Work Text:
2022
“Shouldn’t you be at breakfast?” Jisung teased as soon as he answered Minho’s call, his voice still rough with sleep. “Aigoo, you miss me that much?”
Minho hummed, neither a confirmation or denial, eyes fixed on the dark winter water of Yeosu’s harbor. The wind off the ocean bit at his exposed skin, and he tugged the collar of his jacket up to his chin. “You should come next time. Why don’t you want to go on trips with me, huh?”
When he’d left the hotel to find coffee, he hadn’t done so with the intention of calling Jisung. It was only when he’d started walking back through the harbor that the urge had grabbed him, a sudden, desperate need to hear Jisung’s voice.
Jisung made a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine. “You have other friends! They like going places!” It was his standard response, and after five years of friendship, Minho knew better than to believe him.
“You like going places,” Minho said, “once I drag you out of bed.”
“Too bad for you, hyung, Yeosu is too far and I am so comfortable.” He could hear Jisung shift positions, clearly still in bed. “You’re having fun though, right?”
“Yeah, it’s nice. It’s—” Minho cut himself off, shaking his head. Words lodged in the back of his throat, too honest and too frightening. He made a face behind his mask and turned away from the water, leaning against the railing overlooking the harbor. The condensation from his half-finished iced americano seeped through his gloves and he sighed.
“It’s what?” Jisung prodded. “You didn’t fall in the ocean, right? Hyung, if you drown because you refuse to learn how to swim, I’ll be sad.”
Minho rolled his eyes. “I didn’t fall in. Why are you trying to kill me off? It’s too cold to swim anyway.” He took a deep breath, tilting his head back, eyes squeezed shut. “It would be better if you were here. That’s all.”
“Yah, what’s that about?” Jisung asked, an edge of laughter in his voice. “Since when do you say things like this?”
Over a voice call, he couldn’t see Jisung’s face, but Minho could imagine the expression he’d be making: the awkward surprise that gave way to flustered pleasure whenever confronted with sincerity, the edges of his ears and the high point of his cheekbones dusted with pink. Usually they avoided those moments in their own friendship, but Minho had seen it often enough when filming videos for YouTube or at fanmeets when Stay got too effusive with praise that he could picture it clearly in his mind.
Minho sighed again. “I don’t know,” he said. “Since now, I guess.”
There was a soft thump from the other end of the line, and it took Minho a second to realize Jisung must have fallen back down onto his pillow.
“Hyung,” Jisung said softly, and suddenly Minho didn’t want to pretend anymore.
He didn’t want to keep pretending everything between them was normal, that they were just friends. He didn’t want to keep pretending he didn’t want to be around Jisung every day, didn’t want to hold his hand, didn’t want to kiss him. Minho had carried that want in his chest for so long now, he couldn’t remember when it had first begun. Maybe it had started that late night in the practice room after Minho had been eliminated from that stupid show; maybe it had started the first day they’d met. It sounded crazy, even in his own head. But Minho didn’t feel crazy. He felt strangely calm, and more certain about this than he’d been about anything else in his entire life.
“Han-ah,” he said, and the sound of his own voice was foreign to his ear. “Jisung-ah, I—”
“Don’t say it,” Jisung interrupted, words rushing out so fast that Minho nearly missed them. He snapped his mouth shut, and for a second, his entire body felt cold, as if he really had fallen into the harbor water, before Jisung continued, “Not over the phone. Not when I can’t see you.”
Cold gave way to a rush of heat, and Minho knew his face was bright red beneath his mask. “Right,” he choked out, then cleared his throat. “How do you even know what I was going to say?”
“Hyung,” Jisung said again, whining a little. Minho laughed, an edge of hysteria bubbling out of him like champagne. He wanted to be back in Seoul immediately. He wanted to get on one of the ridiculously expensive boats all around him and sail to Incheon, just to be a little closer to Jisung. His friends would probably understand. There would always be another vacation.
“When do you get back?” Jisung asked when Minho got his laughter under control. “Are you—were you going home first, or…?” Minho could hear the hesitation in his voice as his question trailed off, and he could picture the expression on Jisung’s face so perfectly: big round eyes, eyebrows tilted up in concern, lips pursed in a small pout. God, Minho wanted to kiss him.
“One more day.” Minho tossed his drink in a nearby bin and started to walk back towards the hotel. His entire body felt like a live wire, muscles buzzing. Maybe he should go to the hotel gym. Or jerk off in the shower. Or both. “I can come back to the dorm.”
He had been planning to go home first, but his parents would understand. The cats wouldn’t, but then, they didn’t understand time anyway. Maybe Jisung would come home with him, too, after—well. After.
Jisung sighed. “Come home soon, okay?”
Anything you want, Minho thought, but all he said was, “Okay.”
2017
“Hyung,” Jisung said, interrupting the quiet of a rare lazy afternoon. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”
Minho blinked at him three times in rapid succession. In the time since they’d first met at the JYPE office, Minho had learned it was easier to let Jisung talk through whatever bizarre anxiety spiral he had worked himself into rather than try and puzzle it out himself. Still, despite how easily they’d fallen into a friendship, this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing they usually talked about.
