Archive of Our Own ^beta

In the heart of of July. Summer means freedom, lightheartedness. Being purified from your mind and worries.

Minho was nine years old when his mom had to move to a bigger city. Nothing in the town is the same as they left it. The sun beams brighter now, more vibrant and and intense than he recalls, casting a golden hue over the streets. 

A handful of people strolling down the sidewalks with their big sunglasses perched at the tip of their nose, wide smiles gracing the corners of their mouths. What Minho can only dream of becoming. Carefree and happy. He grips on his suitcase tighter in his hand.

Minho’s life descended into a disorder in the last two months, so he did what he knew best: abandoning the city for the familiar warmth of his grandmother’s house in his hometown.

Minho buys flowers in the bazaar for his grandma. His grandma loved orchids but said she was too old to take care of them properly, so Minho selects a bundle of pink and blue tulips instead.

As Minho turns around the corner, his childhood home comes into view, a wide smile creeping onto his face. It’s been so long since a sincere smile illuminated across his features.

His grandma hugs him the tightest as she sees him after all these years. She always gave Minho the best hugs, his favorite embrace in the world.

“You’ve grown so much, my dear. You’re all grown up now.”

“Really?” Minho laughs, wipes away the tears in his grandma’s eyes. “Mom keeps telling me I never act my age.”

“Aish, don’t mind that shrew. When I look at you now, I see a very young and handsome man.”

Their time living under the same roof was a constant tug-of-war, with tension simmering just below the surface. Every little thing sparked an argument between them— whether it was about the way the house was kept or how meals were prepared. 

His mom never liked the dishes grandma cooked, and grandma never liked the cleaning his mom did. She used to say that his mother always did a sloppy job, and would sweep the floors once again that she already swept. So it was inevitable for his mom to make a scene again.

“It’s delicious, halmoni. Mom can never make kimchi like you.”

“Eat well, my baby.” She chuckles, running her fingers through her grandson’s hair. “Your father also would prefer my kimchi. You have similar taste to him.”

When Minho’s father died, his mom took her son with her and went to the city, to her own family.

Minho’s memories of his father are faint, like a faded photograph with edges worn down by time. He doesn’t have many stories to share, no vivid vision of their time together, but there’s one thing he does remember clearly: the fishing trips. Minho would tag along after his father, his small feet trudging along the path to the river. He taught Minho how to bait the hook.

The first and only time Minho managed to catch a fish, his father pulled him into the air, spinning him around like he was the most precious catch of the day. “Well done, punk.” Minho giggled like crazy all day. He couldn’t stop talking about the fish’s enormous eyes.

The details of his face had blurred with time. Even if he doesn’t remember much, Minho knows he loved his father to the deepest.

“Your hair grew so long. You can get a new cut, dear.”

Minho drops the chopsticks beside his bowl, dragging his hand through his hair, fingertips grazing the base of his neck as the strands fall into place.

“Sure. I can see around the neighborhood too.”

His grandma sets him up in his childhood room. Things are different, of course. The bed sheet is replaced with plain, white set, not the bright floral one it used to be.

There’s also a new full length mirror in his room.

He agrees with his grandma as he sees the lengthy locks drape over his eyes, framing his face.

He unzips his bag, pulling out a pair of knee-length shorts and a plain white shirt, setting them aside before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. His grandma gives him a kiss on his forehead before leaving.

The city doesn’t look that diferrent to be honest. It’s been so long since he saw the sun shining tangerine orange like wanting to prove it’s the superior. Grasshoppers buzzing through the grass like they want to show Minho who owns the place. It’s not the city changing, Minho comes to the conclusion after hearing the birds warbling the same.

Right. He’s just another stranger passing through. It gives him every excuse to let his eyes linger, sheepishly watching the guy walking across the street. He could do whatever he pleased, and no one would be batting and eye on him, he’s invisible, just a fleeting presence in a place that isn’t his unlike the birds and grasshoppers.

The guy looks around Minho’s age. Deep brown locks of hair dripping wet, glimpses of a sun smooched chest under his button down shirt, bright rays of the sun flaming across his face.

It’s ridiculous. The sun raging to challenge Minho now rewards someone else. The guy is wearing flip-flops, gripping on his straw bag, his shorts no longer than seven inches.

Minho knows it’s too late for him now as the stranger catches his glaring because the street is small, anyone can see anyone. Minho knows what it means for him because the stranger’s lips curl into a subtle smile, a hint of gleam playing in his eyes, tricky.

Cool. He’s beatiful, effortlessly so, with a petite waist defined beneath his see-through shirt. Minho’d like to get a better look at his face, but the stranger is just a stranger. He turns his back and keeps walking. Minho would stop him and ask for his number if it could turn into something.

The hairdresser saloon smells like a mixture of lemon and cinnamon.

Minho hates cinnamon because his mom told him that he needs to get tall and strong just like dad when he grows up, so she used to make him drink cinnamon milk every night. Funny thing because Minho was never as tall and strong as his father.

“You new around here, boy?”

Definitely not the hairdresser from his childhood. Even if it was, neither of them would remember.

“Yes, ajusshi. I came here to visit my grandma, Lee Sunhee. I’m her grandson, Lee Minho.”

What Minho learned the best was that connections mattered. It’s significant to build good relationships with people because sooner or later it will be of some use to you.

The hairdresser, Song Kyung-Cheol, knows and respects his grandma just like the rest of the neighborhood does. He talks about her with the kind of reverence you’d reserve for a local legend. “Your grandmother’s beloved around here,” he says, maneuvering the scissor in Minho’s hair. “A pure heart and a kind soul. That’s what she is.”

It’s for better to stay in touch with people because the hairdresser doesn’t charge Minho for the haircut, for his grandmother’s sake.

Minho runs his fingers through his freshly cut hair, feeling the lightness now that it no longer falls into his eyes. “Thank you for the haircut,” he singsongs, “and for your kindness.”

The barber nods, a satisfied grin on his face, as Minho steps out into the blazing sunlight. The heat hits him immediately, the sun scorching overhead, and Minho’s throat is in flames. The town is small, and there’s a convenience store around the corner.

The store reminds him of the days when he and mom would go for shopping together. Minho’s constant pleas to ride in the cart were always met with a firm ‘no’ from his mother.

“Please, mommy, Jungsu’s mom always sits him there.” 

“Then go let her mother you, smartass.”

Minho adds a few grape sodas, patato chips and a cherry flavored popsicle to his cart. It’s been a while since he went out for shopping without someone else. 

Hand over the money, get the change or let them keep it if you’re rich enough, wish them a good day and leave. That’s how you interact with the cashier.

He’s at the checkout, gaze solely fixed on his purchases. The beeping sounds of his food passing through the checkout is the only thing drowning out the silence. Minho refuses to let his gaze fall on the cashier until he hears a subtle chuckle.

“I thought you were quite brave for a stranger. I was wrong.”

Minho lifts his head just to see the guy he saw on the street this morning. The sunlight doesn’t reach inside, casting his face in cooler tones now. Defined nose and jaw, eyes that are large and expressive, reminiscent of boba pearls, swelling of his pink plush lips. His features were drawn delicately with brush strokes. Does he know how his cheeks are blushing into a pretty shade of red now?

“That would be 8000 won.”

Minho hands him over the money, stowing his purchases into his bag. He’s painfully silent and it’s not really helping.

“Do you work here?”

It’s not really helping at all. He looks stupid. The stranger looks at him like he’s stupid. He points at the name card pinned to his shirt. Minho squints and reads, Han Jisung. Cool. His name suits his looks.

“It’s my uncle’s store. Sometimes I look after here.”

Minho’s never been good at maths.

When he did poorly in math, his mother would take half the food off his plate. She would scold him in front of his friends who got high score. Minho didn’t really care about his reputation around them, but he cried like his eyes were caught in flames when his mother told him he doesn’t get to be appreciated in life if he doesn’t try enough. That’s how life works, she said, you don’t get to be sentimental.

“I like your new hair.”

Minho slings the shopping bag over his arm, allowing it swing a few times and bump against his waist. “How’d you know I got a new haircut?”

Jisung’s smile is heart shaped, cute. “Your hair was quite longer this morning, it caught my attention.”

Minho is taken aback. Being recalled wasn’t an expectation. He absentmindedly twirls a lock of hair at the nape of his neck around his finger. “It was, and— thank you.”

“For what?”

“For liking my hair.”

It’s not until Han Jisung gives him his change that Minho realizes that this is the only reason he’s still talking to him. Oh. He’s the desperate customer.

Jisung must expect Minho to turn around and leave. The exchange is successfully completed. Minho should leave. He would consider leaving if Minho didn’t knew in the pit of his stomach that they were meant to be more than this.

“You’re new here.”

Minho can’t suppress his smile. “How do you know I’m new?”

“It’s a small town. Everyone knows each other. And I’d remember a pretty face like yours if you lived here.”

The classics. It’s a small town. Jisung must be sick of it.

Minho knows how equations work. He didn’t have to get good grades in math to understand them. And the equation here is simple. They’re both people trying to blend in, shaping into figures. Minho could make Jisung feel less alone, and Jisung could provide some time for Minho to fill the void in his heart.

The summer is hot and wild. Vivid. Nearly two months to go. It could turn into something useful if Jisung lets it. Minho hopes he lets him.

“When is your shift over?”

Minho doesn’t know how to take things slow. Mother genes, a horrible tendency to jump into conclusions. When it came to making decisions about Minho’s life, she would jump into conclusions too. Never really cared about what Minho had to say. She had the strings at the end of the day.

But Jisung is different. He’s not like Minho. There’s a faint of a smile playing on his lips whether or not Minho is moving a little fast. He envies him.

“At six. Would you stick around?”

Minho checks the silver watch on his wrist. Good. An hour to six. Minho could give him all the time in the world if it meant to be.

“Cool. I hope I can trust you with sharing my snacks.” He sticks out his butt slightly, showing off his bag full of snacks. “It must be quiet lonely here. You shouldn’t miss even the smallest opportunity. It doesn’t come along all the time.”

“I know. I never waste an opportunity that comes my way.”

His lips curl into a grin, “see you around six.”

Minho feels a pair of eyes carving a hole into the bones of his back as he walks out of the store. The little bell on the door jingles as he passes by.

Minho wishes he also bought ramen. Who else would eat spicy ramen in such a hot climate other than him? Jeongin, in fact, would. His friend of seven months. Minho got this habit from him.

Seven months may not sound like forever, but Minho believes in the value of things shared over time rather than time periods. Jeongin proved that he’s not just there fulfill a span of time, showed Minho that times and durations have no value.

Minho comes and goes. Jisung could be there just to fulfill a span of time, to be remembered as sunny days and flowers blooming in a hot summer day, when Minho walks his home under a heavy rain. They could be a lot of things together to never forget.

Just a little surge of rush coursing through his veins and nothing more, nothing permanent and full of love. He’s not asking for more than a sense of warmth and belonging, and Jisung is probably the only one in this town capable of offering it. He doesn’t really want Jisung to ruin it for him.

Five past six. His hands are slightly shaking at his sides now as he waits for Jisung to finish talking to his uncle. He has his eyes on Minho for every ten seconds, a cute habit of biting on his lips, suppressing a smile.

“Sorry. My uncle talks a lot.” Jisung coos as he approaches Minho, cheeks flushed furious. “You look beatiful.”

Minho giggles. “I look the same as you saw me last time.”

“Still beatiful.” He shrugs, holds onto his little shoulder bag as they walk down the street. Minho doesn’t really know where they’re going. “I wonder if one day this beatiful man will offer me his name.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Minho chuckles, genuine. “Lee Minho. You might know Lee Sunhee, my granny. I figured she’s popular here.”

Jisung’s eyes lighten up, his expression visibly softening. The Lee Sunhee Effect. She put magical powder into her shared cookies. “Of course I know her, isn’t she the kind old lady living at no 7? She once gave me a herbal cream for a cut on my knee.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.”

“I didn’t know she had a grandson.” Jisung’s brows furrow.

“You’re not supposed to know that. I don’t live here. Just for the summer.” It’s enough small talking. Minho tells him like he wants Jisung to make a move about it.

Jisung suddenly stops in the middle of the sidewalk, a bulb lightening up above his head, making Minho stumble along with him. Maybe he’s about to make a move.

“I want to take you somewhere. Would you mind getting your clothes a bit wet?”

“It’s summer. I wouldn’t mind, I guess.” And a lazy smile follows.

“Good. Come with me.”

Jisung suddenly changes their direction. Minho couldn’t be more pleased to see him finally making a move.

The last time Minho made a move on someone, he ended up getting engaged to him.

He had hard time relating to people, and when he finally did, he had a nature to never let it go.

He loved Junwoo, his last boyfriend, to death. Minho was a tight embrace, and a warm house for him. Someone designed for utility. A warm lentil soup igniting a fire in his stomach. Someone who would put a vinegar soaked cloth on his foreahed when he’s sick. Not more than a trading business, not someone to share his love with.

Junwoo was a piece of shit, and Minho knew it. Whether it consumed him or tore into pieces, he wouldn’t let it go until he saw the end. That’s what his mother taught him, earning and claiming what belongs to him. Holding onto what’s his until it made his heart sinking deep and slow in his chest.

Now Minho is the easiest person someone can relate to. He doesn’t get attached to people. He never tries for more. Took his lesson. Junwoo left a stain on his soul that can never be erased.

“Almost there, watch out for the thorns.”

Minho holds onto Jisung’s hand just because he can. The path is among large bushes and trees. He doesn’t know the place. Minho will excuse it if Jisung asks him why he’s reached for his hand.

But Jisung doesn’t ask. He even clenches their fingers together as he leads the way. They both don’t talk about it. Minho is glad they’re on the same page.

A shimmering river down his feet, a few of a birds singing out. A beatiful place surrounded by trees. The river level is relatively high, and if Minho went in, the water would reach up to his nipples.

“I come here whenever I feel overwhelmed. It’s refreshing to get away for a bit. Disappearing from sight.”

Minho looks around mesmerized until his eyes finally lands on Jisung’s face. He’s smiling. Attractive. He’s complementing all the greenery and nature around him like a sunflower. Challenging to be kissed on his lips like it’s an urgency and can’t be waited.

“It’s beatiful, Jisung. I like it here. Should we go in?”

Jisung giggles as he picks up a pebble from the ground and sends it skimming across the water, watching it splash around. “We don’t have any clothes with us.”

“But we can still dunk our feet in.” Minho walks down to a large rock by the water and sits down, with Jisung trailing behind him.

“It’s cold at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

“We’ll see.” Minho takes off his shoes and socks, placing them neatly beside him. He shivers like a stray cat as the tip of his toes first gets in contact with the water. It comes easier to immerse the rest.

“You like it?”

“Yes.” Minho answers, glances up at him. Jisung stands with his arms folded across his chest. Minho gestures to the space beside him. “Come here.”

Jisung listens, settling down next to him. He doesn’t flinch away as their shoulders gently brush. He does the same, removing his slippers. It’s efortless to send a flutter through Minho’s heart, making it tremble. The water laps halfway up the rock they’re perched on.

“It’s the perfect spot for a picnic,” Minho reaches for his bag, hands searching for his sodas and patato chips. He can only hope Jisung likes grapes as much as him. “Here, take it.”

Minho hands him a can of grape soda, the cold metal cool against their fingers as they touch briefly. He then unwraps a bag of chips, spreading it open and placing it on his lap.

Jisung gulps down the drink, Minho watches the way his throat bobs with every sip. Jisung’s honey-toned skin looks invitingly biteable. Pretty. Minho’d like to take care of his throat. “My lips were so dry,” Jisung murmurs, licking over his glistening lips. “That felt amazing, thank you.”

Minho flashes a smile. He’s a simple guy. Would Jisung let him take care of his lips too?

“Where do you live?” Jisung asks.

“Seoul.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty seven, probably older than you.”

Jisung reaches for a chip and pops it into his mouth. “I’m twenty five.”

Minho didn’t have much partners, but when he did, they were always older than him. In high school, he used to date with his friends’ brothers, particularly those with a rugged allure— big guys with tattoos and a commanding presence. He had his priorities just like mom. She was nine years younger than Minho’s dad.

Junwoo is thirty five now. Minho met him when he was twenty nine. He promised Minho that he was going to be his last and only the night he took his virginity.

