his forehead as he skillfully prepared drinks with a concentrated look on his face. Minho could already tell the morning shift was going to be long for him.

Seungmin was seated at the counter, a cup of coffee in front of him, chatting casually with Hyunjin. His voice was light and full of laughter, and he looked so comfortable in his own skin as he leaned forward to talk to his boyfriend.

Minho spotted them immediately and nudged Jisung’s side. “Look, Seungmin’s already here.”

Jisung followed his gaze and waved casually. “Hey, Seungmin.”

Seungmin grinned and waved back, raising his mug in a half-toast. “You two are late today,” he teased, eyes twinkling with amusement. “What happened? Did Minho not let you sleep enough?”

Minho shot him an exaggerated glare, even though Seungmin was pretty much spot-on. “Yeah, blame me for everything, why don’t you?” he grumbled, leaning against the counter.

Hyunjin, overhearing the banter, glanced up with a smirk. “What are you two getting this time? You look like you both need the strongest coffee possible.”

“Please,” Minho replied, half joking and half pleading. “I might just pass out if I don’t get something that could wake the dead.”

Hyunjin chuckled as he started to prepare their drinks. “You two are lucky I like you. I’ll make it extra strong today.”

Jisung was still fidgeting, and Minho couldn’t help but notice it again—the way his leg shook underneath the counter. He was trying to act casual, but Minho could tell something was off. He’d been quiet since they left the dorm, and it wasn’t the usual easygoing vibe Jisung normally had.

As Hyunjin slid their drinks over, Minho turned to Jisung, keeping his voice low so only he could hear. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his concern slipping through despite his tiredness.

Jisung blinked, caught off guard for a moment. He hesitated, his fingers wrapping tightly around the coffee cup as if it might steady him. “Yeah... yeah, I’m fine.” But the smile that followed was thin, not the usual bright one that Minho loved.

Minho raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You don’t seem fine. You’ve been kinda off since we left.”

Jisung quickly took a sip of his coffee, his eyes darting away. “Just... tired. Nothing to worry about.”

Minho didn’t let it go. He leaned in a little closer, softening his tone. “Jisung, come on. You can talk to me, you know that, right? Whatever it is... you don’t have to keep it to yourself.”

For a brief moment, Jisung looked like he might say something—his lips parted, his eyes flicking to Minho’s face as if searching for the right words. But he quickly looked away, focusing on the cup in his hands, avoiding eye contact.

“I’m fine,” he said again, quieter this time.

Minho wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push any further for now. Instead, he nudged Jisung’s shoulder playfully, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I guess if you’re fine, I’m not gonna press it.”

Seungmin, who had been watching the exchange with an almost too-observant eye, raised his eyebrow at Minho. “You sure you’re fine?” he asked, his voice light but with an edge of concern. “You don’t look like it.”

Minho glanced at Jisung, who still seemed distracted. He sighed and gave Seungmin a quick glance. “He’s just... in his head today, I guess.”

Seungmin didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t say anything more, just took a sip of his coffee and offered a soft smile. “Well, if he needs anything, you know where to find me,” Seungmin said, nodding toward Hyunjin, who was now leaning against the counter, his attention back on them.

Jisung shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping nervously on his cup. “I’ll be fine, really,” he repeated, though it seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Minho watched him closely, still not buying it, but he decided not to press for now. He'd figure it out later.

Hyunjin, catching their quiet exchange, leaned in with a mischievous grin. “You know, if you two are done with the brooding, I’d love to see you both at least smile once today.”

Minho chuckled, reaching over to nudge Jisung again. “You hear that? We’ve gotta be all cheerful now.”

Jisung gave him a half-hearted grin, though it was still clear that his mind was elsewhere. “I’ll try,” he said, but the smile never fully reached his eyes.

Minho’s heart softened. He wanted to help, wanted to make whatever was going on inside Jisung’s head disappear. But he knew the only way to do that was to be patient—something Minho wasn’t always great at.

“Hey,” Minho said gently, after a pause. “Can we talk?”

Jisung blinked, his eyes finally meeting Minho’s, though they still seemed distant. “What about?”

Minho smiled softly, his gaze steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, jagi.”

Jisung’s eyes flickered, almost like he was trying to decide whether to open up or not. Then, he exhaled softly, nodding.

“Okay,” he said, almost too quietly. “I love you.” Jisung smiles slightly.

And just like that, the weight in Minho’s chest seemed to lift a little. 

“I love you too.” Minho says, his arm wrapping around Jisung’s shoulders to push them closer as they make their way to class. “So fucking much.” Minho adds after, nuzzling his nose against the younger’s neck.

For the first time since they left the apartment, Jisung lets out a real laugh.

The lecture hall was just as it always was—quiet, dimly lit, with the occasional shuffle of papers or cough from someone in the back. Minho immediately slumped in his chair, leaning his head back, ready to sleep through yet another Monday morning class. He was never much of a morning person, and today was no different. He glanced at Jisung, sitting next to him, already fully awake and attentive, with his glasses perched perfectly on his nose as he scribbled away in his notebook.

Minho barely managed to suppress a yawn, his eyes drifting shut, but then he noticed something—a small, but noticeable detail. Jisung’s leg was shaking, the quick, repetitive motion distracting in the quiet of the classroom. Minho glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering why Jisung seemed on edge today.

“Jisung-ah,” Minho murmured quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached over and placed a hand gently on the younger's knee, stilling it. “You okay?”

Jisung jumped slightly, as if he hadn’t realized what he was doing. He took a deep breath, then quickly brushed it off, a nervous smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Minho,” he said, looking away, trying to focus back on his notes. But his fingers were still tapping against the table, a nervous energy radiating from him. Minho watched him for a moment longer before pulling his hand back and leaning back in his chair.

Jisung, however, kept stealing glances at him. Minho noticed but didn’t comment. Instead, he reached over and playfully stole one of Jisung’s pencils, twirling it between his fingers. 

