Chapter Text
Jisung met Minho when he was seventeen.
He was never one to say no to a party, good or bad, so when Changbin invited him to a heavy metal concert, he agreed without thinking twice about it. Jisung was not necessarily fond of heavy metal; he was more of a hip-hop and pop enthusiast - Changbin, on the other hand, was very much enthusiastic about the whole thing, and got them tickets straight to the pit, right in the middle of the crowd where it got the craziest.
Thinking of that day, he could clearly recall that he was holding a yellow party stick in his right hand, and a see-through plastic cup filled with beer to the brim in the other.
Most of the beer went down his throat, but more than enough spilled out when he accidentally bumped into someone as he was jumping around, bobbing his head to the incessant chorus.
He turned around to apologize to the stranger, who was trying to do the same thing, at which point the band instructed the crowd to form a "death circle." Jisung had no idea what that was supposed to mean, and he still wasn’t sure to this day, but the crowd immediately began to push each other around mindlessly, causing Jisung to collide with the stranger accompanied by a mutual pained wince.
When the people behind him began to drag Jisung, he somehow thought that it would be a brilliant idea to grab onto the stranger, too, and drag him along. For an entire minute, Jisung kept running around with the crowd like loose chickens, chanting in some kind of Nordic language (unlike chickens).
By then, his shirt was soaked in sweat and beer, including the stranger, even though he still hadn't had the chance to utter anything to him, let alone see his face. At the same time, he was already holding onto his waist with that coming of age fervor, their bodies pressed against one another chest-to-chest, feeling like they had known each other for years. Being tipsy from the beer that Jisung drank on an empty stomach also helped make the experience less dismaying as it otherwise should had been for someone fully cognizant of his surroundings.
Jisung could still remember burying his nose in the stranger’s top as he laid his forehead against his shoulder, trying to protect himself from the sea of elbows and punches being thrown around. And he could still remember the stranger doing the same, except that Jisung had his sleeves rolled up, so he also had to cope with a pair of warm lips pressing against the skin above his shoulder blades. He could feel the vibration of the other boy's laughter cover him in goosebumps whenever the crowd sped up. Jisung absorbed every touch and every breath, vivid in his memories enough to recall them like they only occurred yesterday, even after almost four years.
But what he remembered the most, and what he thought about the most, was the moment the circle stopped, so Jisung finally had a chance to distance himself from the stranger, at which point their eyes met for the first time in their lives.
In that moment, Jisung's eyes met a pair of doe ones, blinking at him wide and curious , before Jisung's gaze fell to plush, red lips curling into a smirk.
To say that Jisung was lovestruck would be an understatement.
And indeed, the longer he looked, the more he felt a stinging pain where his heart was supposed to be, had it not burst out of his chest at the sight. In the middle of a screaming crowd and booming speakers relentlessly pulsing, the world went unusually quiet all of a sudden.
Jisung's first words to Minho were, " Sorry dude ," as he pointed toward Minho's beer-stained shirt, but since it was decorated with a bunch of holes that Jisung assumed Minho did to personalize it, most of that beer was really on Minho's skin rather than the clothing.
Minho shook his head with a chuckle, engulfing Jisung in a chaste hug to let him know that he didn't mind the spilled drink.
That was cool with Jisung.
What wasn't cool was when Minho leaned closer and tried to whisper his name into Jisung's ear, which was a success in terms of making Jisung's knees feel like jelly, but less successful in actually communicating, since it was too loud to hear anything.
"I can't hear you!" Jisung yelled over the music, pulling Minho away from himself with the ulterior motive of looking into those stunning, doe eyes once again, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
He thought the other boy would give up on the whole conversation with the wave of his hand and get swallowed into the crowd without a trace, but he ended up grabbing Jisung by the wrist instead, leading them out of the pit.
Jisung's entire body felt too soft and wobbly for his liking as he mutely let Minho pull him through the crowd like they were attached to one another by a string, perhaps that of fate. He could have led Jisung into an alley filled with robbers and roaming alligators, and Jisung would have still gladly followed him.
Rather, much to Jisung’s dumb luck, Minho had both of them sit down on a creaking, aged bench near the bar, where the streetlights crept through the open entryway, illuminating the gold and green glitter scattered over his cheeks, and he introduced himself to Jisung for the second time that night.
To this day, Jisung had no idea why Minho wanted to get to know him, considering that he must have looked like a mess, and not a hot one at that. On the contrary, Minho looked beautiful , with his tousled, dirty blonde hair adorned with an array of pansies, and long, thin lashes sweeping over his cheeks whenever he blinked at Jisung.