“Yeah,” Minho finally said, putting his phone down on his lap. “Why?”
Jisung rolled over so his face was pressed into his pillow, his knees knocking against Minho’s in the tight space of Jisung’s bottom bunk. “It’s stupid,” he said, voice muffled.
“Probably not any worse than usual.” Minho paused, letting his thoughts progress to the natural conclusion. “Have you kissed anyone?”
Jisung whined into the pillow, then kicked blindly in Minho’s direction when Minho poked his thigh. “I have!” he said, then, “Kind of.”
Minho huffed out a laugh, letting his hand rest on Jisung’s leg. “Kind of? Jisung-ah, I don’t think that’s possible.”
At first, Jisung didn’t say anything. Then he mumbled something into the pillow, words lost to the fabric and cushioning. Minho poked him again, earning a cranky sound, before Jisung finally rolled back over, expression set in a scowl. “I kissed Jeongin, okay? In the practice room. But it wasn’t—we kind of—” He broke off with a dramatic, unintelligible noise that didn’t actually explain anything. “And then he refused to try again!”
“You kissed Jeonginnie?” Minho repeated like an idiot. He stared down at Jisung, unsure what his face was doing, before his brain finally came back online. “You were that bad, huh?”
“Fuck you, it was a million years ago,” Jisung snapped. That could have meant anything from last month to last year, but Minho found that he didn’t actually want to know the specifics. He watched Jisung curl himself around his pillow, his bright red face once again half-hidden.
This was where he was supposed to say something helpful, Minho was sure, so he tried to look serious and supportive, rather than—however he actually looked.
“Jisungie,” he said, “are you worried about it?”
Jisung glanced at him over the top of the pillow, then away. The flush spread from his face to his ears, down his neck, finally hidden by the collar of his t-shirt. Minho rested his hand back on Jisung’s thigh, his skin warm where his shorts had ridden up.
“Which part are you worried about?” When Jisung didn’t say anything, Minho sighed. “I can’t give you advice if I don’t know what advice you need.”
Not that Minho put a lot of faith in his ability to give good advice. Years of being the youngest person among his friends and coworkers hadn’t exactly prepared him to be a great hyung for a group of poorly socialized idol trainees. But that was part of what he’d signed up for, and he had to do his best. He shook Jisung’s leg until he heard a muffled laugh; finally, Jisung let go of the pillow to roll onto his back and stare up at the slats of the top bunk.
“I guess,” Jisung said slowly, thoughtful, like he was working through his words as he spoke, “I guess I’m just scared that I won’t ever kiss anyone for real. Because I didn’t go to high school, and now we have the show, and then hopefully debut, and then—and then what? When am I ever gonna have the chance to kiss someone?” He frowned, his fingers twisting together against his stomach, a betrayal of his nerves. “How am I supposed to find someone who wants to kiss me?”
There were a lot of things Jisung wasn’t saying, but Minho didn’t want to push for anything that Jisung wasn’t willing to give. “A lot of people don’t kiss anyone when they’re your age, you know. I didn’t kiss anyone in high school either. It’s not a big deal.”
Jisung snorted, clearly finding that hard to believe. “If you say so.”
For a brief, terrifying moment, Minho debated offering to kiss Jisung himself. It would be easy, he realized, hidden in the temporary privacy of the dorm room, Jisung lying on his back and Minho leaning over him.
Minho felt heat crawling up his face. He couldn’t—he just couldn’t. For multiple reasons. He shook his head to dispel the thought, consigning it to the outer limits of his mind where it wouldn’t bother him again.
“If you don’t find anyone else, maybe you can convince Jeongin to kiss you again,” he said, patting Jisung’s knee. “Han Jisung fighting.”
Jisung’s head tilted back as he laughed, and Minho smiled. Cheering Jisung up, at least, was something he could do.
2021
Minho hadn’t known what to expect when he’d received a text from Jisung asking if he could drop by the studio. Sometimes Jisung wanted to get his opinion on a song; sometimes he just wanted company, or an excuse to pause in his work and go down to the café. Regardless, it wasn’t difficult to drag himself back to the office if Jisung needed something. He had to be there for practice in a couple hours anyway.
The recording light was off when he arrived, and Jisung looked over with a bright smile as the door opened.
“Hey, hyung,” Jisung said, waving a hand and pushing one of the empty desk chairs towards Minho with his foot. “I finished the guide.”
Minho had known that Jisung was working on a song for the new album, but aside from Chan and Changbin, none of them had heard it yet. When Minho had asked about it a few weeks ago, Jisung hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact as he promised he would let Minho hear it soon.
Apparently soon was now. Maybe he should’ve expected that, but for some reason, the thought that Jisung wanted him to hear the song—first? Was he the first one to hear the guide? Warmth traveled from his chest up to his face; he hoped he wasn’t blushing too much. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that this was what Jisung had wanted when he sent that text.
“Good job,” Minho said, because he didn’t know what else to say. He closed the door behind him before sitting in the desk chair, scooting it closer to Jisung’s side. “Are you happy with it?”
