Archive of Our Own

Jisung watches the way Minho hugs his parents with a frown. He hugs them as an afterthought, like he has forgotten that particular way of greeting. Minho smiles brightly, if worn a little at the edges with fatigue, clearly pleased to see his family. But his posture is a little stilted, moving through unfamiliar motions. Like trying to remember the steps of an old choreography. Neither of them have had to do that for a while. 

The cats are next, mewling and prowling around his feet desperate for attention. Jisung can tell he is just as happy to see them as he is his parents. He has the evidence on his phone of how desperately Minho has been awaiting their reunion. So many messages about missing his furry babies, sharing photos from his eomma. Or ones he’d snapped of strays local to the base, always extolling they weren’t as cute as his furry trio. 

So Jisung is surprised when the cats don’t get wrapped up in strong arms, thickened even more through additional physical training, and carried around the room like actual children. Minho pats and scratches them lovingly, but he no longer looks fluent in the act, his fingers linger a long time just resting in Soonie’s fur. The eldest patient with him, despite not really getting much out of the exchange. 

Jisung has spent all day hearing a constant  tick-tock, tick-tock in his head. Hyper-aware of each grain of sand as it went through the hourglass, counting down the breaths until he could drive out of Seoul to Gimpo. The fizzing excited anticipation now transmuted into something else, a nervous worry. Cloying but every bit as persistent. 

When Minho finally turns his full attention to him, Jisung feels the short-sharp throb of the milieu of emotions Minho has inspired in him almost from the first their meeting, mixed with the awakening anxiety. In the end relief wins out, an all encompassing wave that for at least a few moments washes away everything else. His heart, beating blood more rapidly than normal, feels as if it is expanding in his chest. Pressing against the tight embrace of his rib cage, desperately trying to scrabble out of him and return to where it belongs. 

Minho is back, he is home, sharing the same air as him once again. Jisung is once again re-arranged into his most complete self. Jisung tries to focus on Minho, the moment of reunion, and will leave the other matters to when they’re alone.

Minho looks tired, dark circles ringing his eyes and weariness fraying his edges. He has his hands tucked up inside the shirt he is wearing, looking like he is trying to remove the existence of them from all knowledge. Everytime the fabric moves or slips to uncover a part of them, he gathers them back up in his fists and grips it tightly. 

His eyes still sparkle as he looks at Jisung though, he still smiles warm and welcoming. Jisung feels singed by its radiance. 

“Welcome back hyung!” he says, smiling warmly. 

He can’t help it, he feels so melted by his fondness for the other man, his pleasure of having him back in his space.

“Hi Sung-ah.” 

Minho makes no move to touch him. 

Although Jisung feels the ache of that loss, he is aware there is something heavy pressing on the other man. Can see it in the hunch of his shoulders and stilted movements.He wants to give him space, lift that burden from his shoulders gently so as not to cause more harm. They have time now.

“I can’t believe you flew in that outfit Minho-ya.”

“What? Have my airport fashion skills dropped below your standards whilst I’ve been away?”

“Tch. I meant they don’t look very comfortable for a flight, and now the drive back to Seoul. You should have changed before you left.”

“It's all god Sung, most of my civilian clothes are looking pretty worn. I didn’t really replace anything while I was away, this was the neatest thing I have.”

“Hmmm,” Jisung hums a non-committal response, “that's me.” 

He points at the car as it lights up with the click of his button. It's a little ostentatious, a big four-wheel drive for a man who had ostensibly been a city boy his whole life. Jisung had already heard the jokes from Chan and Felix, the only two around to have seen it, despite Chan obviously being a fan. 

What he did not care to tell anyone was that it was an aspirational car. He bought it before he even got his license, dreaming of the life he would have when his friends came back from their service. An escape from the shame and guilt of not being deemed fit enough for active duty. 

In all honesty it's a car he can imagine Minho in, has imagined Minho in. Driving to his favourite campsite or fishing spot. Jisung would handle the playlist and any bugs that decided to make their way into the tent. 

The last year or so had been filled with those kinds of domestic daydreams and Jisung feels his excitement surge again at getting to see Minho finally situated amongst the scenery of those thoughts. He fits in perfectly. A natural part.

As he settles into the passenger seat the older man smiles softly at Jisung. 

“Nice,” he says, patting the dashboard gently. “Loads of leg room for all your tall friends.”

“And you.” He snarks back. 

Once they’re in he reaches into the back seat. He’d cleared it out, wanting his hyung to be impressed with how well he was keeping on top of his messes these days. He wanted him to see solid foundations for them to build on top of. A nice apartment, a clean car, houseplants still verdant and healthy.  But it never hurt to leave a hoodie in the back of the car he figured. He was glad of it now. 

Minho looks chaffed by the world, slightly withdrawn and awkward in his movements. The over-shirt he wears, sleeves still bundled around his fists, looks stiff and starchy. The t-shirt underneath looks softer, but he’s sure the high-neck must be aggravating Minho. He’s never liked things too tight around his throat. 

He was not a man made to be collared. 

Jisung chews his lip when he sees the light reflect off the dog tags still hanging around the other man’s neck. 

“Here.” He says offering the hoodie over to Minho, who doesn’t take it from his hands. 

Jisung drops it in his lap and retracts. Leaving the offering sitting there like he would do with a wild and skittish animal. 

“Take off that stiff looking shirt you’re wearing, and put on something more comfortable. I might even let you steal it.” He tries to make his tone teasing but the worry wears it away into a soft request. 

Minho sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes, leaning back into the leather seats. Jisung tries to not push further, sees the way his hyung has been abraded, threadbare in places. His fingers tangling and fidgeting in the fabric now heaped on his lap. 

They drive for five minutes before he begins to wrestle himself out of the shirt, the movements made awkward by the seat belt. When the car rolls to a stop at the next traffic light Minho quickly undoes his seatbelt, pulls the hoodie on, and re-fastens his belt. 

The whole car is bathed in the red glow of the traffic light. If there is a flush on Minho’s skin it's impossible to tell, though Jisung suspects there may be. 

“Can’t believe I’m letting you drive me somewhere. It's terrifying.”

“Ya! I passed the test just fine, thank you. I’m a good driver.”

“Hmm. It still feels weird. I guess you were just a late bloomer huh?” 

“Well, Felix still hasn’t got his so what does that say about him?”

“It's good to know some things don’t change I guess.” 

That last sentence is heavier than it ought to be. Something oppressive to it. Jisung understands. It feels wrong that there have been moments in his life that Minho has not been a direct witness to. 

Wrong that there are things he owns now that Minho hasn’t seen or touched. Those thoughts have swirled around his mind for months. Walking through his apartment, warm furnishings and houseplants. The new coffee machine he bought but barely uses. Not one of them bears the touch of Lee Minho. 

The place filled with his things, but not really feeling like a home. A crucial part is missing. No memories to warm up the last few corners of shadow, late night whispered conversations overheard by paint and plaster. 

That's ok, he assures himself, there is time now. He has already begun the process of painting the colour back into his life, upping the saturation. 

Even if Minho is quiet, tired and not quite himself. Jisung will still remember picking him up in Gimpo, driving him back to Seoul. He’ll remember the way his arm looks, veins as prominent as ever, hanging from the handle on the roof. Jisung loves those veins, a pleasant reminder that Minho is alive, filled with vitality. 

“I ordered, I’m going to call it an obscene amount, of sushi and sashimi from our favourite place. I figured you maybe wouldn’t want to eat out after your flight and everything? But if that's not the case I can call and get them to reserve a table for us. Or we can have something else, as you didn’t get a chance to have some homemade food at your parent’s place.”

“No that sounds good, sounds perfect,” Minho rolls his head on the chair to stare at him. Jisung is mildly annoyed he can't take his eyes off the road to fully take in the other man’s attention. “More time to poke around your new place and see what you’ve got hiding in there.”