Whatever was in the air that night Minho inhaled, he stuck to Jisung’s side like he was glued there for the days that followed, until the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years.
Meanwhile, after all this time later, Jisung thought the memories would fade, their sudden friendship would end as fast as it came, and that he would never go to another metal concert again. Over time, he turned out to be wrong about all of those things.
Minho stayed in his life, yet again for reasons Jisung couldn't understand. Minho was a beautiful mystery, some kind of unprecedented blessing, a treasure unexpectedly found buried in the sands of time where Jisung had no place being, a friend he didn't know he needed until he had him - although all that also had its downsides.
Especially on days like today was, when Minho was stretched out on Jisung's couch, his head resting on Jisung's lap as they were watching Minho's favorite drama. The entire place smelled like instant noodles and flowers , since as it turned out, Minho liked flowery scents, which brought Jisung back to when he was seventeen more times than he was comfortable with.
Jisung didn’t dare to move an inch, even though the position was getting unbearable after an hour. But whenever Minho was near him, he felt frozen in place, a burst of energy bundled up and shooting through his veins like a canon, all invisible to the naked eye with his body staying as timid as a tinman’s.
"Don't stop..." Minho mumbled, half-asleep, as Jisung stopped running his fingers through his newly black hair. Jisung also remembered the day Minho dyed his hair black, in Jisung’s bathroom, staining the ivory walls cadet gray. Coming to think of it, black was fitting to the black sheep Minho was among their circle of friends.
"But my hand hurts." Jisung whined, trying to wring the cramp out of said hand.
"Then use your other one." Minho instructed, grinning when he felt Jisung's fingers brush though his hair once again without any complaints. He sighed contently into the touch, reaching after Jisung's other arm to wrap it around his waist.
"And what else can I do for you, your Highness?" Jisung scoffed, routinely hiding the piercing sensation in his chest behind his jeering tone so as to not give himself away.
"Hmm...Just shut up." Minho replied with a yawn, placing his hands over Jisung's arm that was curled around his waist to make sure Jisung wouldn't pull it away, as if he ever would, despite his loud-mouthing.
He hated these days the most, when Minho would drop by, uninvited, as if he lived at Jisung's place, and had Jisung all riled-up from his charms, most of which Minho seemed to be oblivious of. He came by frequently enough that Jisung just dropped a pair of keys into Minho’s hand one day about a year ago without any explanations. Still, Jisung was jealous how comfortable Minho could be around him, while he felt too excited, too nervous, too everything .
Some days, he wished they had never met. Then, he could focus on his music more, kick his feet up on the table, and change the channel to something less melodramatic. But instead, all he could write were love songs, his notebooks filled of titles written about Minho, while his back and legs were going numb, and he was stuck watching the same series for the second time in a row, which he never cared for in the first place, but it was Minho’s guilty pleasure, so there couldn’t be any arguments about that.
More often though, he fearfully prayed into the night that Minho will never leave him. Jisung just didn’t know how he could live without this boy in his lap, all cozy and curled-up against Jisung, a stubborn grin faintly pulling at his lips from getting what he wanted, as he always did. Even the coffee in his mug before he added the milk reminded him of them.
However, Minho could get very affectionate and intimate with other guys; even cunning and overly witty at times, and always too free and independent for a relationship. Minho was too beautiful, and like seasons, it was in his nature to come and go. Deep in his heart, where Jisung imprisoned his secrets behind spiked fences and brick walls, he knew he could never expect Minho to settle for him, or to give him a chance, because Jisung was just a placeholder for the person who will actually have a shot. Yet again, it would be a lie to say he never dreamed of a hulking miracle like that.
A miracle, like a day when Jisung would lean really close to Minho's face as he often did when they were messing around, pretending to kiss him, and instead of Minho playfully slapping him on the face and throwing a pillow at him in a tantrum, Minho would erase the miles and miles of distance between them with the tilt of his head. Dreams, in which holding hands didn't end in seconds or when they stepped out of the apartment; when Jisung would come home to Minho sleeping in his T-shirts like he saw people do in romcoms; or when he would catch Minho staring at him the way Jisung stares at him when Minho is not looking.
Then, he wouldn't be so bitter about Minho making himself home at his place, or being so touchy with him, because then, Jisung would not feel like a fool for being hopelessly, unrequitedly, in love. Right now though, he could cry from frustration as his hands ran through Minho's straight, silky hair for the hundredth time, having to pretend that it didn’t mean anything.