“Lee Minho,” Jisung’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. “Do you always trust people so easily?”

“What?”

“You don’t know this place very well. You don’t know the people here. I could’ve been a murderer, luring you here on purpose.”

Minho takes a sip. His throat tingles. The crooked grin on Jisung’s lips makes him feel intoxicated. “I don’t know. You didn’t seem like the type to kill me.”

Jisung swings his foot, sending ripples across the water’s surface. “This is something you can’t get to know.”

“I can,” grimaces Minho. “You said you know how to take opportunities coming your way. See? I’m your opportunity. So, killing me would be a waste of potential.”

Minho waits for him to fight back, for their little argument to melt into a fit of giggles. It doesn’t. Jisung’s eyes betray his interest, especially when they linger on Minho’s lips more than seconds. He’s not slick. Minho can read him like a well worn book.

“Do you like cherries?”

“All time favorite.”

Minho fishes out a cherry popsicle from his bag, swiftly removing the wrapper. He then leans in, pressing it gently against Jisung’s lips. “Here,” murmurs softly, “open your mouth.”

Jisung parts his lips, welcoming the icy treat to melt on his tongue, feeling the coolness spread around. Minho has a grin on his face, pressing the popsicle in Jisung’s cheek before pulling it away with a flick of his wrist. He smears a bit at the corner of his mouth just for the vibes.

Jisung watches Minho’s lips closing around the cherry popsicle. He’s all in for the show. Exaggerated slurping noises, flicking his tongue around it, finishing the play with a loud pop sound.

“It was my favorite when I was little. They don’t sell this brand in the city now.”

Jisung hums, licking over his syrup smeared, red stained lips. “How long are you staying here?”

“A few weeks longer than a month, I think.” Minho replies, adds for guarantee, “So I have to make the most of my days here.”

The sun hasn’t set yet. That’s why Minho loves summer. He has all the time in the world to waste or benefit from. The sunlight casts a golden hue upon Jisung’s face, fitting him like a second skin. Minho knows Jisung was meant for summer.

“What did you come here hoping to find, Minho?”

“Told you, I came to visit my granny.”

“Nope,” Jisung clicks his tongue and leans back, propping his hands behind him. “There should be more to it. It doesn’t really make sense otherwise.”

Maybe Minho is a well worn book too. He’s a guy with simple morals.

“I broke up with Junwoo, my ex fiancé, three months ago.” A tremor racing down his spine as Jisung’s gaze finds him, and scathes him in the face. “It feels good to get away from the city, back to my childhood town. I wanted to clear my head.”

Jisung swallows. Minho hopes he doesn’t take pity on him. Minho needs more than Jisung’s pity. He won’t settle for that.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“It’s okay.” Minho smiles. “It’s been months. I’m over it.”

Jisung falls silent, Minho diverts his gaze towards the stagnant water. He takes slow sips from his grape soda, each swallow blasting a fever in his throat.

Minho was told to stop crying when he told his mother that he found out his seven months of fiancé is cheating on him with some of his colleagues. 

“Jesus Christ. Stop crying or you’ll get wrinkles on your forehead at such young and beatiful times.”

Park Eunji. Long slender legs, silky black hair cascading down to her waist, pink plump lips. His fiancé introduced her to Minho as someone he hates and can’t stand to see everyday. He always complained about his job. Minho was dumb enough to try to comfort him by massaging his shoulders. 

“She always bosses me around. Everything about her annoys me. Even her little ribboned red scarf is enough to get on my nerves.” Junwoo breathed out through his nose, “I’d quit my job if it weren’t for our future. You’re the only reason I keep motivated, sweetheart.”

How could Minho come to realise the poison drooling in Junwoo’s words, when it dripped like honey from the corners of his mouth?

“You’re the love of my life, Minho, I can’t wait to marry you.”

Minho was blind, dumbfounded, caught in a whirlwind. He would’ve denied that Junwoo was cheating on him if it weren’t for the little ribboned red scarf under their king sized bed, the scent of a floral cologne on his pillow. He, then found out Eunji wasn’t financially stable enough for Junwoo’s liking, that’s why he couldn’t let go of Minho. 

“Dinner’s ready, sweetheart. I made your favorite.”

Minho didn’t cry when he sat with him at the dining table. He didn’t even take a bite.

“What is it? You didn’t like the meat? Not well grilled? Is it too spicy—”

“I want to break up.”

“What?”

Minho wanted to kill him.

“You heard me. I want to break up.”

“I don’t understand, Minho, did I do something wrong? You’re not in your mind. Don’t say shit you’ll regret.”

“I have nothing to regret. I don’t want you anymore.”

“You don’t want me anymore?” Junwoo’s voice grew louder as he stood up, his figure casting a shadow over Minho. A fucking show off.

He stood silent for half a minute. His expression was sour and readable. He was desperate, seething with rage. Minho felt his soul being sucked into a vortex in thirty second.

“We’re engaged, Minho, you can’t just decide on our future on your own.” Junwoo’s voice grew louder, pacing across the room like crazy.

“On my own?” Minho felt a veil descend over his eyes, clouding his vision. He grabbed the nearest plate, and hurled it towards Junwoo’s feet. It fell into shattered pieces. Blaze in Minho’s eyes never dimmed. “You let strangers into our bed, bastard,” he spat out, voice dripping raw poison. “I’m not getting married with a goddamn whore.”

Junwoo’s expression softened, jaw hung slack, Minho saw him faltering on his feet.

“You ruined everything. No fucking future for you and me.”

He didn’t get to cry until he lay his head in his mother’s lap the next morning. When he cried, his mother despised him.

“You’re not the only one with a broken heart. Get over it. Crying looks disgusting on you.”

Minho didn’t listen to her. He cried more until his eyes dried out, tears shimmering like unshed pearls in his eyes.

Minho’s favorite season has always been summer. He loved to sit across the woven wicker rug on the wide porch of his grandma’s house. The cool breeze from the fan washed over his face like a wave of ice.

His mom would turn off the fan, telling him he’d get sick if he sat in front it all day. Minho secretly liked it when his mother scolded him. It was the little moments he felt valued.

It doesn’t feel the same now as Minho is sitting on the porch. The huge green fan is nowhere to be seen. It was rusty and old, his grandma had to throw it away.

Half past ten. Minho had agreed to meet Jisung at twelve at the same place. The clock’s ticking. Minho has nothing to waste. They have their time until the trees shed their leaves and the flowers wither away.

“You know that I’m interested in you, right?” Minho asks, just for the affirmation. Glancing over Jisung through his sunglasses slipping off his nose.

Jisung is sprawled out on a large rock, water reaching his feet, tickling his skin. He blinks a few times, resembling the lazy ease of sun-drenched afternoons. Responds, “I— I know, I guess.”

“Good. Now it’s your turn.”

“I’m interested in you too. Isn’t much of it pretty obvious?”

“It’s good to avoid any misunderstanding in advance.” Minho shrugs, taking off his big glasses. He puts them on Jisung instead, earning a heart shaped smile.

“Do you know how to swim?”

“Yeah? You don’t?” Jisung frowns, confused.

“Nope.”

Jisung rises to same level as him, pointing at the straw tote bag their towels in. “How are you planning to swim then?”

“The water is shallow. I don’t think I’ll drown.”

Jisung removes his, Minho’s, glasses, his eyes glittering like the clearest seas Minho has ever seen. “You’re ridiculous. I thought you knew how to swim.”

“I don’t have to.” Minho grins, kicking off his slippers. Pulls off his shirt and tosses it at Jisung, the fabric landing on his knees. “Come on, get naked.”

Jisung lets out a hearty laugh, setting the glasses and Minho’s shirt aside before peeling off his own shirt. “Be careful. Slippery rocks.”

Minho’s blood rushes warm. He feels a tremor down to his feet as water rises to his chest. Gentle waves lapping against his skin. Jisung follows closely behind. He knows how to move his hands and legs in the water unlike Minho. Cool. He can enjoy standing on his feet as well, ripples are ticklish and fun enough for his body.

“So you’re just gonna stand there?” Jisung calls out, swimming in lazy circles around Minho, a teasing grin on his face. Minho retaliates, a splash toward his smug features.

“Want me to teach you?” Jisung laughs, extending a hand towards Minho.

“You can try,” Minho takes his hand, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But unfortunately, my arms and legs are not capable of swimming.”

“Anyone can swim,” Jisung pulls him gently through the water, “You just haven’t had the right teacher yet,”

“You’re so full of yourself,”

They move slowly, Minho’s knuckles turning white from gripping so hard. Jisung lets him sink his nails into his skin as harsh as he pleases.

“Okay, lets start with your arms.” Jisung begins, his voice calm and reassuring. “Extend your arms out in front of you, palms facing down, and then sweep them outwards and downwards, like this.”

He demonstrates the motion slowly, ensuring Minho can follow along. Minho mimicks him, their fingers intertwining like a natural extension of their bodies.

“Like this?” Minho coos, feeling the water resistance against his hands.

“That’s it, Minho, you’re doing great,” Jisung praises, a smile brightening his face as he continues to hold Minho’s hands.

“Now, kick your legs gently behind you, like you’re riding a bicycle,” he instructs, demonstrating the motion once again. “Keep your knees slightly bent and your feet relaxed.”

Minho tries to imitate the action. It’s futile. His legs moving awkward. “Seonsaengnim, I don’t think I’m doing it right,” and he loses his balance, luckily Jisung’s grasp on him is firm enough to keep him on the surface.

“Seonsaengnim, I think this is where we give up,” gasps Minho, lowering his legs to the ground.

“Come on, I thought you wouldn’t give up so easily.”

Minho pushes through the resistance of the water, making his way toward where their towels lay. Jisung keeps pace beside him. “Sadly, I have my priorities, and swimming isn’t one yet.” Reaching the edge, he hoists himself onto the rock, wrapping a towel around his shivering body.

“You’re no fun,” Jisung grumbles, climbs up after him. “We had just started,”

“Don’t worry, you’re not the only one failing to teach me how to swim.” He chuckles. Jisung watches him over his dripping shoulders as Minho does the towel wrapping for him instead.

Once Minho went to the pool with Junwoo, he tried to teach him how to swim too. He weren’t as gentle as Jisung, his blood streamed rushing and hot, got annoyed easily when Minho couldn’t lift his legs.

“You’re not doing it right, Minho, sweetheart, you’re not supposed to flap your legs like that,”

“How?”

They stayed in the pool until late hours because Minho’s pride outweighed, wanted to impress his boyfriend. Knew how to take compliments.

But he never flapped his legs right. He almost drowned when Junwoo accidentally dropped his hands.

“Oh my god, baby, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Minho coughed a few times, spitting out water. “Can we please go home?”

Jisung reminds Minho of sunny days. His smile is addicting, honey skin sun caressed. The sweet anticipation of biting into a plump red cherry for the first time in summer. Jisung also likes cherries. Minho could plant a cherry tree for him.

“Mmm, the stew is amazing.”

Jisung watches him fit a whole piece of meat in his mouth, sipping on pear cider to swallow his smile.

“Eat slowly, hyung, we have time.” Hyung slips naturally. Minho is too absorbed in his food to notice.

“Water drops my blood pressure,” Minho slurps on his drink. His eyebrows wiggling with each bite. “I need to nourish myself properly,”

“You’re cute,” Jisung blurts out, his voice tinged with a smile. “But still eat slow.”

“Take me to all the spots in town that have amazing food,” Minho grins, eyes blurring into a shimmer penetrating into Jisung’s brain. “The summer is all ours. We shouldn’t miss on anything, Jisung-ah.”

Minho believes he made his intention crystal water clear. His implications, open signals, hoping they would be noticed and reciprocated. He knew that Jisung would be a means to an end. By asking, by submitting. Minho will make sure Jisung gives in, the summer will make it up for him.

The sun lures him, traps him, Jisung doesn’t hesitate to reflect on his mind.

“Wanna come over to my place tonight?”

Minho licks over the remnants of rice on his lips. “Sure.”

Minho calls his grandma to let her know he won’t be home tonight, sleeping over at a friend’s. Lucky, she knows Jisung as a well behaved and polite kid.   

Jisung is a human reflection of his house. He has paintings of small, cheerful people holding cotton candies on his wall. There are huge ribbons at the back of their dresses, feathers on their fluffy hats.

His apartment is small, silent. His couches look puffy, would take the shape of Minho’s hips if he sat. There’s a guitar leaning against the wall.

“Do you know how to play it?”

“Not really. Still learning from my uncle.”

The house is dimly lit, there are small ornate candles on the shelves. Organized, neat books. Minho loves himself a worm.

“Do you live here alone?”

“I used to live with my mom. She got married and moved away.” 

“Do you miss her?” Minho doesn’t have to turn around to know Jisung is so close.

“Not really.” Jisung replies quietly. “She wasn’t home much anyway.”

“You must be so bored here all day,” Minho then turns around on his tiptoes, light as feather, Jisung’s demanding eyes are the first thing captivates him. “In this house, in this town,” he notices the swelling lump in Jisung’s throat, his hands moving to hook behind his neck. “Must be very difficult to be all alone,”

No need for validation. Seeking only for releasement. The first time Minho saw him, he exactly knew what it meant for him.

“Do you really want this, Jisung?”

“Yes.” Answer comes fast and sharp.

Minho doesn’t know who moves first, but they meet each other halfway. Jisung’s lips close over his, hands grounding tight around his waist. Minho feels his hunger seeping into every cell, kicking into his bloodstream.

Minho tilts his head, parting his lips, tasting pear cider as he sucks on Jisung’s tongue at the first opportunity. His little hitched noises drips into Minho’s mouth like a marmalade, drinking in until his tongue goes numb and heavy.

Jisung holds his hand, dragging him into his bedroom. Minho knows Jisung will make it good for him.

Jisung flashes his teeth once he has Minho all naked, wiggling, growing impatient beneath him.

He clasps their hands as he pushes in a lubed finger. Traces his lips across the soft and toned skin of Minho’s stomach, sucking on his puffed nipples while being three knuckles deep inside him.

“Your thighs are delicious,” Jisung praises, nibbling on the flesh of his inner thigh. “I knew it when I saw them at the river today.”

“Such a pervert,” Minho gasps, “you have no manners with older—aaah,”

Jisung hushes him with a firm hand around his cock. Minho can’t believe how easy Jisung makes it seem.

Jisung takes him from behind, because Minho said it’s been a while for him. He puts a silky pillow under his stomach, takes a forceful hold of his shivering hips. Minho can feel the younger’s length prodding against his entrance, loud whimpers being punched out of his lungs. 

Jisung pushes in slow and careful, finds Minho’s soft spot like he witnessed his body being created, has a map of his body in his basement. He bashes into his prostate while holding his hand. Jisung kisses him behind his neck, across his shoulder blades.

“Y—you’re the perfect size for me, filling me up s—so good,” Minho sounds velvet, cockdrunk. “I— I want to see you,”

Jisung flips him over on his back. Dips in for a kiss like he’s pining for him. Like he’s fond of him. Minho doubts Jisung has known him since forever.

Jisung thrusts into him, Minho hooks his legs around his waist. His heels digging hard into Jisung’s spine, urging him to fuck him deeper. Jisung shows clever, fucks him stupid, deeper.

Junwoo had rarely held his hand when they fucked. Jisung is nothing like him. He’s attentive and tender. He kisses Minho’s cheeks as he cries from pleasure fucking with his brain.

Jisung shakes Minho’s orgasm out of him like a movie scene. Minho cries louder, his body wavering up to his very bones.

Jisung’s release follows right after, he dives in for a kiss before pulling out, tying up the condom.

Minho would confess his love to him if they were in a movie. Under different circumstances. Matched perfect times. Jisung could’ve been his first love if they had met before Junwoo. If Minho’s dad hadn’t died, and his mom didn’t took him to the city.

Minho could meet Jisung in a hot summer day. In a blackberry field, he imagines. The sun is burning on their skin just right. Jisung takes his hand like he always does, leading him to the river. Minho initiates their first kiss there.

Jisung doesn’t get annoyed when Minho struggles to keep up with him in the water.

Jisung doesn’t hurt him when he takes his virginity out of him.

Jisung turns into a flushing mess when Minho takes him to meet his grandma.