Jisung shot him a look. “You’re seriously going to fall asleep in the middle of class again, aren’t you?”

Minho smirked, his eyelids heavy as he made no attempt to hide his boredom. “Probably. But at least I’m awake enough to steal your stuff.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, but there was a softness in the way he looked at Minho. After a moment, he sighed, putting his pencil down and turning toward him.

“I—uh—after class,” Jisung started, voice quieter now, “I want to show you something. It’s a demo I’ve been working on... A new song.” He seemed hesitant at first, before adding quickly, “It’s inspired by that day at the Han River. You know, when we... you know. Spent the day together.” 

Minho raised an eyebrow, suddenly alert, the sleepy haze lifting as Jisung’s words hit him. He remembered that day perfectly. The way they’d spent hours by the water, laughing, talking, smoking and just existing together. Jisung had mentioned that he felt inspired by Minho, but Minho hadn’t thought too much about it at the time. Now, hearing Jisung mention the song, he realized just how much it meant to him. 

Minho’s lips curled into a small smile, though his tone remained nonchalant. “Yeah? You’ve been working on it that long?”

Jisung nodded, his nervous energy slowly shifting into something softer. “Yeah. It’s—it’s... special to me.” 

Minho reached out then, his fingers brushing Jisung’s hand in a quiet, comforting gesture. “I’m sure it’s great, honey,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “You always make amazing stuff.”

Jisung met his gaze, his shoulders relaxing just a little at the reassurance. He gave a small smile, his fingers brushing back against Minho’s before he quickly pulled his hand away, as if embarrassed by the closeness.

Minho noticed it, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he gave Jisung a small, teasing look. “I guess I’ll have to suffer through this lecture a bit longer so you can serenade me with your genius later.”

Jisung chuckled softly, the lightness in his laugh making Minho’s heart skip just a bit. “I’m not serenading you, Minho. It’s just a demo.”

“Sure, sure,” Minho teased, his smile curling into something fond, “but I bet it’ll still be better than whatever this professor is droning on about.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, but the tension seemed to leave his body, the shaking of his leg slowing down. He was calmer now, the nervousness he’d carried earlier dissipating with Minho’s comfort.

For a moment, Minho let his eyes flicker back to the lecture, but his thoughts kept returning to Jisung and the song. The thought that it was inspired by their day together made something inside him swell—pride, warmth, and something deeper he couldn’t quite put into words. 

And just like that, the rest of the class seemed less important than what would come after.

The moment class ended, Jisung was already halfway to the door, his backpack half off his shoulder as he moved quickly, eyes scanning the room like he couldn’t wait another second. Minho, who had never been one to hurry anywhere, chuckled and followed behind at a leisurely pace. 

"Jisung," Minho called, glancing at his watch. "We’ve still got time. What’s the rush?"

But Jisung was practically bouncing on his heels, his eyes wide with excitement and anxiety all at once. "We can’t waste any more time! I want you to hear it, Minho—now. Come on!" 

Minho smiled, amused at the sight of his boyfriend practically dragging him out the door. "Okay, okay, calm down. We’re not late yet."

"You don’t get it!" Jisung said, his voice a little breathless as he pulled Minho through the hallway, weaving past students as if they were a blur. "I need you to hear it. I’ve been working on it all night. Please, Minho. I can’t wait any longer."

Minho let out a soft laugh. There was something so endearing about the way Jisung could go from laid-back to completely nervous in the blink of an eye. It was like the whole world could be falling apart, but if he had something he needed to show Minho, nothing else mattered.

They reached the studio in a few minutes, and Jisung practically threw open the door. He immediately rushed over to his desk, throwing his bag down and pulling up the file on his laptop. Minho lingered by the door for a moment, watching Jisung’s excitement spill over. 

"Are you sure you’re ready for this?" Minho teased, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. 

Jisung didn’t even look up, his fingers quickly moving over the keys as he adjusted the track. “I was born ready,” he said, though his voice was laced with a nervous edge. He finally turned to Minho, his eyes wide, his lips pressed together in that way they always did when he was on the edge of something huge. “Just… promise me you’ll be honest. I need to know what you really think.”

Minho’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of how vulnerable Jisung looked in that moment. All the teasing and bravado melted away, leaving nothing but raw sincerity. Minho softened immediately, crossing the room to sit beside him, resting a hand on Jisung’s shoulder. 

"Jisung," Minho said, his voice low and comforting. "You don’t have to worry. I’m here. Whatever it is, I know it’s going to be amazing."

Jisung finally let out a shaky breath, turning to press play on the demo. The soft opening of the song filled the room, and Minho’s chest tightened as Jisung’s voice took center stage. 

It was everything he had come to expect from Jisung—beautiful, raw, filled with emotion—but there was something different about it this time. The lyrics hit deeper, resonating with Minho in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The way Jisung poured his heart into every word, every note—it felt like Jisung was singing only for him.

As the song played out, Minho found himself leaning in closer, drawn to Jisung’s intensity. He couldn’t look away. This song was about them. It was clear. The way Jisung had written about longing, about love, about moments that were only theirs—it made Minho’s heart race.

The mention of Minho’s birth flower, the bubbly feeling that came with the song. Minho could picture the tones of pink and green matching perfectly in the song. 

Just like them that day. Their outfits, the cherry blossoms and the green grass, everything.

When the song ended, the silence that followed was thick with emotions neither of them were quite ready to put into words. Minho could feel Jisung fidgeting beside him, his leg bouncing up and down like it was about to fall off.

"So?" Jisung asked, voice just above a whisper. He looked at Minho with those big eyes, hoping—praying—for a good reaction. 

Minho opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable to form any words for a moment. The truth was, he was completely overwhelmed. He could barely wrap his head around the fact that Jisung had created something so beautiful, so personal. Something so them. 