Jisung exhaled slowly, staggeringly slow, his fingers still combing through Minho's locks even after he could tell the other had long fallen asleep by the even rising and falling of his chest. He could still remember when Minho had first laid his head on his lap, and looked up at Jisung with those eternally innocent, doe eyes, vast enough to hold a universe within each. Maybe in one of those coffee-brown universes, Jisung never met Minho, and in another, they were meant to be. He was giggling and had a faint blush on his cheeks that day from running up the stairs to Jisung's apartment, lips dry from the ruthless November wind, chapped, and irresistible.
Jisung remembered every trivial thing that was about Minho. All Jisung did was remember, his mind molding into a library of the past.
***
There are several things that Jisung loved about Minho. Among them was the other's passion for dance. Perhaps Jisung loved that the most. He could only compare it to his own devotion to music.
It was a Tuesday, and on Tuesdays and Fridays, Minho spent the entire afternoon at the dance studio near their university. Like always, Jisung "happened to drop by" while he was on his way to get dinner, and always "happened to buy" some extra to share with Minho, because if not for him, Minho would have gone without eating all day.
Minho was so focused on getting the moves right to fit the rhythm in his head, so devoured by criticizing his silhouette in the mirror, that even the loud growling of his stomach didn’t snap him out of his concentration.
It was during moments like this that Jisung dropped down onto the floor with his back against the mirrors, lazily resting his elbows on his knees, just watching Minho from his dimly lit corner.
He watched Minho's loose black t-shirt stick to his body as he swayed his hips to the left, lifting up multiple times when he stood on his tiptoes for a swift spin, just enough to allow Jisung’s hungry eyes an “accidental” peek at his contoured abs. His sneakers squeaked against the hardwood floor with each twirl, the only sound beside Minho’s subdued panting. His black sweatpants, as baggy as they were, still allowed the bulging muscles on his thighs to make an appearance as he spread them to smooth his hand over the muscle, synchronizing to the beat of the music only he could hear. Minho jumped up and down enough times to make Jisung dizzy just watching it, but their intensity didn’t fade, and if anything, the longer and harder Minho danced, the more energy he seemed to have. Jisung couldn’t relate.
But eventually, just when Minho was on the floor, doing hip thrusts into the air, did he seem to notice Jisung, much to Jisung's discomfort at the timing.
Their eyes met in the mirror, and Minho dared to smirk at him, before biting on his bottom lip and decreasing the velocity of his thrusts, his body moving in waves like gentle, sluggish currents.
Jisung wanted to disappear and hide his face that had since reddened like a ripe tomato, ready for picking, but he would hate to let Minho know that the boy had Jisung wrapped around his pinky finger. So instead of digging a hole through the ground like a mole and escape there for the rest of time, Jisung put the food to the side which he had been holding onto for dear life since he arrived, and rushed to wrestle Minho back onto the floor, sitting on top of him to keep him there.
Minho fell back so easily, Jisung wondered if his mind had only now registered how exhausted he had been, or if he wanted Jisung to win. It usually took a few rounds before he could hold Minho against the hardwood floor, but today, he was grateful that Minho just sighed in defeat.
Minho had his closed eyes, taking several quick breaths as if he had just sprinted a mile. And as always, Jisung filled the silence and airy breaths with smiles and laughter, however false it ringed to his own ears.
He held onto Minho's torso for balance, memorizing how warm and sweaty he felt under his palms, the motion of his rib cages pushing back against Jisung’s hands with each breath. All the while, Jisung was trying to engrave the image of his flushed face and bitten lips, his glowy skin reflecting the lights of the studio shining down on them. But more importantly, Jisung desperately wanted to remember that look Minho was giving him when he finally opened his eyes again - that challenge and coyness that radiated from the other's gaze when he tittered at Jisung, sitting up enough to almost have their noses touching.
"Did you bring food?" Minho inquired.
It had to be the first thing he would want to know, and Jisung couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that.
"Of course I did. I had some left, you know I always do." Jisung assured, intertwining his fingers with Minho's to help him get up.
He wished Minho wouldn't let go so soon, but Jisung guessed there wasn't really any more time left to hold hands when they both sat down again, with Jisung beginning to unwrap the carefully packaged containers.
Minho looked at the food like it was the best thing he had ever seen, with his hands clasped together in anticipation, and lips parted eagerly. He often slapped things when he was excited, and today was no exception as he clawed at the floor and Jisung’s legs. It took all of Jisung's strength not to throw the soup to the side and just adoringly grab Minho's face for a kiss.