Jisung could be exclusive to meet in another time where they’re fresh and alive. Endearing to look at, pleasant to kiss on his soft lips. Minho can’t wait to meet him all over again.

“Your feet are freezing,”

Jisung cleans the mess on his stomach with baby wipes. He calls out as they’re tangled under covers, kissing lazy until one of them falls asleep.

Nothing comes from Minho. Jisung tries again, “want me to turn on the heater?”

Minho feels his eyes burning again, tears pooling at the corners, front lip quievering into a pout. Not from pleasure this time.

A meaningless, satisfying sex. Jisung shouldn’t be so gentle with him. Minho doesn’t get to be sentimental.

“No, you warm me up.” Minho pulls him in to lock lips before an answer.

Jisung holds his cold hands in his palms because Minho insists on not turning the heater on.

Jisung falls asleep before him. Just for Minho’s eyes. A picture-perfect vision of The Sun.

𖦹

Minho wakes up before Jisung. He always wakes up early, because his mother always starts the day early.

She wanted Minho to learn fast, acquire a talent, be one step ahead of everyone else.

When he was eleven, she used to take Minho to piano classes.

You missed the right chord.

You don’t use your fingers right.

Minho never liked playing piano, because it was something his mom projected onto him, trying to obtain through him. She gave up on his music education when Minho broke a few keys on the piano.

Yellow, red, blue. Three primary colors. Purple, orange, green. Three intermediate colors. Brushes are numbered according to their shapes.

It was pointless. Minho never liked painting at all.

When his father died, she doted on Minho even more than before. She tried to make Minho useful in her eyes. His father’s little copy, a talented reflection carrying his genes.

“I wonder who you take after.” His mom sounded weary, hopeless. “Lucky you’re handsome just like your father, otherwise you’d be no better than the flower pot in our kitchen.”

Minho counts the moles scattered across Jisung’s face and neck. If he were certain it wouldn’t wake him, he’d plant feather-light kisses on each one.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand instead. He hasn’t checked since yesterday morning. 6 missed calls, 12 messages. Equals 18. Close enough. Minho met Junwoo when he was 21.

Minho slips into the kitchen, careful not to wake Jisung up. Finally answering the call, he hears Jeongin sigh deep and heavy.

“I can’t believe you! I thought you were kidnapped.”

“Ding! I’m here entirely of my own free will.”

Minho can almost picture Jeongin, certain that he’s making that old, creased, frowning face now.

“What do you mean, hyung, where are you now?”

Minho pours himself a glass of water. A full face grin. “I slept over at a friend’s. I’m at his kitchen now. He has nice parquet.”

Jeongin sighs, “and I was freaking out here because you didn’t answer my calls. It turns out you were busy getting your dick wet.”

“I wasn’t.” Minho laughs, cutting it short. “Tell me what’s up with you.”

“I think, I might’ve got engaged.”

Minho almost spits out the water he sips, coughing a few times. “You’ve got engaged? Holy fuck, Jeongin, when?”

“I mean, there was a reason I called you multiple times. We got engaged yesterday.”

“Oh my god,” Minho exhales, his widened eyes finally easing back to normal. “Who is the lucky guy?”

“Remember the guy I told you about all winter? That’s him. Hyunjin. He’s so kind, and beatiful, and caring. I feel like I’ve known him since forever,”

“You met him last year,”

“Shut up, I’m having a moment. We’re getting married next spring.”

It’s the kind of news Minho would be bawling his eyes out if he heard when drunk. He’s touchier than ever when he’s laid to the bone. He would be kissing Jeongin’s cheeks and telling him he’s going to make the greatest spouse in the world. But he’s not drunk, and Jeongin is not here. Jisung is sleeping in the next room, breathing cute little noises. 

“I can’t believe you’re getting married, Innie, so happy for you.” Minho coos, an infectious smile in his voice. “I’ll squeeze your cheeks when I get there.”

“Thank you, hyung. You’re definitely going to be my best man.”

Jisung is in his thirteenth dream. Minho is attentive not to make any noise, picking up his clothes from the floor and slipping them on. Sunlight filtering through the curtains paints Jisung’s face to the prettiest shade of orange. Minho could take his brushes and paints out of the basement, start drawing again, only to portray Jisung in the most natural way.

Minho grabs his bag and leaves, because he knows it won’t evolve into anything. He has no brushes, no canvas in his basement, had left them all to the painting studio in his neighborhood.

His grandma prepares him breakfast. A perfectly boiled egg, fermented radish, seasoned with chili peppers and spices. She asks him how his day had been, and Minho tells her Jisung makes a good friend, keeping the details for himself.

“I had no doubt of that. Jisung is a good kid. You’re similar to him.”

Minho never really considered that they were similar.

They both like cherries, fresh, red and ripe. Who doesn’t like cherries when they’re the harbinger of summer? The weather is getting warmer, the days are longer. Everyone loves cherries to a certain extent.

They both have issues with their mothers. Minho’s sees him as a project, trying to shape him into her vision of perfection, and Jisung’s mom doesn’t even see him. She got married, moved to another city, depositing money into Jisung’s bank account on the eighth of every month. He said it like it was nothing for him with soy sauce smeared across his chin.

And there’s one more thing. Jisung loves holding Minho’s hands. Intertwining their fingers like a lover. Minho lets him, because Jisung’s hands are always warm, unlike him, his are cold and abondoned. Their fingers fit into each other perfectly just like their lips.

But, still, Minho doesn’t think they’re similar. Jisung is hot blooded, young and tender hearted. He’s red and alive just like the sun. Red always comes first in the scale.

Minho grins like a sheep as he puts on his favorite necklace. A silver necklace, elegantly adorned with delicate pearl inlays, features a small, intricate ‘L’ carved into its center.

His mother gave it to him for his eighteenth birthday. Minho’s confusion grew more palpable when she told him it’s a necklace she also wore on. He was confused because his mom gave him a piece of herself. Minho doesn’t remember feeling so precious in her eyes.

Minho twirls the necklace around his fingers all the way to the convenience store Jisung works. He’s wearing wide legged jean shorts under his knees, paired with a long-sleeved light pink shirt. He bought the shirt last year. It’s now draping loosely around his frame and gathering slightly at his waist.

The bell hanging above it tinkles softly as Minho pushes the door open. The pen in Jisung’s hand slips from his fingers, clattering onto the counter. Just for testing the waters, Minho shoots him a glance over his shoulder before making his way towards the freezer section instead.

Minho hates cherry cakes. Cherries are good on their own. When they find their way into cake batter, their flavor turns sour enough to make Minho’s nose scrunch up, giving up on his fork.

He also hates it when there are chunks of fruits in his cake. It’s better if the fruit stays only as a flavor. That’s why he’s picky about fruit cakes.

“Excuse me?” Minho strikes an attitude, pretended. He slightly arches his hip up just in case, leaning over the counter. “There’s even a lemon cake here, but not a chocolate one? That’s unacceptable. I demand that you bring your manager here.”

Jisung’s lips curl into a crooked grin. Minho knows he’ll play along with him silly. “My apologies, sir, I won’t be able to bring the manager here since he left this morning. It’s not our busiest day.”

Minho slams his fist lighly on the counter. “Not my concern, I want my chocolate cake right now,” he punctuates like a necessity. “Is this how you treat your customers?”

Jisung intertwines his fingers in a coy manner, bowing his head slightly, “I can check the stockroom if you have some time to spare me, sir, I’m sure it won’t take too long,”

Minho knows he won as Jisung leads him to the very back of the stockroom. He doesn’t bother flipping the sign to “closed.” It won’t take long for Minho to fold before him.

Jisung presses him against a stall. He grasps the hinge of Minho’s jaw as he licks into his mouth. His touch is addicting, full of enthusiasm. His hands slip under the hem of Minho’s pink shirt easily, gliding up and down his sides, flowers blooming only to burst into flames on his skin, effortless.

“It’s good, turning me on when you talk to me in formal manner,”

Jisung’s hands are searching, running circles over his back, mapping out until not an inch of skin remains untouched. His tongue traces down his neck, mouthing over his pulse. He reaches for his lips again to kiss away all the little noises Minho makes.

Jisung kisses him like a necessity, an undying, neverending research inside his mouth. Minho doesn’t really care to give it a name. He only cares to hope Jisung’s desire for him never dies before the summer ends.

“You’re damn difficult, Lee Minho,”

Jisung pulls down his shirt by the collar just enough for his collarbones to show, leans in to nip at his skin, pressing gentle kisses right before squeezing it between his teeth. 

He, then, realizes the necklace around Minho’s neck. Loosening his fist around his shirt, twirling the necklace around his finger. “It’s beatiful. Suits on your neck.”

Minho pecks on the corner of Jisung’s lips, retreats with a lazy smile. “Thank you. My mom’s gift.”

“Your mom is an angel.” Jisung tugs at his lower lip, just to retract as Minho tries to kiss him back.

“What?”

“Why did you leave so early? You could’ve woken me up atleast.”

Minho swallows down, the dreadful lump is growing. Scattering. “You looked tired. Couldn’t interrupt your sleep.” 

“No need to lie. I don’t expect it to turn into something else either, if that’s your concern. It was just sex.”

Jisung doesn’t speak filtered. Fully looking through a dark, round and immense funnel.

Minho is glad they’re on the same page.

“I know, Jisung, not that I think otherwise.”

“Good. Next time, please don’t slip out like I’m just a one night stand. I don’t have expectations from you.”

Jisung knows there’ll be a next time. Next times, even more clear. He knows he’s got Minho like a doll in his hand. A beatiful, obedient doll with a silver necklace around his neck.

“You know you’re not just a one night stand. I’m sorry, I won’t leave early again.”

“Thank you.” Jisung leans over to plant a kiss on his cheek, a shiver running down Minho’s spine cold and slow. “Pink looks good on you, by the way. Light colors fit you.”

Minho has an unexplainable, strange tremor squeezing his heart. New and fresh. Jisung surely made him more sentimental, a bit fragile. 

The strange feeling in his chest doesn’t leave him until the end of the day and he falls asleep in his bed. Minho almost bleeds his nails from biting, assuming, hoping that Jisung doesn’t turn into one of his biggest regrets.

“Not fair, it’s my first time playing this game,”

Jisung took him to a small, quiet arcade nestled in an old building, no one is around except a few high school kids.

From the moment the match began, Minho’s character stumbled and faltered as he struggled to keep up with the game’s pace. Each time Jisung landed a hit, Minho’s health bar shrank, his frustration growing.

“How are you so good at this?” Minho groans, his thumb slipping off the joystick awkwardly.

Jisung chuckles, delivering a string of flawless combats. “I’ve spent way too much time here, trust me.”

Jisung’s character delivers the final blow, sending Minho’s character flying off the screen. The game declares Jisung the winner with triumphant fanfare. Minho drops the controller, his face scrunching up, lip curling into a subtle pout.

“You know, I just need more practice,” He exclaims, crossing his arms across his chest.

Jisung laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Sure you need.”

“Next time I won’t go easy on you,”

“I’d expect nothing less.” 

It’s become a habit now to end the day at Jisung’s house.

Jisung sometimes cooks for them if they’re too lazy to leave the house. He makes amazing Bulgogi.

Jisung pours him a red wine now they’re seated in his saloon. The movie they play on TV is just for ambient sound. Minho has his attention spared on something else.

He has his favorite times of Jisung.

He likes it the best when he’s close enough to see the pores on Jisung’s face. Can press his lips onto the mole on his cheek. He likes Jisung the most when his face is the most detailed.

“Stop staring at me,” whines Jisung, pointing at the screen.

A blush creeps onto Minho’s neck. He can feel the heat coursing through his body even in the tip of his ears. “It’s gotten boring. We know in the end they’ll save the girl. They always do.”

“You chose the film, Minho.”

“I know, but, I didn’t think it would get so predictable.” Minho shrugs, weaving his fingers through the long locks of Jisung’s hair, hanging down his neck. “Your hair’s gotten so long.”

Jisung sighs, giving up, finally meeting his gaze. Drops his glass on the coffee table, near Minho’s empty one. “You don’t like it?”

“You think I don’t?” Minho feels his muscled relaxing, unwinding, the alcohol spreading warmth through his veins. “I adore your hair, Han Jisung, you’re gorgeous,” says Minho, halting his fingers on his neck, lightly tickling his skin. “I like everything about you. I like your face, I like your hands, your eyebrows,”

“My eyebrows?” Jisung chuckles, cheeks flushing, eyes softening on Minho. “You’re lying.”

Minho shakes his head, inching closer, his breath, a warning against Jisung’s skin. “You don’t appreciate your expressive, cartoonish eyebrows enough,” His fingers tracing gentle patterns on his neck, causing him to shiver. “Want me to show you how much I really appreciate you?”

Jisung’s hand finds its way to Minho’s waist, gripping the fabric of his dark blue cardigan. “Go ahead. Show me how much you appreciate me.”

Jisung puts a heavy hand on Minho’s thigh, makes an act to move his leg. Minho understands, but doesn’t lean in for a kiss as soon as he straddles his lap. He pauses. Wants to see how far he can push Jisung, how harsh Jisung will kiss him when he finally gets a taste.

Ten days, and eight nights in. Jisung should remember that their days are burning away faster than a match igniting.

Minho wants to prove Jisung who’s got the upper hand. Wants Jisung to remember he’s just an another passing, living moment. A fleeting figure for him to always have in the back of his mind.

Minho is selfish enough to inject a sense of urgency into Jisung’s life and leave it to be, a sensation akin to a rush that he fears will remain untreated if not experienced now. He makes sure Jisung will never forget him once he finds someone else to hold his hand.

Minho sucks on the skin of Jisung’s neck almost desperate. Greedy. Harsh enough to leave a bruise because Jisung lets him. He’s the the only one who’s capable of having him. Just for a month, he’ll pretend to be.

Jisung’s hands slip under his cardigan effortlessly like he owns Minho, exploring the smooth expanse of bare skin on his back.

“You’re taking too long,”

Jisung is not as patient as him. Hot blooded. He pulls Minho’s face away from his neck, seizing a kiss that wipes the cocky grin off his lips.

Minho grinds down on his cock, because Jisung told him he’s taking too long. Moans into his mouth, filthy. Not a shocker that Jisung hoists him up, dragging them into his bedroom.

“How do you want this?”

Maybe it’s because of the urge to put on a show, or the way Jisung’s sticky hair strands resting on his forehead, and the crooked smile his lips curling into as he scissors him open, Minho has no other choice but to prove.

“I want you beneath. Wanna ride you,”

Minho sinks in at one go because he knows he can take it. The loudest moan Minho’s ever drawn from Jisung echoes through the thin walls.

Minho starts thrusting his hips and Jisung doesn’t hold his hands. Unusal. He reaches for his nipples instead, tugging them around his fingers. Closing his other hand around Minho’s cock, slicker in lube.

“Holy shit, Minho, I— I’m not gonna last long, you— you’re unlike anything I’ve had before.”

Minho grinds down further, needier, spliting in two over his dick. The hunger in Jisung’s eyes fuels his ambition. Enticing his hunger.

“I— I’m close,”

Minho rides the high out of them. Full of Jisung’s come inside, empty in the mind.

Jisung hooks his arms around Minho’s neck, forcing their lips together. He kisses him like he lies about how he doesn’t catch feelings easily, has no expectations from Minho other than chasing the dissuading rush.

He hopes Jisung isn’t a liar. His heart is content. Minho won’t cry when he leaves, Jisung won’t be there to see him off.

Jisung helps Minho pull out, tying up the condom.

He massages the coconut milk shampoo into Minho’s hair, kisses his shoulders from behind as he washes them both clean in his bathtub.

𖦹

The sun rays strike him in the middle of his face, Minho wakes up with a terrible cramp in his foot. Lucky he’s not alone. He’s not in his own bed. Jisung will make his cramp worth it for him.

His features are softened in sleep, calm and unguarded. Minho watches the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath. He decides to stay because Jisung knows what it means and what it doesn’t.

He brushes away a strand of hair falling across Jisung’s eyes. His lashes frame his bambi eyes just ethereal. Perfect in shape.

Minho checks his phone on the nightstand. Nine past seven. His cramp is easing down. Still so much time to start the day.

Minho snuggles Jisung’s side more, sealing his eyes shut just to wake up next to him once more. 