“Oh Sung-ah,” Minho started, his voice softer than usual. He turned to face him, hand resting gently on Jisung’s knee to still his shaking leg. “It’s perfect.”

Jisung’s expression softened for a second, relief washing over him. But then, the nervous energy returned, his eyes flickering away. “Really? You’re not just saying that because you’re my boyfriend, right?”

Minho chuckled softly, the sound full of warmth. He moved even closer, nudging Jisung with his shoulder. “I’m not just saying that because I’m your boyfriend. I’m saying it because it’s good. You’ve got something special here, Jisung. It’s beautiful. I mean it.”

Jisung swallowed, still clearly not convinced. “I want to record it,” he blurted out suddenly, his voice shaky as he looked anywhere but at Minho. “Like, I want us to record the final version. Together. As a duet. That’s how I want to show it to the teacher. Do you think—” 

His words were cut off as Minho’s heart swelled. He could feel his stomach flutter, not from surprise, but from how damn adorable Jisung looked in that moment—nervously wringing his hands, biting his lip, waiting for Minho’s reaction like it was the most important thing in the world.

“Jisung,” Minho said, his voice soft but steady as he leaned in closer, taking Jisung’s hands in his. “You really want that?”

Jisung’s gaze flickered to him, eyes wide and vulnerable. “I do. I think it’d be perfect. But I... I don’t know if you want to. I just—”

“Of course I want to,” Minho interrupted, his heart full. “I’ll sing with you. We’ll make it perfect. Together. It’s our song, after all.”

Jisung blinked up at him, clearly taken aback. “You’ll really do it with me?”

Minho couldn’t help but smile, his heart swelling as he looked at Jisung. His messy hair, his slightly too-big hoodie, the way he couldn’t stop fidgeting from excitement and nerves—it was all so Jisung. And Minho was so in love with him.

He cupped Jisung’s face gently, his thumb brushing over his cheek, and whispered, “I’d do anything with you, Jisung. You’re the one I want to share everything with. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Jisung stared at him, his eyes shining, and for a moment, Minho forgot how to breathe. The way Jisung was looking at him now, all his walls down, his insecurities and his strengths all laid bare—it made Minho fall even more in love with him.

“I love you,” Minho said.

Jisung’s breath hitched, and for a second, there was silence between them. Then Jisung broke into the brightest, most genuine smile Minho had ever seen, and it was like the entire room lit up. 

“I love you too, Minho. So much.” 

And right there, in that cluttered, imperfect studio, Minho knew he would follow Jisung anywhere. 

“Can’t believe I’ve made you write three songs about me now.” Minho chuckles, leaving a quick kiss on the other's forehead.

“Well…. I told you I wanted you to be my muse.” Jisung mumbles, voice soft, his ears red.

Minho bites his lower lip to prevent his smile from showing. “God,” He shakes his head fondly. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“Of course you do.” Jisung says almost immediately, cupping the older’s defined cheeks on his hands. “Hyung, I could go the rest of my life writing love songs about you.”

Minho inhales through his nose. “Hmm.” He mutters, leaning in the touch of the other. “I could skip classes just to take you home for this one.” He smirks.

“No.” Jisung giggles. “In fact, I’m dropping you off at your dance class.” Jisung adds

Minho clicks his tongue. “So bossy.” He muses.

“Stop it.” Jisung mutters, kissing him on the lips. “We’re going now.”

“Whatever you say, Sungie.” 

Minho’s dance class wraps up a little later than usual—his limbs pleasantly sore, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his skin as he is toweling off in the studio mirror. The music is still pulsing low from someone's speaker in the corner, but his mind’s already somewhere else—on a certain someone.

He grabs his bag and heads out into the cool evening, the breeze brushing through his damp hair as he texts Jisung to tell him he’s on his way there.

When he gets to the recording studio, Jisung's still at the desk, hunched over a messy timeline of vocal layers and chopped loops. Headphones on, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth in that way that always gets Minho’s attention, even if he’d never say it out loud. Not yet, anyway.

Jisung looks up, smiles instantly when he sees him. “You smell like a dance studio.”

Minho smirks. “You smell like overwork.”

“Fair enough.”

They don’t linger long—Jisung saves his project and packs up quickly, his energy low but still crackling. When they get back to Minho’s place, it’s familiar territory. The lights are dim, the couch has seen better days, and there’s an open window letting in some of the night.

They drop their bags near the door. Jisung flops onto the couch while Minho disappears for a second and comes back with a little glass jar in one hand and a lighter in the other.

Jisung chuckles. “Trying to get me high before we talk business?”

“Trying to get both of us high before we make magic,” Minho replies smoothly, sitting down close—close enough that their knees knock as he starts grinding up.

They pass the joint between them, laughing quietly at something dumb Jisung says, the smoke curling lazy in the air. It’s warm. Soft. The tension doesn’t build so much as it hums underneath the surface, present even when they’re talking about the duet again.

“I was thinking we could record it tomorrow,” Jisung says, eyes half-lidded, his voice slow and sticky. “You starting the song would hit so hard.”

Minho nods. “Yeah. I’m down. We’ll get it clean.”

They go quiet for a moment. Jisung pulls in another drag, holds it, then leans in. “Open your mouth.”

Minho raises an eyebrow but obliges. Jisung exhales, slow, into him—shotgunning the smoke between their lips. It’s not the first time, but this time it stays too long. Close. Lingering. When Jisung pulls back, Minho’s eyes are darker.

Neither of them says anything as Minho leans in and kisses him for real.

“Want to focus on the song for real tomorrow and today we fuck?” He asks in between kisses, hands already going under Jisung’s — Minho’s actually — hoodie.

JIsung snorts. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

And that’s all Minho needs to carry Jisung up, the younger immediately wrapping his legs around his waist and carry them to the bedroom.

Jisung woke to the soft morning light slipping in , the scent of yesterday still lingering on his skin—Minho, the studio, the kiss, the words whispered against his lips like prayers. He reached out instinctively, expecting to find warm skin and steady breath.