“Mm, I think so.” Jisung’s knee pressed against Minho’s. “Tell me what you think.”
He adjusted the volume a bit, down and up and down again, stalling for time. When he finally hit play, Minho was surprised by the softness of the melody, although he wasn’t sure exactly why. It wasn’t like Jisung was incapable of writing ballads, it just wasn’t something he did often for the group. Then he realized: it wasn’t the melody itself, but the familiarity of it.
“You played this for me last year,” Minho said. “When we did Two Kids Song.”
Jisung glanced at him, obviously surprised that Minho had remembered it, but nodded. “It’s changed a little since then. This is your part—here.”
Minho tried to focus on the craft of the song, the lines that would be his, the way the top line and melody worked together, knowing that was what Jisung wanted him to hear. It didn’t work, though, not with Jisung’s voice singing these lyrics. When the song finished and Jisung turned to look at him with his big round eyes, Minho just said, “Play it again?”
“Sure,” Jisung said, smiling a little as he reset the track and hit play. This time, Minho didn’t even bother to do anything other than listen to the lyrics. Was that really how Jisung felt? They didn’t talk about this sort of stuff—not in any real capacity, anyway. Whenever Jisung had struggled in the past, Minho had done his best to be there to help, to make sure Jisung was okay, but so much of their relationship was based on not needing to talk about these things. Minho wondered if maybe they should.
The song ended, and Minho let out a long sigh. When Jisung looked at him this time, there wasn’t the same sort of apprehension as before. Now, there was something relaxed to his expression, like he already knew Minho’s reaction to the song and wasn’t worried anymore.
“It’s really good, Jisung-ah,” Minho said, trying to sound as honest as possible. He needed Jisung to know he wasn’t lying about this. Then, softer, as if they might be overheard, “You’re not alone. You know that right?”
Jisung breathed out a quiet laugh and rested his head on Minho’s shoulder; Minho grabbed the armrest of Jisung’s chair to keep them from rolling apart. “Yeah, I know that now, but it didn’t feel that way back when I first wrote it.”
Although he had a feeling he knew the answer, Minho still asked, “When did you write it?”
“During my break,” Jisung said. “I hated myself so much.”
Something ached in Minho’s chest, no longer the same sharp fear he used to feel when Jisung’s anxiety spiraled out of control, but painful all the same. “Jisung-ah—”
“I’m better now.” Jisung tilted his head enough to smile at Minho, small and crooked, on the edge of self-deprecating. “But back then I really felt like I couldn’t do anything right. Like, I was already weird. Seems unfair it got worse.”
“You’re not—” Minho started, but Jisung waved a hand, and Minho snapped his jaw shut.
“It’s fine, hyung.” His hand dropped to Minho’s thigh, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of Minho’s track pants. “Thank you, though. For listening to the song, I mean.”
Minho swallowed heavily, choking down any other words that threatened to spill out. One day, maybe—but not now.
“Any time, Jisung-ah,” he said, carefully wrapping his arm around Jisung’s shoulders. “Play it one more time. You really think I can pull off those notes?”
Jisung lifted his head from Minho’s shoulder as he restarted the track, but didn’t move out from his hold. “Well,” he said as the music kicked on for a third time, “there’s only one way to find out.”
2018
Sitting next to Jisung at the fanmeet meant Minho was the first one to notice the shift in his mood. His shoulders climbed higher and higher towards his ears; someone yelled for Hyunjin, and Jisung couldn’t quite suppress his full body flinch. Typically, Jisung managed to hold himself together until the end of a fanmeet—the good usually outweighed the bad—but Minho had a feeling that wouldn’t be happening this time.
“Han-ah,” Minho said, reaching over the piled up accessories and toys to tap Jisung’s wrist. “Hey.”
Jisung jumped, blinking back into focus before looking at Minho. Seeing his expression was enough for Minho to make up his mind. It only took a second to flag down a manager, who hustled Jisung off the stage before the fans realized what was happening. Minho sighed once Jisung was out of sight, then grimaced at Chan when he made eye contact. Chan sent a reassuring half-smile back, but Minho could see the worry that underlaid it. No matter how much they had all prepped for this sort of thing before debut, the in-between moments when Jisung was out of sight were never enjoyable.
The rest of the fanmeet crawled along. Minho was a professional, but Jisung remained at the back of his mind, a rhythm as steady as his heartbeat. If he glanced over at their staff a few more times than necessary in between fans, that wasn’t anyone’s problem but his own.
When they were finally able to leave the stage, it was Minho who Chan pushed to the front, allowing him into the green room first. Inside, Jisung was curled up in the corner of the beat-up sofa, an oversized jacket from their manager draped around his shoulders and his headphones securely on. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t blink them open until the sofa shifted under Minho’s weight.
It was lucky, Minho thought, that they were wearing normal clothes for this fanmeet. As soon as Minho sat down, Jisung collapsed against him, forehead connecting with Minho’s shoulder. This close, Minho could hear soft instrumental music from Jisung’s headphones, blocking out the noise of the world around him. He wrapped his arms around Jisung, one secure around his shoulders while his other hand slowly rubbed up and down Jisung’s spine. He hadn’t been sure what Jisung would want or need, but if this was enough, Minho didn’t mind helping.
