Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The car parked in front of Jisung’s favorite cafe was concerning. Jisung was far from an expert on cars – he didn’t have a license let alone a car – yet even with Jisung’s extremely limited knowledge, the word Porshe stamped on the back and the lack of a second row of seats clued him in that the car was concerningly expensive. It was an old model too, by the look of it, but in perfect condition, as if it had just come off the factory line. Jisung knew nothing about cars but that didn’t stop the urge building in his belly to go outside and run his fingers over the red paint.

The door of the Porsche swung open, and a person clad in all black stepped out. Due to the leveling of the street, the person’s combat boots were eye level with the window next to Jisung’s table. The worn leather almost soft in appearance against the cracked cement sidewalk. Jisung let his eyes drift up, surprised to see a person about his age instead of a middle-aged-edging-on-elderly man, like the kind who usually drove expensive vehicles.

The person’s combat boots thudded down the sloped sidewalk until they reached the door of the café, pushing it open gently, eyes taking in the space. Jisung couldn’t help but blink at the man, black hair shining under the yellow lights, broad shoulders, and dark jeans. He brushed the few raindrops which had landed on his leather jacket off and stepped up, inspecting the pastries on display.

“Your car is really pretty,” Jisung said, startling himself and the man standing a few feet away.

The man turned to him, Jisung shrinking under his gaze, between every blink shifting his eyes from the man’s face to somewhere on the wall behind him. In the glimpses he caught, his brain pieced together the image of an objectively attractive man. Sharp nose, cat-like eyes, soft skin. Two piercings on his lower lip, another in his nose, another in his eyebrow. Jisung wanted to reach up and run his fingers over his own eyebrow piercing hidden behind his glasses and bangs, struck that they had something in common.

He tipped his head at Jisung, eyes piercing, “You like my car?”

His voice was surprisingly soft, barely audible behind the radio playing through the café’s speakers, quieter than Jisung’s voice. Jisung wasn’t sure if he was expecting the voice to be rough, to be rude, but he felt himself relax at the gentle tone. It was unlike Jisung to talk to strangers unless absolutely necessary. He had no idea what came over him. It wasn’t that he actually wanted to have a conversation with the strange man. The comment had simply left his mouth before his self-control kicked in to stop it.

“It’s a nice car,” Jisung responded, shifting his eyes to the sweating plastic cup housing the iced americano he’d been nursing for the last fifteen minutes.

“It’s a 1979 Porsche 928,”

“Mmh, okay,” Jisung felt the heat rising to his cheeks. “I don’t know what that means.”

 “It means it’s nice.”

“I could tell that much,”

He laughed, the sound tinkling through the air, and stepped closer to Jisung, looking down at the small plate of flood on the table, still essentially untouched. Beneath his leather jacket was a white t-shirt with a brand name Jisung didn’t recognize. A silver chain hung around his neck, a cat pedant at the center. Jisung wondered why the man was even humoring a conversation with him. He was well aware how terrible a conversationalist he was, especially with people he wasn’t comfortable around. His awkward quips about the man’s car were not worth the attention he was receiving.

“What are you eating?”

Wiggling in his seat, Jisung let his eyes flick up the man’s face trying to gauge his intention, “A piroshki.”

The man blinked rapidly, taking a second to process Jisung’s answer before he smiled, “I could tell that much. It’s what they serve here. I meant what kind of piroshki are you eating?”

“Breakfast scramble,”

“Is it good?”

“It’s the one I always get.”

Minho nodded as if Jisung had given him helpful advice, “I’ll have to try it then, since you enjoy it so much.”

It might have been flirting that was happening. Jisung wasn’t sure but the tingle under his skin and puddle of adrenaline in his chest told him that he might be flirting. Or might be being flirted with. Jisung couldn’t tell the difference. He’d started it, hadn’t he, by complimenting the car? The opening to flirtation had been established. Jisung wasn’t sure about… men. Or flirting. Or anything that would put him in a position where he was expected to give something he wasn’t ready for.

He was wearing loose fit jeans and a hoodie with a zip-up thrown over the top. His hair was short, fringe long enough to brush the top of his glasses, and a sandy color he’d dyed it a few weeks ago in Felix’s bathroom. The noise-cancelling headphones he took everywhere were clamped over his ears. That didn’t mean the man understood who he was flirting with. There was a difference – being flirted with as a guy versus as a girl. He didn’t know how to tell the difference, not with his inexperience as presenting masculine to others, and especially not sat in a café with a man who had a car worth almost a year of his salary.

Jisung hummed, scratching his fingernails against his cup, “I don’t know if it is any good. It’s comforting. I like it.”

“Do you come here a lot then?”

“On Sundays at eight-thirty. That’s what time they open.”

“It’s a Saturday at ten am,” The man rose his eyebrows, humor in his voice.

“Okay, yes, but I am meeting a friend. I’ll still come tomorrow. That’s the time when I come here. It’s not busy and all the piroshkis are fresh. It’s quiet and I can work.”

“That sounds nice,” The man glanced at the phone in his hand. “I hope I’m not bothering you. If you are meeting a friend that is?”

There was a strange man standing at his table asking if he was meeting his friend. Did the man think he was lying, coming up with some excuse to leave the conversation? Jisung’s eyes drifted toward the door of the café. Felix was ten minutes late which wasn’t unsurprising. His tardiness rarely bothered Jisung anymore, having known each other for their entire lives he was used it. It made him nervous though, the possibility that he might seem like a liar, and even more so that the man may not have been as kind as he presented himself to be.

“I am meeting a friend. He’s late. You aren’t bothering me though. You are okay.”

“I’m okay?”

Jisung nodded. Fuck, he might be flirting. It was his normal reaction to dip out of conversations with strangers as fast as possible without being impolite. Strangely, the burning need to get away was absent. Even muttering poorly constructed sentences, the conversation wasn’t draining. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was not one of panic, simply one of uncertainty. He wasn’t the type of person others found worth speaking to.

“That’s a compliment, right?”

“Yes,” Jisung said, voice small.

The last thing he wanted to do was accidently offend the man. The conversation had consisted of only a few sentences from either of them, yet already there was a need for clarification. There was no malice in any of Jisung’s words. The intention didn’t matter though. The words choice had been wrong. Or the tone not what the man was expecting. His interaction with Jisung was not prefaced by the knowledge that Jisung was known to accidently offend, to be blunt, to say things in a tone which made people uncomfortable. The café was a familiar space. He’d been unprepared to switch into his public-appearance persona.

The man glanced down at his phone again, “I wish I could stay, but my coworker is harassing me about what is taking so long to get the food. I hope you have a good time with your friend.”

Jisung ducked his head down as the man stepped up to the counter and told the worker his order. The piroshki he’d purchased was getting cold on the small clay plate, the cool winter air sucking away the calming warmth before he’d had the chance to fully enjoy it. The perfect car outside the window, combat boots shifting against the tiled floor, the scent of freshly baked bread. Jisung had been so close to having a friendly conversation, maybe even a flirty conversation, but he’d ruined it before it had the chance to evolve. Not a number exchanged, not even a name.

It was better, in the long run. Jisung knew that. He wasn’t the kind of person who exchanged numbers with people he met on the street. He wasn’t the kind of person who flirted. Never in his life had he been in a relationship. His personality was not suited for long-term friends or long-term partners. Felix being Felix was the exception, but that didn’t make up for the years of emptiness. There was no point kidding himself that someone new could walk into his life and want to stay.

It was okay. Realistically, it wasn’t a good time in his life to start exploring the idea of relationships. He was finally getting to a place where he felt stable, not steps away from the edge of a breakdown. Everything was so close. Everything was still so far away. The life he’d always wanted was brushing against his fingertips, just out of reach. All he had to do was reach a little further.

“I got the breakfast scramble, so I know I am going to enjoy my breakfast,” The man approached Jisung again, a paper bag in his hand. “I got one for my coworker too, so he better like it.”

A stuttered laugh escaped Jisung’s throat, not expecting the man to pay him any more attention. Fuck, Jisung wished it was easier. He wished he could reach out and grab the man’s hand, ask for a name, provide a proper one of his own. He wished he could smile and mean it. But instead, the man gave him a goodbye and made his way back toward his car. The piroshki on Jisung’s plate was nearly cold, beads of condensation were rolling down the sides of his americano.

There was nothing wrong with being alone. His grade school years, his teenage years, his colleges years, spent with no one except Felix for company. Wandering through his days, hands empty, returning to an empty bedroom, posters lining his walls. The music in his headphones closer to him than any person. Hours spent staring at his laptop, words flowing from his brain onto pages only stranger’s eyes would see. His loneliness was something he’d accepted, part way through college, when he realized there wasn’t anything he could do to change the way his brain was wired. Other people didn’t like him. Trying to change himself to fit with what the world demanded did nothing accept crush his soul. People still didn’t like him.

It wasn’t horrible, to be flirted with, the reminder that even in his jeans and a sweatshirt, someone thought he was desirable enough to sacrifice a few minutes to speak to him. Jisung was finally beginning to recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. Maybe everyone else was starting to recognize him too. No longer a ghost floating through rainy streets and empty halls of university buildings. A whole person. Taking up space. Breathing in the atmosphere and breathing out something other than smog.

The door chimed as it was pushed pen, a gust of cold air blowing in making Jisung shiver. Felix smiled at him, rushing over to the table and dumping his tote bag on top, apologies spilling from his lips. His hair was disheveled, clearly having woken up late as his eyes were still puffy from sleep. Jisung couldn’t help but smile. Felix was incapable of causing harm or annoyance purposefully. He carried himself through life with only good will in his heart. It was the reason he was the only person who stayed long-term in Jisung’s life.

“Let me order, let me order, and then we can celebrate,” Felix bounced his way to the counter, immediately chatting with the person taking his order, pointing a few of the different piroshkis and baked goods asking questions.

Jisung’s phone vibrated with an incoming email. He looked down and saw it was from Archive of Our Own. A bit of shame and embarrassment swelled in his chest as he swiped it away. One of the few secrets he kept from Felix was the writing he posed on the site. Felix knew he liked to write, but Jisung had always told him the stories were private and were never shared with anyone. It wasn’t completely true. He shared them with thousands of people, just not with anyone he knew. It was a safe space. Something his and only his. The last thing he wanted was for his safe space to become a joke to others in his life.

Felix returned, setting a plate with a slice of honey cake on it in front of Jisung. Jisung rolled his eyes but smiled again, accepting the cake with the goodwill Felix endowed it with. Felix had ordered himself a piroshki and a purple cookie Jisung thought was ube flavored but wasn’t sure as he hadn’t tried it himself. Only occasionally, when Jisung was in an adventurous mood, did he order anything other than the breakfast scramble piroshki or the honey cake. They were safe and nice in his mouth, always exactly what he was expecting.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Jisung said.

“Of course I did,” Felix responded, pulling a card out of his tote bag, and handing it to Jisung. “You deserve to celebrate! You worked hard for this.”

Jisung took the card in his hands, his finger slipping under the flap of the envelope, ripping it open as carefully as he could, “You say that like I didn’t make it more difficult on myself.”

“You didn’t Sungie,” Felix softened. “Coming out is hard, especially living with people you know won’t accept you. There is nothing wrong with going at your own pace. I know you always compared yourself to my journey, but we started at different places and in different circumstances.”

“Shouldn’t it have been easier though?”

“Nothing about this is easy. I am so proud of you. So, eat the cake. You deserve it! Then you can go home and give yourself your first ever shot of T.”

Jisung wanted to roll his eyes and pretend Felix was being overly cheesy, overly kind, but there was no way Jisung would have made it to the place he was without Felix. It may have been silly to celebrate picking up a medication from the pharmacy with a piece of cake, but it was years in the making. Years of lying in bed and imaging the vials of liquids and needles, imaging his vocal cords thickening and losing the fat around his hips. A future where he was standing in his bathroom shaving his face, steam on the mirror, as warm air surrounding him, beads of water on his bare shoulders.

Felix had been there when he’d cut his hair short for the first time, when he tried on a binder for the first time. Felix had been the first person to use the correct pronouns, the person who had helped Jisung pick out a name that fit him better. Felix had never faltered. He’d led Jisung through his slow transition, soft and sweet, never once commenting on the fact Jisung was years behind Felix who had started socially transitioning in high school and medically transitioning their first year of university.

Jisung sunk his fork into the cake and took a bite, signaling Felix to do the same. Felix followed suit, stealing a sip of Jisung’s coffee while he was at it. Everything was lighter again. The food he’d let go cold no longer threatening, the failed conversation he’d had no longer weighing on his mind. He couldn’t help but wiggle in his seat, the excitement of the day settling in. He’d done it. He’d made doctor’s appointments, done bloodwork, and gotten a prescription for HRT. He’d argued with his insurance company until they’d covered the prescription. He’d walked to the pharmacy and picked it up, getting the syringes, needles, and sharps container to go along.

“Changbin is coming to hang out after this,” Felix said, his boyfriend of a couple months always present in his mind. “You can come over to if you want. We’re having a lazy day. Snacks and movies.”

Jisung shook his head, “Mmh not today. I don’t have enough in me for more socialization.”

“The pharmacy tired you out?”

“Yes, and I talked to someone here earlier. I think I was flirting.”