But the bed was empty.

Frowning, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. The blanket was still warm where Minho had been, which meant he hadn’t been gone long. Jisung’s heart gave a curious twist.

He padded out of the room, the floor cool against his bare feet, and followed the faint scent of something earthy and sweet.

What he saw when he stepped into the living room nearly made him forget how to breathe.

Minho was sprawled across his couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, a half-rolled joint balanced between his fingers. He wore nothing but grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips, his lean torso on full display, golden skin glowing in the soft light. His hair was pulled up into the familiar messy half-bun, a few strands falling loose around his face in a way that looked effortlessly hot.

But what truly shattered Jisung’s brain was the pair of round glasses perched on his nose.

Minho had glasses. Glasses. And they looked so good on him it should’ve been illegal.

He was reading something—Jisung squinted and realized it was the lyrics sheet from last night, crinkled and marked with pen in the margins. Minho took a slow drag from the joint, lips parting slightly as the smoke curled around him like a halo. He exhaled through his nose, focused and completely unaware of the silent meltdown happening ten feet away.

Jisung tried. He really tried to focus on the words coming out of Minho’s mouth—something about the pre-chorus needing more tension, maybe adding a harmony on the second line. He was gesturing lazily with the joint like it was a conductor’s baton, totally chill and composed.

Jisung, however, was not.

Every neuron in his brain had short-circuited. The glasses. The voice. The hair. The grey sweatpants. The damn glasses. He could feel his face heating up, his throat dry, his heartbeat somewhere in the back of his skull.

Minho finally glanced up, mid-sentence, eyes flicking over Jisung’s stunned expression. He tilted his head, lips quirking.

“What?”

Jisung blinked, mouth opening and closing like he’d forgotten how words worked.

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Are you even listening?”

“No,” Jisung blurted. Then immediately cursed under his breath. “I mean—yes. I mean—fuck, Minho.”

He crossed the room in a few fast steps, heart pounding, and before Minho could say anything else, Jisung was in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, mouth on his in a messy, desperate kiss.

Minho chuckled against his lips, tasting of smoke and sleep and something sweet. “Thought we were talking about lyrics.”

“I changed my mind,” Jisung mumbled, hands already tangled in Minho’s hair, tugging the bun loose. “You… you have glasses, what the hell, hyung.”

Minho just grinned, smug and soft all at once, letting the joint smolder out in the ashtray as he wrapped his arms around Jisung’s waist. “You really like the glasses, huh?”

“Unfair,” Jisung breathed, and gave up entirely.

“Baby they’re only for reading.”

“Unfair.” The younger repeated, his hips rolling down once.

Minho’s smirk deepened at Jisung’s breathless response, and his hands, now under the hem of Jisung’s T-shirt, slid up higher, palms skating over warm skin and making Jisung shiver despite the heat between them.

“You like the glasses that much? Maybe now you get me when I see you in glasses.” Minho asked, voice low, teasing but edged with something darker now—something that pulled at the base of Jisung’s spine and made him arch a little closer.

Jisung nodded, eyes glued to his face like he couldn’t look away. “Didn’t know I had a thing for them until right now.”

Minho chuckled, letting his fingertips brush up along Jisung’s sides, slow and deliberate, until his thumbs rested just under his pecs. “You’ve got a thing for a lot of things, baby,” he said, tone smooth as silk and twice as deadly. “You just haven’t figured them all out yet.”

That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.

But then Minho leaned in, glasses slightly fogged, lips brushing Jisung’s jaw as he whispered, “Want me to help you discover a few more?”

Jisung barely had time to nod before Minho surged forward, kissing him hard—none of the teasing sweetness from before. This was deep, dirty, possessive. Minho’s mouth moved against his like he owned it, like he deserved it, and Jisung let him take whatever he wanted.

The joint was long forgotten as Minho shifted Jisung fully onto his lap, one hand gripping his thigh, the other sliding under his shirt again—this time with purpose. Jisung whimpered into his mouth, grinding down shamelessly because fuck, Minho was hard beneath him and he wanted.

Minho broke the kiss with a gasp, dragging his teeth down Jisung’s neck, biting just enough to leave a mark. “God, you’re so hot like this. Messy. Desperate.”

Jisung tugged at Minho’s hair, fingers catching in the messy half-bun and pulling just enough to make Minho groan, low and guttural. “You’re unfair, hyung. You know what you do to me.”

“I do now,” Minho said, sliding both hands up under his shirt and finally, finally pulling it over Jisung’s head. He tossed it somewhere behind them without a second thought, eyes raking down his chest. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Jisung flushed under the attention, but the way Minho looked at him—like he was a meal and Minho was starving—lit a fire in his gut. “Touch me,” he whispered, the words more like a prayer than a demand.

Minho’s mouth curved into something wicked. “Where?”

“Everywhere”

Minho didn’t need to be told twice.

His hands explored like they had all the time in the world, mapping out every inch of Jisung’s body with reverence and intention. Each brush of his fingers was soft, almost maddeningly so, but it had Jisung arching into the touch like he couldn’t stand to be apart for even a second.

Jisung’s lips were swollen, pink from kissing, his breath catching in his throat as Minho’s mouth traveled lower, leaving a trail of heat and open-mouthed kisses down his neck, across his collarbone. The glasses slid slightly down Minho’s nose as he looked up at him from beneath his lashes, and damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing Jisung had ever seen.

Minho smiled like he knew it, too. “You’re shaking,” he murmured against his skin.

Jisung could barely form words, his fingers still tangled in Minho’s hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, dragging his mouth back up to his, hovering just close enough to steal Jisung’s breath. “You’re the one straddling me in nothing but sweatpants and a hard-on. Who’s ridiculous now?”

Jisung bit his lip, laughing breathlessly as Minho kissed the sound right out of his mouth again.