Jisung smiles, perfectly willing to let Minho run amuck in his, actually not so new, apartment. He’d let Minho open every door and turn over every rug and book and cushion until his heart's content. Jisung would happily lay back and let him dismantle it all, he’s always been content to submit to the chaos of Lee Minho. Only bringing him back down when Minho needed grounding. 

Minho has his hands tucked up deep into the sleeves of the top he wears again. The hoodie's sleeves flapping around until he wraps his arms around himself. Strange. It's not something he has really seen Minho do much before. It makes a consuming ache break across his whole body. 

He wants to wrap Minho up, like the man had done for him so many times before. Chafe his arms to rub some warmth into them. Press the heat of his body down into his bones. Curl around his back until he felt safe and home once again. 

He knows it's going to take time but Jisung needs to do it. He can't be at home until he knows Minho is too. 

Being apart for over a year and half had made one thing perfectly clear to him, he was simply not meant to live without Minho. However they started this life did not matter, they had grown into and around each other so much, their roots so tangled, that they could not be separated. Jisung wouldn't have it, and he hopes Minho will agree. 

Jisung insists on wrangling one of Minho’s bags as well as the food as they make it through the fancy foyer to the lifts that will take them to his apartment. Away for twenty-one months but only two bags. The strap of the duffle chafes his hand as he tightens his grip. 

He bumps his shoulder with Minho’s as they get into the lift, needing to press some comfort into the other man. He needs him to know that he’s back where he belongs, and he can have all the creature comforts he wants, Jisung will give him anything. 

Minho gasps softly at the contact, a little broken. Jisung feels a crack across his chest. Minho shuffles to the furthest corner of the lift, leaning heavily against its mirrored walls as Jisung presses the button for the right floor. 

“It looks like a fancy place Sung-ah, really nice.”

Jisung is aware that Minho is attempting to cover his unusual reaction to their brief contact. Jisung will let him have it. He tells himself to take it slow, purposely stays stood closer to the doors to give the other man space. 

“I’m glad you like it.” 

Which is an understatement. He is elated, relieved, Minho likes the location. He’d thought about it for so long, trawling through websites and talking to agents to get a place in just the right spot. 

Close to the office and studio, for when they go back to work, but with a nice view. Good restaurants and cafes nearby. One of the gym’s where Minho’s PT works was within easy walking distance too, around the corner from what had become Jisung's favourite record shop. Just a block away was a great fresh produce market, and they played live music on weekends. Jisung had even discussed it with Minho when he was looking, sending him listings through their messages, chatting about it over the phone. Even over dinner on one of the nights he’d been able to make it up, even though they’d been too few and too far between. 

It had been months now since they had last managed a brief encounter, and Jisung can see the effect of it writ all over Minho’s tense body. Perhaps it had been smart, career-wise, for them all to take up their service around the same time. Minho first, then Changbin not long after at a different army base. Jeongin and Seungmin four months later going to the Navy and Air Force respectively. He signed up a little before with Hyunjin, while the other man had gone off for his Navy training, thankfully the same place Innie would go, Jisung had to deal with the humiliation of not being considered fit enough for active duty. Smart career wise, but terrible for making sure they could actually see each other during that time. 

His supplementary service, after his basic training, was done in Seoul. Such a big city full of people can feel very lonely without the seven men you had been living on top of for nearly a decade of your life. 

That was how it had felt for him, isolating and cold. But, he’d at least had Chan and Felix between their trips back home to Australia and the blonde’s humanitarian work. He’d been able to see Changbin at least once a month, his base much closer to Seoul. Minho had been so far away for so long, their periods of leave rarely aligning. 

Jisung took a deep breath to ease the concerned static in his lungs. Minho was here now, and he could show him the apartment he bought so he didn’t have to live in the isolation of the empty dorms. He could show him the view he thought he would like, the wood floors with underfloor heating so he wouldn’t get cold in the winter. All the spots where natural light could come through, perfect for a cat to curl up and bask in. 

“I can have pets too.” He says as they pass through the doors out onto his floor. 

“Yeah?” Jisung laughs softly at his interest, nodding as he leads the way.

Once they’re at the door Minho insists on putting in the code so Jisung doesn’t have to juggle his load. 

“It’s the same as the old dorm passcode, the first dorm.”

“That's not very secure Sung.”

He just shrugs the best he is able with the duffle bag in his grip.

“I thought it would be easy for us to remember.”

“Us?” Minho asks, typing in the code. 

“Yeah,” he smiles warmly as he opens the door. Giddy to finally be able to have Minho in the space. “You and me. The others when they’re back from their service. I hope you know I intend to have a huge sleepover party. Felix crashes here a lot when he is back in Seoul. Chan sometimes too, but he stays at the dorms more to be closer to the office.”

He drops Minho’s bag on the bench he keeps in the entryway so he can fling his arm out as theatrically as possible. Grinning like a maniac. 

“Welcome Jagi-ya!”

Minho laughs, his face lit with mirth. It’s not aglow but it’s something. Jisung will fuel and fan the flames until Minho is back to his usual self. He’s learnt so much patience. 

“Nice Sungie,” he says, leaving his other luggage on the floor and smiling, “you going to give me a proper tour?” Minho drops onto the other side of the bench, beginning to unlace his shoes.

“Of course!” Jisung has already got his own toed off, slipping into his house slippers. 

He grins, opening the cupboard by the door that hides his array of shoes and coats, some of Felix’s stuff in there too. 

“I got you something hyung.”

Minho hums his response, looking up from where he was staring at his wiggling feet on the heated floor. Hands tucked under his legs on the bench, hunched over like there is weight pushing on his shoulders. 

When he flashes his gift out from behind his back, placing it on the floor, a smile breaks across Minho’s face. It’s like watching ice melt when the first warm days of spring arrive. 

“Jisung.” Minho chuckles. 

Jisung can’t help but grin, watching him slide socked feet into the pinkest, fluffiest pair of cat slippers he could find. Not that hard considering how small Minho’s feet are. He made sure they were soft too, plush on the bottom. Sure that such comforts have not been afforded to him while on service. Jisung looks at the two luggage bags again, then back to Minho. 

“I knew you’d like them.” He grabs Minho’s shoes to put them in the cupboard.

“Since when did you tidy up after yourself?” 

Jisung pouts as he turns back around, grabbing the bags of food from where he abandoned them. 

“Be nice hyung! I’ve been trying.” 

He had been, and doing relatively well at it. He had, of course, hurriedly tidied and re-organised everything last night when he had come home from work. He wanted Minho to be able to walk in and feel comfortable, see all the pockets of space left just for him. 

“Mmm, looks like your journey of self improvement has been going well Jagi.” Minho gives him a soft smile, it earns his forgiveness immediately. “You still down to a coffee only once or twice a week?” 

“Yep, I’ve sent you a photo of everyone I’ve had for the last month.” 

“That’s not a lot.” 

“Nope, I’ve been having matcha some mornings. It doesn’t taste as good as the ones you used to make though.” 

“Didn’t you buy all the same stuff? I gave you a list?” 

Jisung shrugs, he did but there was that crucial ingredient missing. Missing from a lot of his meals and experiences for the last twenty-one months. Jisung has been counting. 

“Well, I’ll make you one tomorrow, before my appointment.” 

“Yes!” he gives a fist pump, and starts to lead them out of the entryway. “Let me put this down in the kitchen and I’ll give you the tour.”

Jisung is proud of the kitchen, it had been high on his list. Somewhere with a nice oven and stove, plenty of counter space and a spot for a decent sized fridge/freezer. He’d even sacrificed one of the cupboards to have a dishwasher installed. He’d asked Minho on a video call if the oven was a good one, he’d seemed impressed. 

He seemed impressed now too.

“The kitchen, obviously.” He gestured. 

“How much cooking have you actually done in here Jisung-ah?”