Felix’s eye lit up, “You flirted with someone?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Jisung shrugged. “I said I liked his car. I think I accidently offended him though since he kind of rushed to leave after I told him he was okay.”

“Okay… at what?”

“Just okay, to be having a conversation with or something.”

“Oh, I could see how that could be misconstrued I guess, though it wouldn’t offend me enough to rush out of a conversation if someone told me I was okay.”

“I’m not good at talking, you know that.”

“Sungie you are fine at talking,” Felix told him for the countless time. “If some people don’t like the way you communicate that is their problem, not yours.”

Jisung hummed, rubbing his fingers over his earrings trying to distract himself from the conversation. Felix was kind, overly kind, and put up with Jisung’s oddities when no one else would. Felix was almost impossible to offend, a fact that kept their relationship alive, as he always assumed no one was ever trying to be offensive. Jisung had spent the majority of his life being told that he came off as rude and blunt, that he wasn’t kind enough, that his tone of voice made him unappealing to speak to. Felix was the only person who never commented on the way he spoke or asked him to change to fit the expected standards of communication.

“So, what did he look like?” Felix asked, steering the conversation back toward Jisung’s flirting experience.

“He was pretty, and he had lip piercings. His car was really nice too. It was a Porsche, but I don’t remember the model he said it was. He was wearing combat boots.”

“It makes sense why you flirted with him then. You love men with piercings,”

Jisung flushed, “No I don’t.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I like men with muscles and girls with short hair. There is nothing wrong with having a type.”

“I don’t even know what I like,”

“That’s okay too,”

Jisung was distracted by someone else walking into the café, a dog wearing a service vest following them as they approached the counter. The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle and Jisung hoped it wouldn’t change before he had to walk back to his apartment. It was only a couple of blocks, but he hadn’t brought a rain jacket with him when he’d left that morning.

“Speaking of talking to new people,” Felix began carefully. “I’m having Changbin’s friends over to my apartment next weekend and was hoping you would come. You don’t have to stay very long if you don’t want, but you’ve only met Changbin twice, and we are getting pretty serious. I talk about you all the time, and he wants to get to know you too.”

Jisung blinked rapidly, a whine building in his throat. Felix wasn’t one to pressure him into social situations, or even ask him to attend most of the time. He would offer, just in case Jisung was feeling up to it, but was never hurt when Jisung bailed last minute, too overwhelmed to leave his apartment and interact with others. Changbin was important to him though. They’d been introduced but had only spent a few minutes around each other, long enough for Jisung to give his approval, but no longer. Felix had mentioned a couple of time Jisung meeting Changbin’s friends since Felix was becoming close to them himself but hadn’t actually set up a hangout yet. Jisung wanted to meet them, but he didn’t want to make a bad impression with people Felix cared about.

“I’m not good at… most people don’t like me when they first meet me. You know that. I don’t want to mess things up for you,” Jisung said, trying to explain his hesitance.

“I wouldn’t introduce you to people who I thought wouldn’t like you,”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. I’m not easy to get along with,”

“Changbin’s best friend Chan is also autistic if that is what you’re worried about. They understand. They’re not going to dislike you because you’re neurodivergent.”

Jisung pushed a bit of piroshki past his lips, using the break to chew as a chance to come up with his response. He trusted Felix’s judgement, but it didn’t erase the uncertainty that came along with new social groups. It was easy for others to misconstrue his silence and awkward body language as a sign he was uninterested in being friendly. Felix’s apartment was at least familiar, not nearly as overwhelming as a restaurant or bar. He could easily hide in the bathroom or Felix’s bedroom if he was overstimulated or too exhausted to continue.

“If you think it will be okay, then I can come over and meet everyone. I may not stay very long.”

“That’s okay. Everyone wants to meet you. They’ll love you. I know it.”

“They know about me?”

Felix held his hand to his chest, fake offended, “Of course they do. I talk about you all the time. You’re my best friend. You think I wouldn’t talk about you? And you are so successful. I can brag about you like a proud parent.”

“I’m not successful,” Jisung shoving more food into his mouth, refusing to look up at Felix.

“Yes, you are. I don’t care what you think. I am proud of you and will show you off to everyone I meet.”

Jisung shrugged.

“Okay,” Felix clapped. “Back to the original topic. Where are you going to give yourself your shot? In the thigh or in your belly?”

“I was thinking my thigh. That is the most common place, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I prefer to do my in my thighs, that also seem to be the consensus online, but I know some people prefer their stomach.”

“I’ll do my thigh this time and then next week I can try my stomach and see which one I like better.”

“I’m excited. I wonder if your voice will get as deep as mine,”

Jisung laughed, “No one’s voice is ever going to get as deep as yours. It’s like T unlocked a demon living in your soul.”

“The best demon ever!”

Jisung couldn’t help but giggle, glancing at the backpack he had tucked by his legs and thinking about all the changes the vials inside would bring. He’d worked for them. He’d earned them. Finally, finally, he was going to be able to move along with his transition instead of hiding in fear, sneaking away to pride parades with Felix, a trans flag stuffed in his bag as he rushed out the door past his family members. Years of fear and self-hate, he was taking his first steps toward something kinder, toward a life where he didn’t despise every breath he took.

“Just wait until your voice starts cracking and you won’t be making fun of me anymore,” Felix stole another forkful of Jisung’s cake.

“Love of my life, I would never make fun of you,”

A kick connected with Jisung’s shin, making him cry out dramatically, a stranger across the café looking up and giving him a soft glare. Jisung deflated into the table, his mouth finding the straw of his drink. He crushed it between his teeth as he took a few swallows, the plastic sharp against his tongue. The coffee was bitter along the back of his tongue but softened the sweetness of the honey cake making the perfect combination. Even the rain pattering against the window lifted his spirits. The day was perfect, even wet and dark, even having scared off a stranger.

It would be alright. He would be alright. A day at a time. A step forward, something brighter waiting for him on the horizon. His choices were his own. No more hiding, no more pretending. He could finally be himself.

~ rows and floes of angel hair ~

Chapter 3 : even if i try to pretend nothing is wrong

“Can you stop? Can you stop!” Jeongin yelled, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Seungmin’s wrist, forcing him to a stop.

“What do you want?”

“For you to stop. I just want to talk to you.”

“I can’t,” Seungmin burst out in the closest thing to a shout Jeongin had ever heard leave his mouth. “I can’t talk about this right now. Please. Please let me go. I can’t do this. It’s too much. Let me go.”

Jeongin let out a breath doing his best to calm the anger and panic in his belly, “Okay. Okay fine, we don’t have to talk, but I am not leaving you alone.”

Seungmin tried to yank his hand out of Jeongin’s grip, but his tightened further, threatening to leave bruises along his wrist bones. Seungmin clenched his jaw before letting the house of cards he’d built in his chest collapse. He curled forward trying to hide the tears building in his eyes and Jeongin’s arms wrapped around him in a hug, nose brushing along Seungmin’s neck. Razors lined his throat as he swallowed back a sob, the pain tearing through him.

“Please, Min, it’s alright. Let me help you,”

“I don’t want your fucking help. There is nothing you can do.”

“We can figure something out. I promise. It’s alright, I promise.”

“It’s not alright. It’s not. I ruined everything.”

Jeongin’s firm hand on his back, fingers against the notches of his ribs, “You didn’t ruin everything.”

Shaky breaths as Seungmin tried to keep himself from spiraling too far, from letting his thoughts warp themselves past what he was capable of handling. Sixteen. Eight times two. Four times four. Eight. Two times four. Four. Two times two. His hands were clenched at his sides, fingernails biting into his palms through old callouses. He just needed to think, then he could figure something out. He could fix it. Everything would be okay again. Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen.

“I know it feels big, but I promise you didn’t ruin everything. You trust me, don’t you?”

“I know. I know,” Seungmin’s breath was only quickening. “I know it’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s okay to be upset.”

“I shouldn’t—” Seungmin pushed himself away from Jeongin, dropping into a squat and gripping his hair with his hands. “Why am I like this? I don’t understand why I am like this.”

Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen. He’d worked so hard for so long and he’d ruined it. It didn’t matter what he did, he would never be good enough. Hours and hours and hours of spent hunched over his tablet, over textbooks, pages scattered across his desk, and it still wasn’t enough. Even with tutoring, even with office hours, even with all the help he could get. It still wasn’t enough. Sixteen. Eight times two. Four times four. Eight. Two times four. Four. Two times two.

“It’s okay. We can figure everything else out tomorrow. Just breathe. I promise it will be okay, even if it isn’t the way you originally planned.”

Seungmin looked up, vision blurred with tears, but Jeongin’s worried face was unmistakable. It was the safest thing in the entire world. It didn’t matter what Seungmin did, what he said, how horrible he acted. Jeongin was always there, hand against his back, telling him it would be okay. He was always the one picking up Seungmin’s broken pieces and trying to put him back together, even as Seungmin lay lifeless. Jeongin was the kindest person he had ever known and the only reason Seungmin had made it as far as he had.

He didn’t want to fail. For his sake. For his parent’s sake. For Jeongin’s sake. He needed to prove that he was capable. An adult, taking care of himself, and getting through the classes required for his career path. It should have been simple. Everyone around him was capable. Why wasn’t he?

“Why don’t we go home? You can be in your own space. I can make you something to eat. How does that sound?” Jeongin asked in a soft voice.

Seungmin was violently reminded that he was still in the university science building, locked in a study room. He’d ended up there after class, the world a blur of panic and numbers, until he’d thrown his backpack to the ground and called Jeongin asking him to come. Jeongin had been coming out of his last class of the day and had rushed to Seungmin, uncaring of the looks from his classmates as they exited, chatting with one another. They were of little consequence to him, not when Seungmin was somewhere else in the building doing his best to hold himself together.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair. I tried so hard,” Seungmin coughed out.

“I know you did. You tried so hard. You did the best you could.”

“I still failed. I failed. It doesn’t matter… I can’t do it. No matter how much I want to, I can’t do it. All of this is worth nothing. It’s been a waste of time. I should have given up after my first semester like my parents wanted.”

“No, no,” Jeongin knelt in front of him placing his large hand over Seungmin’s smaller one, trying to get the other boy to stop pulling at the roots of his hair. “It’s not a waste. We can figure it out. You don’t need to give up.”

“Why do you spend so much time pretending I am better then I actually am?” Seungmin bit out voice edging toward anger again.

“It’s how I see you, even if it is not how you see yourself. Seungmin, let’s go home. Getting away from here will make you feel better. We can stop and get a drink on the way home.”

Seungmin sniffled, staying silent while trying to even out his breathing pattern, “I don’t deserve a drink.”

“I’ll get it for you because I think you deserve some comfort. You tried so hard.”

Seungmin shook his head but let Jeongin slowly pull him up to his feet, knees almost collapsing beneath him. Jeongin grabbed Seungmin’s backpack from the ground and slung it over his shoulder next to his own backpack before grabbing Seungmin’s hand. Skin clammy from wiping away tears, Seungmin let himself be led form the room, his chin tucked against his chest. The last thing he needed was for one of his classmates to see him, eyes red rimmed and nose running, while being led around like an injured puppy.

Jeongin, his oldest friend, the best person in his life, was the only one who got to witness him split open spilling rot into the world. There was no one else he trusted not to use his damage against him, not to blame him. Born with a broken brain, Jeongin was the only person who understood. Seungmin barely spoke to anyone else, having a few classmates he exchanged classwork related questions with, but nothing else. Everywhere he went it was obvious he was alone, existing in a universe for him and no one else. Not a spare glance, not a second of attempted understanding. He was the squished worm on the pavement everyone walked past, squirming and bleeding, life slipping away while no one paid any mind. Except for Jeongin.

They were in the elevator, alone, allowing Jeongin to slip his arm over Seungmin’s shoulder, scent of his shampoo thick and comforting. Floors counting down – six, five, four, three, two, one. The noise of the science-building café pushing against them like a gust of wind, long line of students waiting for their drinks as a large set of classes had let out fifteen minutes ago. Jeongin again leading him by the hand toward the doors, pushing them open. Raindrops splattered against their sweatshirts, wet pavement against their shoes. The umbrella Seungmin carried with him everywhere was tucked in the pocket of his backpack, but he had no energy to pull it out.

His hand was crushed by Jeongin’s as they hurried across the campus. Vision blurry again, from rain or tears, he didn’t know. The papers hidden in his backpack a reminder of everything he was losing, everything he had already lost. Somehow, he’d convinced himself he would be able to do it: get through college and start an adult life. Somehow, he convinced himself when no one besides Jeongin thought him capable. There was no future for him. There was nowhere he could turn to that would lead to anything but dragging disappear.

He'd spent most of his teenage years sure he’d be dead by twenty-five if he wasn’t dead by twenty. He was okay with it, passing his classes and working a part time job. It was easy, safe. There would be no unfillable absence by his loss. But Jeongin had gripped him by the shoulders and drug him away from his fantasies of an approaching end, helping him fill out applications to different colleges, encouraging him to follow the dreams he’d had in middle school but had tucked away when he’d realized he wasn’t the person he wanted to be. Even as his parents expressed concern and doubt, telling him it was okay to take the easier path, that they didn’t want him to fail, Jeongin pushed him forward. It had been so nice, so good. Impossibly difficult, but still good.