Time slowed, or maybe it just stopped mattering. The couch shifted under them, the morning light filtering in through the blinds casting soft shadows across bare skin and tangled limbs. There was no rush—just warm hands, quiet gasps, whispered words only meant for two, and that pulsing, unspoken something crackling between them, finally set free.

It didn’t matter where it led—not in that moment.

All Jisung knew was that he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The sun filtered in through the living room window, casting warm light over the two of them tangled on the couch, still naked and close. Their bodies hummed with a quiet, contented buzz, skin still warm from the heat of everything that had just happened between them.

Minho stretched out next to Jisung, his fingers grazing the edge of the lyrics sheet on the coffee table, now slightly crumpled. He adjusted his glasses, the look still foreign to Jisung. His hair was messy in that perfect, casual way, and Jisung couldn’t help but feel a pull of admiration.

Minho turned his gaze back to Jisung, smiling as he picked up the crumpled paper. “So… this is Want So Bad?”

Jisung smiled, his cheeks a bit flushed. He propped himself up on one arm, resting his head in his hand. “Yeah. That’s the one.” He glanced down at the lyrics sheet in Minho’s hand, a little nervous energy buzzing through him. “I, uh, wrote it based on that feeling of uhm... you know, that whole 'butterflies in your stomach' thing, but not knowing how to tell someone you're into them.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, still scanning the lyrics. “Like when you can’t even make sense of your own feelings? You’re all over the place, nervous, but you still want them more than anything.

“Exactly,” Jisung said, nodding eagerly. “It’s like being excited and terrified at the same time. You want them so bad, but you don’t know how to act on it. The whole song is about that—about wanting someone so much, but not knowing what the hell to do about it. And still wanting them, even if you're shaking.”

Minho smiled knowingly. “I get that. This line here— I’m not used to it, I know it’s pain, but I really want it so bad—that’s... well, that’s kind of like, us in the beginning, isn’t it?”

Jisung couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, embarrassed sound. “Yeah... I guess so.” He turned his gaze away for a second, trying to act casual, but the warmth in his chest said everything. “It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it? But that’s part of it. You’re so nervous, but you want to be with them anyway.”

The older only hums back, softly nosing Jisung’s temple before continuing to read. 

The moment I first saw you, it was meant to be, For me, it's you

Minho let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, it’s definitely not clean. There’s this feeling of, like, not knowing how to control it, but just going with it anyway. Almost like you’re floating but not really sure if you’re about to fall.”

Jisung glanced up at him, biting his lip. “Right. Exactly. But you don’t care. Because you want them. You really, really want them.”

Minho turned the lyrics in his hand, fingers lightly tracing over the paper, before meeting Jisung’s gaze. “It’s a vulnerable thing, though. You’re just... putting everything out there. Hoping they feel the same way, even if you don’t have all the right words.”

Jisung nodded, his heart fluttering. “Yeah... It’s kind of scary. But it’s real.”

Minho chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss Jisung’s forehead. “It’s real. And I think it’s worth it. Even if it feels like you’re taking a leap, not knowing if you’ll land or not.”

Jisung smiled, biting down on his lip as his hand reached up to trace the side of Minho’s face. “Yeah... it’s totally worth it.”

The two of them sat there, both naked, tangled in the sheets, with the soft afternoon light pouring in. There was no rush now—no need to pretend they had it all figured out. They felt the weight of the song, the energy of wanting something so much that it made their hearts race, their palms sweat. And though they were still trying to figure out how to express everything, it didn’t matter.

The music would do that for them. And for now, they had each other.

The recording studio was bathed in the warm hum of the equipment, a quiet buzz hanging in the air as Jisung adjusted the headphones over his ears. His heart raced as he stared at the screen in front of him. The mic was on. Minho was standing beside him, looking every bit the confident, collected figure Jisung adored, though a flicker of nervous energy sparked in his eyes.

Jisung's hands were clammy. He was about to record with Minho, to sing alongside him in a way that felt entirely new. He had heard Minho sing countless times—his deep voice carrying in the quiet moments between them, humming softly in the car, in the kitchen. But now? Now was different. Now, they were recording their song.

"You good?" Minho asked, voice warm, but with an edge of curiosity, like he knew exactly what was running through Jisung’s mind.

Jisung swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just... a little nervous."

Minho smiled, his gaze softening. He reached over, squeezing Jisung’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "You don't need to be nervous. We’ve got this. This song is us. It's perfect the way it is."

"I don’t know..." Jisung’s voice faltered slightly as he glanced at the lyrics sheet in front of him. "What if I mess up? What if—"

Minho cut him off, gently turning Jisung’s face toward him, locking eyes. "You won’t mess up. It’s just us, Sung-ah. We’ve been living this song, every note, every lyric. You’ve already given it everything. Just sing from the heart."

Jisung nodded, his nerves still fluttering, but somehow, hearing Minho say that made the tightness in his chest ease a little. He wanted this. He needed this.

"Okay," Jisung murmured, taking a deep breath as he adjusted the mic in front of him. "Let’s do this."

Minho settled into the chair next to him, giving him one last encouraging smile before he adjusted his own mic. Jisung’s hand hovered over the button to start the track, and his pulse quickened as he hit play.

The sound of the opening guitar riff filled the room, and they both settled into the rhythm. The lyrics felt even more real now, more alive in the space between them.

Then, it was time. Jisung’s cue. He took a deep breath and began, his voice steady at first but tinged with the nervous energy that was still simmering beneath the surface.

As the words left his lips, Jisung could feel the weight of them, the truth behind every syllable. His voice wavered slightly, but there was an undeniable strength in the vulnerability he poured into the song. He couldn't help but glance at Minho as he sang, his gaze finding the older man’s, that quiet reassurance in Minho's eyes helping him find his footing.

When it was Minho's turn to sing, Jisung nearly stopped breathing.