Minho teases, but he is running his fingers appreciatively across the white quartz countertop. No doubt he is cataloging the lack of kitchenware, he only has the basics. He hadn't wanted to buy anything in case it wasn’t right, or good quality, he wanted to leave space for whatever Minho deemed necessary for a kitchen. He was the expert afterall. Most of what was there had been gifted to him by his eomma, or lifted from the dorm. 

Not the Totoro salt and pepper set Minho is examining fondly though. Jisung had bought that, unable to resist the cute little figurines.Looking at them always made him think of the times they had slumped together to watch movies. The countless times they’d re-watched Ghibli films for the simple nostalgic comfort they brought.

“I make breakfast most days actually. Also, I fry eggs for my ramyeon.” 

Minho laughs, putting the salt and pepper shakers back down. 

“You should use fresh cracked pepper Sung, it tastes better. I’ll buy you a pepper mill.” Jisung feels the crack inside him filling up, just like he is excited to see this space fill up with fragments of Minho. 

“You already bought me housewarming gifts hyung.” Jisung thinks of the large box of toilet paper, Hanwoo beef, and a huge three wicked candle that had been delivered to his apartment in his first week living there. It had filled him with a bitter-sweet  melancholy to think of Minho sending him gifts while he was hours away on an army base. He’d cried into his newly delivered sofa for a bit, aching for Minho’s presence in his new space.

Now the candle, scented like a Japanese forest and in a pretty ceramic jar, sat pride of place on his coffee table next to the Calcifer oil burner Minho had bought him years ago, when his eyes had lingered on it too long in the shop. The Diptyque vanille candle that lived next to them was used the most, Jisung had replaced it countless times in the year and half since he’d moved in. 

After that he takes him over to see the living room, he’d carefully thrown a blanket over the arm of the sectional couch to cover the wine stain he’d made last month when Chan and Felix had come over. At least it looked cozy with the throw pillows, the sun lamp he’d left on, and the big monstera plant in the corner he’d managed to keep alive. He flicked on some other lamps to light the space better, smiling when he turned to look at Minho insinuating himself in the space. 

His hands poking out from the security of the hoodie again to run across the candle and oil burner he recognised, then the new wooden console housing his record player. 

When Jisung came back over to grab the remote from the coffee table Minho slunk into himself again, shying to the side to avoid contact and hunching his shoulders as if he was in pain. Jisung gently ran a hand down his arm, not lingering too long, then turned to the windows to allow the other man a moment of privacy as he shuddered. 

Jisung chewed his lip. It was fitting into place now. The concern that had been wrapped around him since he first saw Minho in Gimpo pin pointing his attention until the whole image was revealed. 

Nearly a decade of living with their members. Felix and Chan like koalas, incorrigible when it came to wrapping their arms around their friends. Years worth of movie nights where the two of them had pressed their sides together, or wrapped arms around one another, for nothing more than the simple pleasure of sharing contact with a man who you knew as intimately as yourself. Changbin’s warm hugs, the way Hyunjin would collapse into the closest body when a fit of giggles caught him. Surly Seungmin who would always be the first to pat you on the back, congratulating a job well done. The maknae, supposedly a skin-ship hater, yet would always wrap an arm around a member when they were cold and prone to falling asleep on other people’s shoulders. 

And Minho. Butt hunter extraordinaire. The tsundere who pretended to hate physical affection, but still allowed the others to wrap arms around him or use him as a pillow in waiting rooms. Minho, whose arms Jisung could always fall into, who had held him tight even when they were trainees. Unself-conscious of that casual intimacy even when the cameras were around in those very early days. Minho who had become more wary of the cameras, but never less affectionate in private. Minho who couldn’t sit next to someone on a couch without draping his legs over them in a way that often felt proprietary. 

Minho who had been away from them all for twenty-one months. On an army base with men he didn’t know, who he had to guard his secrets from. 

It was famine after a feast.  

“Let me show you the view.” He said pressing the button which made the curtains draw back, unveiling the lights of the city beyond his balcony. The sky outside starting to dim as evening really took hold. 

He thought about how he could bring Minho back to himself, root him once again in his body. Remind him of all the ties that wrapped tight around him and led to others. The scarlet string that stretched between them. 

Minho shuffled around him, carefully avoiding even a passing graze of their clothes, as he crossed the short distance to the window and sliding doors. He rested his hand, covered in the hoodie again, on the back of the chair he had been thinking of as ‘Minho’s chair’. 

To see him in the spot he had imagined him so many times was arresting. He bought a foot stool that tucked neatly under the end table, placed perfectly to hold a cup and a book. The chair angled to enjoy the view, and the arching lamp behind situated to provide enough light to read in the evenings. Minho looked as good there as Jisung envisioned.  

“The view is great Sungie, you showed me before on a video call remember? I like the balcony though, big enough you can sit out there without being near the edge.” Minho laughs self deprecatingly at that, Jisung smiles at his plans coming to fruition once again. 

He takes Minho on a tour of the rest of the apartment, it’s not huge, the dining table squeezed somewhat awkwardly between the kitchen and living room. But three bedrooms, one already transformed into a makeshift studio, and two bathrooms in the heart of Seoul is practically palatial. The main bath even has a tub and separate shower, perfect for half-baths or soaking sore muscles.

Jisung wonders if Minho might want one tonight, if it might help ease some of the tension cording in his limbs. He’s about to ask when Minho exits the room to find the bedrooms, and Jisung follows like he always does. 

He shows him the spare bedroom. It’s Felix’s room really, he bought blue sheets for the bed and everything. But Chan and his own parents had used it too. There’s another houseplant on the dresser that he’s managed to keep alive, a beautiful canvas depicting the peaceful blue-green sea of Jeju hung above it. Hyunjin had painted it for him, based on a photo he had taken on a walk with Minho the last time they had been there for filming. 

“This isn’t the colour I picked out Han Jisung, don’t think I forgot.” Minho turns towards him teasing, but with a shy flighty look in his eye. Jisung frowns briefly. 

“No Innie picked this colour, he said it would go better with the painting,” he gestures to Hyunjin’s art on the wall, “I trust his judgment.” 

Instead of spluttering in indignation like he expected, reprimanding him for being rude to his elders, Minho gives a stilted nod. He tucks his hands up tighter into the hoodie. 

Jisung turns to stand in the doorway, gesturing for Minho to follow him. As the older man exits he brushes his fingers lightly over his lower back. Jisung is sure he can’t feel much through the thick material he wears, but it causes him to jump a little all the same. 

“Besides,” he says softly, trying to coax Minho into calmness, “I said you could pick the colour for the bedroom, I didn’t say which one.”

He opens the door into the primary bedroom, standing in the doorway to usher Minho through. The man looks wary to walk past him in close proximity again, so Jisung steps fully into the room. Not wanting to push him too far, too soon. 

You can’t treat starvation with a banquet. 

When he turns to look at the room properly he flushes when he spots the clothes he had worn for work strewn across the bed. The cardigan he had decided not to wear in a heap on the floor next to the chair he thought he had hung it over. All of his careful planning to present the best possible image to Minho, entice him to stay not just for a few nights but forever, wasted. 

He scrambles, tripping over his own feet, to gather them up and shove them in the closet. Minho is laughing when he exits the walk-in closet. A real one, exactly as he remembers. High-pitched and throaty. Jisung can’t help but grin at that, the moment of normalcy, a little bubble of joy, luring Minho back to him. 

“Ah, it's good that some things don’t change Jagi. I was starting to worry it was a body swap situation, everything was too tidy.”

“Hyung!” he whines, embarrassed, “I just wanted it to be neat for you. I wanted you to feel comfortable.” 

Minho continues to smile at him, but something in those words softened him a little. Melting some of the stiffness out of his limbs, even if he still fidgeted nervously with the sleeves of Jisung’s hoodie. 

Jisung feels the desperate aching need to wrap his arms around him. Tamps it down and settles for leaning over and squeezing his hand quickly, Minho’s fingers twitch in his grip. 