It didn’t matter. In the end, he was still a failure. He was still broken beyond repair.

He was still the kid crying over a failed organic chemistry exam – crying over a class impossible for him to pass no matter how well he did on the final. In the end, he’d proven everyone right. He wasn’t smart enough. He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t a whole enough person.

“Come on,” Jeongin led him into the boba shop two blocks from their apartment. “I’ll get you your favorite.”

He knew they were standing in line, knew Jeongin was ordering for them, knew words were being exchanged with the person behind the counter, but Seungmin couldn’t process the sounds, everything blurring to static. A cold, peach colored drink was in his free hand and then they were on the street again. His sweatshirt was stuck to his skin with moisture, presumably Jeongin’s was too. He was dragging them down, down, down, away from everything good, from the hopeful air of the university and smiles of Jeongin’s friends.

The rain cut off as Jeongin unlocked the front door of their apartment building with his key fob, leading them into another elevator. Then they were home, Jeongin slipping his own shoes off before dropping their bags on the ground and leaning down to untie Seungmin’s shoes. He was frozen, stuck behind his eyes, looking out at the foggy world knowing everything he’d worked for was lost.

“It’s okay. Lay down. I’ll get you dry clothes,” Jeongin pushed Seungmin gently onto his bed, Seungmin immediately surrendering to the soft blanket.

“I failed,” Seungmin said, unsure if he was talking to himself of Jeongin. “I failed.”

“You can try again next semester,”

“What’s the point? I failed. I can’t do it. I tried so hard, but I wasn’t even close.”

Jeongin, squatting next to Seungmin’s bed, sweatpants and a sweatshirt in his hands, “Lots of people fail organic chemistry the first time. You can take the class again next semester. This doesn’t mean you failed your degree or failed out of school. It’s one class. I know it feels like the end of the world, but it isn’t.”

“My parents are going to want me to drop out,”

“I don’t care what your parents want. You want this degree. It’s your future. Not theirs.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s what I want. If I can’t do it, I can’t do it.”

Jeongin’s hand in his wet hair, “Don’t give up, okay? I’ll be right here the entire time. We can do it together. Even if it feels impossible.”

Seungmin couldn’t keep the tears from building. Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen. Jeongin always made it sound so easy. No matter what, he was always hopeful, always pulling Seungmin back from the edge. He was sure Jeongin would be there holding his hand if it took him six, seven, eight years to graduate. Jeongin would smile, that soft look in his eye, and tell Seungmin he was proud of him.

“I thought it would be better,”

“I know. I know you did. I’m right here. I’ll take care of you. Cry, yell, sleep. I don’t care. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

Seungmin knew he was in love, had known it for years, but didn’t know how to tell the boy in front of him that he was the best thing that had ever happened. He was the thing that made Seungmin wake up every morning. The world was harsh, grating against his soul, and pulling him apart at the seams. Jeongin was his respite. His island in the middle of the storming ocean. Love. Love. Love. Love.

~ and ice cream castles in the air ~

The café was the same it always was on Sunday mornings. He was the second person to walk through the door, making it there four minutes after opening. The man who worked behind the counter almost every morning greeted him, asking if he wanted the same as usual. Jisung ducked his head down and repeated that he did, but he wanted his coffee warm that morning as the cold had sunk into his skin on the short walk over. Fog was pressing against the café windows blurring the buildings across the street.

Vague morning light seemed to emanate from nowhere, the sun having been tucked behind a layer of clouds for the past week. Jisung didn’t mind the darkness. It made the world easier on his eyes. No harsh lighting burning into his retinas, steel nails digging into his eye sockets. It was embarrassing, even in the dim winter lighting of Seattle, wearing his sunglasses. The people at the café were familiar enough with his appearance not to be disturbed by his tendency to wear sunglasses inside, though he got odd looks from other patrons. He was too tired, too in need of peace, to care what strangers thought of him.

Jisung moved his fingers over his laptop keyboard, not yet ready to type as the words formed in his mind. The jumble of half-thoughts and feelings he wanted to portray sorted themselves into sentences, one after another, flowing through him like water. Then his fingers were on the keys typing away, trying to keep up with the speed of his thoughts. They tripped over one another riddling his work with spelling errors, but he didn’t care. They could be fixed later. He needed to get the words down while they were still within his grasp.

One paragraph and then another. His fingers slowed down as he reached dialogue, his mind taking a few extra seconds to work out how humans spoke to each other. He knew dialogue was not his strongest skill as a writer, but he wanted to make it as realistic as possible, even if it was difficult. He wanted to be proud of his writing. He wanted others to read it and be able to see themselves in the words.

The words in his mind dribbled to a stop, the cursor blinking, stuck halfway through a sentence. He’d gotten half a page done, but now his body was crying out for another bite of piroshki. He picked up his fork, shaking his hands in excitement at the knowledge he was about to taste one of his favorite foods. The warm bread and eggs, the temperature and texture against his tongue familiar and comfortable. Safe and good, even when the rest of the world wasn’t. His favorite café and writing, the perfect way to start his day.

Turning his attention back to his computer, one of his favorite songs from his favorite band GLOW started in his headphones. He’d used lyrics from it as chapter titles. The sweet, loving sound filled him with energy, wanting to imbue his words with the same feeling of safety which spread through his body. The buzz of passion filled his cells, so sudden and extreme the tips of his fingers began to tingle. Adrenaline, good adrenaline, was leaking into his belly.

Wiggling against the soft seat, he let his fingers rush over the keys, the sentences stuttering and twisting, the words in his mind rushing by too quickly for him to properly grasp them. His pinky hitting the backspace and his ring finger hitting the arrow buttons, replacing and adding words as they came to him out of order. Chaotic, but he knew in the end it would be readable. Passionate to an extent which was likely palpable – his unending need to get the things in his brain down on paper.

One paragraph and then another. Lines of dialogue interrupted by lines of indecision by the characters, pain etched on their expressions. It hurt. It always hurt. Nothing made Jisung feel better. It was a world he could lose himself in. Comfort himself in ways impossible otherwise. A page finished; a couple hundred words added to the marker in the left-hand corner. The pressing thoughts cemented into the reality of white words on a black screen.

He lulled to a stop again, turning his attention to his coffee which was now cool enough to drink without scalding his lips. It was bitter and lovely in his mouth. It was easy to forget how much comfort food could bring when he enjoyed it, when it was exactly what he wanted. He struggled with food enough he often thought of it as a necessary evil, but sometimes he was reminded that it could be a reward for being alive, something to look forward to.

Jisung startled as a hand waved in front of his face, immediately reaching up to pause the song playing through his headphones. The noise-cancelling was still on, but he could hear voices well-enough through the noise-cancelling, and it blocked out the overwhelming background noise of the café and street. He looked up through his sunglasses and saw the same man as the day before smiling down at him. The white shirt and leather jacket was replaced by a green sweater which made him look decidedly softer than the day before.

Blinking rapidly, Jisung tried to make sense of the situation. The stranger he hadn’t even got a name out of was again standing in front of him looking at Jisung like the sight of him was something which caused happiness. There was something sweet about seeing the man again. Even with the piercings and sculpted features, his eyes were incredibly soft. There was also something unnerving about seeing the man again. Was it a coincidence or had this man sought him out? Was he expecting to get something from Jisung he didn’t want to give?

“Sorry, I didn’t want to startle you, so I waited until you stopped typing, but I think I startled you anyway,” The man said, shifting on his feet as if he were uncomfortable.

“That’s okay,” Jisung didn’t know how to continue, didn’t know what was expected of him from the situation.

“Yesterday you said you would be here in the morning. I don’t mean to come off creepy or stalker-ish, but I wanted to see you again. At least get your name and maybe your number?”

Jisung blinked again, eyes shifting between the man’s face and the wall behind him. Jisung didn’t know if the man could even see his eyes behind the tint of his sunglasses, but hoped he wouldn’t be bothered by the eye movements. It had been a long time since anyone asked for Jisung’s number. The last time was at a bar Felix had taken him to on a night he’d had excess energy; two drinks in and properly tipsy, a woman had approached him and asked. Jisung had stuttered out a confusing denial before Felix stepped in a rescued him, explaining that Jisung wasn’t in the place for a relationship. Never in his life had Jisung given his number to a stranger.

“Sorry, I guess I’m not sure if you even like guys, but you seemed to enjoy our conversation yesterday so I kind of assumed.”

“No, I like guys,”

“Oh, good,” The smiled again, relief in his features. “Can I sit with you?”

Jisung noticed the plate in the man’s hand, a piroshki sitting on top, steam rising from the bread. Jisung nodded, closing his laptop and pulling it closer to himself making sure the man had enough space on the small table. He set his food down and pulled out the chair across from Jisung, settling in, smiling all the while. Whatever Jisung was doing, whether it was flirting or simply encouraging the man to continue his nervous words, he was doing it well.

“I don’t know your name,” Jisung blurted out, fiddling with his fingers.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Minho,” Voice soft and sweet.

“I’m Jisung,”

“That’s a nice name. It suits you,”

Jisung could feel heat rising to his cheeks, frustrated at how easily flattered and embarrassed he was. He so rarely heard compliments from anyone other than Felix that it overwhelmed his system. He often forgot that others perceived him, that others looked at him and gave him any thought whatsoever. It was simpler to be a ghost floating through life, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded he was real.

“I hope I’m not bothering you. You seemed really invested in whatever you were working on before I came over,”

“Oh, no, you’re okay. I was just writing,”

“Writing? Are you an author or something?”

Jisung shook his head rapidly, “No, no, I write for fun. I don’t do anything with it. No one else reads it.”

It was a well-practiced lie. There was no way he would tell Minho the truth. He was a near strangers, and the chance he would react badly was too great for Jisung to risk. Lying still made a sick feeling grow in his belly. He hated it. Even small lies, even lies to protect himself, they rotted him from the inside out.

“As long as you enjoy it that’s all that matters,”

Jisung could feel himself fumbling again, trying to come up with words that would make sense as a response. As if sensing his uncertainty, Minho took a bite of his piroshki, the inside releasing a ball of steam as his fork broke past the bread. Jisung followed suit, taking a bite of his own. He had already eaten over half of his, taking bites slowly as he savored the flavors.

“Did you have a good time with your friend yesterday?” Minho asked.

“Mmh, yes it was nice. We talked. He bought me a slice of cake.”

“He sounds nice,”

“He is,” Another sip of his coffee, keeping the cup in his hands, giving him something to hold.

“Are you feeling okay this morning?”

Jisung curled in on himself, “I’m fine.”

The question was one which was asked occasionally. His difficulty to hold proper conversations and his inconsistent eye contact gave him an air of nervousness or panic. The exhaustion easily seen in his body language also caused many people to assume he was sick, not simply overwhelmed or worn out. The baggy sweatshirt and beany probably didn’t help.

“You’re wearing sunglasses, so I thought maybe you had a headache,”

Jisung shook his head, not surprised his sunglasses were brought up, “I have really bad light sensitivity. It makes it better if I wear sunglasses. They help.”

“Oh, that makes sense. I’m glad you are feeling okay,”

Jisung hummed, taking another sip of coffee. The response was better than he was expecting. Usually when someone asked about his sunglasses, he got one of two responses: either a joke gets made about it, something about him looking hungover or like a secret agent, or comments on how it was inappropriate or made him look ridiculous to wear sunglasses indoors. Jisung had experienced both scenarios enough often he would shrug his shoulders and keep the sunglasses on, choosing not to pay any mind to others’ opinions and prioritize his comfort, but sometimes they cut to the bone, a stark reminder he wasn’t like everyone around him.

“I like your piercings,” Jisung told him, trying to come up with a response to show his gratitude at the kind response to his oddities.

Minho’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, tongue popping out of his mouth to poke at one of the lip piercings, “Thanks. I know some people think I look intimidating, but I like them. It’s my body I should get to do what I want with it.”

“That’s what I tell my grandparents any time they get upset over my tattoos.”

“You have tattoos? Honestly, you didn’t really strike me as the tattoo type, but I guess you never know. I shouldn’t assume.”

“I’m usually wearing long sleeves, so I don’t show them off much, but yeah, I have tattoos. My left arm is a patchwork sleave. There are a few spots left, but I have plans to fill them in. I have a few on my right leg too. And one down my spine.”

His eyebrows rose, “I’m impressed. I have a few too, on my right shoulder and the top of my right arm as well as on my calf.”

“Tattoos are good. I like tattoos.”

That earned him another smile, and Jisung felt like he was winning. The effort of the conversation wasn’t stabbing overwhelm and exhaustion into his bones, and he was enjoying it. It wasn’t often that such a situation occurred, especially not with someone he was unfamiliar with. It wasn’t so bad then, that the man had chosen to come to the café in the hopes of running into Jisung again.

“We have something in common then,”

Jisung squeezed the coffee cup in his hands and took another drink giving himself a moment to consider the most productive way to continue the conversation. There was plenty. They didn’t know each other, but Jisung didn’t want the conversation to feel like a game of twenty-questions. It would be easier though to narrow down good conversation topics if he knew what Minho did with his life and what his interests were.

“Your laptop has a lot of stickers,” Minho said, rescuing Jisung from his indecision.