After a minute of sitting like that, Jisung reached up and tugged his headphones off, sighing. “Thanks,” he mumbled, sitting back enough for Minho to see his face. He didn’t make eye contact, and Minho could tell he hadn’t really recovered yet, but was trying to pull himself together anyway.
Around them, the rest of the members gathered their things; Minho saw Changbin and Felix grab whatever Jisung and Minho had left behind while Chan talked softly with their manager. Probably a plan to get Jisung out to the cars without any of the fans or paparazzi seeing, or at least without getting any clear photos of his face.
Minho hummed and let his hands drop to Jisung’s lower back, not quite ready to let him go yet. “Too much today?”
“Noisy,” Jisung said, fiddling with his phone between their bodies. “There was so much talking everywhere, and I couldn’t hear anyone. I kept asking them to repeat things, and then I felt so stupid, like—like I was letting everyone down, or I’d say the wrong thing and everyone would hate me—”
“No one could ever hate you, Jisung-ah,” Minho said, keeping his voice light rather than serious. “Your face is too round and cute.” He let go of Jisung in order to press both hands to Jisung’s cheeks, squishing his face. “Like a little defenseless animal.”
“Hyung,” Jisung whined, but Minho could see a smile finally threatening to break through his mood, which only made Minho smile back.
“Wanna watch videos of Soonie in the car?” Minho asked, letting go of Jisung’s face in order to grab one of his hands and tug him up off the couch. He could tell from the activity around them that they were heading out soon. A promise of cute animal videos was a good distraction from what Jisung would have to deal with once they stepped outside. “My mom sent me new ones this morning.”
Jisung perked up at that, expression brightening instantly. It wasn’t the full, relaxed happiness Minho was used to seeing on him, but it was a step in the right direction.
“Obviously I wanna see,” Jisung said, sticking close to Minho’s side as they followed the rest of the group towards the building’s exit. “Remind me which one Soonie is.”
Just this once, Minho thought as Jisung laughed at whatever offended expression he was making just before they stepped outside to face the crowd, the back of his hand brushing briefly against Minho’s, just this once I’ll let him get away with that.
2020
Less than one week until comeback. As the music looped yet again, Minho watched his reflection in the mirror, watched the reflection of the reflection: what the camera would see, what Stay would see. He felt, once again, right at the edge of a breakthrough. If he practiced long enough, maybe he would get there.
The song ended; Minho felt sweat drip down his back beneath his shirt, and he grimaced. It was late, an extra hour later past dance practice, and he knew he should go back to the dorm. They had early schedule in the morning, pre-recording for the comeback stage. He knew he needed to sleep. But something about leaving the practice room felt like giving up. He was so close—
Someone knocked on the door, and then it opened. In the mirror, Minho saw Jisung poke his head in and tug down his mask with a sheepish smile.
“Hey,” Jisung said, opening the door the rest of the way when their eyes met. “I have food. Hungry?” He held up a bag of takeout, the plastic near bursting with containers.
“I thought you went back to the dorm,” Minho said, but he walked over to the stereo and disconnected his phone, abruptly cutting off the music. Jisung closed the door behind him as he came fully into the practice room, his sneakers squeaking on the floor, and sat down on the floor with his back against the sofa.
“Studio.” He started unloading the takeout containers, a ridiculous amount of food for one person. Minho wanted to know if Jisung had ordered all of it knowing Minho would still be at the company. “I wanted to write down a song idea I had, but then I realized how starving I was.”
Minho rolled his eyes and sat down next to him. “You should’ve just gone home. You need to eat after dancing.”
“So do you,” Jisung said. His tone wasn’t annoyed or pointed, just a statement of fact, but it made Minho smile anyway. “Here, I got two orders of chicken.”
He slid a container over to Minho along with napkins and chopsticks, and they fell into a comfortable silence as they ate. It was always easy with Jisung, and this was no different, but the longer neither of them spoke, the more obvious it was to Minho that Jisung was holding himself back. He kept frowning down at his food, moving it around in the container without actually eating anything. Minho waited a few more minutes, just to see if Jisung would say anything, then sighed.
“Okay, stop stalling.” He nudged Jisung with his elbow. “Tell hyung what’s wrong.”
Jisung twisted up his face, nose scrunching as he weighed whether or not to admit to anything. Then he huffed out a sigh. “I’m just nervous, I guess,” he said, slouching forward. “It’s weird, right? Not having an audience?” He finally looked over, and Minho could see the worry clear on his face. “It feels wrong. I keep thinking back to everything—touring, the last comeback. I know there’s nothing we can do, but—”
He broke off, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to say anything to Chan-hyung,” he admitted, pouting. It was cute. “And it’s not that I’m not excited. I am! It just feels… weird, I guess. When will we get to perform in front of a crowd again?”
“Soon, hopefully,” Minho said, although he wasn’t sure he believed it. There was so much uncertainty right now, and so much fear. Every time he spoke to him mom on the phone, she ran through the same questions about his safety, and he could only reassure her so many times. He still had to be at the company for comeback prep, still had to film MVs and stages surrounded by staff. There was only so much he could do.