“Well, this is the main bedroom anyway. The walk-in,” Jisung points to the spot he just re-emerged from, “and the en-suite are that way.” 

He gestures to the walls, painted the light green colour Minho had picked when asked. Well, the one he picked after Jisung told him to be serious and that no he would not be painting his walls scarlet or fluorescent orange. Minho smiles, runs his fingers across the wall and ends up by the window. He taps the guitar he left resting on the built-in window seat, his notebook and pen nearby.

“It's a really nice place Jisung, very cozy. Can’t believe you’re the first of us all to buy your own place.” 

Minho’s smile is soft when he turns back around, it pulls an answering grin from his own face. Across the expanse of the bed they smile at one another for a beat. But in the next, everything is different. Minho’s eyes slide to the bed and he is immediately filled with nervous energy again, hands twisting, shoved in the pocket of the hoodie this time. Minho chews his lips and looks away, his spine rigid. 

“Jagi,” he says as soft as he can, through the sound of his own heart breaking and the ringing sirens of Minho’s panic. “You’ve seen it all now. Let's go eat. Or do you want to shower first?”

Minho doesn’t turn around, apparently unable to face him. The lines of his body are tense and rigid. His ears are red, with his hair still cropped so short there is nothing to obscure their vibrant hue. 

Jisung fidgets with his own sleeves briefly, wondering if he still had the talent of calming Minho. Wondering if they would be able to recapture that one blissful week they had before Minho left for his service. The handful of encounters between during breaks too sparse, and the latest too long ago.

Minho mumbles that he’ll shower first, but makes no move to leave. 

“Ok, you know where everything is now, there are towels in both the bathrooms. If you want something different to wear, grab anything you want out of the closet. I'll plate up the food.” 

Minho gives a wooden nod. Jisung turns to leave but is stopped at the doorway by Minho’s strained voice. 

“Thanks Sung-ah.” 

“Take as long as you need Minho.” 

Minho never re-emerges from the main bedroom so Jisung assumes he is using the en-suite. He just hopes he didn’t leave any other mess lying around in his mad dash before leaving for Gimpo. Although maybe Minho would laugh at it again, and that would be worth it. 

He distracts himself from the thoughts of Minho, his ever present concern that is manifesting as a tingling across his skin. A profound sense of longing to properly close the distance between them. He knows he needs to restrain himself, what happened in the bedroom is proof enough that the older man is going to need time. Jisung can give him that, he can give him anything. Space too if that's what he needs, though he suspects it's not. He puts a record on, lights the Japanese forest candle, not needing the rich-woody vanilla scent of his Diptyque candle. No facsimiles needed when the real thing was in residence. 

He lays the food out on dishes, puts them all on the dining table, it really is an obscene amount of food. But at least Minho won’t go hungry. Jisung will make sure of it. 

₊˚⊹♡

The warm water feels good pelting down on his skin. It helps wash away some of the ill-ease that blankets him. There has been a static buzz coursing through him for what feels like months now, only made more intense since he stepped through his parent’s door in Gimpo and saw Han Jisung standing right there. Close enough to touch. 

He knows he shouldn’t leave Jisung waiting for too long, he has already been such an inconvenience today. He feels like a heavy burden, being picked up and driven to Seoul so he can complete his medical and go to all the meeting’s the company had lined up for him at the office. Staying in Jisung’s beautiful new apartment, instead of the dorm. Even if the idea of staying there alone makes him feel hollow, he feels guilty for imposing on Jisung’s space. 

He turns to grab some soap from the shower niche and blinks rapidly running his trembling fingers across the bottles crammed in there. Minho recognises them of course, Jisung has used the same face cleanser and shampoo as long as he has known him. He is haunted by the smell of tangerines every autumn, bringing on the ticklish, phantom sensation of hair brushing under his chin. 

But next to those are full bottles of his preferred cleanser, that doesn’t irritate his sensitive skin, and the shampoo he was using before he left on leave. There is a tall bottle of one of his preferred body washes, vanilla scented, though that one is half full. 

A collection of bottles, evidence that Han Jisung had not forgotten him in the time he had been away. That he saw, that he cared. That there was room in this place he was so proud of for him. 

Minho felt the static within him intensify, a hot and harsh lump forming in his throat. He feels dizzy, not from the heat of the shower but from the intensity and complexity of the emotions that course through him. 

Guilt for thinking it, guilt for doubting Jisung’s care towards him. Confusion, loneliness. Shame for wanting to fit there so badly, hope that perhaps he did. 

He presses his face into the cool tiles for a moment to soothe the throbbing longing that manifests itself in trembling hands and an ache between his temples. An ache in his chest. 

After that he rushes through the rest of the shower, the all-consuming need to be in the same vicinity as Jisung, too powerful to ignore. The pull towards the younger man was profound, even though his fear that whatever transpired between them before was not to be repeated. 

He leaves smelling like his own vanilla body wash and Jisung’s orange scented shampoo. 

He paws through Jisung’s closet and is honestly impressed by how organised it is and how much space is still left unfilled. He finds a drawer of sweatpants and pulls on the softest pair he can locate. He takes an old tee out of the next drawer down, one he’s seen Jisung wear countless times, just as soft and holding pleasant memories. He shrugs on the hoodie from Jisung’s car again. It felt good to be wrapped up in Jisung’s clothes, the hoodie still holding a lingering trace of his cologne. He felt the urge to curl up within it to soothe the consuming ache inside him he could not understand. 

Minho didn’t even realise how hungry he was until he walked out and saw Jisung sitting at the table with dinner from their favourite restaurant sat in front of him. 

Jisung gives him one of his radiant smiles, serving to remind him how dark the last several months had been. Video calls and messages could not simulate the experience of being bathed in the light of Han Jisung’s attention up close. He feels the anxious buzz well up inside him again, a hot throb in his hands where he wants to grab Jisung’s waist and hold him against his chest. Stand pressed together until they’re melded into one entity. 

“Time to eaaaat.” He calls, drawing out all the syllables just to be silly. 

Fuck, he’d missed that. 

“You have to tell me if it’s as good as you remember hyung.” 

He clacked his chopsticks together menacingly at Jisung, as they settled in to share their first meal in a long time. He slips his new house-shoes off to sink his toes into the fluffy checker-print rug under the table. Taking a deep breath that was shakier than it should be the feeling of Jisung’s socked foot brushing over his own passing through him like a shock. 

It was as good as he remembered, better for the long months without it. He told Jisung as much as they settled into his couch. Their thighs pressed together as they sat and Jisung's fingers brushed softly over his hand. Minho shuffled slightly to the side to try and give him some space. 

He was worried too much more of that and he wouldn't be able to restrain himself from asking for more. He was already taking so much from Jisung, with so little to give back. 

“Hyung,” Jisung started, pulling his lower lip into his teeth to release it a moment later, “I’m so happy you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”

Minho felt his insides seize, a searingly hot flush making its way from the tips of his ears down to his chest. A frenetic nervous energy filling him up, making him twitchy. Too many words rising desperate to spill across his lips. He wanted to ask about the bottles in the shower, the empty space in the closet, why he’d bought an apartment with such a nice kitchen when he never cooked. 

He wanted to talk about being so lonely at the base, going to sleep every night only when his exhaustion dragged him under, a hand pushing tightly into his chest to try and silence the cacophonous buzzing. An aching, hungry, need. 

He wanted to talk about missing Jisung’s arm around his shoulder, or hand on the back of his neck as they walked. How we would think about the kisses they shared, too few, all the damn time.

But it all felt so presumptuous, so weak. Men went to military service all of the time, missing your friends and family was normal. Jisung had welcomed him into his home, driven him around, bought him dinner. That should be enough. He shouldn’t want more, shouldn't be so clingy.