Minho’s voice cut through the silence like a knife, deep and rich, more powerful than Jisung had ever imagined. The smoothness of it. The way it seemed to vibrate in the air, like it was speaking directly to Jisung’s soul.

Jisung froze, eyes wide as Minho’s first note hit. He’d never heard Minho sing like this before—like he was pouring every ounce of emotion into the song. Jisung was in awe, watching the way Minho’s face softened with every note, how effortlessly his voice danced with the melody. It was raw, so raw that it almost felt too intimate, like Minho was opening up in a way Jisung had never seen.

"Hyung..." Jisung breathed, barely able to contain the awe in his voice.

Minho’s eyes flicked over to him, and there was a playful glint in them, despite the intensity of the moment. He smiled softly, and Jisung could hear the smile in his voice as he continued.

"I told you," Minho murmured after the take ended, his voice low and comforting. "You’ve got nothing to worry about."

Jisung let out a shaky breath, trying to regain his composure. He was still reeling from hearing Minho’s voice in such a powerful way. It made him feel small, yet completely captivated. It was more than just music—it was everything they’d ever been too scared to say aloud.

Minho nudged him lightly, his grin widening. "You're still staring at me like that," he teased, his voice thick with affection.

"I can’t help it," Jisung admitted, finally managing a breathless laugh. "You’re... amazing."

Minho reached over and nudged him with his shoulder, that teasing smile still present. "You’re the one who wrote the song, you know."

"Yeah, but..." Jisung’s words trailed off, still caught in the warmth of Minho’s voice. "It’s different when it’s you."

Minho's expression softened at that, and he reached for the mic again, his hand brushing against Jisung's. "Okay, Hannie. Let’s finish this."

Jisung nodded, still a little out of breath, but now with a newfound sense of confidence. It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about this moment. About sharing something so real with the person he loved.

As they continued recording, their voices blended together in harmony, a perfect fusion of their hearts. The song, their song, took shape under their hands, as the tension, the longing, the excitement—everything—came together. And with every note, Jisung realized that, no matter how nerve-wracking it had been to take that first step, this was exactly where he was supposed to be. With Minho.

“Chorus is done. Let’s go to some harmonies and record the rest.” Minho said, his voice sounding professional. “Do you agree?” He asks, looking ath Jisung with such fondness that he can’t help but blush.

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees. “Let’s do that.”

The track was finished. Mastered, mixed, polished until it gleamed like something sacred. Their voices layered together like light and shadow—different textures, but unmistakably drawn to each other.

And yet Jisung couldn’t bring himself to click send.

The cursor hovered over the submit button, blinking against the soft glow of his laptop screen like it was mocking him. His hand had been frozen there for what felt like an eternity.

Minho lay behind him on the couch, one arm tucked under his head, the other wrapped around Jisung’s middle, palm splayed lazily over the flat of his stomach beneath his hoodie. He hadn’t said anything in a while, just quietly breathing against the back of Jisung’s neck, warm and unhurried. The room was still, save for the low instrumental playing from his speakers and the slow, occasional inhale as Minho pulled from the half-burnt joint between his fingers.

Jisung’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of the laptop.

Minho’s thumb made a slow, absent-minded circle against his skin. “Honey, you’re thinking so loud it’s hurting me.”

Jisung let out a quiet, nervous laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just…” Minho exhaled, the smoke drifting up and curling toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. “Tell me what’s going on in that crowded little head.”

Jisung stared at the screen again. “What if it’s not good enough?”

Minho hummed softly, like he’d been expecting the question. “It is.”

“But what if it isn’t?” Jisung turned slightly in his arms, resting his head against Minho’s collarbone, fingers fidgeting with the drawstring of his own hoodie. “It feels personal. Like… I’m not just submitting a track. I’m handing them a piece of me. Of us.”

“That’s exactly why it’s good.”

Minho’s voice was low, easy, like the words had been rolled around in his chest before being released. He took another drag from the joint and held it between his fingers, the ember glowing faintly in the dim room.

“People connect to real,” he said, lips brushing the edge of Jisung’s temple. “And this? It’s real. That tremble in your voice in the second verse? The way your hands shook while you layered that harmony? The way you looked at me when I started singing?” He chuckled, and Jisung felt the sound deep in his chest. “That’s the shit they’ll hear. Even if they don’t know it.”

Jisung didn’t respond right away. His heart was thudding too loudly in his ears.

Minho’s hand slid up beneath the hoodie, slow and gentle, fingertips brushing over his ribs, grounding him. “You’re scared. I get it. But fear doesn’t mean you’re wrong. It just means you care.”

Jisung turned his face toward Minho’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent—smoke, cedar, a trace of whatever cologne lingered on his skin. “I care too much sometimes.”

“I know,” Minho whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “But that’s why you make music like this.”

Jisung closed his eyes.

Minho passed him the joint, fingers brushing his as he did. “Take a hit.”

Jisung hesitated for half a second, then took it, drawing in the smoke like it was breath itself. He let it out slowly, eyes half-lidded, the tension in his chest loosening just a little.

“There you go,” Minho murmured, voice like warm honey. “Float a bit. Let yourself go.”

The silence stretched comfortably between them, soft and heavy.

Minho tucked his chin over Jisung’s shoulder. “You’ve already done the hard part, Sung. You wrote something beautiful. You made it real. Now let them hear it.”

Jisung blinked slowly, the edges of the screen blurring just slightly. The cursor still blinked, still waited. But Minho’s words anchored him. And the warmth of his touch—the hand resting against his stomach, the kiss pressed to his hairline, the weight of his voice in his ear—made it easier to breathe.

He shifted forward, hand steady now as he moved the mouse.

“I’m doing it,” he said quietly.

Minho smiled against his skin. “Good boy.”

Jisung clicked.

The file uploaded.

Sent.

A pause, a silence that felt like the air had thickened around them.

And then—relief.

Jisung exhaled, chest loosening, and let the laptop fall shut with a soft click. He turned fully into Minho’s arms, burying his face into the crook of his neck as a shaky laugh escaped him.