𖦹

“Watch out for the thorns, Jisungie.”

“Ah!” Jisung stumbles back. Minho guesses he’s frowning now. He can’t see the younger’s face under his red ribboned straw hat which is bigger than his head. “Too late, I’ve got them all over me.”

Minho giggles, “that’s why I warned you to wear covering clothes,” He plucks the dark, juicy blackberries from their stems, tossing them into his basket.

His grandma wanted to make blackerry marmalade so they ended up in the middle of a blackberry field now. Minho dragged Jisung along with him because he figured it’d be no fun without him.

Jisung peeks at his jean shorts, then Minho’s wide legged gray sweatpants. It’s not his fault. Minho texted him what to wear after Jisung had already left the house.

“You’ll be the one removing them off my leg once we’re home.”

Sixteen days flew by. Minho can’t ignore the creeping realization that he’ll miss Jisung to the core once this ravishing illusion runs out of time.

He’ll be sitting at his high rise apartment, sipping on his black coffee. Giving ear to the raindrops tapping against the window persistently like they want Minho to remember, never forget.

Jisung is like a soft breeze washing over Minho’s face, sufficient and alive. He will cross his mind the times when breathing becomes insufferable. Jisung will be in his mind when Minho meets someone new and shakes his hand. The night will settle heavy and burdensome.

Jisung made Minho forget counting the days since he broke up with Junwoo. He will try to get back to Minho once he returns to the city, and then Jisung will be the one weighing on his mind again.

Minho wouldn’t call it love. He calls it dependency.

“Come on, boys. Stay far behind, and you’ll get lost.”

Minho never stops until Jisung has to jog him away to get rid of his hands trying to reach for him. “Jesus, Minho, your grandma is right there,”

He puckers his lips forward, feisty, “give me a kiss, and I’ll stay away,”

Jisung supresses a chuckle, placing a firm hand on Minho’s chest to maintain some distance. “Save your hands for later. Right now, we’re here to serve a purpose.”

“Look at this one,” Minho says, holding up a particularly large berry.

“Woah,” Jisung coos, “It’s so big,”

Minho grins and moves closer to Jisung, brushing the dust off of the berry, holding it up to his lips. “Here, taste it.”

Jisung opens his mouth slightly, and Minho pushes the berry past his lips. Jisung bites into it, the juice bursting out and smearing onto his lips, Minho’s fingers.

“You’re a mess,” Minho teases, leaning in closer.

“Gosh, guess why,” he proceeds, leaning forward to give Minho a sticky, sweet peck on his lips.

Minho chuckles and dips his finger into the juice of another berry, swiping it across Jisung’s mouth. He nips at Minho’s finger before licking off the juice.

“Damn, you bit my fingernail.”

Jisung frowns cartoonish, mouth slurping, “then take your hand away.”

“I can’t, you’re too cute,” Moving closer, Minho brushes his tongue over the syrup smeared on Jisung’s lips, licking it clean, kissing on his lower lip before pulling back.

“Minho, Jisung, are you boys almost done?” Minho’s grandma calls out, her voice carrying over the field.

“Almost, halmoni!” Minho replies, his eyes still on Jisung as he hurries to catch up with her. Minho follows closely, giving him a light slap on his butt.

The worst intake of the day: Jisung keeps growing on Minho day by day, hour by hour.

They’re seated on a worn wooden bench in the backyard. Minho watches his grandma working to remove the thorns out of Jisung’s leg.

She plucks a thorn from Jisung’s calf. “You need to be more careful, dear,” chides softly, “these bushes are tricky.”

Jisung nods, gritting his teeth as another thorn is extracted. Minho crouches down beside him, giving him a squeeze on his shoulder like a best friend.

Pulling out the final thorn, she gently dabs at the small punctures with a cloth soaked in antiseptic. “There you go. All done.”

“Thank you, halmoni,” Jisung lets out a sigh, flexing his leg carefully.

Minho hands him his own bottle of water, Jisung has already finished his. “Don’t worry, you’ll live,”

Jisung takes the bottle, sticking out his tongue at him, bratty.

Minho helps his grandma carry the heavy baskets brimming with freshly picked berries into the kitchen.

Setting the baskets down on the kitchen counter, Minho wipes away the sweat bending over his forehead. “I’ll stay over at Jisung’s tonight,”

Jisung is sitting in the frontyard, clueless. Minho knows Jisung will let him stay anyway.

She doesn’t even bat an eye, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. Not a care in the world Minho has to understand. “You two are surely inseperable lately,” she remarks, unfazed, “I don’t mind at all, dear.”

Minho squints, washing the berry syrup out of his hands. “He’s fun to be around. It’s not that we’re inseparable.”

“Whatever you say,” She laughs. “But my eyes are still perfectly working, boy. I can see you both, whatever you’re doing.”

Her tone is giving. The implication arrives clear. Minho doesn’t answer. No free time to revolve around. Time for action.

Minho pulls Jisung into his arms for a kiss as soon as they step out of the frontyard. Jisung gives in to him so easily, winding his arms around Minho’s neck like a second nature.

“Can I stay over?”

Jisung flushes into Minho’s favorite red. Chewing on his dried lips before answering, “‘M tired. Don’t really feel like fucking tonight. Sorry.”

Minho frowns. “Do we really have to fuck for me to sleep over?”

Jisung does a terrible job at hiding his widening gaze. Minho hopes he didn’t take it too far on him.

“I mean, we don’t. And you’re saying you’ll sleep over just like that? Without sex? Really?”

“Why are you so surprised? Just say you don’t want me other than sex—”

“No!” Jisung reaches for his hand, clasping their fingers together. Just another day for him. “You’re always welcomed, Minho. Whenever you want.”

Jisung has a lovely habit of cuddling next to Minho after sex. Sometimes he tucks himself into the crook of his neck, other times, sprawling across his chest, resting his head where his heart beats. He never misses a chance to tell Minho that his heart is beating crazy fast, whatever that means. He doesn’t care as long as they’re close enough.

Instincts kick in again. Jisung can’t keep himself away from Minho, curling into him until their limbs are tangled under the covers.

Minho threads his hands through the soft strands of Jisung’s hair, etching the sensation into his mind as they cascade down between his fingers.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Minho sometimes wonders why someone like Jisung should stay single. He shouldn’t. He deserves someone to kiss on his cotton lips not just for a span of time but everyday.

A half a minute pause, Jisung answers, “I’ve never met someone who can be more than a casual hookup in this town.”

Minho hopes Jisung can find someone who is good enough for him. Soon but not sooner enough than he leaves. He would despise seeing someone make Jisung feel loved and in love. He’s not humble enough to share.

“You have casual hookups? I’ve never seen you with someone else,”

Minho doesn’t get the right to feel decieved. Jisung doesn’t owe him a truthful lover.

“I once had a regular hookup,” Jisung hesitates to continue, his feet hovering above the sea, about to drown or swim. “But I dropped him after you. Didn’t want to see two people at the same time.”

Does that mean you’ll go back to him after I leave? Minho would be nosy about it if Jisung could take it as a joke even though he’s not joking. Minho would laugh with him like a funny and witty guy.

“Your standards are too high for anyone to meet, I see,”

“Not that high,” Jisung smiles, his voice giving him in. Shooting a finger into Minho’s chest. A bullet. “See? You’re capable of meeting my standards. If you can meet my standards, there will be others who can as well.”

There’s an incomprehensible bustle, a protest in the back of Minho’s mind. Loud and obnoxious. He’s selfish enough to wish that Jisung would never meet someone like him again.

“I meet you standards?”

“Of course! You’re the perfect example. I sometimes wish we had met under different circumstances.” Jisung lifts his head, his bambi eyes showing awareness of their effect on Minho. “Would I have a chance with you if we had met under different circumstances, Minho?”

Minho’s hand in his hair halts, almost like his heart stops. His world stops. “Yes, Jisung. You would.”

Jisung flashes a crooked smile, leans in for a good night kiss, and Minho feels his body has been destroyed and created again.

Terrible, terrible series of events. The spiral continues to engulf Minho day by day, bewitching, swallowing him down until he’s pulled under the surface, below the Earth.   

Not knowing the what, where, how and when of their last time with Jisung is looming over Minho’s head like whirlwinds. Darkest clouds.

Jisung is an exception, unusal phenomena.

He wakes Minho up by peppering kisses across his face and bare chest. Minho doesn’t remember smiling so hard for a long time.

Morning breeze is easy. Carefree. Minho leans against the bathroom doorway, arms folded across his chest, watching Jisung standing in front of the mirror, carefully shaving the light stubble that started to shadow his jaw.

Jisung squirts a small dollop of shaving cream into his hand, eyes narrowing, applying it to his face. Sun through the window kisses his face, a golden glow washing over his features.

Minho feels his hands empty, desperate for any contact, finds himself offering absentmindedly, “need help with that?”

Then, Jisung acknowledges him, meets his gaze in the mirror. “You want to shave me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. Let me take care of your pretty little face,” Minho straightens up, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks as he steps into the bathroom, unfolding the stool next to the washing machine, placing it in front of the sink. “Come here,”

Jisung chuckles, dropping into the stool. He watches Minho wash his hands, patiently. Then, he hands him over the razor.

That’s the thing with Jisung. His big brown pleading eyes. He never misses a glance as Minho tugs at his chin, spreading the shaving cream across his skin. “Okay, here goes,” Minho says, beginning to shave Jisung’s stubble. The blade moves smoothly froom cheek to chin, revealing the soft, clean skin beneath.

When the razor is full of foam, he holds it in water, cleans it, bringing it back to his cheek. It doesn’t take the longest for Minho to steal glances, taking in the curve of his lips, the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks.

As he finishes the last stroke, Minho sets the razor aside, wiping away the remaining cream with a damp cloth. “There you go,” Minho coos, stepping back to admire his work. “All done.”

Jisung rises on his feet, brushing a kiss on the tip of Minho’s nose, placing a loud smooch on his lips. The fresh scent of cream lingers, blending into Minho’s senses, making his knees go weak.

“Thank you, baby,” Jisung smiles, fingers running through his freshly shaven face, eyes following in the mirror, “I look good,”

Minho feels his heart swelling, lodging with affection, terrifed. It gives him the coldest chills. Flying down his spine, up to the nape of his neck.

Time slips through the cracks like sand when he’s with him. Achingly sweet, flawless. Jisung wants to show Minho, make his vacation worth it for him, so he tries to take Minho everywhere with him.

A sushi restaurant; to eat after soaking in the water under the burning sun all day. Water makes Minho hungry, and Jisung wants to feed him. That’s the equation.

Jisung takes him for a bike ride down an old, empty, tree-lined highway, no vehicles around.

He gives Minho his own bicycle, borrowing his uncle’s for himself.

He kisses Minho like endless. Not only for the summer, but for every month, every winter and autumn. Like they have all the time in the world.

Minho whines. Cycling in the midday sun is not for him.

Jisung courages him to push harder on the pedals. Catch up with me or else you’ll get lost.

“Don’t be a crybaby. You have amazing thighs, make them useful.”

Jisung leaves sloppy, open mouthed kisses across his thighs once they’re home. He does all the work for both of them because Minho said he was tired.

“Will you take care of me, Jisung? Will you make it good for me?”

Minho pleads, his body springing to life as Jisung circles his lubed fingers around his entrance. Eyes watering, his hole clenching around Jisung’s fingers, sucking them in, his nails clawing at his shoulder blades brutal.

“I’ll take care of you, baby. I’ll make you mine. Only for me.”

Vitality and vivacity. Minho will never forget how it’s always like the first time with him.

“O—only for you.”

His starvation for Jisung grows even deeper, sicker, the veil in his eyes comes down to make him blind.

Minho sobs louder as he sees Jisung putting on a condom.

“T—this time, I really want to feel you inside, Jisung, please, I—I got tested after Junwoo.”

Jisung plants a kiss just below his belly button. On the tip of his leaking cock. Pressing his lips soft on the surgary scar on his belly.

“Are you sure, pretty?”

Minho doesn’t need to think twice. “Yes.”

Jisung slips out of the condom. He never takes his eyes off him as he spreads his legs further, sliding in hot and wet. He looks at Minho like a painter studying, gaping at his art. Almost halfway down, Minho rolls his hips forward to feel full, growing impatient.

“Holy shit, Minho, I can’t believe— I’m obsessed,”

Minho’s moans are louder than the squeaky sound of the bed as Jisung thrusts into him slicker and easier, crashing into his walls, electrifying his entire body, evoking his senses. He squeezes the muscular meat of Minho’s thigh placed on top of his shoulders, slamming into his prostate almost desperate. As if Minho would fly away if he didn’t hit it harsh enough.

“Y—you feel so good. Not like anyone else. Your beauty is unique, unreal.”

Minho feels the bitter taste of the denouement on his lips. Jisung fucks him like he means it. Like they’re meant to mean into something.

“I don’t think I can ever get enough of you, Minho,”

Minho moans, pulling Jisung down onto his chest for a kiss, tongues sliding together, lips fitting into each other like the perfect pieces of puzzle.

The conclusion isn’t surprising. He comes untouched, embarassed. Jisung is the second Minho fucks with no protection. Jisung is the best Minho fucks with no protection.

𖦹

Four weeks in. The realization punches him in the face like an armoured enemy.

Minho sobs like a newborn as his phone rings, Junwoo’s name lighting up the screen for the first time since he left the city.

Tears streaming down his face, not because Junwoo is calling, but because he still wants to answer, feels like losing his honor all over again.

He waits until Junwoo gives up. He gives up after the sixth call. The silence following grows unbearable. An endless cycle. Minho cries even harder because he didn’t pick up.

Three in the morning. Junwoo is probably drunk, smelling like shit. Minho hates that he hates being alone, hates the emptiness gnawing at his skin.

He thinks of calling Jeongin, maybe giving him a little headache, crying on the phone until his eyes dry, but no, he doesn’t call him. Minho doesn’t get to upset him in his happiest days.

He could still consider calling his mother, swallowing his pride. She would scold him the moment she heard his voice crack, telling him to stop crying.

“Minho,” she’d say sternly, “you’re too young and fresh to waste it on your tears.”

The difference is Minho now knows who to go, where to breathe, and when to stop.

Minho puts on his sweatpants and slips into his old, worn slippers. He moves silently through the house, careful not to wake his grandma. The house is still, the only sound is the soft creaking of the floorboards under his weight.

The night air is freezing. Minho knocks softly at first, then a bit louder on his door at half past three in the morning when Jisung is probably asleep.

Half a minute passes, then another follows. Jisung taught Minho the value of time, of seizing each moment and making it count. Now, as he stands there, the weight of that lesson presses heavily on his chest, squeezing around his heart with each passing, wasted second.

Finally, the door creaks open, and Jisung stands there, hair tousled, blinking, big brown eyes staring. His eyebrows lifting, then scowling, takes in Minho’s red and puffy eyes, tear streaked messy face.

“Minho?” Jisung whispers, concern quickly replacing confusion.

Minho doesn’t need to say a word for Jisung to step aside, letting him in. He doesn’t hesitate to pull Jisung close once the door clicks shut behind them, wrapping his arms around him, almost as if would vanish if he were to wake up from a dream. The warmth radiating from Jisung’s body seeps into his bones, melting away the cold, messing with the tension gripping him all evening.

Jisung must’ve seen the urgency in his eyes, baceuse he responds almost immediately, holding him closer, caressing his hair almost affectionate.

“Hey,” Jisung whispers softly, his voice barely louder than a breath, afraid that any louder sound might scare Minho away. “What’s up, hyung?”

Minho feels the tears welling up, clinging to his lashes, so he clings onto Jisung tighter, his fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt in his palms.

“He called me.”

“Who?”

“I swear, I didn’t answer, believe me,” gasps Minho, nestling his face deeper into the crook of his neck, the tears now streaming freely. “He called me for six times, a—and I never answered, Jisung, never,”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Jisung’s breath warm against Minho’s ear, fingers delicate through his hair. “I believe you, Minho, just tell me who called you.”

Minho retracts slightly, enough to look into his eyes. Almost whispers, scared, “Junwoo.”

Jisung’s expression hardens, but doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls Minho closer, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, wiping away the tears with his thumb. “And you did the right thing. It’s been months since your breakup. He’ll get over it eventually.”