Somehow, like every day , he managed not to, and spent the next few minutes watching Minho gulp down the soup until his cheeks got messy.
"You eat like a pig." Jisung noted, trying to make sure he didn’t sound as hopelessly in love as he actually was, since that would have been more pathetic than Minho’s graceless eating habits.
"Yeah, I haven't eaten anything since 7AM." Minho bumbled between slurps. "Thank you for bringing me food, by the way. I don't know what I would do without you, as annoying as you are."
"If you want to talk about something annoying, why don't we discuss all the cat hair you leave on my couch? I don't have cats, but guess who cleans it up? Not you!"
Minho's face was hidden behind the bowl as he raised it to his mouth to pour any leftover soup into it, so Jisung couldn’t tell how Minho reacted, but he suspected that the other didn’t sympathize with Jisung's struggle one bit.
Minho finished the dinner with a loud burp, and then had the decency to look at Jisung with a self-satisfied, cheshire-cat grin on his face. Yet Jisung couldn’t be mad, because even now, Minho had no trouble getting under his skin within seconds, spinning Jisung into his web of interminable charms.
"You still love me though, right?" Minho asked, tossing the bowl to the side. As he turned with the movement, Jisung's eyes fell to the other's neck, observing the protruding bones and sun-kissed skin. His eyes began to follow a drop of sweat making its way from Minho's temple down to his collarbones, disappearing under his shirt, where Jisung couldn’t follow its tracks anymore.
"Do I have a choice?" Jisung wondered, and Minho glared at him in response. Jisung smiled at the icy glare, but only he knew how painstakingly.
To love Minho or to not? The latter never seemed like an option. Jisung wished he could choose who to love, because then, he would pick wiser, and avoid all the meaningless nights he toils through, daydreaming about his friend.
On the other hand, even if he tried, Jisung felt like he could not pick anybody else but Minho. Who else could make such adorable bundles like Minho did now, as he was wrapping the empty bowl and utensils together into a piece of checkered cloth? Who else could look so beautiful without a trace of makeup, after hours of tireless dancing, drenched in sweat? Who else would reach after Jisung's hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes to stay, so they could go home together?
"Don't you dare looking at me like that." Jisung warned, trying to swat the other's hand away.
Minho pouted at that, effectively ending the argument and Jisung . Minho always got what Minho wanted, however extra he needed to be.
"I'm not in the mood to go home tonight. I want to sleep at your place. It's much closer."
"I have a class at eight in the morning, I can’t stick around until eleven o’clock like you do." Jisung whined.
"I won't stay until late today, just don't leave."
"What does it matter whether I stay or not? I’m not doing any work."
"I just like it when you are here. It motivates me to do better." Minho admitted, looking at Jisung like a lost kitten.
Jisung let out a pained groan - the sound of defeat that Minho knew all too well.
"When will you let me sleep?" Jisung cried, sinking down onto the floor, looking like a puddle of mud.
"Sleep is for the weak." Minho commented before springing up toward the stereo to put on some music. "Dance with me. You won't even notice time going by," He suggested while a GOT7 song began to play from the large speakers secured to the corners of the room.
It was fast-paced and upbeat, and Minho had no trouble remembering the entire choreography. Jisung, in comparison, went by faint recollections and trying to copy Minho, who moved with unrivaled ease and elegance. When Minho danced, he didn’t seem to be aware of anything else around him, which inspired notable awe in Jisung.
"Tap louder with those feet!" He instructed Jisung, who tried to follow the other's direction as diligently as he could, although he felt foolish next to Minho, whose every muscle was in harmonious tune with the beats.
"Man, I'm trying..." Jisung mumbled with his brows furrowed together.
"Then try harder."
""Then try harder.” " Jisung repeated in a mocking tone under his breath, to which Minho poked his tongue out at him. "Go and try composing your own music, and writing your own lyrics, and also rapping it. How about that?"
"How about you spend less time complaining and more time focusing?"
Jisung playfully elbowed Minho on the side at the remark, almost making him trip over.
"I'm not the one trying to be a backup dancer for BTS."
"When I'll be rich and famous, you will be sorry, Jisung." Minho orated as a joke while wiping at his face, making him miss Jisung’s fond smile at his words.
"When you'll become rich, which you better be, you will finally be able to pay back to me what you owe, starting with your dinner and the laundry costs of washing the cat fur out of everything."
"Admit that you love Soon-ie and Doong-ie as much as I do!"
The next song came too soon for Jisung, but Minho had no trouble transitioning.