“You’re right that it’s weird,” Minho continued after a few seconds of silence, “but I think Chan-hyung would understand, if you told him.”
Jisung made a sound that could be agreement, but might’ve been the opposite. “I just don’t want to disappoint him,” he mumbled, then shoved a piece of chicken in his mouth so he didn’t have to say anything else, like even admitting that much was a physical strain.
“You won’t,” Minho said firmly. “You can’t. Unless you decided to just quit the group or something.” Jisung shot him a disgusted look, and Minho laughed. “See? You’d never do that. And even if you did, Chan-hyung wouldn’t blame you for it. He’d just blame himself.”
With a roll of his eyes, Jisung said, “Because he’s stupid. Ugh, okay, I get it, you’re right.” He pouted again, and Minho gave into his impulse to poke Jisung’s cheek. “Hey!”
“Cheer up, sad quokka,” Minho said with a crooked smile that won him a smile in return. “You’re happy with the music, right? Then everything will be fine.”
Jisung laughed softly, propping his elbow on his knee so he could lean his face on the palm of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Since when do you know everything, huh?”
Minho beamed at him and clicked his chopsticks together with finality. “Since always, Jisung-ah.”
2019
“You got home okay, right?” Minho asked, curling around his body pillow. His phone stand was set up on a stack of books on his bed, and the lighting was terrible, but this at least let him get a look at Jisung’s face.
“Yeah, it was fine, the company called a car,” Jisung said. He was in bed too, curled up on his side, cheek squished against his arm. On Minho’s phone screen, he looked washed out and tired, a poor impersonation of Minho’s best friend. It was the culmination of weeks and weeks of too much stress and not enough sleep. Minho was glad that for a few days, at least, Jisung would be forced to rest.
“How’re your parents?”
“They’re good. Well, they’re worried,” Jisung said. “This is one of the reasons they really didn’t want me to be an idol, so.” He stared at a spot past the camera. “But my brother came for dinner, which helped keep them from just talking about me the whole time.”
Minho abruptly went from pleased that Jisung could relax to hating how far away he was. If he was still in the dorm, Minho could just go over to Jisung’s room and lay on top of him until he stopped freaking out. They could watch another episode of whichever anime Jisung was in the middle of streaming and order too much take out and not talk about anything related to Stray Kids for at least an hour. Now, all Minho could do was try and distract Jisung with his words, and he didn’t know if that was enough.
“I thought you liked talking about yourself,” Minho teased, keeping his voice soft so Jisung would know he was joking. He was rewarded with a tiny smile, which was the goal.
“Not about this,” Jisung said, sighing deeply. “Especially not when my mom keeps sending me these looks, like I’m about to burst out crying any second or something.”
Minho hummed, watching Jisung’s face on the tiny screen, trying not to think about all the times Jisung had burst into tears. “Then tell me something else about you. Something I don’t know.”
“Hyung, what?” Jisung laughed, and it was stupid, because he hadn’t been gone a whole day yet and he’d be back by the end of the week, but Minho missed him so much his throat hurt with it. “You already know everything about me!”
“You don’t have to lie,” Minho said, pretending to be disappointed.
“I’m not lying! You know everything important!” Jisung was beaming at the camera now, and pride displaced Minho’s sadness. He loved how easy it was to make Jisung laugh.
Minho managed to look skeptical for another moment before Jisung’s smile was too contagious to ignore. “Fine. Just tell me about dinner, then.”
So Jisung did, rambling quietly about his brother’s work stories, and his mom’s church gossip, and the variety show his dad had recently become a little too obsessed with. It was all so normal, so different from their day to day lives, and it did the job of keeping Jisung from focusing on himself. As Jisung’s anxiety had visibly worsened over the last few months, Minho had developed his own strategies to drag Jisung out of his head. They didn’t always work—sometimes Jisung was too far gone for any distraction—but as long as he could sometimes pull Jisung back from that ledge, Minho would keep trying.
“You should sleep,” Minho said once Jisung had started to clearly run out of steam and yawned mid-sentence. “You need it. I can see your dark circles from here.”
“I won’t be able to the second I try,” Jisung said, but the roughness of his voice betrayed how tired he was.
“Just try.” Minho tried to smile reassuringly but wasn’t sure he managed it. “I’ll call tomorrow, okay? Probably late, after dance practice.”
“Okay, hyung,” Jisung mumbled, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand. “G’night.”
He looked so young like that. Minho wished he could do more to help. “Night, Jisung-ah. Sleep well.”
2021
Minho did his best not to bother Jisung too often, for a few different reasons. As much as they were best friends, he respected Jisung’s need for quiet and privacy, and even now, half a year later, the novelty of the new dorms hadn’t quite worn off.
That said, if there was ever a time to show up at Jisung’s dorm unannounced, Minho thought this was it.
