Archive of Our Own ^beta

The thing about love is that it’ll destroy you no matter how hard you try to escape it, Minho used to say. He didn’t really fall in love, not when there were too many things happening all the time in his life for him to pay attention to a lover.

But Jisung came so gently undemanding. He was friends with Minho’s friends, and they all met once to drink on a Saturday night, and for some stupid reason, Minho couldn’t stop looking at Jisung the entire night. They talked and laughed and they just fit in a way Minho wasn’t used to, and by the end of the night, Jisung was slightly drunk and a bit bolder.

“You’re pretty,” he said, eyes shiny and searching all over Minho’s face.

“Pretty? I’m more used to ‘handsome’,” Minho smirked, and then hid his flush by finishing his last drink.

“Hm, that too,” Jisung said, then touched Minho’s cheek with the tip of his finger. Their eyes met and Jisung smiled and his lips were shaped like a heart and Minho wanted to kiss them until he passed out. “Pretty. Pretty baby.”

They went home together. It was supposed to be just because Jisung lived too far from the bar and wasn’t feeling like paying for an Uber, and Minho was drunk and stupid and he wanted to spend a bit more time with Jisung, so they walked together. They were laughing about something when they stepped inside, and a moment later they weren’t laughing anymore.

Jisung kissed like he was trying to make a point – soft lips, hard touches, tongue just as mischievous as his jokes. He stripped Minho, led him to the bed and kissed him a bit more: Minho’s cheeks and the tip of his nose and his chin, his nipples, his stomach, his thighs. By the time he positioned himself in the middle of Minho’s legs, Minho was trembling, lips bleeding from how much he was biting on them – and Jisung kissed them again, sucked the blood out of his bottom lip, sucked on his tongue, made Minho chase after him while pressing inside.

It was madness, complete madness. Minho didn’t know what to do with himself, or with his ruined sheets, or with his sensitive body and messed up mind. And Jisung – sweet, attentive, lovely Jisung – kissed him again after, when Minho was crying because he never felt that much pleasure in his life, never came so hard, never felt anything like that before. Jisung tried to carry him to the bathroom and they ended up falling, laughing on the bed, their lips still close, their bodies touching everywhere, and it was madness.

“My legs are jelly, man,” Jisung said, and Minho laughed some more and Jisung kissed him again.

“Want me to carry you, then?” Minho asked, pulled at the hair on the back of his head, bit on his lip, his tongue, his chin, said, “You see, I have pretty strong legs.”

And Jisung moaned in his mouth, said yes, and Minho climbed on his lap, rode him until Jisung was whimpering and crying and begging. They showered later, and Jisung slept naked on Minho’s bed and Minho couldn’t stop thinking what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, but he was tired and Jisung was trying to cuddle as the little spoon, so he let it happen, saying it was just one time. Just one time.

 Well, yeah. Maybe Minho was just a fucking liar.

It should be easy. It was so easy. They met constantly and had dates every week and just fit so well in every way possible. Jisung would crash at Minho’s place almost every day and play Mario Kart while Minho read some articles for his next week’s class. Minho would cook and Jisung would tell him how good it smelled, put on whatever music he liked, press himself to Minho’s back and kiss his neck, rock with him around the kitchen just like that. They would buy little things for Minho’s house: a new plant, groceries for a movie night they could possibly have, medicine, new sheets, an extra pillow. Minho’s closet was full of Jisung’s clothes.

Minho didn’t mean to fall in love. He wasn’t supposed to. He never wanted it. And still, he did all the same.

Jisung was too sweet, too caring, too easy to love. He kissed and touched and made Minho feel so wanted, so loved, so… special. They basically lived together. Their lives were intertwined. Minho felt invincible, like nothing could ever fuck up whatever they had going on.

“Are you dating?” Chan asked one night when Jisung was too deep in study to visit.

“No?” Minho said, frowning deeply. He never cared to name what they had, it wasn’t important. It wasn’t. “We’re just… us, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Chan said, sipping on his beer, eyeing Minho carefully like he knew something Minho didn’t. “Do you know what you feel, though? For each other.”