"You're already giving up?" Minho asked as he saw Jisung shuffle back toward the back of the room and throw himself down, sagging onto the floor exhaustedly.
"I'm just taking a break." Jisung yelled over the music which had since transmuted to a much slower song.
Minho's body equally transitioned to the laid-back rhythm seamlessly, and Jisung gulped, knowing well that whenever he saw Minho slow down, things were about to get dangerous for him, and he won't survive without a boner.
Jisung cursed under his breath when Minho proceeded, in line with the rhythm, to lift his arms up high into the air, pulling his long-sleeved shirt over his head, revealing a dark blue tank-top under it. Jisung could see all the muscles on Minho's broad shoulders and back flex with the movement, but the worst part was when Minho looked at him from over his shoulders with a pearly smile right before throwing the aforementioned item into Jisung's face with a chuckle.
Jisung contemplated throwing it back at him when Minho would least expect it, but decided it was a great cover up for his rising bulge, especially as Minho took his time, dragging out Jisung’s patience skilfully, sliding one of his hands down his long neck and defined chest, judging at his own movements from half-lidded eyes, unaware of the tantalizing and tormenting journey Jisung was gauching through because of it.
Minho lived to dance and be seen, thriving off the applause and gasping he beckoned out of people, and Jisung was a prime victim of that addiction every day of his life. Especially now, wishing that there was a window nearby he could make an emergency exit through before he would snap like a popsicle stick under the weight of his beset imagination. But there was nowhere to hide, except the bathroom at the other end of the room.
Jisung really eyed that exit long enough to almost make a run for it, but then he heard Minho moan strategically into the music, and Jisung knew it was one minute too late for him to get up without getting busted.
The next hour didn't end soon enough. Minho kept messing around, trying to pull Jisung up from where he was sitting, and Jisung digging his nails into the floor, fighting for dear life. By the time they got to Jisung's place, it was already 9 o'clock, and all Jisung wanted to do was fall face-first onto his bed, trying to forget about today.
Unfortunately, when he tried to that, Minho jumped on top of him, mumbling against the nape of his neck,
"I'm not sleeping on the couch."
Jisung felt familiar goosebumps rise under his skin at the damp warmth of Minho's breath and lips, so he shrugged the other off before getting up.
"Where are you going?" Minho asked with a confused gaze as Jisung proceeded to grab one of the pillows.
"To the couch, your Highness."
"Oh, you are not going anywhere." Minho replied, pulling on his friend hard enough to have Jisung land on top of him, with both of their legs dangling off the bed.
Jisung let out a defeated sigh, and Minho giggled against his hair, wrapping his arms around him.
"There, there. I'll take a shower first, I smell like a raccoon."
Jisung thought that he smelled more like Jisung’s wet dreams, but he caught himself just in time before confessing that.
Minho's skin had since cooled off on the way home, and it was the perfect contrast against Jisung's heated body. He hoped they could lay like this for longer, but eventually, by some divine intervention, both of them got up before falling asleep in that awkward position.
It took way too much effort for Jisung to wobble toward one of his drawers filled with half-heartedly folded blouses and hoodies to pick something out for Minho that he could wear to bed. Since Minho had spent so much time at his place that he had a bunch of Minho’s clothes mixed among his, he could have easily given Minho one of the boy’s own. However, Jisung liked the idea of seeing Minho in his shirts, so he sneakily tossed a well-loved, extremely loose tee and a random pair of briefs toward Minho, hoping that the other won’t notice or object to it.
Fortunately, Minho just grabbed the shirt and the underwear that landed on his chest, heading straight to the bathroom without another word, completely unaware of Jisung’s triumphant little smile at the victory.
One of the many unusual things about Minho was his unpredictability. Will he shower for an hour or will it only last five minutes? Not even Minho knew. Nevertheless, Jisung did his best to get comfortable in the meantime, sitting on the edge of his bed hunched over, texting on his phone and watching an excessive amount of steam leak through the gaps between the door and the frame around it.
However, as it turned out, Minho was merciful today by finishing early and leaving some warm water for Jisung as well.
What wasn’t merciful was when he stepped out of the bathroom with the loud bang of the door plowing against the wall, and with his fingers lazily combing through his messy, damp hair. The shirt Jisung gave him stopped a little above his knees, revealing several light bruises covering his shins and knees from dance practice, but also some of his smooth, defined thighs.
Jisung wished he could put that imagine into a song, so that whoever would listen to it on the radio would see this moment before their eyes, and have their hearts bleed like Jisung’s did then. But much to Jisung's misfortune, some of the most beautiful moments in life were the hardest to put into words, and writing about Minho was always a simultaneous battle between despair and rewarding ecstasy.