The memories of the week they spent tangled around each other before he left had been a comfort at the base. The thoughts always accompanied by the question of why had it taken so long? Then Jisung had visited him when he was able, and they’d shared whatever few moments of intimacy they could safely steal. Some scraps to keep his hunger for Jisung at bay. But the last of those visits had been over four months ago, a yawning aching stretch of time without him. 

Their constant messages had continued, sending photos and sharing scraps of their day when they could between their duties. They often filled their evenings with long phone or video calls; it had not been an infrequent occurrence to wake up to the sound of Jisung breathing, his phone half buried in his pillows. Those mornings always let loose a longing so deep he felt it etched into his bones, branded into his tender flesh. The need to hold the other man so consuming it was like starvation, the ache of the hunger impossible to ignore. 

But the messages, while sometimes flirty, never crossed that sort-of romantic, sort-of platonic line they had straddled for almost their entire relationship. They talked about missing one another, but never their bodies. Minho was ashamed of how much he had missed Jisung’s body, his touch in simple and sensual ways, and was devastated to realise that perhaps Jisung did not share his feelings. 

And in his time away Jisung had bought a house and car, worked hard to be healthier and more organised. The Jisung he knew had changed and Minho wasn’t sure if there was a space for him next to that man anymore, the idea made him ache. Made anxiety swell around him and swallow him whole.

So when he told Jisung he had missed him too, he meant it perhaps too much. He was alarmed with how much weight had slipped into the simple words, his feelings leaking out to pollute the air. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t see each other properly for so long Jagi-ya,” Jisung reaches for his hand again, just resting on top of it, his fingers curled a little. Minho held the breath in his lungs, hoping that would keep everything else from spilling out. His hand twitched at the contact, he had grown unaccustomed to such simple, yet purposeful, contact. 

“But I’m happy you’re here now, this place hasn’t felt like home until now.” Jisung’s small smile is devastating, but nothing could lance him more than the words and the continued feeling of Jisung’s hand on his. “I kept buying these things and making these choices hoping you would like them, so I hope you do. And well if you don’t we can always change stuff around.” 

Jisung laughs a little nervously at that, his eyes seeking some reassurance from him while his hand scrubbed nervously through the back of his hair.

“Of course I like it Sung, the place is beautiful. I’m jealous of your kitchen you know that.” 

“And your chair? Do you like it? I wanted to make you a little reading corner, but if you don’t find the chair comfy, we could get a different one. Maybe one of those cool Eames ones with the stool? But the light there is good during the day, you’ll see tomorrow. And I think I’ve angled the lamp just right to give you good light in the evenings without it being too bright. I’ve written some songs there actually.” 

While Minho had missed getting to witness Jisung’s rambling up close, the joyful shimmer that always took over his eyes, the hands that gestured wildly in the air. It’s too much to fully take in straight away, so much of his brain power focused on the feeling of Jisung’s hand on his. 

“My chair Sungie, what do you mean? You bought it for me, so I had somewhere to read when I visited?” 

Jisung looks at him sharply then. The hand on his jostling slightly as he turned his body to face him. 

“What? No,” Jisung sounds confused and Minho feels panicked, he’s pushed too far. He begins to withdraw his hand but Jisung stops him with a gentle squeeze.

“Well I mean yes I bought it for you, so you would have somewhere to read. I know you like to read but you always sit slumped in bed to do it. But it wasn’t for when you visited Minho. Come on, I painted the main bedroom the colour you chose. I bought a stupid big four-wheel drive that can go off roading and has enough room in the back to fit a river’s worth of fish.  I thought I was being obvious?”

There is alarm coursing through him, confusion, hope. It’s so overwhelming he feels like he might cry. He’s never been so liable to be emotional before and he is only now realising what his distance from his friends and Jisung has done to him. He is filled with fissures, barely holding the fractured pieces together. 

“Jisung,” he starts but his voice is strained, the ache in his chest choking it off. “I don’t understand can you-”

He doesn’t finish. Jisung startled and concerned by the emotion in his voice, jumps up onto his knees next to him. 

“Ok Jagiya I’ll explain. Can I hold you while I do it?” 

The panic makes him shake his head violently. He knows he would fall apart the moment Jisung wraps his arms around him. The pieces shattering and littering the other man’s beautiful wooden floor. 

“Ok, can I touch your arm?” 

He nods, unable to look at the warm brown eyes he feels gazing at him. Ashamed of how emotional he is. Desperate for Jisung’s touch and terrified of it at the same time. 

Even though Jisung asked before moving, even though he could see the hand approach in his peripheral vision, he is still startled when a gentle palm touches his shoulder. Jisung doesn’t let that stop his motions, running his palm up and down his arm. 

“I was lost without you here Minho. So lost, especially once everyone else was gone and I was seeing less of Felix and Chan too. I kept thinking about what I wanted to do with you when you got back. I realised that it was all just simple stuff, all the things we’d done before but also waking up next you in the morning. It was,” Jisung pauses to clear his throat, his own voice sounding a little tight. 

It was that strain in Jisung’s voice, a little raw and vulnerable, that made him finally able to look at the other man again. Jisung had a small smile on his face, which feels like such a treasure to Minho. 

Jisung’s hand continued to trail up and down his arm. The simple touch too much to bear, and not enough. 

“It was so good waking up like that before you went away. I want to kiss you awake again, or just kiss you. I kept thinking how crazy that we hadn’t sorted our shit out before then, but whatever I needed to grow into myself a bit. As long as we could do it once you got back it wouldn’t matter. So I bought the apartment. I wanted a place for us, to be together properly. So we wouldn’t have to sneak around between dorms, or try and surreptitiously book a hotel room without them finding out we’re idols. I just wanted to be able to come home to you and cuddle on the couch until we fell asleep and woke up in the morning with sore necks.”

Jisung shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. Like it's not the most cataclysmically beautiful thing Minho has ever heard. 

Jisung wants him, wants him in this space. In his life.  

He doesn’t know what to say or how to respond. The panic is starting to recede but not yet fully diminished, Jisung’s gentle caress so good, so distracting, it's almost distressing.

“The car?” He chokes out. Trying to make sure all the pieces line up the way he thinks. Jisung laughs. 

“Well, I knew you’d want to go to Gimpo. I thought it would be nicer if we could make the drive together without a driver. I thought,” Jisung flushes and Minho feels the heat of it flowing into his own chest. “You’re not allowed to laugh at me ok?”

“I can promise you Jisung, none of this is a laughing matter to me.” 

When the other man squeezes his hand at that, before returning to rubbing his arm oh-so-gently, Minho feels it like a blow to his body. 

“Well, I thought it would be nice for you to drive and I would control the music. If it was just us I could rest my hand on your thigh the whole way.” 

His mind is filled with white noise thinking about it.

“The kitchen?”

“You like to cook Minho. I wanted to leave space for the gadgets you have, like that meat bath thing-”

“Sous vide machine.”

“Yeah, that and whatever else you wanted to bring over. Whatever else you wanted to buy. Yes, I was selfishly thinking about all the meals you would cook for me too. There is room for a barbeque on the balcony as well, but I didn’t know which was the best one to buy.”

Minho envisions it now. The charcoal barbeque with the smoking and rotisserie attachments he has had on his wish list for some time, sitting against the wall of the balcony. He would be able to turn his head to appreciate the view, but not see down to the drop below. Jisung playing a record and opening up the doors to let it filter out. Running backwards and forwards at his commands, he would kiss him on the cheek as a thank you when he brought out the meat. 

They could do that just to make dinner on a random Tuesday, or they could invite all their friends over to share in the fun. He could grow fresh herbs in pots on the balcony, he’d be able to reach across and grab a handful of rosemary and rub it across some lamb for Chan.  

“Ok,” his voice is tighter still. He can’t dare to let himself hope.

“Minho,” Jisung coaxes until he looks him in the eyes again, “it's pet-friendly.”

“You’re allergic to cats.”