It was almost one a.m. by the time he got there, but there was little chance Jisung was asleep. The bag of snacks from the convenience store was hooked around his wrists, hands buried in the pockets of his winter coat. Behind his mask, he kept his expression carefully neutral, but no one was in the lobby when he buzzed in, and no one rode the elevator up with him.
When he let himself into the dorm, no one was in the living room either, which was only a little surprising; Chan and Changbin must still be in the studio. Light leaked out from under Hyunjin’s door, but knowing him, he was probably drawing and listening to music. No one would bother them, and no one would overhear their conversation either. He debated sending Chan a text, just in case, but decided against it. It wasn’t like Chan couldn’t guess where Minho was and what he was doing.
“Knock knock,” he said as he opened the door to Jisung’s room. A soft nightlight cast a glow from beneath the window, but the room was otherwise dark without even the glow of a phone screen. Jisung was a lump under his blankets, but a derisive snort escaped his protective cocoon when he heard Minho’s voice.
He didn’t say anything, though, and Minho tugged off his mask before closing the door behind him. The plastic bag went on the desk before Minho sat carefully down on the bed next to Jisung. Neither of them talked about difficult subjects often, but there were times when it was inescapable. Times when it felt like no one else could understand. At least that was true for Minho, and while Jisung hadn’t ever put that into words, Minho had always felt it was true for him as well.
“You really shocked Seungmin tonight,” Minho said, tone as casual as he could make it. “He was speechless after you stormed off.”
Jisung made an unintelligible whining sound. Minho tried not to let his amusement seep into his words.
“It was funny, actually,” he continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him make such a dumb face. Next time, don’t leave so quickly, his expression would’ve cheered you up immediately.”
At that, Jisung shoved the blankets away so he could give Minho a look. “Hyung,” he said pointedly, pouting, and Minho smiled, the fond one just for Jisung that he couldn’t ever control.
“I brought you snacks,” Minho said, gesturing at the convenience store bag. “No cheesecake though, sorry.”
Jisung glanced at the desk, then pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning back on his pillows. “I like other things.”
Minho hummed, earning him another pout, but when he grabbed a giant chocolate bar and a bag of chips, Jisung scooted over to make room next to him under the covers. They shared both in silence, shoulders pressed together, Minho breaking off pieces of chocolate for Jisung, Jisung passing over a chip for Minho every time he grabbed another for himself. As the minutes passed, Minho felt the tension seep out of Jisung’s muscles, slouching further and further until his head rested on Minho’s shoulder.
“Better?” Minho asked softly, gathering up the trash and putting it on the side table to clean up later.
Jisung nodded, eyes closed, and Minho squeezed his knee. “Sorry,” Jisung mumbled. “I don’t know—I think I’m just tired.”
“Probably.” Minho paused for a few seconds of internal debate before he continued. “Want me to stay over?”
It took long enough for Jisung to answer that Minho was second-guessing the offer when he felt Jisung nod again. “Can you?”
“Whatever you want,” Minho said, a little too honest. He cleared his throat before sliding out of the bed. “Let me shower first, okay?”
When he returned to the room, hair damp and dressed in borrowed clothes, Jisung was curled up on his side, blankets tugged up to his chin. Like this, Jisung looked even younger than usual, and Minho gave in to the urge to brush the hair away from Jisung’s forehead, the tips of his fingers lingering against Jisung’s skin. Jisung smiled a little, eyes fluttering shut, and Minho pointedly ignored the way his stomach lurched at the sight.
“Thanks, hyung,” Jisung said softly, catching Minho’s wrist before he could pull his hand away. He laced their fingers together, and Minho smiled, glad Jisung’s eyes were still closed. “I was a brat, huh?”
“As usual,” Minho teased, smiling even more when Jisung laughed. “I’m used to it by now.”
Jisung breathed out a laugh and pulled at Minho’s hand until he crawled back under the covers, letting Jisung reposition them until he was comfortable. “You like it,” Jisung teased, pulling Minho’s arm over his waist.
Minho pressed his forehead against the back of Jisung’s neck. “Definitely not.”
He felt Jisung’s laugh more than heard it. “Yah, don’t lie to me, hyung,” Jisung said. “I see right through you.”
“You wish,” Minho mumbled just to make Jisung laugh again, even though—well…
Jisung wasn’t wrong.
2017
Jisung hugged him again when the cameras turned off, arms wrapped tightly around Minho’s shoulders and his face buried against Minho’s neck. He wasn’t crying this time—neither of them were, thankfully—but there was a desperation in the way Jisung threw himself against Minho, into Minho’s arms, that Minho didn’t know what to do with. Around them, the staff graciously pretended they couldn’t see what was happening. Changbin briefly caught his eye and gave him a lopsided smile at whatever expression Minho must be wearing.
“Chan promised you’d come back,” Jisung mumbled in a tone that made Minho think that, for once, Jisung couldn’t bring himself to believe something Chan had said. Belatedly, Minho wrapped his own arms around Jisung’s waist, holding him close.
“I didn’t really go anywhere,” he said, because he hadn’t. He hadn’t even actually moved out of the dorm, no matter what the show’s footage told the world, because there hadn’t been another trainee dorm with an empty bed.