Jisung’s spine straightened as he jumped to attention, immediately pointing to the stickers on his laptop, the topic something he was comfortable discussing forever, “This one is a stack of petri dishes. They’re yellow so they are LB plates. I have no idea if you know what that means but it’s okay. This one is another science one. It’s a cartoon picture of a lab bench and says, ‘lab science fan club lifetime member’. The rest are mostly from my favorite band. The one in pink that says ‘Still Astray’ is from a song of theirs called Lonely Street. The headphones and hoodie design are inspired by the song Hoodie Season. This one is a silhouette of one of the members, Jeongin, with lyrics from the song Slump.”

Jisung took a breath and looked up at Minho, afraid his rambling had been too much to handle, especially since he hadn’t spoken much up until that point. Many people in his life had found him too overwhelming to be around when he got over excited. He also didn’t want to steamroll Minho if the comment had simply been to fill the silence, not because he actually had any interest in Jisung explaining the lore behind his laptop stickers.

“What is your favorite band?”

“Oh,” Jisung had forgotten Minho didn’t know. “It’s a band called GLOW. They’re my favorite, have been since I was fifteen. Me liking them is my biggest personality trait. Everyone knows that about me.”

“GLOW… I think I’ve heard of them before.”

“They’re not super popular, but you may recognize a few of their songs. The band members are Jeongin and Seungmin. They grew up in San Deigo. They’re really good. All their music is amazing.”

“I’ll have to listen to them,”

Jisung blushed, shaking his head, “It’s okay if you don’t like them. Not everyone does. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, they are just my favorite.”

“I trust your taste. The breakfast scramble piroshki you recommended yesterday was very good. My coworker liked it too.”

“I didn’t recommend it. You asked what I was having, and I told you. You didn’t get it today,” Jisung had noticed the contents of the piroshki on Minho’s plate were not that of the breakfast scramble after Minho had taken the first bite.

“Ah, no, I decided to try something different today.”

“Everything here is good, so it’s okay,”

“Have you tried all of their piroshkis?”

“No, mmh, I don’t like trying new food very often. I like getting what I already know will feel good, if that makes any sense?”

“That makes sense. I am a particularly adventurous food person myself, and the opposite of a picky eater. I love basically everything.”

“You’re braver than I am,” Jisung laughed.

Jisung’s eyes turned up to the ceiling as the song playing from the café speakers switched over to something he recognized from a movie. He couldn’t hear it very well because of his headphones, but he could hear it enough to recognize the rhythm and some of the lyrics. He wondered if Minho was enjoying the conversation or if he was simply being polite. Jisung knew he wasn’t the best to speak to and could even be difficult to have a conversation with at times, but he thought he was doing well. They’re hadn’t been any uncomfortably long silences, and Minho seemed to have no issue picking up the lull in conversation when Jisung floundered for how to respond. He didn’t seem put off by Jisung wearing sunglasses and headphones as they chatted. That was a line many people he’d met in the past could not get over. With headphones on he looked like he wasn’t paying attention, even if he was only using them for noise-cancelling. The sunglasses gave the same illusion of being disinterested, as well possible crossing social norms in a way others found unacceptable, depending on the circumstance.

It seemed easy though, with Minho, to step past everything that made Jisung a difficult person to be around. The smile hadn’t left his lips since he’d sat down, eyes watching Jisung as he spoke, glancing at his fingers dancing over the coffee cup. Painted sparkly nails drawing the attention of his eyes, still accepting and kind, uncaring of Jisung’s more feminine appearance. Jisung hoped beyond hope that Minho was not assuming he was a woman who chose to present in a more classically masculine way. Jisung didn’t want to out himself unnecessarily, especially to someone he didn’t know well enough to trust the response would be positive, but he hoped Minho thought he was nonbinary or a man. Jisung didn’t think he could handle beginning a relationship with someone who preferred him feminine, whose first impression of him was that of a woman.

Minho had asked if he was attractive to men which was a good sign Minho was a part of the queer community. In Jisung’s experience, straight people assumed everyone else was straight unless it was blatantly obvious otherwise. Jisung had a difficult time understanding how others perceived him, so he wasn’t sure what other’s presumptions about his gender would be.

It was a problem for later, when Jisung wasn’t sitting at the café with the man in question. For now, all that mattered was that Minho was kind. He was soft. He was open to hearing Jisung speak. Maybe Jisung was setting the bar far too low, but happy chemicals were brewing in his brain telling him there was a possibility of something good between them.

“So,” Minho cleared his throat, the nervous look in his eye back. “Can I get your number?”

Jisung nodded and held his hand out for Minho’s phone.

~ and feather canyons everywhere ~

i.n-ur-mom on Chapter 3

I loved this chapter so much!! Thank you for the update!

jazzartz on Chapter 3

i luv you 🎔

WeAreHallucinations on Chapter 3

I am obsessed with your writing. The way you put Seungmin’s emotions into words is perfect. Every chapter I am more and more impressed. I can’t wait to see where it goes from here.

830015 on Chapter 3

You have put so many things I have felt to words. The ocd rep in Seungmin is one of best I have ever read. It’s like you looked into my brain and wrote it down. The way he counts, and the way he feels when he is overwhelmed are so relatable. Thank you so much.

enbyenvy on Chapter 3

I have been in a situation almost exactly like Seungmin. I never see anyone talking about how crushing it is to learn that you can’t do what you want to no matter how hard you try. Failing out of stem classes is only ever talked about in a joking way. When you are the one failing it feels like the world is ending. No one wants to talk about the students who fail even when they put in the effort. They always blame the students for not trying hard enough. The world makes it feel like it is your fault, like you are lacking something. So, thank you for showing what it is really like.

themoonisglowing on Chapter 3

Jeongin is so supportive and sweet ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

miniminnie on Chapter 3

When is the next update? I need it immediately!

FreddyMercuryOfficial on Chapter 3

I have no words (/pos)

whydontyoujusthurtme on Chapter 3

i'm crying

StrawHatCareCat on Chapter 3

You’re my favorite author on here. Every single one of your fics… perfection. I am well fed.

~ looked at clouds that way ~

Jisung slipped out of the lab heading for the write-up room that doubled as a breakroom. He’d seen a few messages coming in on his apple watch, but he hadn’t had a pause in his work long enough to read through them and formulate a proper response. The countdown on the gel had sixty minutes left on it, giving him plenty of time to eat lunch and respond. Well, calling it lunch may have been a stretch. A few applesauce pouches were shoved in the minifridge. Tea and applesauce wasn’t a horrible lunch for him. Most mornings he was too overwhelmed to pack a lunch in his bag, choosing instead to fall back on something easy. It was either that or not eating anything at all.

He set his laptop down on the table, another lab mate of his sitting a few chairs away invested in whatever they had playing on their phone. The kettle began to make noise as Jisung clicked on the switch to warm the water. The lab was always kept in the high sixties, and while it wasn’t a problem for most of his lab mates, Jisung was always freezing. Even with multiple layers, he couldn’t stop himself from catching a chill every day, obsessively drinking tea and hot water to try and chase it away.

Waiting for the water to boil, Jisung sat, opening his phone, and scrolling through the notifications. A few emails from AO3 were unread in his inbox – two update emails and three new comments on the chapter he’d posted the evening before. It wasn’t the best chapter he’d ever written, but it was one he felt proud of. Posting chapters always gave him a rush of joy. Other people in the world were reading what he’d written, were reading and enjoying it. The knowledge that people could relate to his deeply personal writings was beyond anything he imagined when the idea to first write fanfiction truly formed in his mind. Halfway through college, loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, somehow, he’d found a community where he felt accepted, safe, surrounded by others who understood.

Two text messages from Minho. Simple. Easy conversation for people who don’t know each other well. But surprisingly familiar. Three days had passed since the shared breakfast at the café. Minho had messaged him every day. Multiple times. He didn’t seem to mind when Jisung didn’t answer back in a timely manner or had his do not disturb setting on even outside of work hours. Jisung tried his best, but he knew some people found his online communications lacking or confusing. Jisung tried to make himself clear, but he didn’t try to make himself into someone he wasn’t. If Minho didn’t like him the way he was then there was no reason to let Minho into his life.

Minho

How is work going?

What time do you get your lunch break?

Jisung

work is good. i have been busy today. i take lunch whenever there is an easy break on what i am working on in lab. i am running a protein gel right now so i have time.

Minho

I have no idea what a protein gel is, but it sounds impressive. My day has been kind of slow. I had lunch a little bit ago. Just leftovers so nothing fancy today.

What are you having?

Jisung

applesauce and tea

Minho

Is that enough?

Jisung

it’s okay. it's what i usually have.

Minho

Maybe I can make you something for lunch one day.

Jisung

i am weird about the food i eat. so maybe but it would depend on my mood.

The sound of water boiling filled the room as he set his phone down letting the screen dim as Minho’s typing bubble hovered below his message. The topic of food was not one he enjoyed. Likely, such a topic being sensitive was not on Minho’s radar since the first conversation they’d ever had revolved around food. Having someone make them a special lunch was something most people he knew would jump at. They would find it incredibly flattering and something a prospective partner could do to display their care. Jisung didn’t feel the same.

The offering was kind, and Jisung appreciated it for its kindness, but he wasn’t the type of person who could find such a thing enjoyable. His lunch was applesauce and tea, occasionally something else if he was in an exceptional good mood. Breaking from his routine was not something he could do without upsetting himself. It would be better to find something they could do where Jisung could be comfortable.

There was a chance the more Minho got to know him the less he would want to know him. Jisung was difficult. He knew that. Everyone who ever attempted to befriend him knew that. He couldn’t easily go along with what everyone wanted. He made everything about himself in a way most people couldn’t handle. He didn’t mean to, but it didn’t stop people from leaving.

Jisung took a peppermint tea bag from the collection they kept in the write-up room and dropped it into his mug. He poured the steaming water into the cup, watching as a green-yellow cloud started rising from the submerged tea bag. It would be a while bit until the water was cool enough to drink but, in the meantime, he could hold it in his hands to warm himself up.

Minho

That’s okay. We can eat whatever you want. Or we can eat together, and each bring out own food.

Jisung

that sounds nice

thank you

Minho

If you are available sometime soon, I would really like to meet with you again.

Jisung

i would like to yeah. i’m not always good at doing things. but yeah, i would like to see you again. if we plan ahead it is easier for me.

sorry i don’t know if that makes any sense

Minho

That makes perfect sense. Why don’t I come up with a couple ideas and then you can decide which one sounds like something you would enjoy?

Jisung

that sounds great

thank you

Jisung set his mug down on the table and pulled his hands up to his chest shaking them lightly. Minho was being so much more kind and understanding than he ever imagined. When handing his phone number to a near stranger, he’d imagined their conversation would dissolve into the void after a few days, as soon as Minho realized Jisung was not someone easy to be with. But Minho had met him at every oddity, at every difficulty Jisung came with. It was early, so early in their acquaintanceship, but it was further than Jisung had gotten in years.

Jisung wanted to send Minho a playlist of his favorite GLOW songs. He wanted to send Minho pictures of his lab. He wanted to send Minho pictures of his walls, of his signed GLOW posters, and GLOW inspired art. Jisung was scared. Minho had been kind, but there was a limit. It was easy to hurt Jisung without meaning to. If Jisung mentioned GLOW and Minho brushed him off, if he joked about, if he showed anything other than appreciation for Jisung unyielding love, a crack in their relationship would form that would be near impossible to repair. GLOW was the most important thing in Jisung life, as silly as it sounded to others. It was his special interest, had been his special interest since he was fifteen, and he cared about it more than anything else in the world.

Most people found his love hilarious, not grasping how serious it was for Jisung. GLOW had kept him alive. GLOW filled his chest with joy, could pull him from the darkest night. Minho had to understand that. If he didn’t understand, he would never understand Jisung. There was a difference between being understanding of not wanting to be in crowded public spaces and truly understanding how Jisung’s brain was wired.

It couldn’t hurt worse than discovering weeks, months, down the road, that Minho didn’t care about Jisung more than his appearance and baseline personality. He would rather the band-aid be ripped off before he formed any attachments to Minho. A simple message explaining GLOW. A few pictures. A link to their music video. He didn’t need Minho to love the band himself, he just needed Minho to respect Jisung’s love.

Jisung opened YouTube and flipped to their profile clicking on the music video for the title track of GLOW’s newest album. He copied the link and pasted it into his chat with Minho, restating that GLOW was his favorite band and the only music he ever listened to. He attached a few pictures of Seungmin and Jeongin.

It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. Why was he wasting his time on this? There was no way Minho would care at all about his special interest band. GLOW wasn’t even very popular. It had a dedicated fanbase yes, but it wasn’t something most people thought was worth any time. His walls plastered with GLOW posters and pictures, his special savings account he saved money for concert tickets, his dedication to involving himself in their fandom online. He was an adult. Choosing to spend his time focused on a band was not something he should have been doing.

The typing bubble popped up on the screen. Disappeared. Popped up on the screen again. Jisung’s stomach dropped. He’d ruined it. After a few days he’d ruined it. No matter what, he was always too much. Everything about him was… off. Everyone could sense it. The way he spoke, the way he moved, his facial expressions. Even if people couldn’t put their finger on what exactly was wrong with him, they knew there was something.