Minho wrapped him tighter, the blunt on the ashtray. “Proud of you,” he whispered. “You did it.”

Jisung didn’t say anything, just nodded against his skin, letting Minho’s warmth wash over him.

In the low hum of the living room, tangled in arms and half-sighed laughter, something settled inside him. It didn’t matter what came next.

For now, the hardest part was over.

Minho’s fingers hadn’t moved.

Still resting beneath the fabric of Jisung’s hoodie, warm and steady, like he belonged there. And maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

Jisung was curled against him, the tension slowly melting from his shoulders, breath evening out as the high eased its way in—not enough to dull him, just enough to quiet the noise. To let him feel everything else.

The pulse of Minho’s heart beneath his cheek.

The way Minho’s fingertips started moving again, slow and deliberate now, tracing over the dip between his ribs.

Jisung shifted slightly, not pulling away—never that—but just enough to meet Minho’s eyes. There was something simmering there. Low, unspoken. A question. Or maybe not a question at all. Maybe it was just there, waiting.

Minho’s hand slid higher, up his side, fingers brushing over skin until they reached the hem of his hoodie.

“You feel better?” Minho asked, voice a little raspier now, a little slower.

Jisung nodded. “Yeah.”

Minho’s thumb grazed over his hipbone, lazy. “Good.”

Their eyes held. The room was still heavy with quiet, but it had shifted—something thicker, warmer now, coiled beneath their skin.

Jisung reached up, fingers slipping into Minho’s hair, dragging through it gently. “You always do that,” he murmured.

“Do what?”

“Make it easier to breathe.”

Minho’s mouth curved—fond, but crooked. His hand dipped just beneath the waistband of Jisung’s sweatpants. “And you always get like this after you finish something. Strung-out. Wound tight.”

Jisung’s breath hitched, barely, but Minho felt it.

“You need to come back into your body, baby,” he said low, brushing their noses together. “Let me help you.”

The kiss wasn’t rushed.

Minho kissed like he did everything—with intention. His mouth was soft, slow, teasing just enough to make Jisung press closer. His hand slid down Jisung’s spine, palm flat, drawing him in until there wasn’t a space between them left untouched.

Jisung moaned softly against his mouth, fingers curling in Minho’s shirt. “You always say the right things.”

“That’s ‘cause I know you,” Minho whispered against his lips. “Know what you need.”

His other hand slipped lower, cupping Jisung through his pants. The pressure was firm, controlled, just enough to make Jisung’s hips twitch.

“Minho—”

Minho kissed down his jaw, down the slope of his throat, teeth grazing lightly. “Let me take care of you.”

The hoodie was gone in seconds, tossed somewhere behind them, and Minho’s hands mapped every inch of skin like he was memorizing him all over again. His mouth followed—neck, chest, a flick of his tongue over a nipple that made Jisung shiver and bite back a gasp.

Minho smirked. “There he is.”

Jisung was pliant under him now, soft gasps and breathy curses slipping from his lips like he didn’t have the energy to hold them in. Minho took his time, kissing and touching and teasing, until Jisung was squirming, legs parted, eyes glassy.

He tugged the sweatpants down slowly, lips ghosting over the waistband as he did, pausing just long enough to make Jisung whimper.

“You’ve been so good today,” Minho said softly, nosing at the sensitive skin just above his hip. “You know that?”

Jisung nodded, breath shaky. “I—I tried.”

“I know.” Minho looked up at him, pupils blown wide. “I’m gonna show you how proud I am.”

And then his mouth was on him.

Hot, wet, perfect, Minho worked him with the kind of patience that drove Jisung crazy—no rush, just the constant, maddening pressure of someone who knew exactly how to unravel him.

Jisung’s hands tangled in Minho’s hair, hips bucking, but Minho held him steady, murmuring something low and filthy against his skin that sent a full-body shudder down his spine.

It didn’t take long. Jisung was already so keyed-up, so overwhelmed from everything—the release of the submission, the high, the heat, Minho’s touch—that when it finally broke, it shattered him.

He came with a cry, loud and raw, hips stuttering as Minho held him through it, slow and soothing, his lips never leaving Jisung’s skin.

When it was over, Jisung collapsed back into the couch, chest heaving, eyes dazed.

Minho wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, climbed up beside him, and pulled him into his arms again like nothing had changed. Like they were still just two people curled up on a couch, the world outside soft and far away.

Jisung buried his face in Minho’s neck, still trembling a little. “You’re evil.”

Minho laughed softly. “Nah. Just thorough.”

They stayed like that, tangled and warm, until the smoke faded and the only thing left was the steady sound of their breathing.

And beneath it all, Jisung felt it again—that quiet, undeniable truth.

Minho always brought him home.

The living room at Chan and Changbin’s place was its usual chaos—empty beer bottles, the smell of weed mellowing into incense, snacks scattered across the table like a war zone. Felix had tried organizing a tray of macarons at some point, but someone (Seungmin) had eaten all the pink ones and left only the lemon.

“You’re literally evil,” Felix said, glaring from his spot on the floor.

Seungmin didn’t even look up from where he was curled in Hyunjin’s lap, a lazy smirk on his lips. “Cry about it.”

Hyunjin was playing with his hair, fingers gentle and absentminded, like it was second nature now. The two of them looked so disgustingly soft together, it was almost annoying—especially since they kept winning at every drinking game by sheer psychic connection.

And then there was Minho, half-slouched on the couch with Jisung curled up beside him—head on his shoulder, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, eyes half-lidded from a blissful mix of drinks and Minho’s blunt passed between them.

Every so often, Minho would murmur something in Jisung’s ear, and it always made Jisung laugh. That high-pitched, tipsy giggle that only Minho ever seemed to coax out of him.

At one point, Hyunjin called out, “Sungie, come play next round!” but the moment Jisung started shifting off the couch, Minho’s hand slipped under his hoodie and settled over his stomach, pulling him back into place.