Jisung made an annoyed noise, muffled against Minho’s skin and the fabric of his shirt. “Wasn’t the same. It’s better with you.”
Something about that made whatever words Minho wanted to say stick in his throat, made his stomach twist into knots and heat rush to his face. Something about the way Jisung said it—the unspoken I’m better with you that Minho swore he could still hear in Jisung’s voice. They had only met a few months ago, not any longer than Minho had known the rest of the group, and Minho liked everyone of course, but Jisung—their friendship had always been different, right from the start. Always a little more special.
“Jisung-ah,” Minho said, quiet against the softness of Jisung’s hair. He didn’t know what else to say. Wrapped together like this, Minho could feel Jisung shaking a little as the adrenaline rush wore off. He tightened his hold around Jisung’s waist and pressed a kiss to the side of his head, earning him a sniff and a breath of laughter against his neck.
“I’m not crying,” Jisung said, which absolutely meant he was. Minho looked up at the ceiling, because the building wouldn’t make fun of him for smiling like an idiot.
“Aigoo, you missed me that much?” Minho teased. Jisung pulled back enough to pout, but his ears turned red, betraying his embarrassment. “I was at all your dance practices and everything.”
Jisung whined, the flush spreading across his cheeks. “I already said it wasn’t the same, hyung, come on.”
“Sure,” Minho said, amused. Jisung wasn’t really crying, but a few tears had clearly escaped, and Minho lifted a hand to brush away the dampness from Jisung’s cheeks with his thumb. Jisung leaned into the touch, eyes closed. It reminded Minho of his cats when they wanted affection.
Despite knowing he couldn’t take the risk, not when he was so close to achieving his dream, Minho wasn’t an idiot. He knew what he wanted. He’d always known what he wanted, really, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it. Every time Jisung had curled up against him to talk about music or anime or the cute animal videos he’d watched on YouTube, every time Jisung had laughed at his jokes or whined about his teasing, every time Jisung’s expression had lit up when Minho walked into the room or tugged Minho’s arms around his waist—
Minho wanted to kiss him. He wanted it more than he’d ever let himself admit until this moment, wanted it enough that he dragged his thumb across the high point of Jisung’s cheek and nearly leaned in despite everyone around them. Jisung blinked at him, then smiled a little, arms sliding down from around Minho’s shoulders to hold onto his arms, squeezing gently. Minho couldn’t tell if Jisung realized it too, but it wasn’t like it mattered.
It didn’t matter what either of them wanted, because there were lines they couldn’t cross, things you could get away with as trainees that wouldn’t fly once you were set to debut.
Before he stepped away entirely, Minho allowed himself to quietly say, “It’s better with you, too.”
Jisung smiled, crooked and warm, and squeezed his hand just once. It would have to be enough.
now
Chan had been adamant that they all know the codes for the separate dorms, and that made it an easy decision to head straight for Jisung from the airport, mask on and ballcap tugged low. It was mid-afternoon, and the last message on his phone was Jisung promising he wouldn’t be napping when Minho got back to Seoul. Honestly, Minho wasn’t sure he believed it, but it was the thought that counted.
For the last day of his trip, Minho had done his best to stay focused on the friends he was with, but it had been hard to keep himself from sending Jisung messages constantly. The dam had broken, and the river refused to listen to reason. It was embarrassing, especially when his friends teased him about being glued to his phone in a way he never usually was, but it was freeing, too. Years of burying how he felt meant he hadn’t realized how heavy the burden had become. Minho felt like he could conquer the world.
He remembered to thank the driver as he scrambled out of the car with his overnight bag, but the rest of his thoughts were just a steady repetition of Jisung, Jisung, Jisung in time with his heartbeat. In the elevator, he felt weirdly out of sorts, like he wasn’t in control of his own body, like he was moving without actual input from his brain, a magnet inexorably drawn towards its match.
The keypad beeped and the door unlocked; Minho dropped his bag in the entryway and kicked off his shoes, and when he looked up towards the living room, Jisung was standing in the hallway.
His hair was messy in the back from laying down, and he was swimming in an oversized hoodie that definitely came from Minho’s closet. His cheeks were a little pink, and Minho could tell he’d shaved.
“I didn’t think you’d really come straight here,” Jisung said. His hands were shoved in the front pocket of the hoodie. His smile was a little shy, and Minho wanted to kiss him.
“I love you,” Minho said, the words tumbling out before he could second guess himself. “I’m in love with you.”
Jisung stared at him, mouth falling open in surprise. God, Minho wanted to kiss him so badly. “You—I didn’t—hyung!”
“What?” Minho was definitely smiling like an idiot. He didn’t think he would ever stop. “What did you think I was gonna say?”
“I wasn’t ready,” Jisung whined, but he held out his arms and made grabby hands in Minho’s direction. “You could’ve warned me!”
Minho stepped towards him, let Jisung grab the front of his jacket and tug him close. He still had his hat on; he still had his mask on, which was stupid, so he reached up to tug it off his ears before wrapping his arms around Jisung’s waist. “You’re such a baby. Fine. I’m going to kiss you now. How’s that for a warning?”