Minho

The music video is very nice. I like the song. I remember you talking about them at the café. I’m glad you have a band you love so much. I’ll listen to more of their stuff tonight.

Jisung

yeah sorry to bombard you with stuff. me liking glow is one of my defining personality traits. everyone who has ever met me knows that haha

Minho

If I didn’t want to know about the things you liked, then I wouldn’t talk to you.

Jisung smiled, picking the mug back up and clasping it between his hands, letting the warmth sink into his bones. The blunt way Minho wrote his messages put Jisung at ease. He would always rather someone say exactly what they mean rather than what they think sounds the best or what they think he wants to hear. Jisung couldn’t communicate properly with people who didn’t say what they meant. Interpreting hidden meanings in words was rarely something he could do often to his own detriment.

Jisung wanted it to keep being easy with Minho. Jisung could explain himself and Minho could respond in an understanding, supportive way. That was all Jisung wanted. Regardless of whether or not they progressed into a relationship, having someone else in his life beside Felix would be nice. Someone else who appreciated his company. Someone else to remind him he was a real person.

Pressing the mug to his lips, Jisung took a tentative sip of the tea. It was hot but not so much so it would scald his mouth. He took another sip, warmth traveling down his throat and into his chest. The chill from the lab was still there, but he was hoping the tea would chase it away. His gel had forty minutes left. Jisung was feeling antsy, wanting to go back into the lab and do something, even if it was cleaning or organizing, but he knew he should try to have some applesauce first. He didn’t feel hungry, but he knew his body needed nutrients.

Maybe it would be okay, with Minho. He was always trying his best, raking himself over the coals and burning himself to ash, and it was never enough. He was never enough. Jisung knew it was selfish to want someone else in his life, someone he could love and who could love him, when he had so little to offer, but he couldn’t help himself. It was human nature.

He wasn’t easy to love. He wasn’t easy to love, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it. He probably didn’t deserve it either. Alone in his apartment, GLOW playing in his headphones, typing away on his computer. Sat at a bench in the lab, pipet in hand, white noise of the incubators. He couldn’t love people in the way they deserved. He couldn’t express himself in a way that made others happy.

Minho deserved someone better, but Jisung didn’t have it in him to stop.

~ but now they only block the sun ~

Chapter 4 : blurry silhouette

Seungmin sat on his bed, sweatpants and sweatshirt crumpled from sleep, as Jeongin rifled through his closet. He stepped away and laid a pair of jeans on the bed next to Seungmin before returning, brushing his fingers over Seungmin’s selection of tops. Fashion was a hobby of Jeongin’s. Although Seungmin knew nothing about fashion and didn’t really understand it as a concept, he recognized how aesthetically pleasing Jeongin’s outfits always were.

“This is a good outfit. Comfortable but something you would wear on a normal day, yeah?” Jeongin set a sweater and boxers next to the jeans on the bed.

“I can’t go,” Seungmin didn’t look up from his hands, tapping his fingers together in his favorite pattern.

“I’ll walk you to class and meet you as soon as it is over.”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

“You can. I know it’s horrible, but you can.”

One-two-three-four. Pointer-middle-ring-pinky-pinky-ring-middle-pointer. Seungmin could feel the adrenaline sitting in a ball in his belly, heavy, burning. Flames licking his ribs, charring his lungs. Acid was flowing through his veins, dissolving his muscle. His joints were hot and aching. Eyes swollen and bloodshot. One-two-three-four. Pointer-middle-ring-pinky-pinky-ring-middle-pointer.

“Ayen I can’t,”

Seungmin was sure he was going to burst open and spill all over the floor. Blood and gore dripping from the bedframe onto the wood, scent of iron heavy in the air. Everything good in him was gone. Poison and rot clogging his lungs, spilling from his nostrils. He’d spent himself, given everything up, and gotten nothing in return. Walking through campus, walking into the science building, walking into class. The space filled with people who deserved it, who weren’t a blight on the Earth, who didn’t waste their parent’s money. The space filled with people stable and smart enough to make it through their classes.

There was no way he could coordinate his limbs enough to change into the outfit Jeongin had picked out, let alone walk to campus and sit in class. A class he was failing. The professor would look at him and know. The university was small, the classes were small. The professor knew his name. When he glanced around the room and his eyes landed on Seungmin he would see a kid not good enough to even pull off a C on an exam.

The email sitting in his inbox informing him he would have to get at least a ninety-four percent on the final exam to pass the class. The sixty-three and forty-two sitting in the gradebook staring back at him as he imaged studying for the final knowing he wasn’t smart enough to get an A. There was nothing he could do. It didn’t matter how hard he tried – and he’d tried so fucking hard, so fucking hard – he wouldn’t be able to do it.

Jeongin was standing in front of him, hands fidgeting nervously at his sides, as Seungmin sat frozen on the edge of the bed. Jeongin who cared about him, who had gotten up early to help Seungmin get ready for the day, who had stayed up half the night sitting in the chair in the corner of Seungmin’s room watching as Seungmin lay in silence. Not one critical word had been spoken, no accusation of overreacting, no blame for getting himself into the situation. Seungmin wanted to get up, to pull himself together, if only to make Jeongin’s world easier, but he couldn’t.

Seungmin could feel the breath in his chest quickening, ribs a vice around his charred lungs. One-two-three-four. Pointer-middle-ring-pinky-pinky-ring-middle-pointer. He couldn’t do it. The world was ending, regardless of the fact he wanted to get up and try to determine the next steps forward. He wasn’t the only person who’d failed organic chemistry, probably wasn’t the only person in his class failing. His laptop was tucked in his backpack by his feet. It should have been easy to open it up and send emails to his professor and advisor asking for advice on next steps, but instead the world was ending.

One. The oxygen in the room was thick like molasses, filling his throat, his nasal passages, until he was choking on it. Lungs filling with syrup as he bent forward trying to get a breath of air in. Drowning in his bedroom, nail beds picked raw and open wounds on his palms.

Two. Hands on his back, ice against his heated flesh. Melting into him and dripping puddles onto the comforter. The relief evident immediately. Still, he flinched away, curling to the side. It was too much. He didn’t deserve it.

Three. Crashing waves of static in his brain. Numbness trailing up his fingers and across his face. Nothing, nothing, nothing except white noise, except panic. Palms flat over his years to block out the sound of his breaths as he coughed out molasses.

Four. A spiderweb of pain spreading from his chest. Heart breaking as his ribs cracked, everything in him crumbling to ash. A weight as if his chest were being crushed. Every bone in his body aching. He wanted it to end. He wanted it to stop.

He could tell himself it was okay, it was a problem many other people faced, it wasn’t the end of his college career. He’d failed at the one thing in his life he’d set his heart on. He’d failed at the thing he kept himself alive to complete. He’d committed so much of himself and all he’d gotten back were papers full of red marks, were emails from professors, were drops of blood welling on his fingertips.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to go. Try to take a deep breath,” Jeongin’s voice from above, hands on the side of his ribs.

He was curled on his side, a tear hanging on the tip of his noise, trembling as it threatened to fall. Throat thick making it impossible to swallow without coughing, spit bubbling at the corner of his mouth. Disgusting – lying in his unmade bed, clean clothes knocked to the floor, best friend and love of his life watching as he tore himself to pieces because he was too weak to do anything else.

“I have to tell my mom,” Seungmin scraped out, voice bubbling.

“You don’t have to worry about that right now. All you have to think about is making it through the next moment.”

“She’s going to want me to come home. She’s going to make me come home.” Near sobbing, but he couldn’t hold in the words.

“You can stay right here. I won’t let you go. We’ll figure something out. No matter what.”

“No, Ayen, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t fucking be here. I failed. I failed because I can’t do it. It doesn’t matter how much effort I put in; it will never be enough.”

“You tried so hard, that’s how I know you will be okay,” Jeongin knelt next to the bed putting his face level with Seungmin’s. “Even if the future doesn’t go as planned, we can figure it out.”

Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen. Jeongin steady. Steady. Seungmin had spent his entire life trying to appear stable, put together. Nice looking, smart, capable. He spent every minute of every day trying to be a whole, put together human being. Jeongin was the only one who understood he wasn’t and didn’t care. His parents knew, at least to an extent. They loved him, but thought he would never be a whole person, not one capable of functioning in society. He tended to agree.

It would have easier for everyone if Seungmin simply let Jeongin go. Packed up his belongings and called his mom to pick him up. She would drop everything and be there for him in a heartbeat, soft words telling him was alright, that he would be okay, while he sat in the passenger seat as she drove him back to the house he was raised in. Jeongin wouldn’t have to watch over him. He could find friends, go to parties, excel in his classes. He could move on from his middle school best friend and use his energy on something worth it.

Seungmin coughed out another sob, mucus caught in the back of his throat. A breath found its way into his lungs, heavy with smoke and ash. Then it was over. No more tears, no more sounds past his lips. The fire inside him dying leaving behind only ruins. Charred bones on a twin bed.

“It doesn’t matter,”

“Min,”

“It doesn’t,”

“Please don’t say that. Please.”

“It’s my fault,”

“What is your fault? Failing a class?”

Seungmin stared forward, eyes unfocused, “No… wasting,”

“Wasting what?”

One. Two. Three. Four. How could he explain how much time Jeongin had wasted on him, how much effort? His existence was a drain on the lives of everyone around him. A disease leaching the color out of the world. It would be easier if his room were empty, if his seat in class were empty, if his parents didn’t have to send him money because he was incapable of working enough to pay for his share of rent. How could he explain?

“Seungmin, I need you to look at me,” Jeongin’s fingers danced around his face wanting to touch him but unsure if it would make the situation better or worse. “It is important to me that you are here. I don’t care about anything else. A degree, a job, the future. I don’t care unless you are in it.”

Seungmin wanted to reach out and take Jeongin’s hand, give him comfort, tell him how bright his future would be, with or without Seungmin in it, but he couldn’t move. There was nothing left of him. The bed pushed to the corner of his room, grey comforter enveloping his bones. Jeongin laying a hand on his side, fingers notching between his ribs. Cool flesh against his overheated body. Nothing. Nothing anyone could do.

“I need you,” Jeongin’s voice, raw and bleeding.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen.

Trapped with his broken brain unable to escape. No cutting edge could help him, not with Jeongin’s hands on him. The thin line of sunlight peeking through the blackout curtains stretching across the floor. The painting Jeongin had bought him at a thrift store the day after they’d moved into their apartment. The chair in the corner his parents kept in storage for five years after his grandmother had passed away. It was his home.

It would be easier if everyone else left – alone in the void, no one to stop him as he laid in his bed, blood pooling on the sheets, scent of iron heavy in the air – it would be easier if there was no one to miss him. But instead, it would be Jeongin. It would be his parents. It would be the people in his class who he studied with.

“We can stay here. We can stay right here,” Jeongin’s hand still against his ribs, the other hovering near his face.

“I don’t know what to do,” Seungmin whispered teeth clacking together like porcelain.

“That’s okay. We can lay here. Everything else can wait,”

One. Two. Three. Four. There was nothing he could do to save himself from himself. There was never going to be a day he woke up happy, woke up whole. He’d been borne with the wires in his brain twisted and he’d die with them that way. One. Two. Three years of college and he couldn’t do it. Red pen on the page, red lines on his thighs. There was nothing anyone could do.

~ they rain and they snow on everyone ~

Jisung was tucked in the corner of Felix’s couch, waiting for the voices at the front door to make their way into the living room. It had been easier on him to come over before anyone else so he could get comfortable in the space before unknown people were thrown in the mix. Music had been playing from the pink speaker Felix kept on his kitchen counter when Jisung had arrived, being turned off once Jisung had taken a seat. It was normal practice to have music playing in the background during socialization, but the extra noise made it difficult for Jisung to concentrate on the conversation and overwhelmed him further. Jisung wondered sometimes how much more difficult Jisung made Felix’s life when he was around. Constantly asking for special accommodations no one else needed. Constantly making every situation about himself. Selfish and spoiled and difficult.

“Do you want something to drink?” Felix asked from the kitchen.

“Mmh, do you have something, um, bubbly?”

He heard Felix rummaging through the fridge inspecting the selection of drinks he always kept on hand. Jisung didn’t like carbonation, it tickled his nose and was harsh against the inside of his mouth, but it was something to hold in his hands and sip on slowly. He could use it as an excuse when he needed a few seconds to formulate a response to someone. It would also occupy his attention. The processing needed to taste and swallow a carbonated beverage stole a lot of his brain power, letting a simple drink act as a compelling distraction from the rest of his senses.

“I have diet cokes and flavored water,” Felix said.

“Flavored water please,”

The flavor wouldn’t improve Jisung’s distain for the carbonation, more than anything it would make the experience of the drink even worse, but it was still something to distract himself with. The negative simulation of the carbonation was still leagues better than the methods he used to use. The permanent callouses on his left palm from digging his nails into his skin were proof. Thick skin, slightly discolored, but only noticeable if one was looking for it.

Felix handed him the drink, the metal cold against his hands, and took a seat next to Jisung on the couch. Felix had his hair pulled back in a half bun, dyed a bleach blond starting to grow out at the roots, but somehow always perfect looking. Jisung had gone with him and gotten his own hair dyed, but he went for a natural blond, not wanting to draw more attention to himself at work than he already did. It was a good change, but a manageable one. It wasn’t too vibrant or eye catching.