“You don’t understand, Jisung, he’s the one cheating on me for a whole nine months. So he shouldn’t call me, and I shouldn’t answer, but—” Minho falters, his voice breaking, “a part of me wanted to answer, but another part of me was disgusted by me because of that part of me, then I cried all over again because I have my pride and—” Minho gasps, lifting his head. “I don’t make any sense, do I?”

“You make sense.” Jisung says softly, his voice trembling. “I just— holy shit, Minho, I never knew any of this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Minho’s heart clenches. “You did nothing wrong,”

“I hate him for what he did to you,” Jisung shakes his head, “he’s still hurting you, and I can’t do anything about it,”

The room feels smaller, the walls closing on him, Minho’s breath falters in his throat. “You don’t have to.”

Jisung’s grip on Minho’s hands tightens, bringing them to his lips, pressing gentle kisses onto his knuckles. “Anything, Minho. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Can I stay here?”

“You’re staying here.”

Jisung never lets go of his hand, leading him into his room. The space is dimly lit, bedside lamp casting a warm glow bright enough to point at Minho’s tear stained face.

Jisung guides Minho to his bed, sitting down with his back to the headboard, and pulling him onto his lap. Minho’s ear presses against Jisung’s chest, he seals his eyes shut, giving into the warmth of Jisung’s body against his, the steady beat of his heart, a grounding rhythm. His voice is shaky, but there’s a new determination in it as he finally speaks. “I didn’t think I could feel this way again,” confesses, his words muffled against Jisung’s chest.

“I was 21 when I met him. He was 29, experienced, knew how to win a guy over.” Minho’s lips curve into a forced smile, his grip on Jisung’s shirt tightening. “He was charming, confident. Made me feel like I was the only one. I fell for him, hard, fancied the idea that we’d grow old together. Stupid, I know.”

Jisung’s heart aches, but remains steady, his hands never faltering in their gentle ministrations in his hair. “It’s not stupid. You were young. He made use of your innocence.”

Minho takes a deep breath, his fingers trembling around Jisung’s shirt. “He was the one asking me out, telling me that I was made for him, that he’d do anything for us to end up together. We dated for nearly five years. Everything felt magical, not only at first, but everytime. We didn’t argue much; he always knew how to calm me down, like he could read my soul. And again, he was the one proposing me after five years of dating. He always talked about things he wanted to do with me, planned our future. He wanted to adopt a dog, and I’m fucking allergic to dogs.” He laughs, a desperate, hollow sound.

“Maybe he saw me as a way for establishing a stable life. I couldn’t really tell back then, I was blinded, ignorant. I focused on not losing him, because he made the perfect match, the one I should unite my life with. Mom taught me to hold on to what I have, so I should’ve kept him with me forever. That was my priority, and problem. And maybe it goes for both ways. Maybe I saw him as a way for established life, too.”

Minho feels the lump catching in his throat, growing unbearable. “I found out he was cheating on me. For nine months, Jisung. Nine fucking months of lies when we were fucking engaged. A month after he fucking put a ring on my finger. I put so much of my life on him that I think that’s why I couldn’t accept. And yet, when he called me tonight, I wanted to answer. A part of me wanted to answer him and listen what he has to say, it’s fucking pathetic.”

The tears begin to fall, his body shaking with the effort of holding back. Jisung pulls him even closer like it’s possible, “Minho,” couldn’t follow up.

Minho buries his face in Jisung’s chest, the tears soaking into his shirt. “I was so stupid, Jisung,” he chokes out. “I should’ve seen it coming. I was fucking stupid, and still ‘am.”

Jisung cradles his face in his palms, caressing his stained, flushed cheeks. “You’re not stupid,” he says firmly. “You were in love. You trusted him, and he betrayed that trust. That’s not on you. It’s on him.”

“What about now? It’s on me now that I wanted to answer, Jisung, don’t you fucking see the problem?”

Minho watches a glimpse of a tear gliding freely across Jisung’s cheek. His quivering lips. Gleaming eyes. He made him cry. Minho made Jisung cry when he’s not even the one to blame. The weight of sorrow presses heavily on his chest. Almost like the air in his lungs coming to an end.

Without thinking, Minho hooks his hands around Jisung’s neck, voice wavering, a fragile whisper into his ear, repetitive, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Jisung, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve any of this. You’ve been nothing but nice to me. I’m sorry.”

Jisung clings onto Minho’s back almost immediate, his fingers digging into his waist. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“You think so?” Minho slips down into the pillow still around his arms, leaning into Jisung’s touch, “sometimes, I compare you to him.”

“I’m nothing like him.”

“I know.” whispers Minho, voice barely audible, “when you make me feel loved, that’s when I compare the most. Your kind of love for me doesn’t feel like a burden. Yours is different, not an obligation. We don’t owe each other anything.”

Is that something even good to begin with? Minho can’t tell.

“Yeah. We don’t.”

“Can we please not talk about this when we wake up tomorrow?”

Jisung gulps down, “we won’t.”

Minho looks up, his eyes pleading. “Can you also hold me until I fall asleep?”

Jisung, tear filled eyes and a bittersweet smile, nods softly. Minho melts into his arms almost like a soft ice cream on a hot summer day. He falls asleep instantly almost like a guy in fatigue on a cold winter day.

𖦹

“Your grandma called me this morning.”

The aftermath of the evening remains a blur in his mind. Jisung’s fingers around his hair is the clearest sensation Minho feels as he wakes up. A smile creeping onto his face. Jisung make it all seem easy like a routine. As if Minho has no reason to be upset.

“Did she?”

“She was worried. I told her you couldn’t sleep, so ended up here.” Jisung murmurs, his chest rising and falling under Minho’s weight, their bodies still entwined from the night before. “You okay?”

Minho’s lips brush against Jisung’s neck, “I’m okay.”

“She also said you should be home.”

Minho lifts his head, a frown creasing his forehead, “why?”

“About the berry marmalades,” Jisung smiles, fingers weaving through Minho’s hair. “She wants you to distribute the jars to the neighbors.”

Minho frowns, pressing a finger against Jisung’s chest. “what about you?”

“Sorry, baby,” Jisung replies, making a face, “I promised my uncle I’d look after the store today. You’re on your own at this.”

Minho’s lips curl into a subtle pout, his reluctance clear. He leans down, bringing their faces closer. Jisung bridges the gap for both of them, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Minho’s head, pressing their lips together, relieving his longing as if it’s been building for years.

Minho feels the gentle pressure, the way Jisung’s lips moving, molding perfectly against his. It’s the warmest, achingly sweet. Addicting. Minho’s favorite flavor in the world on his tongue.

He pulls back with a pop sound, murmurs, “I really hate leaving you here.”

“Then be quick.” Jisung smiles, brushing a stray lock of hair from Minho’s face. “My shift is over at seven. I’ll take you out tonight.”

His mother used to tell Minho that people were merely fleeting moments, silhouettes that would blur and fade in, figures to be remembered, so he always had to be the fastest, had to acknowledge the clock ticking above his head.

People come and go. Seasons change. Habits evolve. Yet the clock, never stops. Only grows louder, gives you headaches, makes you suffer, puts you on pills.

Minho saw his mother crying for the first time when he was twelve. They had gone to visit his father’s grave, and he watched as she knelt by the headstone, her fingers digging into the dry, cracked soil. Her hands trembled as she clutched the earth, mascara running down her eyes, messing her lashes.

The second time she cried in front of her child was years later, when he grew older, his features started to resemble those of his father, and Minho saw the tears well up in her eyes once more.

“You’re handsome, just like your dad. So better make him proud. Make a home for yourself. Use your brains, use your youthfulness. Every moment counts. We don’t know what happens next.”

Her fixation on time was rooted in the feeling that she had been cheated out of it— robbed of her own time, and of the time she was meant to share with her husband. Those young, and alive years, when it seems like the world revolves around you, had been snatched away, leaving a void that drove her through an obsession.

So she made sure Minho lives fast. Made sure the time didn’t repeat itself, so Minho could’ve carve out his own cycle.

Minho steps out into the glaring sun, a basket full of berry marmalade jars in his arm. The heat is relentless, beating down on him as he walks from house to house. Sweat trickling down his forehead, but he forces a smile for each neighbor answering the door.

“Thank you, Minho!” Mrs. Kim exclaims, taking a jar with a grateful nod. Minho used to befriend with her son when he was 8. “Mrs. Lee’s marmalade is the best. Send her my thanks, dear.”

Kim Seungmin, if he remembers the name right. He always agreed to play with Minho at the playground. Was a bit of a weirdo. He hated getting his socks wet, and sand in his slippers.

“I’ll go home and change my socks. Don’t start the game before I’m back or I’ll hit you,” he would say. Minho never started the game before he was back.

He glances at his watch. 6:30 PM. Almost there.

Finally, he reaches the last house, dropping off the final jar. He waves goodbye, barely hearing the thank you as he quickens his pace back home.

“What are you up to, dear?” Minho’s grandma asks, watching him as he eyes his reflection in the mirror.

“Jisung and I are going out. We’ll grab some drinks.” Minho replies, smoothing out his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

Minho hears her exhaling deep, placing the tea tray down on the table.

“What, you don’t want me to go out?”

She shakes her head, a gentle smile on her lips. “No, dear, it’s not that. I just don’t want you getting your heart broken again.”

Minho frowns, fixing his collar more forcefully now. “Why? Is there something I should be worried about him?”

“Your ticket is for next friday, Minho.” She punctuates, punching some sense into Minho’s brains. Waking him up all over again. His hands halt on his collar like they freeze. “He’s grown on you, and I see you’re starting to like him, don’t even try to fight back. So keep in mind that it’s never easy to leave, or being left behind. Neither of you have to be sad at the end of it.”

Minho doesn’t deny, but his heart races. He looks at his grandma, then back at his reflection. “I know,” he finally says, “but I’m still going out tonight.”

She nods, “just be careful, dear. Enjoy your time, but remember to keep your heart safe.”

The situation grows troublesome, sticky, and Jisung doesn’t help at all. He pulls Minho in for a quick kiss once they meet in his frontyard. “You look good,” he murmurs, tasting the sweetness on Minho’s lips, “and taste good. Did you put on something?”

“Well, you said we’re going out, so I put on some gloss.” Minho smiles sheepishly, “you like it?”

Jisung leans back slightly, eyes tracing the gloss on his lips. “Tastes like strawberry gummy. Will be ruined once we’re home.”

Red adorning his cheeks, covering his ears, flattery dancing across his face. Only if he scraped the surface enough, pulling out what is underneath.

Jisung never helps.

He has his eyes laid on Minho as they’re settled in bar, ordering their drinks. The bartender has a gentle smile tugged on his lips.

“We’ll have a whiskey sour and a mojito, please,”

Minho peeks around. Immersed in a vibrant atmosphere, illuminated by neon purple and blue lights. Also green blended. The pulsating bass reverberates loudly, threatening to drown out his senses, air thick with a blend of sweat and mingling perfumes.

“I used to come here often,” says Jisung, catching Minho’s attention. “When I was younger, I mean.”

“You’re still young enough for clubbing.” Minho chuckles, his eyes following the flickering lights casting shadows across Jisung’s face.

“I know, but, it’s not the same for me.” Jisung replies, his fingers tapping on the polished bar counter.

Minho grins, nudging him with his elbow, “how’s that so?”

“Fucking annoying,” Jisung laughs, sipping on his newly arrived mojito. “It’s different when you’re looking for someone to get laid with, or you’re out here with someone.”

Minho thinks he gets what Jisung means, but still, the bittersweet realization forms a knot in his throat, making his legs tremble, turning into jelly.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been out like this. That’s the difference for me.”

A slight pout forming on Jisung’s lips as his fingers fidget with his glass, not giving a way to bad spirits take him over as he answers, “It’s okay. We can go out more often from now on.”

I’m leaving, Minho almosts blurts out nonchalantly, I won’t be able to keep your promises. He wants to make Jisung understand, but he holds back, the words remaining trapped in his throat, suffocating him only.

“So, when was your last relationship?” Minho intrudes, whiskey tingling sour in his throat.

Jisung looks at him, eyebrows raised, “told you, I haven’t had many lasting relationships.”

“But it’s not like you never had.” Minho pushes on, leaning closer, his hand resting atop on Jisung’s knee. “Tell me one.”

“There was one that lasted for two years. We ended on good terms, though. He lives nearby.”

Eyes narrowing, fingers drumming on his half empty glass. “That’s still a lot. When, and why did you break up?”

“Two years ago,” Jisung replies, trying to keep his tone casual. His hand covers Minho’s, giving it a  squeeze. “We had fun, and then ran out of time. Couldn’t enjoy each other’s company anymore, got bored, so we broke up. That simple.”

Something Minho can’t relate. He couldn’t get to get bored if it meant a corrupted order, a living off the rails. He never knew how to break up on good terms.

Jisung is not his boyfriend. Minho won’t have his regrets when he leaves, because they never meant to be more than rubbed out figures, trying to have their times together. The borders were already settled, and Minho is a blunt coward, not a bold looking guy to cross the fine line.

“That’s not that long ago. Do you still miss him, I bet you still miss him,”

Minho knows Jisung doesn’t miss him. He crosses his fingers behind when he bets.

Jisung sighs through his nose, “Minho, baby, can we please not?”

“What? Does that mean you miss him? Tell me if you’d like to try with him again, and I’ll get out of the way,” Minho grumbles, hopeless, can’t stand the idea that Jisung will find someone else when he leaves. Can’t shake the sickening feeling in his chest that they’re also running out of time like Jisung and his boyfriend. Does he also think Minho is getting old fashioned to hang out, too?

“Can’t believe you’re jealous of someone you don’t even know,”

Minho sulks, his silence speaking volumes, the subtle pout on his lips making it up for him.

Jisung chuckles, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from Minho’s forehead. He’s clueless about the rampageous waves raging in the sea of Minho’s stomach.

“I’d never compare you to someone from my past. Don’t worry about it.” He caresses Minho’s cheekbone with a gentle drag of his thumb, affectionate. “Let’s just focus on now, okay?”

Minho nods slowly. He wishes Jisung kissed him silly instead. Maybe he should’ve put on an attitude for Jisung to kiss him silly instead. “Okay.”

Jisung finishes his drink and sets the glass down, his fingers brushing against Minho’s hand. “Come on, dance with me,” His smile returns, stretching his hand towards him.

“Sure, but, it’s been—”

“A while since you danced, I know, and I don’t care. I want you closer.”

Minho feels a rush of warmth flood his cheeks, sending his head spinning, boiling his blood. He then takes his hand, lets himself be pulled along, gives into the loud basses thumping around them. For now, at least, he reminds himself, he can forget the taste of blues on his tongue.

Jisung makes it all seem easy, forgettable. They make their way through the crowd, finding a spot near the edge of the dance floor. Jisung’s arms slide around his waist, pulling him closer, guiding him effortlessly through intricate turns and dips.

Minho responds with graceful arcs of his own, hands tracing patterns through the air, hips swaying in time with the beat.

“I thought it’s been a while for you,” Jisung grins, fingers tracing the contours of Minho’s waist, drawing him in before spinning away, only to reel him back in. 

Minho shrugs, “I used to dance. I was part of a team back in college.”

“Obviously.” His grin widens, “you’re a natural. Good at everything.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious,” Jisung corrects, fingers gliding along the curves of Minho’s hips, “I admire you, Lee Minho, you have no rival,”

A wave of heat creeps into his neck, warming his insides, “Did you really mean it?” Minho can’t help asking, his breath hot against Jisung’s ear, voice almost swallowed by the loud drums.

“Mean what?” Jisung squints among the harsh lights blinding his vision.

“You said that I’m not comparable. Twice,” Minho replies, eyes gleamy, searching across his face, “you mean it?”

Jisung reaches out, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of Minho’s hand, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Yes. I mean it everytime I say you’re beyond compare.”

Ears blushing easily, sensitive, his mother’s genes. Jisung twirls him around once more, pulling him close so that Minho’s back is pressed against his chest. “Talking big for someone knowing me for like a month.”

“You’re not as complicated as you think,” states Jisung, lips grazing Minho’s neck, breathing him in, sending a new sense of heat pooling in his stomach. “I’ve seen enough to know I’m right.”

Minho laughs, head thrown back in Jisung’s shoulder, making room for him to intrude. “So, you think I’m easy.”