“Yeah but not like, deathly allergic. I’ve looked it up too, there are low-allergen cat breeds.”

Minho has to close his eyes again. Jisung hadn’t just made space for him, he’d been a part of every decision. While he wrapped himself up in loneliness, aching for a friendly hug or muscle massage, consumed by his own yearning Jisung had been planning a life for them. Making sure that everything would be perfect, that Minho could walk right in and slot himself amongst it.

Except, he couldn’t because he was broken. Liable to shred or stain all the pretty things Jisung had done in his kindness. 

“I could keep telling you about it all, but I think you might be a bit overwhelmed, hmm?”

He nods, his voice silenced by the surge of emotion in him. 

“Well, another time then. Can I hug you now hyung, I think you need it yeah?”  

“I-” he takes a fortifying breath, “I want that Sung but I think I’ll break down if you do.”

“So?” 

Minho gives a wet laugh, shuffling a little to look at Jisung better. 

“I mean it Min! How many times have I broken down in front of you? I’ve seen you cry before,” Jisung taps his hand with two fingers, he suspects if the circumstances were different he might have gotten a poke in the ribs. “You’re home now, who cares? You’ve been away for so long Min, you haven’t had anyone to keep you grounded. You know I’m the best at it. I want to hold you hyung. I think you need to be reminded of what it feels like to be held.” 

That's what it takes for him to realise. Yes, he had missed Jisung, yes he had wanted to hold him. But it wasn’t just that. He was aching for the causal intimacy he had enjoyed for years. Where his adolescent anxiety of being too touchy that someone might see him, see who he really was and what he really wanted, had all but perished. He was starved of the affection and touch he had been lavished with for years. 

He has always known hunger as a cavernous thing. Something raw and visceral, that gnaws until satiated. 

This hunger buzzes across his skin, makes him feel as if there is a high pitched whine echoing in his head constantly. This hunger feels almost like panic, a need that goes beyond the physical demands of his body. A need that yearns and calls from deep within his soul. 

This isn't an open chasm needing to be filled, it's a crack in a vessel. His need, sticky and viscous, leaks out. Seeping out now that he is with Jisung who he has never been afraid to show a vulnerability to, to the man who can organise his chaotic thoughts and provide words for his own emotions when the complexity of them sit outside his own understanding. 

Why couldn’t he understand this hunger without Jisung's help? 

Perhaps his soul was simply calling for its other half to balm its wound. Perhaps he knew, on that deep innate level that often mattered when it came to the two of them, that of all the people in the world who could and would give him this Jisung is the one he was most safe with. The one who would cradle him gently at his point of vulnerability, but who would not pity him. 

Would not see Minho as less than for his seeping, staining, hunger. 

Jisung who would treat it not as a chore, or a kindness, or a simple act of companionship. Jisung who would see it as his own need, something he must do to soothe his own soul. 

 “Let me do this hyung.” 

Jisung’s whispered words sat heavy on him. Their weight not oppressive but comforting. A validation and a release. 

Minho didn't have to fight to hold his pieces together, Jisung was there and those pieces were every bit his to hold as they were Minho’s. 

“I think you’re right but-” Minho shudders as he looks at Jisung, allows himself to be vulnerable because Jisung has built a space for him to do that in. “I need to go slow Jisung-ah.”

“Ok, will you take your hoodie off? I just want to touch your arm properly, is that ok?” 

Minho takes a deep breath as he draws the article of clothing over his head. The release of it sounds like surrender. 

Jisung bites his lip at the sight and Minho wishes his stupid hair would grow longer so he might be able to hide his red ears. 

“Hyung, can I take this off?” Jisung taps the silver tags sitting atop his chest, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks at them clinking softly at the motion. 

Minho hadn’t even realised he still had them on. It had become so normal for him, he didn’t even remove them for showering. He nods his head and takes a bracing breath as Jisung’s gentle fingers descend to pull the chain over his head, his fingertips grazing his clavicle and neck briefly in the motion. Jisung deposits the chain and tags onto the coffee table. 

Minho only remembers to exhale when his lungs begin to burn, too preoccupied with what Jisung might do next. 

“You ok?”

His affirmative response is high and reedy, it’d be humiliating if it wasn’t just him and Jisung. Jisung smiles reassuringly anyway.

He watches Jisung’s golden arm, practically glowing in the warm light of the candle and sunset lamp, reach toward him slowly. Then nimble fingers are in his hair, softly moving through the short strands, nails lightly grazing his scalp. It sends a shudder from the crown of his head down his spine, spreading to his extremities. It feels so good, he sinks his own fingers into the soft sofa cushions to ground himself against the feeling. 

“The time away from bleaching and dying has left your hair so soft Jagi, mine too actually.” Jisung’s tone is soft, a laugh colouring the end. Minho wants to close his eyes and float away on it. 

“Yeah?” 

Jisung hums in response, continuing to card through his hair softly. His limbs feel like they’re moving through syrup when he reaches up to feel Jisung’s hair for himself. 

He hesitates as he gets near, unsure if he is allowed to touch. But, Jisung tilts his head like a cat encouraging the motion and he buries his fingers in the other man’s equally short hair. It flows over his fingertips like silk. Jisung hums appreciatively. 

“Did you use my shampoo? I can smell it.” 

Jisung takes a big intake of air, breathing in the citrus scent. Minho shivers again when he feels the hot exhale against his neck, his hands dropping to his sides like they’re made of lead, his eyes close.  

“Tell me if it’s too much Minho.”

“It’s ok.” 

Minho feels suspended in the syrup that was constraining his limbs moments before. With his eyes closed the passage of time or the change of light ceases to exist. The movements of Jisung’s hands on his body is all there is. 

Palms pressing on shoulders briefly, as they follow the slope and run down the length of his arms.Fingers trailing over his own, rubbing over the tops of his nails. He shivers again, unable to restrain his body’s reaction to the sustenance of Jisung’s attention. 

He concentrates on the fingers as they run back over his arms, he’s sure Jisung is writing letters into his arms. The consuming pleasure of the feeling is too much for him to be able to discern what, but he is confident Jisung is writing a message across his skin. His skin raises with goosebumps at the sensation. 

Then Minho feels Jisung shifting his weight on the couch until it is gone. He thinks of opening his eyes to see what the other man is doing, but his touch remains on his body. The weight of Jisung’s hands on him renders him unable to do much more than sit and soak in the affection. 

He feels a full awareness of his body slowly coming back. Like the first time he practiced a choreography blindfolded, understanding the articulation of each joint and the stretch of each muscle in new ways. Jisung’s touch the music directing his attention. Each breath catches in his chest, feeling like there are sparks fizzling in his lungs waiting for the next intake of air to ignite. 

It’s only when Jisung has his left arm cradled in both of his hands that Minho realises he is now kneeling on the floor. He can feel the heat of his body along his calves and knees. The sparks in his chest do catch then, a searing heat unfolding throughout his body, flowing through his blood. Surging to meet Jisung’s lips where they rest on the prominent veins on the back of his hand. Minho’s eyelids flutter open to watch as Jisung draws his lips reverently along the path his veins make across his hands and arms. His heated blood flows in his wake, like his lips are the astronomical entity controlling the tide of his body.

He is quivering head to toe, the feeling at once soothing and electrifying. Jisung continues to etch words into his skin with his fingers, Minho feels them carve down into sinew and bone and his soul. Unsure of what the words are, but confident of their meaning. Minho grasps one of Jisung’s hands, squeezing it tightly, hoping his own confession will pass through the barrier of their skin. 

When Jisung leans up further, Minho bends to accommodate him. One hand still holding Jisung’s, the other grasping the arm of the couch. Jisung’s warm breath ghosts over his skin, even through the light barrier of the tee he wears, until he reaches his neck. Jisung continues his journey, tracing the veins that stand in relief on his neck with plump lips. Minho tilts further, the feeling too healing, too fulfilling, not to invite more. 