“I’ve been talking to the guy,” Jisung blurted, unsure of how to properly bring up the conversation topic.

Felix whipped his head toward Jisung, eyes wide, “What guy? You’ve been talking to a guy?”

“Well, we’ve been texting. Not talking on the phone or anything so I don’t know if it counts as talking—”

“It counts as talking. What have you been talking about?”

Jisung shrugged, “Normal things, I guess. Our jobs, food, music we like. He’s a mechanic or something similar. It was confusing to me, but I didn’t want to ask too many questions and sound dumb.”

“He won’t think your dumb. If he does then he doesn’t deserve your time,”

“I’m just… nervous. He wants to meet up and do something, but what if he seems me again and realized that I’m, I don’t know, not what he thought originally? What if I am not masking and he can’t stand being around me? What if me being trans is a kink thing for him? What if he doesn’t even know I’m trans and then I have to come out and it goes poorly?”

“Sungie, slow down,” Felix took an intentional, slow deep breath having Jisung copy him. “I’m not going to lie to you and say any of those are impossible, but I think you should give it a chance. If something goes wrong, I’ll be there for you no matter what. He seems nice, doesn’t he?”

Jisung nodded, pressing his fingers against the cool mental can, “He didn’t seem upset when I told him that I don’t like going out to restaurants.”

“That’s a good sign,” Felix said with his grimace-smile, the one he always wore whenever Jisung said something that filled him with pity.

“I haven’t told him I’m trans yet. Or autistic. When is a good time to tell him?”

“That really depends on you and him. If you still in the only-messaging phase than I don’t think it is urgent he knows. Once you start seeing him more in person it is probably important for the development of your relationship to tell him. It’s up to you though. If you aren’t ready then there is no need to tell him, but there will be an emotional development piece of your relationship missing while he doesn’t know.

“I told Changbin before we had our first proper date. We met at a gay club, but with my voice being so deep, there are a lot of people who think I am a cis femme-boy, not transmasc. Changbin did. He was surprised when I told him. Not upset, but surprised. It mattered to me to tell him early because I wanted to have sex with him. I know that is not something even in the realm of your thoughts right now, so I think it is not as necessary that you tell him immediately.”

Jisung whined, shimmying in his seat, “I don’t like being this way. I don’t. I don’t.”

“I know. I wish it was easier, but it’s not. And it’s been especially hard for you. I know it’s not your strong suit, but please be kind to yourself.”

Jisung nodded his head even though they both knew Felix’s words would not suddenly alter the way Jisung viewed himself. It was nice though, to talk to someone who had been through similar situations, who would understand better than anyone else in his life. He didn’t really talk to anyone else, not about anything personal. He told his parents details of his life which didn’t matter, and the phone calls with them would slow significantly in between when the testosterone started changing his voice and when he gathered the courage to come out to them. But Felix was there. Felix was always there.

There was a knock on the apartment door, startling Jisung. Felix’s apartment building had a locked door on the ground floor requiring a key fob to get inside. They must have come in with someone else, or maybe they had called Felix on the callbox, and he had buzzed them in with his phone and Jisung hadn’t been paying attention enough to notice. He hadn’t popped the tab on the can of flavored water yet. He hadn’t been able to move the conversation topic to something nicer, something that wouldn’t be a damper on Felix’s mood at the beginning of the night with his friends.

Felix was already off the couch and opening the front door, excited voice greeting his guests. Jisung was popping open the can, almost invisible bubbles flying into the air from the carbonation. The sound of shoes coming off, light conversation, laughter. It was already too much. He wasn’t going to be able to handle it, make a bad impression on Felix’s boyfriend and his friends, and spend the rest of the evening hidden in Felix’s bedroom with music blasting through his headphones to distract himself from everything he was missing. It was how it always went.

“Okay, okay, Jisung,” Felix bounded in, three men following behind him.

Changbin was the first, someone Jisung was at least slightly familiar with. Kind smile and muscular arms and heart eyes for Felix. The next man was also muscular, but less so than Changbin. Steady face and kind eyes and an air of sadness. Then a man with a sharp nose and lip piercings, eyes glancing around the room before landing on Jisung. A blink. Another blink.

Jisung could feel his heart drop to his stomach, breath disappearing from lungs. It was wrong. Something in the world had gone wrong. Jisung was in the wrong apartment, had met the wrong people, was here at the wrong time. It didn’t make any sense. Minho was on his phone, the stranger from the café. They hadn’t even picked an activity Jisung could stand to do so they could meet up again. He was supposed to have time. He was supposed to have time to figure everything out.

“You already know Changbin, but this is Chan, and that’s Minho,” Felix pointed at them, buzzing around Changbin, and glancing toward the snacks he’d laid out on the kitchen counter.

Jisung whined, shrinking further into himself, the can in his hands suddenly overwhelmingly heavy. His heart was beating fiercely in his chest, vision coming in and out of focus as his brain tried to pick out something solid and grounding. He was backed into the corner of the couch in the corner of the room, the near strangers blocking the only exit. Felix was talking, explaining the snack and drink selections, but the words were blurring to static in Jisung’s ears. Minho was staring at him. He was staring at Jisung’s curled form, knees pressed to his chest, like Jisung was a present waiting to be unwrapped. Like he was something good.

“Jisung,” Minho said in his soft voice, barely cutting through under Felix and Changbin’s.

Jisung shook his head, glasses sliding down his nose, and tears filling his eyes. He wasn’t prepared. Minho was going to find out everything about him. He was going to learn Jisung was trans. He was going to see Jisung in his state of overwhelm, in a moment where he came unraveled and exposed the parts about him no one ever wanted to see. He was going to see Jisung and the possibility of anything real between them would disappear.

“Ji, did you want something to snack on?” Felix asked, turning his attention back to his friend.

Jisung was shaking his head again, left hand clutched around his knees while the other awkwardly held the can of flavored water. It only took a second of Felix’s eyes on him to realize something had already gone wrong. Felix swore and pushed aside Changbin, rushing past Minho, before kneeling in front of Jisung, doing his best to block Jisung from the sight of the others. His voice was soft, prodding but not demanding. A soft hand against his shin, another carefully removing the can from Jisung’s ridged fingers.

The words to explain to Felix were sitting in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t push them past his tongue, past his clenched teeth. Acid in his throat, dripping down his tonsils and into his stomach and lungs. Burning, burning, burning. The scent of sizzling flesh and smoke pouring from his nostrils. The thing rotting in the corner ruining Felix’s night before it even had the chance to begin.

Jisung didn’t know why Felix had been so insistent. For some reason, Felix wouldn’t let him go. Everyone else in his life refused to hold on, Jisung nothing more than a drifting acquaintance, someone they used to know. But Felix refused to let him slip away. The only thing Jisung was capable of was ruining. Always. There was a reason he was alone.

“Jisung,” Minho repeated, voice tight.

“Do you know him?” Felix asked, turning his head toward Minho, but keeping Jisung surrounded by his body.

“Yeah, I, uh, I met him at a café last week.”

“What the fuck,” Felix said as Jisung reached out and gripped the front of Felix’s sweater.

He wanted to have a chance. Minho was supposed to be introduced to Jisung’s life at a pace Jisung felt comfortable, one they could both handle. Nothing about Jisung was easy or kind, but he wasn’t a horrible person. There had to be something in him worth loving. To someone at least. He wanted to have a chance before it was ruined.

Then Felix was pulling them up, Jisung’s socked feet sliding over the hardwood, shuffling slowly out of the room. Fingers tangled in Felix’s sweater, knuckles turning white. Felix’s hands around his back, a leg between his as they made their way toward Felix’s bedroom. Jisung’s ribs stuttered to a stop before he could take a full breath in, the binder wrapped around his chest hindering him even more.

Felix closed the bedroom door behind them, letting Jisung go as he tried to lurch away, making his way toward the closet door and opening it, climbing inside before Felix was able to get a word out. It wasn’t the first time Jisung had hid in Felix’s closet. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for him to do, especially when upset or overwhelmed. Jisung could remember coming out to Felix, curled under Felix’s dorm room bed, blankets hanging from the sides creating a private world for them to exist in.

Jisung threw himself onto the floor, curling his arms into his chest. There was a blanket waiting for him on the floor of the closet, haphazardly piled under the rack of clothes hanging above his head. Felix was standing by the mostly closed sliding door of the closet, feet moving nervously against the floor, painted toenails on display, but remained silent as Jisung pulled the blanket up until his body was almost completely covered.

“I had no idea,” Felix said softly, squatting so he was eye level with Jisung. “I’m so sorry.”

“I freaked out,” Jisung replied softly. “He wasn’t supposed to… he wasn’t supposed to see me like that. I was supposed to have time to explain, for him to understand.”

“It was a shock. Freaking out is perfectly understandable.”

Jisung shook his head and moved his hands up, covering his ears with them. He shook his head again, letting a low humming noise settle in his throat, trying to explain to Felix how wrong it had all gone without using words. The faint light of the room was burning into his eyes through his eyelids, sparklers flashing through his vision. His clothes and the warm air of the room was rubbing his skin raw. The buzzing in his ears was deafening, yet he could still hear the soft voices in the other room, whispering about him, icepicks stabbing through his eardrums.

“Where are your headphones? Did you bring any of your stim toys?” Felix asked, voice tight, wanting to do something helpful.

Jisung could feel the words building in his throat but they letters were jumbled together, a tight ball against his vocal cords. He let out a slow, stuttering breath, trying to focus on forming them into something understandable. A hum of conformation made its way into the air, another sound following it before Jisung could swallow and try again. Felix was waiting patiently, as always, features soft.

“Mmh, in my backpack,” Jisung closed his eyes again, tapping his open palms against his ears. “By the couch. My backpack is by the couch.”

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jisung nodded, pulling the closed door the rest of the way closed as Felix stood and left the room, turning the light off as he did. Jisung let his eyes adjust, the shape of the door and his body becoming clear again even in the darkness. The voices in the living room, soft and full of concern, even though the words were unclear. The sound of the fridge opening, Felix’s deep undertone, still trying to be a good host even while caring for Jisung. Focus and energy stretching in every direction, smile and light attitude never faltering, even while Jisung curled in his closet instead of making a good impression.

Jisung repeatedly opened and closed his hands, counting up from one until he hit sixteen and then started over. It was steady, predictable, a way to drown out the noise from the other room. Softly his voice filled the closet. Too high pitched, far away from how he imagined it. The same voice he’d had when he was sixteen, pleated skirt and doc martins, pink lipstick as his mother squealed over how cute he was. There was no way Minho could hear him speak, look at him, and see anyone other than some kid who’d been too afraid to transition earlier in his life.

The bedroom door opened again, footsteps coming toward the closet, the sound of his backpack being placed gently on the floor. Felix wouldn’t open the closet door without Jisung’s permission, not wanting to further upset Jisung as he tried to process his overwhelm. Most of the time, it was easier for Jisung to be left alone until he could get his thoughts in order. It wasn’t something he could explain in words, not while it was happening. It was difficult for others to understand – frustrating when he was incapable of using his words, like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Your bag is here,” Felix said after a moment. “Minho wants to talk to you, but I told him you weren’t ready.”

Jisung made a low sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head even though Felix couldn’t see it. Jisung couldn’t handle anything but gentle, anything but kind, not when his head was so out of sorts. He couldn’t even explain properly to Felix, the person he’d known for his whole life, the person he trusted more than anyone else in the world. Everything was made of razor blades, slicing him open and exposing his raw nerves.

“I’m going to go back out. If you need me send me a text. You can come out too whenever you are ready, or you can stay in here. No judgement, I promise.”

Jisung couldn’t bring himself to respond, but he knew Felix understood. Soft breathing and then footsteps again, the closing of the bedroom door. As soon as he heard the latch click into place, Jisung slid the closet door open enough to reach his hand out and unzip his backpack, wrapping his fingers around his headphones. Jisung closed closet door again and slipped the headphones over his years, the noise cancelling turning on as they turned on. The voices fell away, leaving Jisung in silence, in darkness, in a world completely his own.

Pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket, he activated the disability settings and turned the brightness down as far as the phone would possibly allow. He clicked the music app and opened his extensive list of playlists, turning on the one he liked to play while falling asleep. Waiting For Us came up first on the shuffle, Seungmin and Jeongin’s voices coming to life. Nothing else mattered. They were there with him, protecting him, keeping him safe. There was no alone, there was no loneliness, not while he could hear their voices.

Everything would be okay. The world was ending, the world was always ending, but there was GLOW waiting in his phone. Seungmin and Jeongin smiling on Instagram lives. Pictures as they toured the world. Words typed endlessly in documents on his computer, comments and kudos emails waiting to be viewed. Endless love in his chest, so much he felt sick. Overflowing with it, woven into his muscles, laced between his ribs. The fandom which allowed him to feel safe, which allowed him to interact with other trans people in similar situations, scared and overwhelmed, which allowed him to interact with other autistic people who understood how his mind worked better than any neurotypical person could.