“No, not easy,” Jisung corrects, hands resting firmly on his hips, guiding him moving to the rhythm, “just a little clueless.”

“I’m not clueless,” Minho protests, pushing his hips down against Jisung’s crotch in a desperate grind. “I knew what it meant for me when I saw you for the first time,” Another forceful grind follows, Jisung hisses, hands grounding him in place. “I was desperate. And you, indeed, were the opportunity for me all along.”

Minho twirls in his arms, the glimmer in his eyes dimming, giving way to a greed potent enough to ignite a flame in Jisung’s gut. “I’ll show you who is clueless if you take me to your house, Jisung-ah.”

If Minho rested his head on Jisung’s chest, he would hear the frantic beat of his heart. He tugs at Minho’s hand almost immediate, leading him along the sticky bodies, to the exit.

Jisung doesn’t have a car. Minho doesn’t know how to drive because Junwoo always drove for both of them.

They take a cab, not patient enough to walk all the way home. They don’t talk much, low hums of the eighties jazz song playing on the radio fills the cabin. Minho’s hand rests on Jisung’s inner thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles on the fabric of his jeans.

Jisung pays the cab, his mouth sets in a tight line as he clings to Minho’s hand, leading him swiftly into the frontyard.

“Why so quiet?” Minho asks, noticing the slight tremor in Jisung’s fingers, struggling to fit the key into the lock.

“I’ve been thinking,” he turns the key with a click, ushering Minho inside.

Minho frowns, “about what?”

Jisung shuts the door close behind them, his pupils shaking as he finally faces Minho. His voice low, raspy, “How I want you to fuck me so bad,”

The heat stiring in his stomach is enough for Minho to meet him halfway, feeling Jisung’s lips melting, harshening on his. He tilts his head just right, licking into his mouth so desperate that it makes Jisung falter on his feet so Minho cups the hinge of his jaw tighter, not letting him slip away from his fingers.

Minho’s heart thunders within his chest. Jisung steals kisses between, guides him with a gentle force until he leans back with his hands on a sturdy table. Minho, then realizes they’re in his dining room.

Jisung makes it feel like a last time as he asks, “can I suck you off, please?”

Minho nods instantly, impatient, fingers fiddling to undo his belt and zipper. The gaze in Jisung’s eyes as he lowers himself to his knees is the sultriest. Heaviest. His fingers sneak under his waistband, pulling both his pants and boxers down to his feet.

“So pretty, hyung,” whispers Jisung as he wraps a hand around his aching cock. Runs his thumb along the vein underneath. His fist looks small around Minho’s cock. “It’ll look even prettier in my mouth,”

Minho moans. Feels the heat engulfing him, searing from the crown of his head down to his very toes, leaving his cheeks ablaze with a rosy hue. A grin ghosting over Jisung’s lips as he thumbs over the tip, teasing the precum around until Minho can no longer stand, “come on, your mouth,”

“Patience, hyung,” Jisung approaches to the tip, rewards him with a few kitten licks, but Minho is too greedy to settle for that. And Jisung is determined enough to show him all he has.

The sensation is clear when Jisung’s mouth welcomes him in the wettest, hottest way possible. Minho covers his mouth as his whimpers get too loud with each hollow of Jisung’s cheeks, each back and forth of his head, and each hum going directly into his dick, vibrating through his entire body.

He weaves his fingers through the strands of Jisung’s hair. His knuckles turning white from gripping so tight onto the table. His moan is the loudest as he almost hits the back of Jisung’s throat, gazing down at him just to see the shimmer of tears pooling in his eyes.

Jisung is the greediest, either.

He gags around his dick, but never pulls back. Mouth full of Minho, hands clutching tightly onto the flesh of his bare thighs, fingers curling into fists. He desperately grinds down on Minho’s ankle for his own sanity; tears tracing a path along his cheeks as his pants start to feel heavy. He bucks his hip further as he fucks himself shamelessly on Minho’s feet, eyes rolling back in his head.

He makes a mistake then, meets Minho in the eye, and, holy god, now he’s pressing his feet against his erection and Jisung nearly chokes on the dick in his mouth.

Minho sees it, then. Realizes that there would be no turning back. The intensity of his hunger for Jisung should’ve been a warning — a voracious desire threatening to consume him whole, leaving no part of him untouched by its fervor.

Jisung pulls back. His chin is slick, streaked with a sheen of saliva. “Hyung, please,” breathes out, “fuck my throat,”

“Sorry, honey,” gasps Minho, his gaze lingering on Jisung’s tear stained cheeks, the swelling of his lips, and the glistening lashes framing his eyes. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Minho swiftly hikes his pants up, then helps Jisung to his feet, light as a feather. His breathing comes in broken sobs as Minho leads them to the bedroom, doesn’t bother to lock the door behind them.

Minho grasps the hems of Jisung’s shirt, yanking it up over his shoulders. Their lips still connected, Jisung pulls him over his torso once his back falls onto the mattress, hooking his legs around his waist, cold sheets beneath him making his bare skin shiver like a cat.

“Fucking hell, I’ve wanted this for so long,” Jisung asks between sloppy kisses and bites Minho gives him on his neck, “You’ll fuck me good, hyung, right?”

“You just needed to ask,” Minho has spit smudged on his chin, drooling down onto Jisung’s freshly worked neck, “I’ll fuck you so good, baby, you’ll never let anyone else lay a finger on you again,”

Minho’s heart lays bare only for Jisung’s eyes. He can figure the heart of the matter if he’s smart enough. His fingers find Jisung’s zipper and undoes it, pulling his jeans and boxers down together, first to his ankles, then completely off and tossing them careless.

Minho thumbs over the tip, messing the precum around, forcing Jisung’s body arching into his touch, “enough, Minho, take off your pants already,”

Minho doesn’t make him beg, because their time is limited, shouldn’t be wasted. He gets rid of his shirt, reaching for lube on the nightstand, his pants following his shirt, finding its way on the floor.

“We never really talked about this, but, have you ever bottomed?”

Jisung nods, “I— I have. I can take it.”

“Good,” whispers Minho, pressing a kiss on his temples, “Is it okay if we try something new? Do you trust me, Jisung?”

His answer comes sharp as a knife, undelayed, “yes, hyung, I trust you.”

Minho, consumed entirely by the searing heat pulsating through his body, lays on his back, takes a hold of Jisung’s ankle, pleading, “Come on, take a seat.”

Jisung hums attentively, “w—what, you want me to—”

“Yes, baby, want you to sit on my face, and turn around,”

Jisung flushes, his teeth sinking into his lip, but he doesn’t hesitate to push his leg over the other side of Minho, placing himself right on top of him, facing the end of the mattress.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Minho directs, taking a hold of Jisung’s hips, lowering him closer. “And don’t touch yourself unless I tell you,”

“O—okay.”

Minho squeezes and spreads his cheeks apart with both hands to reveal his hole waiting to be worked open, tight and desperate. “Such a pretty little hole for me, I wonder how sensitive you are down here,” His tongue grazing over his rim, and it’s enough for Jisung to fold before him, reeling for more, crying out Minho’s name. Minho sends his tongue down his hole flat. Jisung clenches around him, his vision bluring and hazing over, but he’s content, nails sinking deeper into the meat of Minho’s thighs, leaving crimson scratches behind.

All his worries evaporate. Jisung feels everything at once as Minho licks and sucks him, spits into him, and takes him apart with only a few flicks of his tongue.

Minho reaches for the lube near him, vacating a high amount into his fingers. “I’ll use my finger now, baby, okay?”

“Y—yeah, do it— aaah—” his voice pitching up, rolling into broken moans immediately as he feels a finger pressing in, curling up inside him. Jisung’s world turns into a bliss, a fucking feast. He screams, his body seizing with tension.

Jisung decides to make himself useful as well, so he bends down to close his mouth around Minho’s dick. Swirling his tongue around the thickness. As a reward Minho pushes his index finger in, scissoring him open, driving him to the edge.

“Hyung— I— I’m ready, I can take you— please,” Jisung begs in a heartbeat if it means for him. It’s not enough. He needs to be filled up to his spine.

“Fuck, baby, you’re still tight, it won’t fit in,” Minho purrs against his rim, delivering both his ring finger and tongue. The sensation builds relentlessly, numbing Jisung’s senses until a scream tears from his throat, the only release from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Minho, I’ll cum if you don’t stop, just put your dick in me,” Jisung sobs, hand fighting back to close around his aching cock, because he’s a good listener. Minho pulls back, leaving his loosened hole tensing around nothing but air, maneuvering their places like it’s nothing for him.

He can’t help smiling as he gazes down at Jisung, sprawled bare beneath him, cheeks are a deep, flushed red, honey skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, the heat radiating off him in waves.

“How do you want it?” asks Minho, taking his sweet time lubing himself up, chest heaving with each breath, rapid and shallow. “I can take you better on your stomach,”

That’s all it takes for Jisung to obey and turn back on his knees, sticking out his perky butt, laying his head on the pillow in front of his face. A fucking show off.

“Come on, hyung, take me, please,” whimpers Jisung, grinding his cheeks against his cock for any friction. A trail of sweat running down his spine as Minho cradles his waist, rotating himself against his swollen hole.

“You’ve been so good for me, sweetheart, now take a deep breath,” Minho whispers, his tip slightly breaching in, enough to stutter Jisung’s breath, lips spacing, gasping for air.

Tears start to wash down Jisung’s cheeks as Minho sinks in at a madenning slowness, almost halfway down and he screams again, feeling his heart crashing against his chest, a hot breath into his ear, “It’s me, Jisung. It’s okay. You can relax,”

“H—hold on, hyung, just a second,”

Halfway down, Minho waits. His lips dance across the tight muscles of Jisung’s shoulders, leaving tender kisses at the base of his neck.

“I—It’s okay, you can move now.”

Jisung is sensitive. Too vulnerable. Minho pushes in careful and slow.

“Fuuuck—” Jisung cries out as Minho is fully seated deepest inside him when their hips flush together, skin crawling hot against skin.

Minho is going to lose it. Sex has never felt so heavenly. Only Jisung can make him feel this worked up, above the clouds, near the stars. Minho would collect stars, and make a special colleciton, giving a bouqet of them to Jisung, and maybe would get a kiss on his mouth for his efforts if he’s lucky enough. If that’s even a thing.

Minho’s hand slips into Jisung’s hair, gently but firmly guiding his head back until it rests against his shoulder. He retracts and slides in again, again, and with each thrust it gets easier and slicker, hotter. His grip around Jisung’s waist tightens, crashing into his prostate in a way forcing his muscles tremble, overwhelming every nerve until he can only cry out from the intense overstimulation.

“Is this close enough, Hannie?”

Jisung’s sobs are the loudest.

“Hyung—hhhah—”

Minho clasps Jisung’s hand, guiding his fingers down to his stomach. Jisung’s breath snags in his throat as he touches Minho through the fucking bulge on his belly, trailing his fingers on the spot where Minho pushes carnally into him.

“Oh my god, holy fuck,” Jisung whimpers, feeling Minho’s dick under his touch. “How is it already there?”

“Your waist is so tiny, of course it’s already there,” Minho takes a handful of Jisung’s hair, coaxing his head to tilt back slightly to meet him in the eye, “touch yourself while I fuck you, love.”

Jisung nods absentmindedly, bringing a shaky hand to his cock, adjusting his strokes to match Minho’s thrusts, cloud fucking nine, maybe ten.

“Tell hyung how it feels,”

“So good, feels like hyung is putting a baby in me,” blurts out Jisung, “please, make me yours, please,”

“You’re all mine, all for me,” Minho pants out, reaching for Jisung’s nipples, squeezing them around his fingers. “Want me to spill inside you so you can have my babies, Jisungie?” Minho sucks onto his earlobe, licking a strand down behind his ear, and that’s all it takes for Jisung. It’s over.

“Hyung— I— I want— hhhah—” Jisung comes with a high groan all over into his fist. Chest heaving up and down along his breath caught in his throat. He doesn’t hesitate to ask for, “finish in me, hyung, fill me up with your babies,”

Minho slams into his skin repetitively just to chase his own release, soon, there’s a hot explosion, he spills onto Jisung’s prostate with a high pitched moan. He leaves a trail of kisses behind Jisung’s neck before pulling out, his come dripping raw out of his hole.

“Oh my god, can’t believe how gorgeous you look right now,” Minho comments as he brings a shaky hand to spread Jisung’s cheek a little wider just to take a close look, and it’s enough to make Jisung blush like a fool, clenching his hole so Minho’s load can stay inside and he can admire him forever. “You were perfect for me, let me take care of you.”

Jisung hums in response, legs jelly, hips landing down to the sheets beneath him.

Minho carries him with ease, and walks them to bathroom, his hands expertly supporting beneath his knees and along his back. Jisung’s eyes drifting into a black hole, sinking into the curve of his neck.

Minho lets Jisung wrap his hands around his body to sleep because he’s hopeless, on the edge where the lines blur and the extraordinary becomes palpable. That’s how Jisung’s existence transcends the bounds of fantasy and reality, sending his head spinning, disgusting nausea crowning his stomach, running through his body.

𖦹

Sunny day. Sweaty. The sun streaming through the curtains, challenging Jisung to see how much prettier he can still get. Jisung doesn’t wake up easily, Minho spent enough mornings watching him sleep to figure that out. So he doesn’t hesitate to touch him, brushing his sweaty hair back with his hand, making room for his sticky forehead to show.

Minho grumbles nonsense in his sleep, Jisung teased him, pointed out.

“Hyung, you’re talking in your sleep again.”

Minho stirred, his eyes fluttering open, then closing again as Jisung leaned in, kissed him.

Jisung doesn’t make any noise, graceful, sunlight kissing his face, trying to make Minho jealous like it has him, reminding Minho he doesn’t have him. Jisung is not his. Minho wouldn’t chase upon a fantasy.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Jisung’s forehead, bittersweet.

It’s not that Minho never thinks about being Jisung’s boyfriend. He does. It’s become a habit now to imagine waking up next to him, giving him lazy morning kisses, his pillow taking the shape of his boyfriend’s face.

Jisung is the type kissing his boyfriend to sleep, feeling his hair falling through his fingers. Smile so heart shaped could breathe life into his senses or leave him breathless. No middle ground. Minho would like to take some responsibility if it meant holding his hand like a lover, sparing his love only for him.

Minho feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest as he picks up his clothes, fingers trembling, pulling his shirt over his head, because he knows they’ve never been meant to be more than this. From the very start. He shouldn’t have stayed for the night, nights.

The cold morning air smacks into him as he steps out of the flat, can’t shake the nausea building inside him, a haunting sensation gripping his chest. Minho hopes Jisung’s kisses will stay warm on his skin, untouched, igniting a flame in his stomach.

It’s not on Minho that Jisung has become a familiar pattern on his skin. Minho hates to claim what he has in his chest. He didn’t think it would come to this. Waking up in a stranger bed wasn’t part of it.

The silence of the house is deafening. His grandma hasn’t woken up yet. The floor creaking under his feet. He sinks onto the couch, his hands rising to cover his face. The tears well up in his eyes then, hot and effortless, spilling over his fingers, the ache in his heart feeling like it might tear him apart.

Minho hates inevitable endings. It’s something his ego can’t accept, stomaching his pride. His body shooks with the force of his sobs, curling into himself, pulling his legs tightly to his chest. Deep grooves carved in his heart. Tears flowing down his cheeks nonstop.

He hears the soft padding of footsteps. His grandmother appears in the doorway, sleepy eyes, her face creased with concern. She moves quickly to his side, “Jesus, Minho,” sinking onto the couch next to him, gently tilting his face in her palms.

“What happened?”

“I’m stupid, halmoni, I’m so stupid,” his cries growing louder, words get choked in the confines of his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,”

She wraps her arms tight around his shrunken figure like knows what happened. She knows Jisung was never his, and never would be. “Oh, dear, you couldn’t have known.”

“But I should’ve!” Minho feels like suffocating, almost dying. “I wanted to try something new. Wanted to be casual. Like anyone else. But I was so wrong, I’m not like that,”

She remains silent. Minho hopes to be humiliated. Rebuked. Something equivalent to what he deserves.

“He’s different,” It would burn on his tongue if Minho said the name, tasting it on his tongue, “Not someone I can have for the rest of it. Not that generous.”