Minho finished his beer, eyes glued to the TV. He knew he was in love with Jisung. They were in too deep now for him to feel anything different, but he had no idea about Jisung. Minho loved Jisung – so much he felt empty in his apartment when Jisung wasn’t around. Did Jisung love him?

“Yes,” he crooked out, hoping it was stable enough for Chan to believe him.

Chan just sipped on his beer again, looking back to the TV, then said, “Good,” and Minho had no idea if he believed him or not.

At the end of August, Jisung stayed at Minho’s everyday, every week.

Minho made him coffee and watched laid on his shoulder him ramble about whatever had happened at work that day while Jisung played with his hair, his other hand caressing Minho’s shin. It was such a tender touch, and he felt so happy, so comfortable, so at home. He wanted that for the rest of his life. He wanted Jisung and their terrible routines and their movie dates and sweet kisses. He wanted everything.

“Jisung,” he said later when they were in bed, limbs a mess under the sheets.

“Yeah, baby?” Jisung mumbled, kissed his shoulder, the back of his neck, his ear.

Minho smiled tenderly, happy and in love, said, “Nothing,” and he laughed a little, slightly nervous but still calmer than he expected, “I just love you.”

Jisung just held him tighter and said nothing more, his entire body stiffer.

In the morning, Jisung left without kissing Minho goodbye. At night, Minho slept at Chan’s.

“It’s been a week, love,” Chan told him on the 7th night Minho asked him to sleep over, rocking a sleepy Felix on his lap. “I love you and I really don’t mind you sleeping over, but you can’t ignore this forever.”

“He didn’t call either,” Minho said, and it was a petty thing knowing Jisung kept asking about him through their friends since Minho stopped answering his messages. “He didn’t do anything; this is so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Felix said because he was young and wise and smarter than Minho even almost asleep. “You love him, Min. It’s okay to be upset.”

“I’m not upset, I’m just-” Minho laughed, feeling a bit manic. Everything hurt so bad lately and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with that. “I’m fine. I just don’t think we have things to discuss.”

“You can’t avoid him forever, you know,” Chan said. “We’re all friends.”

“I can’t- I can’t see him and listen to him telling me he wants to be friends and that he doesn’t love me and- I don’t know, everything was a fucking lie and I’ve been delusional this whole time, and he kissed me like he kissed everyone else, and was living with me and buying me fucking- fucking sheets! Just because we were good fuck buddies or whatever, I can’t, I’m not- I’m not strong enough for that, I can’t do this, Chan, I’m not-”

He cried in Chan’s arms for a long time while Felix caressed his hair like he was a child. He felt like laughing again, being miserable on the floor of his friend’s house that were a happy couple, but he had no energy for that. He was so tired, and he slept for maybe 5 hours the entire week, so he passed out.

When he woke up, Jisung had tried to call him. Chan told him over breakfast that he talked to Jisung, told him Minho slept over a few times because it was closer to his work and he was too tired to get home. Minho was so grateful he could’ve kissed his best friend.

“Kiss me instead,” Felix said, puckering his lips.

At night, on his way home, Jisung texted him again.

meet me at the rooftop

please

It was a chilly night. Minho felt a bit more put together when he stepped out of the lift, too tired to have another breakdown. Jisung was about to break his heart again, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Hi,” Jisung said as soon as he saw Minho. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Minho lied because he wasn’t about to tell Jisung he’d been miserable without him. “You?”

“Good,” he said. Minho hated it. Then, with a trembling breath, Jisung said, “that’s such a fucking lie. I’ve been miserable. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Don’t call me baby, Minho thought. He said, “Why are you sorry, Jisung,” he sighed, already too tired to be having this conversation. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I know I did, I just- tell me, baby, what can I do to fix this?” Jisung pleaded, his eyes big and shiny and tired. He looked beautiful under the stars like he belonged next to them. Minho loved him so much it was like pressing a knife to an open wound.