If Minho didn’t work out, if Felix left, if his parents and grandparents stopped talking to him, he would still have GLOW. The music would he his always and forever. Etched into his skin with ink, over raised scars, reminders of the love left in the world. He might not have been capable of loving other people in the way he was supposed to, but he was capable of love. That he was sure of.

Waiting For Us. Because. Wish You Back. Butterflies. Stars and Raindrops. Leave.

Jisung paused the music. The world had slowed down again, no longer rubbing on exposed nerves. The breath in his chest was even, slow and deliberate, no longer shredding him from the inside out. The buzzing in his fingers and face had stopped. Thoughts tricking into something manageable.

Felix was in the other room. Changbin and Chan. Minho. They were waiting for him. They were having a good time. Certainly, Felix was wrapped around Changbin, his need to touch insatiable. And Minho. Minho with his sharp features and soft. Lip piercings and bunny teeth. Leather jacket and oversized sweater. His eyes on Jisung as he’d latched onto Felix, unable to do anything but whine and hum, useless and empty.

Shame and embarrassment and self-loathing. The things which had made a home in his chest before he was old enough to understand. Wrong and broken and incapable of being understood. Moving through life one step at a time, stumbling and stuttering, everyone around him waiting for him to fall. No one understanding why he struggled, not even himself. His parents and grandparents had been there. He’d been raised with enough money never to be worried about not having food or utilities being shut off. He’d been loved. It wasn’t until later, until college, when he got his autism diagnosis, when he was far enough away from his family to come to terms with who he was and not who he was supposed to be.

If he was too much for Minho, then so be it. Jisung couldn’t change himself, couldn’t sacrifice himself, not for anyone else. Never again. He didn’t need someone else to stay alive. He needed to feel safe, comfortable, not loved. If Minho never wanted to see him again, so be it. He would still have Felix. He would still have GLOW. He would still have Seungmin and Jeongin.

Jisung slid open the closet door, and stood, joints creaking from being locked in place for so long. The headphones, now vacant of music, were comfortably snug over his ears in the position they sat the majority of his days. The noise-cancelling a comfort even in environments that weren’t exceptionally noisy. They would cut the piecing tones of people’s voices, the overwhelming boom of laughter. It was easier.

The bedroom door let out a soft creak as he pulled it open, the voices in the living room coming to a stop. Jisung peaked his head out, socked feet shuffling as he made his way down the short hallway into the other room. On the corner of the couch closest to him, Felix was sat in Changbin’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, smiling up at Jisung as if Jisung had returned from war. Chan was on the floor by the coffee table, a sparkling water in his hand as he rocked gently backwards and forwards. Minho was next to Changbin, in the middle of couch, the seat on the other end Jisung had been in earlier empty and waiting. There was nowhere else for him to sit unless he wanted to join Chan on the floor, but Felix would object if he did, making Minho move to the floor instead.

He slowly makes his way around Chan and the coffee table, not wanting to step over people’s legs to get to the other corner of the couch. The silence stretching on, painfully obvious he’d made himself the unwilling victim of the groups attention. His sparkling water was sitting on the coffee table, untouched, next to an open bottle of beer he assumed was Minho’s. Changbin also had a beer, and Felix had made himself some kind of fancy cocktail, something colorful and sweet.

“Do you want a snack?” Felix asked, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. “I got the chips you like.”

Jisung shook his head, pulling his knees up to his chest. Felix didn’t ask again, not wanting to push. He knew Jisung had a very difficult time eating when he was overwhelmed, especially when he was around other people. They offer was there so Jisung wouldn’t feel guilty if he got hungry and decided to have some chips, but it wasn’t a demand. Then the conversation was off again, too fast for Jisung to keep up with. The words flowed through the air, sinking into his skin, but many of them not processing in his brain. It felt good though, to be in the room, to be included in some aspect.

“Jisung,” Minho said softly, not interrupting the conversation between the other three.

Jisung turned his head enough he could see Minho completely, soft eyes morphed into concern, worry lines between his eyebrows.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I genuinely didn’t know you were Felix’s friend. I would never have hidden that from you on purpose.”

Finding his voice, pulling the words from the stomach acid licking up the back of his throat, “I didn’t think you did. I was just… surprised. I don’t handle things like that well, obviously.”

“I think you handled it fine for how big of a shock it must have been,”

Jisung’s lip twitched, “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not lying to you, if that’s what you think.”

“I’m autistic,” Jisung blurted out, not wanting to dance around the topic, preferring people know instead of coming up with theories themselves for why he was the way he was.

“Yes, I’d assumed after our last meeting in the café, but I didn’t want to ask you if it wasn’t something you were comfortable sharing with someone who you barely knew.”

Jisung eyed him suspiciously, “And you don’t care?”

“No. Why would I care?”

“Lots of people, um, have a difficult time with me. Understanding me or liking me. I’m not an easy person to be around. I won’t be mad if you… decide you don’t want to be around me. I won’t take it personally, I promise.”

Minho blinked a few times before he responded, taking in Jisung’s words carefully, “I’m not going to stop talking to you because you’re autistic.”

“I’m not saying you’re ableist or something,” Jisung tried to rescue, making sure he wasn’t being offensive. “It’s not just me being autistic. I’m high maintenance, I know I am. And my personality isn’t good. I have a lot of issues, okay.”

“Has someone been telling you that?”

Jisung shrugged his shoulders, “It’s just something I know. People don’t need to say it.”

The concern in his eyes didn’t abate as Jisung pulled the sleaves of his sweatshirt over his hands. Minho’s fingers twitched and Jisung knew he wanted to reach out and take ahold of Jisung but was holding himself back. Jisung didn’t want to be touched by him. Not yet. Touch was not a privilege Jisung gave away easily. Felix was the only person in his life who had full permission. His hesitancy made Jisung happy. No unwanted touches. No blurred lines of consent, as silly as they may sound to others.

“I don’t think there is anything wrong with you or your personality,”

“You don’t know me,”

A barely-there smile, “I would like to if you are still open to it. We haven’t gone out again.”

Jisung blinked and bobbed his head, curling his hands trying to keep them from shaking, “We can go to a bookstore I like. It has a café in it. But we have to go first thing in the morning or late in the evening so it’s less busy.”

Then the bunny-toothed smile, “I know exactly what bookstore you’re talking about. We can go after work one day this week if you’re up to it.”

“Okay,” Jisung blinked harshly again not knowing what else to do with his body, eyes refusing to make contact with Minho’s longer than a millisecond. “I’ll wear my headphones. It’s too much if I don’t wear my headphones.”

“That’s fine,”

“I’m not ignoring you. I won’t be ignoring you just because I have them on,”

“I don’t think you are ignoring me,” The words were slow and intentional, trying to get them through Jisung’s head. It was the same way Felix spoke whenever Jisung said something self-depreciating.

“Okay, then we can go. Maybe Thursday or Friday. Monday or Tuesday is too soon for me to adjust to adding it to my schedule. Is that okay?”

“That sounds great. Do you need a ride?”

“No, I live close by.”

“Perfect then, since I work near there.”

Felix hopped from Changbin’s lap, disturbing everyone in the room, and bringing the conversations to a halt. His eyes were glued on Minho who looked back at him with a mixture of confusion and challenge. Even with Felix’s lithe body and sweet demeaner when he wanted to, he could be frightening. Jisung had only seen him truly angry a handful of times and it had been a sight to behold.

“Are you flirting with Jisung?” He asked Minho, Changbin’s hand reaching out to grab him by the back his sweater.

“Well, yes, I hope so, since we just set up a date.”

“You better be fucking nice to him,”

“I will be,” A teasing lit infiltrated Minho’s voice.

“If I hear one bad thing about you, I will break up with Changbin and never speak to any of you again,”

Changbin cried out in mock offense, “Why are you dragging me into this?”

“He’s your friend. You should be punished for the company you keep.”

“I’m not a bad guy,” Minho said.

“There have been plenty of ‘not bad’ people who still treat Jisung worse than he deserves. One word from Jisung and I will ruin you, okay? I’m not playing around.”

“I believe you,”

“Okay,” Felix pointed at Minho and then signaled for him to stand. “I’m sitting there now. I need Sungie time. He’s seen enough of you.”

Minho scoffed, glancing at Jisung for help. Jisung gave him a quick shrug, refusing to say no to Felix, especially after he’d been so considerate during Jisung’s mini meltdown. Minho stood moving out of the way enough for Felix to push past him and plop onto the couch next to Jisung, curling up close. Jisung put his head on Felix’s shoulders and uncurled his legs from his chest, lying them across Felix’s lap.

Minho sat in Changbin lap, right where Felix had been sitting before, and wrapped his hands around Changbin’s neck, puckering his lips for a kiss. Changbin shrieked and shoved him away, but Minho refused to let go, fighting until he planted a kiss on Changbin’s cheek. Chan started giggling, rocking back and forth more vigorously, his excitement causing Jisung to wiggle in his seat.

“Did you see that?” Felix whispered to him conspiratorially but loud enough the other could hear. “I think we’re being cheated on.”

“I would never, not to my beautiful Felix,” Changbin shouted as Minho began to fake gag, still refusing to let go of Changbin.

Jisung flicked his eyes around the room until they landed on Minho, face flushed as he leaned into Changbin to fight for another kiss. He couldn’t help but laugh. No one was angry at him for disappearing, for making a scene, and ruining a part of the evening. They’d recovered easily as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Minho had asked him on a date.

For the first time in his life, he had an actual date. A romantic date. With someone who had seen him freak out and hadn’t run for the hills or laughed or called him childish. Instead, he’s made sure he wasn’t upset, reassured him it was okay. He hadn’t argued about Jisung wearing headphones or not wanting to be touched. He’d let Felix comfort him. Jisung had a date with someone who was okay. He was okay.

It was okay.

~ so many things I would have done ~

enbyenvy on Chapter 4

I really wish I could explain this in better words – what you are writing is one of the most relatable and moving things I have ever experienced. You have a way of seeing into the soul. I have been in a similar experience (having to take time off of university for mental health reasons) and it is the most crushing thing I have ever experienced. It truly does feel like the world is ending and you will never be capable of doing anything meaningful in your life. Everywhere you look all you see is disappointment and pity. You feel as if you’ve wasted time, money, effort, years of your life.

Based on this fic, I assume you are either a stem student or were a stem student? I was as well. Sometimes it felt like everyone was just waiting for me to fail and as soon as I needed help it was like I was admitting defeat. No one thought I could do it, and I proved them right. And then after I felt well enough to go back to classes everyone told me there was no point, that I was wasting my time, and that I should pick something I am actually capable of doing.

I can’t wait for the next update. Please take care of yourself. Drink water and stay healthy. If you are still in school, don’t let classes and exams get you down. You are worth it.

Also, if you have discord or twitter would you want to chat?

            GLOWupGROWup on Chapter 4

            you can message me on discord @GLOWupGROWup_jiji

                        enbyenvy on Chapter 4

                        I just did!

WeAreHallucinations on Chapter 4

Author-nim, please, how could you do this to me? I am in pain.

whydontyoujusthurtme on Chapter 4

i can feel more angst coming…

booberstank on Chapter 4

This feels incredibly personal. If this is based on real experiences remember we love you so much author – please don’t ever forget. Education does not define you. You are clearly a brilliant person based on your writing, screw the higher-education system for making you believe otherwise.

themoonisglowing on Chapter 4

Jeongin being so worried about him 😭 and Seungmin being so concerned about telling his mom. I hope she takes it well and doesn’t make him feel even worse. Jeongin promising to make sure everything works out and they can stay together is so cute though. I really hope they can.

~ but clouds got in my way ~

Jisung nervously stood before the towering bookshelves, carefully stocked books staring down at his fidgeting body. He wasn’t searching for a book. He had more than enough back at his apartment he had yet to read. It was ten minutes until he was supposed to meet Minho. He’d stood outside the front doors for about sixty seconds before deciding it was too cold and headed inside. The café was in the back corner, a few seats vacant he could have taken, but it felt improper. If he was meeting Minho, then he shouldn’t arrive and make himself comfortable before Minho. They should order and take a seat together. That was the correct thing to do, he thought, in order not to seem rude or impatient. That’s how he imagined it in his head at least, never having been on a date before.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a message from Minho popping up on his watch informing Jisung he was two minutes away. Jisung let out a slow breath, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Their first three interactions had been incidental, nothing formal. Now it mattered. Now there were even more rules he needed to follow. Their first date – the impression he made had to be good, especially after the disaster at Felix’s apartment. Smile, laugh, respond to everything Minho said, drink his coffee slowly but not too slowly, don’t say anything upsetting, keep the conversation light.

Jisung shifted as a new song started, his headphones blocking out all the residual sound of the bookstore. He would never understand why every business insisted on having noise coming through the speakers. It was a bookstore, there was no reason to have random music playing. The shuffling of feet and people’s light voices were enough to fill the space. The bright lights illuminating the details of the book covers, bright and beautiful, visually stimulating. His focus bouncing between the illustrations and the letters filling his visual field.

As Jisung reached his hand out to run his fingers over a book cover that had the appearance of velvet, a hand brushed his shoulder. He jumped, hand flying up to pause the music in his headphones. Minho was smiling at him, embarrassed, and apology on his lips Jisung only half caught. Jisung shuffled his feet, giving back the same smile, waiting for directions from Minho. Was it time to sit down in the café or did Minho want to browse for books? Did Minho even read?