Minho got under the covers like it was no one's business, as if he slept there every night. Jisung wished that that was the case, but in reality, when Minho stayed over at their place, he always slept on the couch. Jisung was not sure what had changed, although he welcomed it too much to question it.
When it was Jisung’s turn to shower, he took it as cold as he could to cool himself down, trying to make sure he wouldn't get another hard-on with Minho in his bed.
He imagined so many times what it would be like to kiss Minho goodnight, and to wrap his arms around the other's waist before falling asleep, that it made his closeness tonight that much worse, since Jisung finally had Minho sleeping beside him, but only as a friend, and never more.
He rested his forehead against the tiles, trying to will away the escalating thoughts of what it would be like if Minho was there in the shower with him.
He would probably pin Minho against the sliding glass door and tease every bit of attitude out of him, until he was a helpless, compliant mess.
But Jisung knew that as per now, the only helpless, compliant mess was him, immediately sobering him up.
"Jisung..." Minho whispered shyly once Jisung had turned off the lights and got under the covers as well.
"Yeah?" Jisung said with his back turned toward Minho.
"Thank you for...you know, letting me sleep at your place and all that."
"Yeah, bro. No problem."
A few seconds passed by in silence, before Minho spoke again.
"Does the cat hair really bother you? Because I can -"
"No, Minho." Jisung laughed, turning around to look at his friend. "I was just messing with you. Stop worrying, baby. " He winked.
Minho smiled back at him in relief, shoving the other away toward the edge of the bed.
"Oh, did I make you blush, baby?"
"Maybe I should have picked the couch." Minho groaned, being the one to turn away this time. "And don't you dare spoon me!"
"I would rather lick the couch clean." Jisung bluffed, staring at the distance between their bodies with a hollow smile. For a while before Minho turned away, their pinky fingers were just a milimeter away from intertwining, the thought of it haunting Jisung all night.
***
Not surprisingly, he was ten minutes late to his class the next morning because he stood in the doorway of the bedroom for a full eight, pathetic , minutes, admiring Minho's peacefully sleeping figure basking in the sunlight that streamed through the blinds. One side of the pajama shirt had slipped down his shoulder during the night, exposing the unmarked skin covered in a sparse constellation of birthmarks, just begging Jisung to kiss each spot with the tenderest of love.
Jisung wanted to say that he could stand there awestruck and lovesick until spiders would begin to weave webs around his skeleton. He wanted to say that he could get used to falling down the bed in a desperate rush to the bathroom, attempting to get rid of an unusually hard morning wood with a freezing shower before Minho woke up. That somehow he could find Minho's face buried in his chest, their legs entangled, and listen to Minho’s mellow breathing accompanied by the merry chirping of the birds, without wanting to scream into the silence.
Jisung wanted to say that he could live with this pain forever, the pain of knowing and feeling what only burdened his conscious, of walking a thin line between friendship and misery; that he was growing content with his dreams remaining unfulfilled and impossible.
Jisung really wanted to think he could do all of this, every day, and still manage to be happy. But Jisung knew it was silly to think that he won't talk in his sleep one night and accidentally tell Minho how he feels about him, or worse, start grunting Minho's name during a heated dream.
The realization had dawned on Jisung that this couldn’t continue forever the way he used to think it could. It hurt more with each passing day. Tomorrow was never anything new or different.
A voice once nebulous in his conscious began to crystallize over the next few days, hitting Jisung like the sky had fallen down on him with the only inevitable conclusion remaining -
Perhaps he should move on .
He couldn’t come up with any more excuses or objections to that voice like he used to, only the question, “but how?”
So two days later on a Friday, when Minho was practicing at the studio again, he decided for the first time in years that he won't drop by.
When Minho knocked on his door unusually early at 8 o'clock and asked him about it, Jisung shrugged his shoulders and said that he had too much schoolwork to do. Minho didn't even have to knock, since Jisung had given him a key to the apartment over a year ago, but Minho never seemed to use it. He always patiently waited for Jisung to let him in, which made things now all the more awkward.
"Will you come next Tuesday?" Minho asked, opening a bag of chips as he collapsed exhaustedly onto the couch.
Jisung took some chips into his palms to eat, mindlessly staring at the busy TV screen with Minho’s drama.
"I don't know."
A true lie - since he knew that he won’t, he just didn’t know how he will bolster himself to follow his own advice.