“Fucking finally,” Jisung said, words half-lost as Minho leaned in, Jisung meeting him halfway.
If anyone ever asked, Minho would never admit the way his hold on Jisung tightened, the way his knees went a little weak. He’d never admit to the shiver that ran down his spine when Jisung bit his lower lip, or the way he sighed when Jisung pushed his hat off to slide his hands into Minho’s hair. The hat fell to the ground, but Minho didn’t even hear it, too busy pressing Jisung back against the wall. He had no idea if anyone else was in the dorm, but he didn’t care, and judging by the way Jisung pressed himself against Minho, he didn’t care either.
“Love you,” Jisung managed to gasp out in between kisses, “fuck, I love you, oh my god, Minho—”
Somehow they managed to stumble through the apartment to Jisung’s bedroom; somehow they managed to get most of their clothes off before Jisung dragged Minho down onto the bed. He pressed Jisung into the mattress with the weight of his body, his thigh between Jisung’s legs, and it wasn’t anything particularly crazy but god, he’d wanted this for so long. Every sound Jisung made, the way his hips rocked up to meet Minho’s, the feeling of his nails digging into the muscles of Minho’s back: Minho wanted to remember all of it. He wanted to learn everything else, too, catalog every spot that made Jisung shiver or whine or beg, all the things he tried so hard over the years to not want or imagine. All the things he’d failed at not wanting.
“Please please please,” Jisung gasped against Minho’s mouth, hands framing Minho’s face, legs wrapped around Minho’s hips, unwilling to let Minho shift far enough away to get a hand between them. “Minho, please—”
“I’ve got you, Jisung-ah,” Minho managed, fingers digging bruises into Jisung’s hips, trailing kisses down his neck, teeth scraping against skin. He felt more than saw it when Jisung came, body tense and back arched. It was perfect, and also not enough. The knowledge that he would get this again and again pushed Minho over the ledge after him.
Despite the cooling sweat and everything else, neither of them moved until Minho heard Jisung sniff against his shoulder.
“Are you crying?” Minho asked with a startled laugh. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to do much more than slide sideways off Jisung, so that’s what he did, propped up on an elbow, his other arm still draped across Jisung’s waist. “Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know,” Jisung whined, covering his face with both hands before rolling over to tuck himself against Minho’s chest. He was so cute. Minho wanted to keep him there forever. “It’s just really overwhelming, okay? Shut up.”
Minho pressed his face against Jisung’s hair, not quite managing to stifle his laughter. “Sure, Jisung-ah,” he said, and at any other time, in any other place, he would be embarrassed by the softness in his voice. “Anything you want.”
eventually
“Vacation coming up,” Jisung said, tilting his head back to look at Minho. They were sitting on Jisung’s bed watching an episode of a drama that Minho had mostly stopped paying attention to about twenty minutes ago. It wasn’t that he was tired, really, but Jisung was warm against his chest and turning his brain off was better than watching whatever melodramatic nonsense was happening in the show that Jisung was currently obsessed with.
Minho hummed and propped his chin on the top of Jisung’s head.
“You know,” Jisung said, reaching up to squish Minho’s cheeks between his hands. “A bunch of days off. No work. No roommates.”
Minho kept his expression as neutral as possible, curious about where this was going. “No recording studio.”
“Exactly!” Jisung squirmed around until he was facing Minho, dropping his hands to Minho’s shoulders. His expression was serious and adorable, which made Minho want to kiss him. So he did. Jisung let himself be distracted by the kiss and by Minho’s hand under his t-shirt, sighing softly as he draped his arms over Minho’s shoulders.
“Did you have a point?” Minho asked when they paused to breathe, kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, a trail of kisses to the spot behind his ear. “Or are you just excited to nap all day?”
“You’re so annoying,” Jisung said, but he tilted his head sideways to give Minho better access anyway. “You said—I thought you wanted to go on a trip. With me.”
Minho paused in his attempts to leave a bruise their stylists would yell at him for, blinking multiple times in an attempt to get his brain back online. “Oh,” he said, sitting back enough to look at Jisung. “You remember that?”
Jisung rolled his eyes and smacked his shoulder without much heat. “Of course I do. What the hell? Why are you so surprised?”
It wasn’t that Minho was surprised, exactly, but he also understood the ways their lives intersected and the ways they didn’t. Compromise was part of a relationship, and as embarrassing as it was to admit, it wasn’t hard to compromise on certain things for Jisung. Minho had assumed they’d spend a few days together, sure, but he’d assumed it would happen at the dorm before they split off to spend time with their families. Now he wondered if maybe they should’ve talked about this sooner.
“I already told my parents I might only get a few days with them,” Jisung admitted, voice soft. “We could go to the beach or something, maybe. My parents said you could come home with me but—” He paused, refusing to make eye contact. “I guess I don’t really want to share you yet.”
The funny thing about being in love, Minho thought, was how much easier it became to admit all the things he wanted.
“Yeah, let’s go to the beach,” he said, dropping his forehead against Jisung’s shoulder. Even if they could talk about this stuff now didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing to admit. “It’ll be better with you there.”