“Did you find something you like?” Minho asked.

“Oh, no, I have enough books at home. I was just waiting for you, I guess, since I got here too early.”

“Do you want to get something to drink then?”

Jisung nodded, following Minho toward the café. It was clear Minho had been the bookstore before which made Jisung feel better. He didn’t want to be unbearably demanding about how and where they spent their time. The bookstore was his request, but hopefully it was a place Minho also felt comfortable.

He was again in a soft looking sweater, backpack thrown over his shoulder, hair mussed as if he’d been running his hand through it. There was something Jisung thought might have been a smudge of grease on the side of his neck, a stark reminder that Minho was a mechanic. He must have changed then, for Jisung, into a sweater for their date. Jisung hadn’t bothered changing out of his blue polo with a white long sleeve underneath, a usual outfit for him to wear to work.

Minho stepped up to the counter, but then stopped, maneuvering Jisung in front of him, hands lightly brushing against Jisung’s arms. The woman behind the counter looked at him expectantly. Jisung had ordered from the café plenty of times before, but their menu and his desires blanked from his brain. He coughed once, hand curling into fists, before he could get the words out.

“Can I have a latte with oat milk please?”

The woman smiled, typing the order into the computer, the price popping up on the screen facing Jisung.

“Are you ordering together or separately?” She asked, looking up at them.

Jisung opened his mouth to respond that they were ordering separately but Minho beat him to it – “Together, thank you. I’ll take a London Fog.”

“Is regular milk okay?”

“That’s great, thanks,” Minho held his phone out, arm almost wrapping around Jisung, tapping it to pay for their drinks.

Jisung wondered if Minho was paying because it was originally his idea to go on a date, even if Jisung was the one who picked out the location, or if it was because Jisung was the feminine one between the two. That was what men did, paid for the girl’s food on a date? Did Minho look at him and see some girl who wanted the same stereotypical things society expected? Is that what the woman behind the counter saw – some straight couple spending time together after work?

There was a chance no one would ever truly see Jisung as a gay man, not with the parts he had. Breasts and a vagina and everything that real men didn’t possess. Any man he had a relationship with would essentially be dating a girl because, when it came down to it, the biological bits were the only thing anyone cared about.

Minho led him to an empty table along the back wall, white paint chipping off the edges giving it a somehow classy rustic appearance. There was an excitement in the way he moved his body, an inability to hold still, but in a positive way not the way Jisung often was. The slight smile stuck on his lips, not picking up on Jisung’s dropping energy at being perceived. Jisung knew he needed to ask, to clarify Minho understood who Jisung was before they continued further in the development of his relationship, but he really didn’t want to ruin what they had. It was the closets he’d had to anything in years.

Jisung sat down on the side of the table with the wooden booth so he could have his back to the wall, feeling more comfortable when he could see everything happening around him. Minho happily took the other chair, sweater paws against the edge of the table. Jisung could feel his heart clench begging, begging, that Minho would understand, that Minho wouldn’t leave.

“Are you gay or are you bi?” Jisung asked, aware the question was probably inappropriate to blurt out, but not knowing how else to gather the information he wanted.

Minho blinked at him, startled, but his smile didn’t drop, “I’m gay. I am assuming you are either gay or bi well since we are on a date together?”

“Oh, yes, but I’m not…” Jisung stuttered around the words, white-hot panic shooting through him. Minho was gay. Uninterested in all the unfortunate bits his body possessed. Jisung had just started transitioning, only having been on testosterone for a little less than a month. Beneath his clothes, there was nothing about him Minho would ever want to lay his hands on.

“If you’re not sure what your sexuality is, that’s fine. I don’t need you to have a label on it. As long as you like me that’s all I care about.”

“That’s not what – I’m not –” Jisung took a moment to collect himself, breath stuttering his chest in a way noticeable to Minho as his smile had fallen.

“Latte with oat milk and London Fog,” The woman behind the counter called out, pushing their mugs to the open space meant for pickups.

“Let me grab those. I’ll be one second. It’s okay,” Minho said quickly, clearly not wanting to interrupt their conversation, but also not wanting to rudely leave their drinks abandoned at the counter.

Jisung closed his eyes and pressed his palms flat against the tabletop, slow breath in, slow breath out. It was better to get it out of the way, to make sure they were both comfortable around each other. No point in getting his heart broken unnecessarily if Minho was never going to be interested in him. It was safer for them both.

The cups clinked on their dishes, warm green against the white paint, as Jisung opened his eyes. Minho was looking at him with open concern now, tongue worrying one his lip rings. The barista had made a cute leaf-like design with the foam of his latte, the perfect kind of thing for a first date. The scent of coffee beans and books. Minho’s soft skin and sharp nose. He wanted everything to be okay. He wanted to say the words on the back of his tongue and for Minho not to care.

“You know I am trans, right?” Jisung asked in a low voice, eyes unable to move from his coffee mug.

One-two-three-four. The tears were already welling in his eyes, vice around his chest crushing his ribs to dust. The couple across the way from them laughing as they held mugs in their hands, eyes crinkled. The oat milk foam beginning to bleed into the coffee, bubbles popping, design fading away. His palms were still flat on the table, fingers curling in, nails catching on the wood, a splinter lodging itself in his nailbed.

“I didn’t,” Words slow, careful. “It makes sense, but I didn’t realize before.”

“How is that possible?” The ball in the back of Jisung’s throat was painful, like razorblades he couldn’t quite swallow.

“I thought you might be somewhere on the nonbinary spectrum based on how you look, but you never said anything about pronouns, so I didn’t want to ask if it wasn’t something you were comfortable sharing.”

“I’m—” Jisung brain was pulling in too many directions, words flying across his vision and bubbling through him. “I’m a demiboy.”

Hesitancy, tongue poking his lips ring, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s a gender identity on the non-binary spectrum. I am between full binary trans-man and non-binary. I use he/ they pronouns and masculine and gender-neutral terms. I consider myself transmasc, but not fully a trans-man… does that make any sense?”

“That makes sense. Thank you for explaining.”

“My voice – how did you not know?” Jisung asked, jumping back to the earlier topic, unable to understand how Minho could not have interacted him and immediately thought he was a girl.

“I don’t know. I thought you just had a high-pitched voice for a guy. I didn’t think that much about it. I was too distracted by trying to get your attention.”

“You’re gay, and I am not… I’m not transitioned yet. I barely started testosterone, no surgeries, nothing. I’m essentially still a girl, physically. I have all the working biological female parts.”

Minho nodded, eyes cast down, deep in thought. Ten minutes into their first date and it was already over. Blood was welling along the edge of his middle finger, splinter sticking out from under the nail. Red shining under the unnecessarily bright lights, threatening to drop onto the white table. He couldn’t look away – the itchy feeling under his skin, the turn of his stomach. He couldn’t look away from it, not when the one person he thought he had a chance with was realizing Jisung was not someone worth caring about.

“Okay,” Minho said.

“Okay,” Jisung repeated, preparing to abandon his coffee and walk out of the bookstore.

“I’ve never been in a relationship with a trans person before, but I don’t consider you a girl or am overly concerned about what parts you have, if that is what you are worried about. I’m not… I hope I am not being offensive.”

“I don’t have the parts you are attracted to,”

“I didn’t ask you on a date because I thought you had a penis I could suck,”

Jisung choked on his spit, a jolt of surprise going through him strong enough to shock his body out of its frozen state. He looked up at Minho through teary eyes. His features still soft and kind. There was no disgust, no disappointment, no anger. It almost hurt worse knowing Minho was a good person, and even he wouldn’t want someone like Jisung. There was an apology waiting on his lips already. Forgiveness begging to be received. Liar. Liar. Liar.

“Please don’t cry,” Voice suddenly desperate, eyes wide as he looked across the table at Jisung.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,”

“You didn’t lie to me. You weren’t lying.”

“I agreed to go on a date when I knew you wouldn’t like me,” Jisung started rocking back and forth trying to find some way to self-regulate.

“I do like you,”

“But not… not in the way you thought you could. I was leading you on. I should have told you from the start.”

“You in no way needed to tell me, a stranger in a café, about your gender identity. Thank you for telling me now, but Jisung the point I am trying to make is that I still want to date you,” Words soft and slow as Jisung blinked up at him, chewing on his bottom lip. “I like you, okay, and not just because I thought you had a penis when I first met you. I like talking to you and being around you. I would like to date you and get to know you better. I’ve never dated a trans person before so I might mess it up sometimes, but I would like to date you if you still want to date me.”

Jisung nodded, hesitant. The whole thing seemed far too good to be true. What could Minho possibly get from Jisung, a person who he would never be attracted to in the same way as a traditional man? Jisung knew himself and couldn’t imagine his personality alone could get him very far in a relationship. He’d always been told his looks were the best part of him and his personality the worst. There would come a point in which Minho would be done with him, personality lacking and body incorrect.

A scared kid. Barely made it through college. Living in his grandparent’s old apartment. Evenings and weekends spent writing fanfiction he was too embarrassed to share with his only friend. Long sleeves and tattoos hiding the scars on his arms. Medical alert necklace hidden behind layers of clothes.

There was no point. Minho would leave him and Jisung would deserve it. There would be no other ending.

Minho’s shining eyes and bunny teeth. His calloused hands and soft presence. Jisung knew he should get up and walk away, end it before either of them had the chance to get hurt, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Yeah,” Jisung nodded shakily. “I still want to date you.”

~ it’s clouds illusions i recall ~

enbyenvy

hey, I’m from your ao3 comments section!

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

haha yes. i’m glad you are enjoying my fic so much you’ve been really kind in all your comments.

enbyenvy

You deserve all the celebration and recognition!

I don’t want to overstep, but is your fic based on real life experiences?

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

yeah they are. i had to withdraw mid-fall quarter of my junior year (i'm in america i don’t know if you are) and take the rest of the quarter off. it was really rough. not everything is based exactly on my experience though. i didn’t fail ochem, i was actually done with it by the time i had to take a break from classes. i withdrew because of my mental and physical health, and while i wasn’t technically failing any of my classes giving up and withdrawing mid-quarter was essentially me admitting failure at that point in my life.

enbyenvy

are you done with college then or are you still a student?

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

i've been done for about a year and a half

you mentioned you had similar experiences in the comments you left

enbyenvy

yes I actually did fail out of my first quarter of organic when I was a sophomore. I was already struggling mentally a lot and it just kind of brought everything crashing down. I had to move out of the dorms back in with my parents. I ended up taking the whole year off and then resuming the fall after when I was more stable. I passed organic that time lol

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

i understand. having to withdraw from classes was necessary but somehow also made me feel a thousand times worse, like everything i had ever worked for was pointless and i’d done nothing but waste my time. that’s not true, but that doesn’t change that it’s how it feels at the time

enbyenvy

You do a really excellent job at portraying how crushing it feels in your fic. The way you write Seungmin’s emotions is unbelievable. It’s beautiful. You should be really proud.

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

thank you that is insanely sweet i don’t know what to say

writing fics has turned into one of my greatest passions in life which is crazy to think about since no one irl knows i do it

enbyenvy

Really? You are such a wonderful writer I can’t believe you don’t share it with everyone. I don’t write but I make fanart and I show everyone I can haha

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

i really only have one close irl friend and i’ve never shared it with him. i don’t know why exactly i don’t think he would judge me for it. but now it had been so long since i started that it feels awkward to go ‘hey i’ve been writing fanfic nonstop for years you want to see’

enbyenvy

That makes sense. You don’t have a partner or anything?

Also, I have been obsessed with your trans Jeongin fic from the moment you started writing it. It absolutely broke my heart and healed me at the same time. I was on the edge of my seat waiting for every update. I thought you did an amazing job showing how difficult it is to come to term with your gender identity.

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

oh thank you so much for the compliments. that was another fic extremely personal to me. tt was kind of like therapy writing it, especially with the somewhat happy ending. real life never has clean happy endings but writing it made looking at the future a little easier.

and i actually started seeing someone a few weeks ago, but i haven’t brought up anything fanfiction related around him yet haha. i’m worried about scaring him away especially since i am already a lot to deal with being trans and autistic

enbyenvy

I could tell it was personal while reading it. the emotions were so palpable. I hope things are a bit better for you now. I have no idea where you are in your coming out/ transitioning process but hopefully you have someone around who is supportive and loving.

Also, if your boyfriend doesn’t like you writing fanfic tell him to fuck off. Don’t let anyone else decide you are high-maintenance or any other term they try to use.

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

haha okay i won’t let him shame me for it if i decide to tell him. he’s been insanely sweet and understanding so far.

the close friend i mentioned is also trans and has been so supportive and helpful but i haven’t come out to my family yet. that is a problem for later.

enbyenvy

He better treat you well or I will find him and beat him up. I’m tall. I can do it. Same with your family.

You seem insanely sweet and like such a wonderful person based on your fics and this conversation. I will protect you with my life – and not just because I want more fic updates.

GLOWupGROWup_jiji

you are too kind i’m not that great of a person but i can promise more fic updates though as i am sure you are aware i post on no predictable schedule.

enbyenvy

I like the unpredictability. It keeps me on my toes. Random surprises to make me happy.