“Minho,” when Jisung speaks again it's a whisper. 

The other man’s lips ghost along the underside of his jaw, he can feel the vibration of the words as well as hear the sound. Along his front is the warm press of Jisung’s body as he leans over him. Minho’s free hand finds its way onto the curve of Jisung’s tiny waist, his favourite anchor, grounding him to the moment rather than allowing his fear or his adoration to carry him away. 

“Ja-gi-ya,” Jisung draws the syllables out, tickling them along his skin. “Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you Min.”

The buzzing of the hunger across his skin compresses then, into a single desperate craving. The cracked cask inside him slowly leaking his need breaking open. Now not so much a slow seep as a violent gush of need. The tingling sensations which follow the shudders Jisung had been drawing from him concentrate until his lips feel as if someone has rubbed nettles on them. Sharply stinging in their desire to be reunited with their counterpart. 

“Yes.” 

And then he is home again. 

Jisung presses his lips to his, his fingers gently skimming up his neck to cradle his jaw. Holding him in place as he feels the last of his panic drain away, washed out by his hunger for Jisung. 

When they break apart Jisung doesn’t move more than an inch or so away from his lips. Minho is glad of it, he’s sure he’d feel any more distance between them like a knife. 

“We don’t have to go further if it's too much. We can just go to bed or watch TV. Just let me hold your hand yeah?” 

He takes in a few gulps of air, his lungs burning from his shallow breathing. He runs the hand Jisung released a moment ago into the other’s hair. His fingers on Jisung’s waist tighten. 

“That was barely a kiss Sung-ah, and you haven’t even hugged me yet.” 

Minho feels Jisung’s answering laugh across his face. The tap of the other man's fingers on his jaw as he drums them once. 

“You’re right hyung, I’m sorry.” 

Jisung closes the distance between them again, their lips slotting together like puzzle pieces. Minho barely has time to adjust before Jisung is moving them slowly, his tongue slipping out to taste. It’s not carnal, but sensual.

Minho does cry then. Not the horrible racking sob he’d felt himself teetering on the edge of for so long. But a few silent tears streak down his face. So overwhelmed with the love Jisung has given him, the care. Not just the soothing and affectionate touches. But the apartment, the car, driving to Gimpo to pick him up, every selfie and message he’s received. The flights to visit him near the base. 

“I don’t deserve you Sungie. You give me too much I’m so-” 

Jisung shushes him quickly, running thumbs over his tears when he sees that his cheeks are wet. Kissing him gently on the lips again. 

“You have me,” Jisung held his face to stare into his eyes, firm and resolute. “You’ve given me everything for years, held me together when I was falling apart. Been my best friend. We’re not making and paying debts here Min, we’re building a life, ok?”

It’s times like these Minho is reminded that Han Jisung is a poet, a man capable of moving the soul with words and melody. 

He can’t answer with his voice, too choked by emotion. Too much lingering guilt. He nods, and Jisung brings their foreheads together so the movement moves his own head too. 

“I’ll convince you Minho, I'll show you. Move in with me? If you’re not ready that's ok, but I need you to know you’re welcome to. Not even welcome, you’re a part of this place already and I can wait until you’re ready. Or if you don’t like it we ca-”

“Jagi, just stop” he presses his own hands to the round cheeks he is so fond of, “ Is that a joke, if I don’t like the place? Of course I’ll move in pabo, but I do want to talk about painting the bedroom orange.”

The sound of Jisung’s laugh, bright and bubbly, is like water on a parched throat. His own giggle can’t help but spill out.

“No.”

“The bathroom?”

“No.” 

He heaves a fake sigh but feels a lot of real tension released with it. No matter how he was feeling, being with Jisung was alway so easy. So intuitive. 

“Fine, I’ll move in anyway.”

Jisung bounces in his excitement, almost headbutting him. He mutters a few quick apologies and gives him a quick peck. It’s really more of a press of lips, the two of them smiling too much to make it a proper kiss. 

He feels effervescent. Jisung’s joy is so contagious and his own profound relief at the assurance of knowing his place in the world again. 

Jisung buries his fingers in Minho’s short dark hair, pressing their faces together. 

“You’ve made me so happy Min, we’ll get you feeling good again as well. I promise.” 

He stroked at Jisung’s cheeks, intoxicated by their proximity, by Jisung’s attention. Drunk on the knowledge that Jisung had built them a safe place, a foundation for a life that he had only dreamed of before. 

He was still aware that his long isolation had frayed him more than he had originally realised. But, Jisung had helped him parse his own fraught mind, understand what he needed and ground him back in his own body. He was already feeling lighter, the dull buzz of his aching hunger already soothed to a mild hum. He was reminded of the quiet nights they’d shared pressed together in spaces cramped and drafty. How, no matter how tired or stressed they were, they could recharge with one another. 

He might need more time to feel completely himself again, but they had that time now. 

“I know.”

Then they’re drawn back together again, meeting at the lips as Jisung’s hands skim delicately down his sides. The touch is so light he feels the movement of fabric more than the press of Jisung’s fingers. Jisung pauses when he reaches the hem of his own shirt, running his nails across the stitches there. 

When Jisung pulls away from his mouth Minho can already taste the words before he speaks them. He nods his head stiffly, a sickening, anxious, swell rising in him again. He breathes deeply through his nose, looking at Jisung to ground himself again. Reminding himself that Jisung would not sit on his knees on a hard floor if he didn’t want him.

Jisung kisses him again, so sweet it aches in his molars, as his fingers skirt under the shirt. They press into his side as he runs his hands up. Jisung breaks the kiss for only as long as it takes him to get the shirt off. Minho’s responding shiver has nothing to do with the temperature of the room, he grips at Jisung’s waist again to avoid crossing his arms over his chest protectively. 

Jisung moans softly at the touch, his voice laced with the longing that had found a home in Minho. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back then, needing a break from at least one of the stimuli in front of him. 

“Fuck.” Jisung murmurs, his voice soft but it still sends ricochets of anxiety across his body. 

Minho feels frozen, unable to move his head or open his eyes. Fearing what he may find. Jisung must feel the tension suddenly cording his arms through the palms pressed to his waist. Minho feels the soft brush of Jisung’s hair on his stomach, as his thumbs rub soft circles on the skin above his hips. 

“I’m sorry Jagi,” Jisung’s hot breath warms his stomach as he speaks, Minho feels the muscles there twitch involuntarily. He feels nauseous, even as Jisung’s hands move around his body to press lovingly into his lower back.

“I’m sorry. It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen you shirtless. The training has er,” Jisung stumbles over his words, “it’s good. It’s. You’re more defined. Your chest is more defined.” Jisung’s fingers on his back press more insistently, palms curving to grip.

“You’re just really hot hyung. Really hot. You were before as well, but it’s been a long time. I was taken by surprise.” 

Minho feels his cold anxiety edged out by his flaming hot blush. Jisung’s self-deprecating laugh tickles over his abdomen as the man spreads his fingers along Minho’s lower back to cover more area. 

He feels Jisung’s head lift from his stomach. Fingers drum along his spine. 

“Minho-ya, look at me. Come on.” 

It takes him a moment, but when he does manage to unstick his eyes and look at Jisung he needs to close them again immediately. 

Jisung looking up at him with round doe eyes, his eyebrows scrunched. Lower lip trapped by the top row of his teeth and a bright blush staining his cheeks. Minho is sure his own flush must be brighter, but Jisung wears it better. 

“Fuck.” 

“See? You get me hyung.” 

Minho has to look down again when he feels lips moving across his stomach. Watching Jisung’s mouth trace the line of his scar is like a religious experience. Profound and devastating. 

Jisung’s lips continue to whisper along his stomach, moving upwards eventually to press kisses along his chest. Deft fingers scratch lightly at his sides, moving downwards until they can run along the top of the sweatpants he wears. Jisung’s face tilts up then, a question written in his eyes. 