“Don’t do this to me,” Minho mumbled, too weak to fight, too hurt to give in. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Minho-”

“You know we can’t pretend nothing happened; you know this. You can’t call me here and call me baby and fucking look at me like that, and-”

“Minho, please, I-”

“I said I loved you, Jisung!” Minho snapped. He was angry and hurt and he wasn’t about to cry, but his eyes were red and Jisung was looking at him like was beautifully broken. “I said I love you, and you said nothing. You said nothing back.”

“I’m sorry, Minho…”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. You don’t have to feel the same, you don’t have to love me, but I can’t- I can’t pretend I never said that. I can’t pretend I don’t love you when you’re by my side, I can’t,” Minho huffed a little laugh, rubbed his eyes aggressively. When he opened his eyes, Jisung’s hands were raised, like he wanted to touch him. Minho’s heart broke a little more. “We shouldn’t keep doing this. Being with you will be like- like fucking twisting a knife, and I’ll bleed whenever you touch me. I’ll think I love you and your silence will fucking kill me, love, I can’t do this to myself, I’m sorry, I can't-”

“My baby, my love, I’m so sorry,” Jisung whispered in his hair, holding his trembling body close, so close, and he was warm and familiar and it hurt so bad. “I’m sorry. I’m so scared, Minho, I don’t know what to do. I fell in love with you from the moment you told me your name and I didn’t know what to do with it because it was so much, so fast.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Jisung, it’s fine,” Minho whispered, getting angry again, trying to pull away, but Jisung tightened his grip, buried his nose on Minho’s neck, kissed the skin so very gently that Minho almost cried, wanting to scream: tell me to stay and I will.

“I love you, Minho,” Jisung mumbled. Then, pulling out of his hiding spot to look at Minho in the eye, he said, “I love you, darling, I love you so much and it scares the shit out of me. It scares me so much.”

“Why?” Minho whispered, too dumbstruck to say anything else.

“Because I’ll be destroyed by the extension of my devotion for you,” Jisung told him, his fingers gentle over his face: his cheeks and eyes and nose and lips. “I’ll love you until it breaks my bones and turns me to dust, and I don’t care because it’ll be worth it. I would let you rip me apart, take my heart from my chest and feed it to the moon. I would let you do anything to me, and that’s scary. I feel too much, too deeply, and I’m a mess and I don’t know what to do about anything, but I love you and that’s all I can tell you right now. I’m so sorry, Min.”

Minho was crying again when they kissed, holding each other’s faces, something desperate and sweet at the same time. Jisung still tasted like coffee and gummies, and he still smelled like love and home and something citric, and he loved Minho. Minho loved Jisung so much he could burst into flames.

“My stupid, stupid love,” Minho whispered when they parted, his smile fond and teasing, nose still brushing against Jisung’s. “Let’s go home.”

“Home?” Jisung whispered back, his hands on top of Minho’s on his face. “Our home?”

“Yeah, love,” Minho grinned, kissing Jisung again, pushing his hair away from his face. “Our home.”

Later, naked under the sheets, Jisung whispered he loved Minho again, said it in the corner of his mouth, made Minho cum just like that. Then again, between sleepy kisses and whispered sweet nothings.

“Don’t go away again, please,” Jisung said. “Stay forever.”

And Minho sighed happily, nodded against his jaw, said, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Minho woke up to an empty bed. He put on a big hoodie and went to the bathroom, body warm and still slow with sleep, his eyes still heavy with the temptation of sleeping a bit more. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, put on some lotion, then made his way back to the kitchen.

The smell of coffee was strong, and the toaster was on. The window was open, soft breeze coming inside the place, birds singing to Minho that it was spring.

“Morning, baby,” Jisung said as soon as he saw Minho bending on the counter. He turned the oven off and walked to Minho, hugged him, kissed him slowly, brushed his lips against his cheek, the mole on his nose, his bottom lip, then his upper. He smiled when Minho looked at him, said, “Sleepy?”

“Mhm,” Minho hummed, laying his head on Jisung’s shoulder.

“Come eat, then we can sleep a bit more. It’s Saturday!” Jisung said, and Minho laughed a little at his enthusiasm.

They sat on the table. There was a half peeled clementine on a plate, a few pastries on another. Two cups of warm coffee sat there, waiting for them to drink it.

Minho hadn’t flinched in years.