“You’re warm,” Minho said simply, voice low and lazy against his neck. “Stay.”

Jisung blinked, fought the smile tugging at his lips—and stayed.

Chan and Changbin’s apartment had become the spot. It was where everyone piled in after long studio days, where someone was always ordering takeout or lighting a blunt or making noise with a busted Bluetooth speaker. Felix had fairy lights draped over every reachable surface, and someone had painted a cartoon frog on the wall with sharpie. No one knew who. Probably Jisung.

Tonight, the usual suspects were sprawled across the living room—half tipsy, half stoned, and fully unbothered.

Hyunjin had claimed the best seat early on: Seungmin’s lap, legs tucked across the couch, lazily feeding his boyfriend sour gummies while Seungmin mock-complained but never actually said no.

Felix was making a tower out of empty beer cans. Changbin tried to help, then knocked it over and blamed the air conditioning. They kissed about it two minutes later.

Chan was DJing from his laptop, drinking whiskey straight and swiping away anyone who tried to queue something mid-vibe. Most of the time it was Jeongin.

And then there was Jisung.

Currently losing at Mario Kart.

“You always pick Rainbow Road!” he whined, slamming his controller down. “It’s literally sabotage.”

“It’s literally skill issue,” Jeongin said around a gummy worm.

“Skill issue my a—”

But he never finished the sentence, because just then, Minho reappeared from the hallway—hoodie slightly too big, eyes half-lidded from the blunt he’d just finished outside, and that look on his face. The one he always wore when he had one mission and one mission only: take Jisung and disappear.

“Come here,” Minho murmured behind him, voice just low enough that only Jisung heard it.

“But I was gonna—”

Minho leaned down, one hand snaking around Jisung’s waist as he whispered something into his ear that made him choke on his breath. The game was forgotten in seconds. The controller hit the floor. Jisung practically melted as Minho guided him away with a smug little smirk and a hand in his back pocket.

“Again?” Felix called after them.

“They didn’t even finish the round,” Hyunjin snorted.

Seungmin threw a popcorn kernel at the bathroom door they vanished behind. “This is how you lose friends.”

“You don’t live here anymore Jisung!” Changbin shouted, only hearing loud giggles from the couple as a response.

Jisung emerged much later, hoodie backwards, cheeks flushed and hair messy. Minho followed a few minutes after, cool as ever, lighting the end of another blunt and tossing a pillow at Hyunjin for the comments.

Jisung tried to sit back down, but Minho tugged him into his lap without asking. No one even batted an eye.

At Minho’s apartment, it was quieter. Cleaner. But it was full of little signs that Jisung lived there now. 

Lyric notes taped to the fridge. A mug shaped like a cat paw on the counter. A music station cluttered with synth cables. Americano sleeping like a queen in the sun patch by the window.

It wasn’t even a conversation, really. One day Jisung just… stopped leaving Minho’s apartment. First it was spare clothes, then his lyric books, then Americano—the tiny black-and-white cat they adopted on a whim because she looked like a coffee spill with legs.

They still had their own things—Minho’s notebooks and ashtray on the windowsill, Jisung’s messy stack of synth gear in the corner—but the spaces blurred together. Intentionally.

They cooked together now. Took turns doing laundry. Argued about which Spotify playlist to put on, and ended up with a chaotic blend of early 2000s pop-punk and lo-fi beats.

Minho still stole him away constantly.

Didn’t matter if Jisung was deep in a creative flow, gaming with Hyunjin, or mid-sentence in the group chat. If Minho leaned in with that look, all focus flew out the window.

“Five minutes,” Minho would murmur, sliding behind him in the chair. “Just wanna hold you.”

It was never five minutes.

But Jisung always let him.

Tonight, they came home from another hangout —Minho high and a little handsy, Jisung buzzed and smiling too much—and the first thing they heard when they opened the door was the soft mewl of Americano.

She greeted them with her usual stretch and chirp before darting off toward her food bowl.

Jisung yawned, rubbing at his eyes. “Did we remember to feed her before we left?”

“No, but she’s dramatic,” Minho muttered, dropping their jackets on the hook. 

“Like someone else I know.” Jisung joked.

Minho grabbed him by the waist, pulling him in close with a soft, lazy kiss to his temple. He hums, “You’re right. You’re both dramatic.”

His words make Jisung scoff, hitting his chest. “Jerk.”

“Hmm, point proven.” He smirks, Jisung gawking at him. “C’mon, sleepyhead.”

In their room, the sheets smelled like fresh laundry and something faintly herbal—Minho’s shampoo. Jisung fell face-first onto the bed, only to be rolled onto his back a second later so Minho could climb over him and press a lazy kiss to his mouth.

They didn’t do much. Just kissed, slow and messy, half-laughing when Americano tried to wedge between them. Jisung curled into Minho’s side a little while later, blinking up at the ceiling like it still hadn’t fully hit him.

He’d written a song about Minho last week. Minho still hadn’t heard it. He was scared to play it.

But somehow, nothing else felt scary anymore.

“You know,” Jisung mumbled, “I think I’m kinda in love with our stupid little life.”

Minho dragged fingers through his hair and hummed. “Kinda?”

“I’m pacing myself.”

“Coward.”

Jisung smirked, pressing a kiss to Minho’s jaw. “You like it?”

Minho pulled him closer. “I love it.”

One lazy Sunday, Jisung stood barefoot in the kitchen, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, sipping coffee as Americano pawed at his ankles. Minho padded up behind him, warm and half-asleep, and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“This feel like home yet?” Minho asked, chin resting on his shoulder.

Jisung leaned back into him. “You do.”

Minho kissed the side of his neck, slow and soft. “Good.”

Outside, the city kept moving. But inside—warm sheets, soft cat snores, Minho’s breath steady against his neck—Jisung finally knew what forever felt like.