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she says softly, “sometimes, the things we want most are the hardest to reach. But that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. It means you’re human. Your feelings make you human. Not a cold machine. You know our actions have some consequences, Minho.”

Minho couldn’t keep track of how it unfolded to this. Jisung is sweet, no, probably the sweetest, unparalleled. Apple on pie. Cherry on top. Kissable gummy smile. See through soul. Litting up every room in Minho’s heart. Wholesome. All enough to put Minho on edge.

Minho can’t beat the thoughts alone when he tries to give himself to sleep. Ten in the morning. Thoughts roll, add, add, adding up to the pit, pouring out. Jisung never leaves. Settled in his mind, in this room, in his bed.

Minho hopes in another time, Jisung is not only a passing time, a figure for him to remember. Minho hopes they’re happy there, has all the time in the world, and Minho never leaves.

A desert, lurking scorpions under his feet, thorns piercing into his skin, flames tingling his throat. He feels the scorching heat searing through him, from the soles of his feet to the warmth flushing his cheeks, leaving his mouth as dry as the sand beneath his feet.

He kicks off the blanket under his feet. Minho never complained about how Jisung held his body glued to him in his sleep even if it were scorching, ninety five degrees. The blanket is heavy, pressing on his chest, but Jisung never felt like a burden.

His eyes swirling into a black canvas, the last thing he notices is his slowly bleeding nose. He’ll face waking up with blood on his pillow like a man who wears his chest out. Full of pride. He’ll take care of it when he feels like caring, stuffing a napkin up his nose.

Minho should’ve seen it coming.

Should’ve seen it coming before actually giving in.

He wakes up with a terrible headache. The smell of iron makes his nostrils hurt. Dark red stains on his pillow. He shoves what feels like a handful of pills in his mouth.

It’s not that Jisung never cares for him; because in fact, he does. Four missed calls on his screen as he checks the time. He slept for three hours. Nine messages sent at certain intervals of time.

Hyunggg

Hyungie

The bed is getting cold :<

Are u out for groceries

Can u buy me some stirred fruit yoghurt too

Strawberry one

Ayo

Dont scare me

I’ll come check on u after my shift ends if you dont answer by then

Minho’s heart rolls into a bouncing ball in his chest. He doesn’t get to play with Jisung like that. They both know it was all meaningless. From the beginning. Minho almost wishes Jisung never agreed to him at all. He should’ve turned him down, being a “I only do relationships” type of guy.

Minho decides. He’s going to put an end to this before it gets any worse. Like it’s possible.

The air is as gloomy as the hurricanes wilding inside him. A pair of wide sweatpants he pulls on, a sweater with cat bless you on it. His lucky sweater. When his mother saw him wearing a silly print, she laughed for the first time in years.

Two more pills popped on his way to the groceries. His hair is itchy at the nape of his neck like the day they first met. His eyes carrying the bags of faint purples under them. Chapped and dry lips. He’d look even better if someone had kicked him in the eye and hit him with a truck.

He hopes Jisung doesn’t think of him like he left around night. Minho would never. His heart wouldn’t take the blame.

The poison spreads through his mouth, gulping down to his throat, mixing up to his brain and five senses. Minho feels reborn as he sees Jisung at the checkout, smiling so big at a customer until his teeth peek out. He feels his insides twirling with nausea as Jisung’s smile drops off the second he realizes the intruder. Minho is sure he makes him ill. Twisted.

Minho could be a lot of things.

The bravest man on earth when his high school friends charged him to distract attention to sneak into places. The most honest child on earth when his mother asked him who ate the cookies she baked for the guests. He could easily tell on his cousin, getting him scolded.

Now, he’s nothing but Minho. A combination of aching bones. Itchy skin. Not a man brave enough to get his words together and speak. Not a lover honest enough to look Jisung in the eye.

So he does what feels like a stranger. He walks off. Drags his feet into the depths of the store. A blank. A space forms in his life. Jisung watches Minho behind like a void opening up, devouring him whole.

Jisung doesn’t follow after him. He waits. Fully aware of the hold he has over Minho, knowing so well that he will be back to him.

He must be confused. Worried. Minho stalls around the store like a thick skinned husband whose wife is waiting home with her four kids. He only grabs a stirred strawberry yoghurt with him to the counter to let Jisung know he read his messages. Just to be a bitch.

Minho sets the yoghurt on the counter, tucking the cash beneath it. Jisung’s eyes never leave his face. It doesn’t take the longest for him to step out from behind, crossing the distance in long strides, “Jesus, Minho, don’t fuck with me like this. You had me all worried,” he gasps, curling his fingers into Minho’s forehead, probably checking his temperature. If he’s out of his mind. “you look sick, you should’ve called me back atleast,”

“I’m not sick,”

Jisung glides his hand down on his cheek, thumb brushing against his cheekbone, Minho almost thinks that he’s being more affectionate than he should. Almost believes that he’s not worthy enough to have Jisung’s affection and worries.

Maybe he should shove his hand away, and tell him that he’s being too much. Then Minho would feel like getting something he deserves: Jisung’s scornful gaze fixed on his face, his sour expression reminding him how pathetic he is.

A bitter taste in his mouth. He picks at, “who was the guy before me? Got you smiling so big and shit,”

Jisung’s hand on his cheek halts, backs off, leaving his face freezing. The frown on his brows tells Minho everything he needs. “Don’t pretend to be jealous. It’s very unattractive. You’re not getting away with this.”

Minho steps back, hips bumping onto the counter. A long, heavy sigh out of his chest. “With what?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. Like he’s putting an effort to rile Jisung up, pushing him further into the cliff.

“You left the morning after you fucked me, Minho. It’s not a good look on you.”

Cool. He trusts Minho enough to know he would never slip out in the middle of night. Good for him.

“What the fuck,” Minho scowls, screwing it up, “I would’ve fucked you sooner if that was my intention, what do you think I am?”

“I never said that was your intention,” Jisung’s face scrunches up, his voice falling lower, body smaller. Minho wishes that Jisung would raise his voice, putting him in his place, telling him that he’s a waste of time and maybe even hit him in the face. But Jisung doesn’t. He sounds broken. Broken and filtered. “I don’t understand. You’re just— being weird right now.”

“I’m not being weird. Get it over, Jisung, that’s who I am.”

Minho hopes Jisung really hits him in the face. Bruising his nose. Kicks him out of the store to never come back. Tells his uncle about the boy he met in summer like a bad memory.

“Sorry. I— I thought— you know,” stutters Jisung. Minho hates how he sounds like he’s about to break and fall into million pieces before his feet. “We would have breakfast together like always, and— yeah, whatever, we don’t have to do anything. I’m overreacting.”

A cold knot tightens in his throat, then. Minho knows him all too well. The way his hair falls over his forehead with the force of his head tilting down, the subtle twitch of his pretty pink lips. Jisung is more sensitive than ever. Minho doesn’t get to upset him after fucking him silly, trying all the filthy things on him in one night.

“You’re not.” A dull ache filling his chest, “I’m sorry. I just have a lot going in my head lately. You— you’re just— perfect.”

Minho can’t prevent the wailsome needle pricking at his skin, because Jisung’s expression softens, lips resembling of a smile. Minho would kill for him if it meant for his favour.

Jisung doesn’t answer, and Minho knows never to miss an opportunity, “are you free for dinner tonight?” He would say yes anytime Minho asked him out. Minho is confident. Jisung won’t make any excuses, because he’s—

“Sorry. I have a friend coming over for dinner.”

It stings. A fist punched in his face. The scummiest syrup plastered on his tongue.

“Cool. We can meet tomorrow, then, right?”

Jisung chuckles, a humourless one. “Yes, hyung, we can.”

Minho leaves him the strawberry yoghurt. Jisung thanks him with a smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Neither a peck on his mouth nor a soft plant on his cheek. He never sees Jisung for the rest of the day, and he finally gets a taste of torture, what it feels like living hell.

He’s sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window at the fading lights. Jisung’s friend must’ve arrived by now.

Nine more days. He’s not a moron. Familiar with his feelings. When his mother asks him how his vacation had been, Minho won’t be able to stop his eyes from welling up, won’t get cruel enough to kill the last butterfly in his chest that flutters every time Jisung’s name is mentioned.

Minho will talk about Jisung like the love of his life whenever someone asks him. Minho will take a picture of Jisung just to remember what he looks like.

Something has shifted yesterday, because it doesn’t feel the same now Jisung takes him on a picnic. Next to a stream flowing into a short waterfall a few meters ahead. The birds chirping, singing, reminding Minho to never believe that unfeasible happens.

Jisung lays his head on Minho’s lap. 

Minho lets him spit out the pits of the cherry into his palm.

“How was your date yesterday?” Minho asks him because he’s hopeless. Has to fuck things up.

“You thought it was a date?” Jisung’s sunglasses are not big enough on his face to hide his confusion, frown deepening further. Almost like Minho starts to get on his nerves. “He’s my friend, Changbin hyung. We had good time. Good meal.”

“You know, you should have some, too. You’re young. Beatiful. Don’t miss on it.”

Minho doesn’t feel ashamed that he sounds just like his mom. Not even a bit.

“Don’t fucking try to set me up,” his eyes finally fluttering open, he takes his glasses off for his dull looking pupils to show. Minho almost wishes he would put them on again so he can continue imagining the familiar bliss in his gaze instead of those blunt, veiled eyes. “You wouldn’t mind if I find someone else?”

“I wouldn’t.” A filthy liar is what he is. Minho tastes the poison drooling in his mouth. “You’re free to do whatever you want, don’t see me as a constraint.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Jisung sighs, lips gaping, “I’ve been trying to be more understanding, careful since— you know, but— I have feelings, too. I can also get hurt.” Jisung stops, frustration in his big brown eyes, Minho’s world stops. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll fucking leave.”

A brief of silence. Minho would never say that when Jisung is everything he wants.

“You don’t have any feelings for me, right?” He asks like the fool he is instead, revealing his claws.

“Do you?” Jisung sounds velvet. A haunting surge of heat blossoms in Minho’s stomach. Sprouting around. Blending into the soil.

“It’s not about me. Answer me, first.”

Jisung blinks. Reaches out for a few grapes out of the bowl. Minho just plucked them off the bunches for him.

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not looking for anything complicated.”

“You’re not looking for this, not looking for that,” Jisung straightens up, leaving Minho’s lap empty cold, infertile enough that lilies stop blooming now.

“You’re here, with me, feeding me with some stupid cherries and grapes. Letting me lay my head on your lap. Isn’t it complicated enough for you?”

Minho feels his eyes scorching, tasting the drought on his tongue. Jisung feels too distant to reach. Filling a space inside Minho that nothing else could, a space that now feels dangerously close to empty as the distance between them grows. A part of Minho almost wishes they had never met at all.

Jisung pushes the stab into the depths of his heart. Brutal.

“How much more complicated do you expect this to get for you to stop pretending to be fucking stupid?”

Minho laughs, hysteric. Nothing less to expect from Jisung. No turning back now.

“It’s not my fault, Jisung. I thought I made my intentions clear from the beginning. I just wanted to have fun and you agreed.” His voice trails off as he irrevocably makes everything worse, his shoulders slumping down with the weight of his shameful heart. Hoping the rays of the sun would burn away the guilt off him.

“You think what we did was just about having fun?” His voice carrying back, slightly trembling. “Maybe you should’ve realized that feelings change. People change.”

Minho feels volcanoes erupting, overflowing, ashes scattering into the murky void of skull.

Jisung pokes him in the chest like a bullet, marking an end. “Having fun, my ass! We didn’t just fuck, Minho, I’ve seen you weak, seeking for relief from me.”

“So what? Seeing me cry doesn’t make you fucking special. You’re not any different just because you know me so well. Feelings don’t have a place in what we have.”

One thing about Minho is that he can become a perfectionist liar when he’s standing on the edge of a cliff. He can persist with his lies even as the ground beneath his feet starts to give way, pebbles sliding in, and splashing across the sea. Always taking a risk to fall. Never letting his conscience see the light of day.

“You just pretend to be unreachable, don’t you?” Jisung bites back, his voice laced with a raw edge that cuts through the air like a knife. His pride weighs more. “I’m not fucking in love with you.” He adds, more like a plea, a hollow claim.

“You better not. I’m leaving next week. We should make the most of it until then.”

Something shatters behind his eyes — screaming, crying, a flicker of some life dying inside. Minho sees it all. Jisung pitying him. The flicker in his pupils giving him away. Minho feels the air in his lungs running short.

“Jesus Christ,” Jisung blinks away the spasm in his muscles, rising to his feet, hurried. “So blinded by your ego that you don’t even realize that we’re fucking done.”

Minho watches. Opens his mouth to snap back, only for Jisung to cut him off, his heart growing more agitated.

“I’ll drop by the day before you leave, give you a kiss, and never see you again. It’s better if we stop seeing each other until then.”

“What the fuck? You’re leaving me here all alone?”

“You know the way. Keep the bike. Leave it by my door later.”

Jisung retrieves his bike from where it’s propped against a tree, maneuvering it onto the path, his legs wobbling like a jelly.

“Seriously leaving? Now you’re being fucking childish, Jisung, I swear,” Minho yells, following closely behind, intending to tug at his arm only to be shoved away. “And you know what? Don’t even come by before I leave, we’ve already done our fucking time!”

Jisung ignores him, mounts his bike and pedals away in a matter of seconds. Minho never remembers being so cruel as he stands there for a long, long time, watching Jisung’s figure shrinking, smaller, blending into the distance until he’s nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Swallowed down.

We’ve done our fucking time.

A moment of rage costs him billions, flowers blooming in his bed.

The moment keeps replaying in the back of his head like a killing scene. Never stops. Thunders, waves raging, washing away the sand from the shore. The silence around him stays deafening, so real, so contradacting. A stark reminder of what he lost and can’t fix. What he never actually gets to have in the first place.

It starts raining. Minho doesn’t deserve to get on the bike.

One step after the other. His shoes get covered in mud and dirt of it. He exhales loudly, seeing the sun shining in the sky amidst pouring rain. Tension lingering in his muscles, and his gaze, heavy with contemplation. He’s two steps away from knocking at Jisung’s door as he leaves the bike in his frontyard.

His miserable brain wouldn’t shut up, so instead Minho shuts his aching heart and guides it down to his guts. His nausea twirling inside ugly. His chest clenches, legs growing limp and useless.

The sense of loss is overwhelming. The time is restricted, and can’t be taken back. Can’t be replayed. Jisung is more than that; rare enough not to happen more than once, not to repeat time and people.

But, no, he is glad he met Jisung. Someone like him is once in a billion. Only one who could fit into the shape of Minho’s heart.

Minho never remembers falling so hard and easy for someone else. Not even Junwoo. Jisung never made promises he couldn’t keep.

It was bound to happen. Eventually. Minho makes million promises for himself that it was bound to happen.

Saturday night, Minho is cracking up. Aching bones and limps. Messy hair. Potato chips and melon ice cream for dinner. Churning stomach. Two days since he last saw Jisung. The longest he’s ever been away from him. Feels like two years. Like a rubbed out memory.

The air is thick with sweat and cologne, bodies pressed tightly together, moving under the harsh lights casting long shadows across the room, basses strong enough to send his head dazing.

Minho stares at the row of empty shot glasses in front of him. He stopped counting after three. About to take a sip when a voice breaks through the noise.

“Minho? Is that really you?”

Minho turns around, squinting through the dim light to see a man with an infectious smile approaching him. A tall figure with a lean, hair rich brown, a well fitted shirt showcasing his broad shoulders. Probably around Minho’s age. He can’t quite place him.

“Holy shit. It’s really you,” the stranger says, sliding onto the stool next to Minho with an easy grin.

“Sorry, do I know you?” Minho asks, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

“Seungmin,” the guy replies, laughing softly. “We used to play together as kids, don’t you remember? I know it’s been forever, but, I remember you. You haven’t changed much. Also my mom told me that you’re back.”

“Seungmin?” Minho repeats, the name finally ringing a bell. Right. Wet sock kid. He gave his mother a jar of marmalade. “Jesus, it’s so dark, or else I’d recognize you. How have you been?”