Especially not when one of the guys at the studio took notice of Jisung not coming the next Tuesday, so he brought food for Minho instead.
"It was so nice of him...He said he's been meaning to talk to me for a while but didn't want to bother us. I hope he will bring me food on Friday, too." Minho said while sneaking under the covers of Jisung's bed later that day.
"You are just like your cats. All you want people for is food." Jisung teased, although it came out harsher than he meant it. Minho took notice of the change of tone, and stared at Jisung wide-eyed, but didn't say anything until he reached one of his arms out to pull Jisung closer.
"Why are you sleeping so near the edge? You’re going to fall down." He explained, letting go of Jisung then, clueless about the number of times Jisung had already fallen off the bed during his morning ritual.
"I won't. Besides, I like to live dangerously." Jisung joked just to lighten up the mood that was growing noticeable tense and uncomfortable for both of them.
Minho smiled at the remark and closed his eyes, snuggling just the smallest bit closer to Jisung.
Jisung looked down at their hands almost on top of each others’, and those long, thin lashes brushing Minho's cheeks, visible and beautiful even in the darkest of nights. He pressed his own eyes shut to suppress the tears, cursing at himself for acting like an idiot over the smallest things. But the smallest things seemed to hurt the most and for the longest.
When he was sure by Minho's steady breathing that the other had fallen asleep, he carefully peeled the covers off himself to climb out of the bed and sneak into his other room that he only used for music and writing. He knew he wouldn't get any sleep from wanting to admire Minho's face all night, so he decided to use all that pent up guilt, sadness, and frustration to jot down some lyrics rather than being a creep.
Once seated in his chair with his coffee-stained notebook in front of him, he thought about how as soon as he was trying to distance himself, Minho had countless new guys replacing Jisung, and he was sure it wouldn't take long until Minho stopped coming to his place altogether. Jisung didn’t accompany Minho for two practices and the boy already had another courtier eager to step into Jisung’s place. Maybe Minho would just send him a text one day, letting him know that he found a new best friend, since really all it would take apparently was to snap his fingers. Maybe not even a text, just that extra pair of keys quietly left on the dining table for somebody else that will never be Minho again.
All the while, Minho would be spending the afternoons and nights at a boyfriend's or girlfriend's house. Having someone else getting to hold Minho's hands with the love and confidence Jisung was never granted. Somebody else getting to kiss Minho all over and tickle him until he is begging for mercy with his borderline obnoxious giggles and laughter. A stranger, like Jisung once was all those years ago at the concert, getting to wrap their arms around Minho's hips and pull him in for a kiss.
Jisung was sure Minho's lips would be the softest and warmest, and every sound he would make with someone kissing him all over would be needy and muffled, and he would love to wrap his thighs around his partner's body to make them feel how strong and crushing they could be.
Somebody will get to do all that, and more , and Jisung was now crunching up the fifth piece of paper that had gotten too soaked with tears to write on.
It takes courage to move on from an old love, and Jisung always thought of himself as a bit of a coward. At least to his “advantage,” it wasn’t like he had a choice whether to move on or not.
After hours of contemplation and writing, Jisung woke up to his back burning from a cramp, and the sunlight leaking through his open window beginning to burn his nose where it touched it. He salivated all over the desk, and his face was crusty from yesterday’s salty tears.
This went on for a few more nights, until Jisung was sure he had no more tears left, wherever tears came from, yet somehow, wallowing around in his heartache felt even worse without any relief that his tears temporarily provided.
But the hardest night of all was yet to come, after the day Minho tried to lay his head on Jisung's lap again, but Jisung was stubbornly refusing to lift up the book he was holding.
Minho kept eyeing Jisung's lap, pouting at the other.
"But that's my place..." He whined into Jisung's ear. "Why can't I? You can read the book while I'm sleeping there, it doesn't bother me."
"Well, your Highness, I'm glad it doesn't bother you , but it does bother me ." Jisung replied without looking up from his book, because he knew he would fall apart in a matter of seconds if he glanced at Minho's anguished expression. "Just use one of the pillows, man. It's not a big deal."
It was a big deal. It signified a changing of times, beginning to unveil the increasingly noticeable tension that all of their common friends were commenting on lately.
Minho retreated after that, slumping down onto the other end of the couch like an angry child. And of course, Minho was unwilling to leave the incident alone even after hours later.
"Are you mad at me?" He gnawed at Jisung far into the night as they were lying on the bed, his voice the smallest and most uncertain Jisung had ever heard it.
Jisung wanted the monsters under his bed to grab him by the ankles and pull him down, just to be anywhere but here, burning under Minho's questioning and worried gaze, and haunted by his hurt voice.