Minho nods, not trusting his voice or his heart at that particular moment. He raises his hips when encouraged by the hands gripping them. Jisung hums appreciatively and Minho feels flush heat up again. The soft fabric moving across his skin, followed by warm breath, causes his body to quiver once again.  Jisung runs doting fingers through the downy hair on his thighs. Following their path by pressing gentle kisses into them. The thick muscles flex and Minho hears the moan Jisung muffles into his thigh through the thunderous sound of his own heartbeat. 

He is already hard, how could he not be under with Jisung’s thorough attention. With Jisung looking down at him like he’s having his own spiritual awakening. 

Minho runs his hands through Jisung’s hair. Needing to feel more points of connection so he didn’t vibrate clean out of his skin when Jisung leans forward to lick him from the base to the tip. To feel the other man’s tongue on him again was a revelation, how could he have forgotten how good it felt? 

Minho watched Jisung’s nimble fingers press into the muscles on his thighs, a brief moan escaping the other man, as he opens his mouth to take him inside. The visual combined with the sensation is too much to bear. Minho has to close his eyes to brace against the pleasure, his hands falling to grip at broad shoulders to ground himself. 

Hot. Wet. The vibrations of Jisung’s pleased noises. The sinuous way the other man laps at the tip, or uses his thumb to rub at the head whilst mouthing gently on his inner thigh. It was all too much. It had been too long since he’d felt anything more than his own hand, the action always followed by a cold, destabilizing, ache. A stinging across his skin, feeling so empty.

Jisung wrapped one arm around his leg, fingers curled around his calf. Kneading gently. The other arm draping around his hips. Pushing once again, palm splayed, on his lower back until he was deep in the velvet of the other man’s mouth. 

Until he felt entirely enveloped in Jisung, his arms, his mouth, his home, his heart. 

Until he was pressed on all sides by love and devotion, his own surge of emotion rising to meet it. Swelling up and spilling out, following the path of the tears slipping down his cheeks. The path of his hands slipping under the neck of Jisung's shirt, pouring his adoration across Jisung’s honey skin and into his mouth. 

He sat trembling and crying, filled to the brim. Overwhelmed by the feeling of wholeness. Feeling like golden sun was touching, warming, and revealing every inch of his skin despite the purple sky outside. 

“Jisung” he sobbed. 

“Jagi, I’m right here.” 

Jisung moved quickly, shuffling onto the couch and pulling until Minho fell into his arms. His body was still shaking all over when Jisung tightened his arms around him, pressing a hand to his head so his face was buried in the beautiful curve of Jisung's shoulder and neck. Stabilizing him. 

“I'm right here,” the younger man whispered into his hair. Turning to press a round cheek on the top of his head. 

They sat like that for an indeterminate amount of time. Jisung's arms holding him so tight, his hands moving to stroke down his spine, or fluff through his hair. Occasionally pressing kisses into his scalp, hushing him softly. He clutched gently at Jisung’s shirt as the tears eventually subsided. 

When he calmed some he relinquished his tight grip on the shirt  to rub at Jisung's knees over his pants. Jisung huffed a soft laugh that moved his cropped hair. 

“I’m ok Jagi, how are you?” 

He hummed in contentment, there were no words to describe his current emotional state. Jisung would understand anyway. 

“We need to buy a rug for the living room.” He responds, continuing to rub circles on Jisung’s knees. 

“Yeah?” 

Minho is surprised when Jisung doesn’t respond with a tease or laugh. His voice instead soft and airy, when Minho tilts his head to look he sees Jisung’s eyes gleam more than usual. The smile on his face was enamored. 

“Sungie?” He asks, raising a hand to cup a round cheek. Unable to resist running his thumb across the suppleness of it.

“S’nothing,” Jisung huffs, voice trembling only slightly, “just happy you want to buy a rug with me.” Jisung moves to wipe at the drying tear tracks on Minho’s face, his touch tender and careful. 

Minho takes another shuddering breath in response. 

“Ya! Why shouldn't I buy a rug for our home?” 

Jisung's tears fall then, just a few. It looks almost like amber or gold flowing down his face, the warm light reflecting off the teardrops as they roll down to his chin. Minho leans to kiss one before it can travel further than the swell of Jisung's cheek. 

“Tch,” he sucks his teeth, needing to veil the tenderness at the core of his words. “Don’t get too excited Jagi, it’s going to be bright orange.” 

Jisung does laugh then, throaty and deep. Minho feels like he could subsist on that sound alone. 

“You can buy whatever colour you want hyung.” 

“You’ll regret that Sung-ah.” 

“I promise I won’t Min.” 

Jisung seals the deceleration with a soft kiss, rubbing his nose along Minho’s as he pulls back again. 

Minho has to go back to hiding his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. Jisung was simply too good at seeing the emotional truth in everything he said. Minho would flatter himself to say he had the same gift in relation to Jisung. They had always spoken their own language. 

“Should we go to bed now?” Jisung asked. “You must be so tired Jagi.”

Truthfully, Minho felt completely drained. His limbs felt like lead and his mind felt dulled. He’d already felt tired stepping off the plane, the overwhelm and emotional turmoil had taken the last reserves of his energy. The thought of curling up in bed with Jisung around him, instead of a cramped and lonely army cot, was almost enough to make him cry again. 

But, he wanted to make Jisung feel good. He turned his head to look, ignoring Jisung’s inquiring eyes, and saw the tent in Jisung’s pants. It sent a small thrill down his spine to think he was the cause. He reached under the waist of Jisung’s trousers, but the other man caught his wrist with ease. 

Jisung raised his captured hand, pressing kisses into the knuckles. 

“No Minho, I don’t need it tonight. This is enough, you’re exhausted, let's go to bed.”

“Jisung-ah I-”

“No Jagi.”

Jisung shook his head softly, releasing his wrist in order to cradle Minho’s face. Minho felt thumbs rub across his cheeks, knowing his eyes must still be red from crying. Before the embarrassment could take hold, Jisung pressed a distracting kiss onto his lips. 

“I mean it, let’s go to bed. I want to go to sleep and wake up next to you for real.” 

“But-”

“Come on,” Jisung spoke untangling their bodies slowly, “we’re both tired hyung. We’ve got time now Min, we don’t have to rush. We’ve got all the tomorrows.” 

Jisung’s smirk suggests to Minho that he’s quite proud of that last line. 

“Did you write a song Sungie?” He teases, accepting Jisung’s help to stand, his body sluggish and uncooperative.

“Mmmhmm, another one about you. I’ll play for you sometime.” 

He leans heavily on Jisung, still feeling a little overwhelmed and jittery. The contact of Jisung’s arm on his still bare skin is soothing. They make it to the bedroom woodenly, his legs uncoordinated and stilted. He feels like a fool, but Jisung is patient and undemanding. Carefully seating him on the bed before he leaves again to turn off lamps and blow out candles. 

By the time Jisung gets back into the room he’s reclined on his side of the bed, covers drawn across his naked skin waiting impatiently. His head feeling compressed slightly from the crying, his bones laden with the after-effects of so much emotion and sensation after a long period of drought. 

“Hurry up Sungie.” He whines, just for the pleasure of being annoying. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Jisung’s response comes out in awkward puffs, as he hops around pulling his pants off. Almost tripping at one point and making Minho cackle. 

When he does get into the bed Minho has to whine again, tugging weakly at Jisung’s shirt, until he takes it off and throws it across the room. 

“Some things never change.”

“Hush.”

Jisung drags him into his arms, the feeling of their skin touching everywhere is a balm to his soul. Cradled in Jisung’s arms he feels grounded, no room for the fear and anxiety to slip in when Jisung has such a tight hold on him. It was the best reassurance he could have. Jisungs breath his breath, their bodies syncing. 

“Good night Jagi.”

“G’night Jagi.”

₊˚⊹♡