"No, why would I be?" He said with his own voice cracking, trying to distract from it with a displaced cough.
"It's just that..." Minho began in a whisper, "You've not been coming to my dance practices and we've not been hanging out like we used to, you know. I feel like you are pushing me away...Did I do something wrong?"
"N-no, Minho, of course you didn't!"
"I'm sorry if I did."
"I just told you that you didn't do anything wrong!" Jisung exclaimed, uncomfortably loud against the backdrop of the quiet October night, and especially in comparison to Minho's muttering.
"But then why are you acting so weird? Do you not want to be my friend anymore?"
"Geez, Minho. I never said that! Never!" Jisung snarled defensively, sitting up on the bed to take a better look at Minho. He was getting agitated, because Minho was both right and wrong at the same time, and Jisung was feeling guilty for trying to do what he thought was the best for both of them, yet he ended up hurting Minho instead. And now, Minho was so confused, so small and lost, all the while having Jisung cornered without options. Minho's simple and innocent questions felt intimidating and accusing, when he had all the right reasons in the world to ask them. What was Jisung supposed to say? Can people stay friends when one of them wants something more? Could Minho just stop being Minho?
"Then why are you avoiding me?!" Minho questioned, getting into Jisung's face.
"I just have my own things to do sometimes, you know, the world doesn't revolve around you. I'm sure it's hard not to have someone always conveniently available to do whatever you want, but every now and then, maybe you could just let me off the leash."
Minho looked baffled at that, which made Jisung wonder if he had crossed a line.
"I..." Minho began, his fingers curled into tight fists..."Do you feel like I'm just using you? Because I'm not. And by the way, I know you've been leaving me in the middle of the night. I always find the bed empty by 2AM. Where do you even go? If you didn't want me to sleep next to you, you could have simply told me..."
"It's not that, Minho. Listen -"
"I can always just go to my own place then. Do you want me to give back the keys to your place?"
Jisung wanted to scream yes , simply out of stubbornness and pride, for the sake of doubling down and proving a point he didn't even know he had.
But instead, he took a deep breath and got up from the bed to pull a small bag out of his closet.
"So what now? Are you going to pack my things and throw me out?" Minho scoffed with his hands up.
"No." Jisung replied calmly. "I'm packing my own things. I'm going to visit Hyunjin."
"Hyunjin? Your new best friend, huh? Now? At this hour? Have you lost your mind?"
"He is at his mother's place on a break. It's just a few hours away with a bus. By the time I get there, it won't be a problem.” Jisung answered, not even paying attention to what he was packing, throwing anything he could find into the backpack.
Minho moved to the end of the bed to watch Jisung be out and about, his expression unreadable.
“When will you come back?” He eventually asked.
“In a day or two. I just need some fresh air. It’s not a big deal.” Jisung repeated, more so to himself than to Minho.
He changed into a pair of jeans and a red baseball cap in the bathroom, hoping that Minho would go back to sleep or mind his own business by the time he walked out. He didn’t want to think about what Minho must be feeling. But Minho was better at concealing his pain than Jisung ever was. Minho could hide behind a mask he wore during his performances, when his feet ached and his body was bruised, but had no trouble staying expressionless. He could fabricate a smile if someone ordered him to, and put on a show whenever necessary. In contrast, Jisung was a bleeding heart, used to connecting with people through being raw and candid. He couldn’t lie to himself for long, since music required him to acknowledge and confront his true emotions. When he rapped, then he cried and screamed, when he spoke, then he was loud and gesticulating, when he wrote, it was disorganized and expository. He liked to scratch at the surface of things until he found what animated them, unlike Minho, who bubbled to the surface. Minho was a living thrill in Jisung’s otherwise plain life, a blotch of color on a monochrome canvas, an odd number in an even sequence, the smudge of black on the pearly bathroom wall. Minho was alluring and dangerous, the light in the very darkness that he brought.
Jisung filled up the sink with cold water, as he had grown accustomed to since Minho had come into his life, and dunked his head into to, trying to numb the muscles on his face enough so that he wouldn’t show his emotions when he walked out the door.
It took everything in him not to glance at what Minho was doing, since by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, Minho was still sitting on the edge of the bed, most probably following Jisung’s every move. Minho had the widest and most curious eyes, like lenses of a camera capturing Jisung’s every flaw.
He didn’t look back until he reached the nearest terminal, buying a fare to Hyunjin’s place that was a four-hour bus ride away. His “new best friend."