“I’m doing okay,” Seungmin says, waving down the bartender to order a drink. Hmph. He’s sticking around. Giving Minho a headache. Can’t a guy sip on his drink alone in peace? “Just out with some friends. I thought I saw you sitting here and had to come check. What about you? Tough night?”

Minho shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “Maybe. Just dealing with some stuff.”

Seungmin nods, taking a sip from his drink, something too sweet for Minho’s gums. “I hear you. Life gets complicated sometimes. Anything you wanna talk about?”

Minho hesitates. It’s not like he’s telling this guy about how his last month has been a bless and a curse at the same time. Whatever he has with Jisung is special. Should stay special. Not another soap opera for someone else to go and gossip about with his friends. Minho plays no jokes.

He scratches the back of his head like he’s thinking, scrunching up his nose, “nothing special. Usual ups and downs.” A up and down move of his hand, reminding of sea waves.

“I see,” Seungmin nods, and doesn’t ask for more. Great that he can read subtle cues. “So, how long are you planning to stay here? I can show you around a bit.” And a shy grin follows. Maybe a clumsy wink, too. Minho can’t really tell.

“Too late. My ticket’s for next friday.” His lips curling into a thin, apologetic line. Better luck next time.

“Oh, bummer,” Seungmin grimaces with a smile. “There are some places worth seeing in the town, it’s a shame,”

The alcohol in his veins flowing sweet. Dreamy. Minho is five feet above the clouds, “Jisung knows all the famous creeks here,” Minho blurts, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he leans against the bar. “The best restaurants, too. He took me to many sushi and meat places.”

Seungmin’s gaze widens, “Jisung, you said? Han Jisung living here? The one with curly brown hair and puffed cheeks?”

“Yeah, that’s a certain Jisung I know,” Minho can’t help frowning, “do you know him?”

“Very well,” Seungmin laughs lightly, nodding, “We used to date for— what was it? Two years, I think.”

“Oh,” Minho gasps, his stomach dropping as a knot tightens in his throat. That’s him. Jisung’s long lasting boyfriend. He’s not even Jisung’s type. It’s ridiculous. Couldn’t he find someone other than his childhood friend? “Small world.”

“Yeah, it is,” Seungmin responds, his face lighting up with a massive smile grating on Minho’s nerves, sparking a flicker of irritation down his brows. He can’t be this vivacious.

“So, how’s he doing?” Seungmin asks, “I see him around sometimes, but, you know, we don’t necessarily talk. We ended on good terms, though.”

Minho wants to squeeze the fondness out of Seungmin’s voice, mentioning so detailed about Jisung. It makes his stomach twist. To the boiling point. “He’s good,” he says, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. “Busy. You know, he’s working at his uncle’s store.”

“I know,” Seungmin nods, “Always full of enthusiasm. It’s what I liked the most about him.”

Minho doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol in his blood or he just gets really really pissed off.

“Anyway, gotta go,” Seungmin says, downing the rest of his drink, points at his friends with his head. “It was good to see you, Minho,” a knowing smile on his lips, “I hope you work it out with Jisung. Have fun.”

Minho manages a nod, forcing a smile. “Y—yeah, you too,” he replies, voice strained. And Seungmin leaves, leaving Minho staring behind his back. Was he being too obvious? Transparent?

The bass from the speakers thrums in his chest, matching the steady pounding of his heartbeat.

The alcohol takes him, kicks in, the ice clinking against the glass is the loudest he hears.

Minho remembers Jeongin’s first impression of Hyunjin.

“You ever met someone who just gets under your skin?” Jeongin complained, rubbing his temples, slumping into the chair across from Minho. His first day at his job.

“Come again?” Minho asked, brows furrowed, not quite catching Jeongin’s drift. Fingers busy tapping away at the keyboard, responding to a flurry of emails.

“You know, I met this guy at the office. He’s a bit weird. Giving off serial killer vibes,”

Minho laughed, “how so?”

Jeongin shook his head, “I caught him staring at me across the table for, like, sixteen seconds. Nonstop. Jesus. I still get the chills.”

Minho sent off his last email and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “maybe he has a crush on you.”

Jeongin nearly choked on his coffee, coughing a few times, hot liquid tingling in his throat. “Hell no,” he sputtered, shaking his head vehemently, “don’t give my poor, single self any ideas to fantasize about.”

It turned out his colleague had a crush on Jeongin. Hwang Hyunjin. Jeongin couldn’t stopped talking about him for weeks.

Did you know Hyunjin loves painting? He showed me some of his sketches during lunch.

He knows how I take my coffee, can you believe, hyung?

He’s got this way of smiling. 

Minho is glad they’re getting ready to share a house now.

Jisung gets under Minho’s skin. His system. Maybe they should share a house too. Maybe everything would be alright if Minho prepared breakfast for him.

Tuesday comes by. Two in the morning. Caffeine kicks in, leaving Minho sleepless, loading spasm into his muscles. He lays on his bed staring up at the ceiling, the darkness pressing down on him.

He lost count of how many times he picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Jisung’s name in his contacts. A single tap was all it would take to bridge the gap. Pretending to have Jisung all over again.

The phone vibrating in his hand startles him. The inevitable happens. Jisung is calling him, reaching for him, because he’s braver. Minho is no better than a man as he almost immediately presses the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear with a shaky hand.

The faint, unsteady breathing meeting his ears sends a familiar ache coursing through his chest, the kind that twisting and turning in the pit of his stomach like a plague.

“Hyung?”

Minho feels the heat rising in his eyes once more.

“Jisung,” Minho breathes, sealing his eyes shut, asking like the fool he is, “why are you calling so late?”

There is a pause on the other end, stretching and straining until Minho’s heart feels like it might break under the weight, followed by a quiet chuckle can be heard vaguely. 

“I couldn’t sleep, hyung, I barely sleep lately,” a tremor in his voice, “I’ve been thinking— about us. About what went wrong. It doesn’t make sense. This shouldn’t be how we part ways after everything.”

Parting ways, Jisung reminds him, cutting trough him like paper. It takes Minho half a minute to squeeze the tremor out of his throat before answering.

“It was bound to happen eventually.”

Jisung sounds a little insane as he says, “you were right. About everything,” the words tumbling out in a rush, wrapped in desperation. “I was being selfish, I know, hyung,”

“Jisung—”

“I miss you, Minho. I’m freaking out,” his voice barely above a whisper, reaching into the very core of Minho’s being. “Can you, by any chance, come over now? I promise— it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“Please, Minho, don’t I atleast deserve that?”

And who is Minho to reject him when every fiber of his being aches to be with him?

“Okay. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“No, I— I can’t wait that long. Just come out.”

Minho could almost see Jisung, pacing around his room, biting on his lips harsh enough to taste blood. Iron poisoning him. 

Sigh.

“Okay, Jisung, I’ll be quick.”

His grandma is standing by the sink, pouring herself a glass of water, catches a glimpse of Minho passing by the kitchen. He pauses. She glances over, noticing the jacket he’s clutching tight in his hand.

Minho shifts on his feet, opens his mouth to offer an explanation, but no words come out. A small, apologetic smile on his lips. Her eyes are sharp as a knife as she sets the glass down on the counter, gesturing toward the door, a silent approval.

He mimics the words thank you with his mouth before heading to the door, stepping out.

Minho believes he sees start in the back of his mind. The night air is cool, wrapping around him like a shroud, smacking into his face. His ribcage tightens with an implacable pain, his heartbeat getting violent with every step he takes. The ground under his feet tries to devour him. Ears flushing with the most embarrassing shade of red.

It takes him ten minutes to reach into Jisung’s frontyard, knocking on his door almost hesitant. It swings open at the first knock, his trembling hand hanging in the air. There, framed by the doorway, stands Jisung. His hair tousled from the late hour, and his eyes, swollen, a loose-fitting shirt hanging from his slender frame. The stars sliding in Minho’s eyes now sprinkle across the honey skin of his neck.

“You’re here,” Jisung declares it like a miracle. He steps back, swinging the door fully open to let Minho in, closing it behind them. Eyes gleamy, flickering across Minho’s features.

The dim lighting casting gentle shadows on the walls, the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen is the only sound interrupting the silence.

“You’d like to drink anything? Coffee? Soda? I can get you—”

“No. No need.”

Jisung guides him into his living room. The puffy couch takes the shape of Minho’s hips. Jisung sits down next to him on the couch just right. Minho’s shorts riding up. Close enough that their naked knees brush. Minho could reach for his hand so easily.

“Mom called me yesterday.” Jisung intrudes, twisting the ring on his finger with his thumb. “Said she broke up with her husband. She’s coming back here. To this house. I don’t know if I can stand seeing her everyday.”

Minho’s toes curl in, fingers clutching on the fabric of his shorts. Heart swelling in his chest. Taste of iron on his tongue makes his gums go numb.

Jisung continues, “I wanted to have you here once more, so I can think of this place like a good memory.” His gaze is bittersweet, melting on Minho’s eyes. “Thank you for coming, hyung.”

“Jisung…” Minho feels the walls around his heart crumpling, coming down brick by brick, scraping what’s under the surface. Minho should’ve stayed home. Now his pinkie finger is reaching out toward Jisung’s, his mind swirling into a blank slate.

His finger gently tugs at Jisung’s. Slowly, almost reverently, Minho lets his fingers wander, first to his ring finger, then middle one, and in the blink of an eye, Minho has their fingers intertwined, pulling down to rest on his knee.

“I’m sorry. Your mom is a piece of shit.”

A humourless chuckle out of Jisung’s throat. They both are looking at their clasped hands. Minho gives it a squeeze out of reflex, and Jisung lifts his eyes, his soul crawling back into Minho’s very core.

“When is your ticket?”

“Friday morning.”

Jisung gulps down. Minho finds his heart shaped adams apple appearing every time he swallows entrancing. Also his smile. He is heart shaped. Round face boy. Minho’s sweet sweet boy.

“I’m sorry for what happened at the picnic. I wasn’t in my head. I crossed the line, I know.”

Minho hums attentively. He slowly moves their intertwined hands along his thigh, almost sneaking under the hem of his shorts. Jisung’s cologne penetrates into his senses, Minho feels the blood pumping into his brain flowing faster.

“You made it clear at the beginning, hyung. I was wrong,” Jisung gasps, a tremor in his voice as Minho’s hand slips away from his grasp. Instead, Minho parts his legs slightly wider. “I was so caught up in it,” he watches Jisung’s fingers finding their way back, wandering gently over his thigh, thumb tracing patterns around. Almost like he wants to cure him with his magical fingers. Heal him into a better guy. “Never thought I would be without you, Minho. I forgot that you’re leaving. Forgot that I haven’t known you since forever.”

Blame Jisung because Minho wants to consume him. Wants to reach for him and pull away the hair strands out of his eyes. Maybe put his hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat under his touch. He wants Jisung to make a move about it, so Minho doesn’t soak in his tears all over again, letting the foggy clouds hang over his neck.

“It’s pathetic for me to say that, but, I don’t want you to remember me from that picnic,”

Minho is a piece of shit as he listens to Jisung’s self incriminating apology like an archangel himself. As if Jisung is the one to project his own cowardice onto.

You really think you’re unreachable, don’t you?

Jisung reads him like a well worn book. The oldest in the library. The filthiest. Jisung is going along with him now because he needs Minho as much as Minho needs him. Minho knows him like a second skin.

Jisung has his eyes sealed shut. He is so close now Minho is bathed in his scent, an inch away from burying his head into the crook of his neck. “I shouldn’t remember you as what?”

“Unhydrated,” Jisung blinks his eyes open as he feels a burning hand on his cheek, “I’m nauseated, hyung, haven’t eaten well for days, and I don’t want you to remember me this miserable,”

“Baby,” slips out of his tongue. Minho caresses his cheekbone with a gentle drag of his thumb, tracing a path toward his lips. Delicately, he tugs at Jisung’s lower lip, coaxing it downward to reveal a glimpse of his lower gum. “Open your mouth for me,”

Words get trapped in the confines of his throat and never make it to the daylight, Jisung keeps quiet as he parts his lips wider. His trembling hand reaches down to seek solace at the hem of Minho’s shirt, grasping onto the cotton fabric for his dear life.

“Good. Let me quench your thirst.”

Jisung’s breath catches in his throat as Minho cups his face in his palm, leans in to brush their tongues once, twice. Minho pulls back, feels the waves floating in his chest, seeing a flushed red Jisung, chasing after his lips absentmindedly.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, the rush in his voice laying his heart bare. His hand on Minho’s thigh sneaking under his shorts, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, igniting a wildfire beneath the surface. “You don’t know how much I missed this,”

Minho moves slowly. His fingers trailing delicately along Jisung’s biceps, sending a ticklish shiver running down his spine. “I missed you too,” Fingers weaving through Jisung’s hair, he guides their lips together, chasing a sense of numbness, familiarness, warmth in his mouth. Only a few flicks of their tongues, lips moving against each other, the world is set back in its axis.

The voices are the loudest as Minho cups his jaw, helps him climb onto his lap. Jisung’s lips are plush and soft enough to melt him away.

Jisung is a pleaser. Impatient. His body instinctively responds, arching into Minho’s touch as his hands slide beneath his shirt, exploring the expanse of bare skin on his back. 

Neither sweet nor gentle. They both smile as Minho hikes Jisung’s shirt up and off, so it becomes hard to kiss. Minho grasps his face in his palms and crashes their lips together again, grazing his tongue in his mouth. Jisung has spit smeared on his chin as Minho trails his way down to his neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin in his mouth, glistening with saliva.

“Hyung, please, inside me, here,” Not a shame in the world Jisung has as he pulls at Minho’s shirt, dragging it over his shoulders, the fabric landing on ground. His fingers reaching down to tug at Minho’s waistband. “Want you to fuck me knowing it’s your last time in this house,” Then Minho grabs him by the wrist.

“Lube, darling,” Minho barely manages out, and that’s it, Jisung hops out of his lap, storms out to the bedroom, almost skidding to a fall as he crosses the threshold. Hastier than ever. Minho hears him shuffling around his nighstand to find lube.

Jisung gets rid of his shorts in the hallway. Faster than any other animal with a speed record. Minho makes himself useful as well, pulling down the sofa cushions to make some room for them, kicking out of his shorts.

Minho chases the rush in his stomach as Jisung finds him in the couch, dives in for a kiss, hooking his arms around his neck. Minho leans on him until Jisung falls on his back, caging him in. Jisung wraps his legs around his waist, pushing his ass up to grind into him, chasing a friction. The heat pooling in Minho’s stomach is painful as they both moan into it.

“H—hyung, need you to touch me,” Jisung whines as Minho removes the last piece of fabric cockblocking him, eyes luminous, lips puffed and shimmering with spit, “it’s been so long, missed your hands around me,”

Minho nods absentmindedly. A folding freak. He holds his palm against Jisung’s mouth, breathes out, “spit.” His eyes follow now Jisung gathering spit in his mouth, and putting it into Minho’s palm. Without a doubt. Without a blink. “Good.”

It’s a true bless, really. Jisung has no assurance other than the hand closing around his cock, and the thrilled heart racing in his chest as Minho starts to pump him into full hard.

“Mmmh—hyung,”

Jisung screams as Minho leans in, and takes him in his mouth without a warning. Tongue laying flat underneath, Minho hollows his cheeks, eyes following the tremor in Jisung’s face as he starts to bob his head. Jisung moans the loudest as he slams into Minho’s uvula, fingers tangling in the roots of his hair.

“Minho, I— I might—”

Minho pulls back in a heartbeat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Jisung’s gaze is heavy on his face, the sultriest one. The neediest. His torso surging with every labored breath.

Minho reaches for the lube. Takes his sweet time lubing his fingers, vacating an excessive amount. Jisung lets out tiny, shaky whimpers watching him. His eyes roll into the back of his head as Minho’s middle finger prods against his hole, circling it around, teasing him. “Don’t be afraid, hyung, hurt me,” Jisung pleads, rolling his hips upward.

His breath catches in his throat as Minho inserts a thick finger in, his hole instantly sucking in. Two comes slow and steady. Minho scissors him open once Jisung gets used to them inside. He gets whinier and needier. It’s not enough. Jisung needs to choke on his fingers until he can feel the veil in his eyes coming down to make him blind, so he doesn’t hesitate to ask Minho to feed him on his free fingers, “here, put them in my mouth,”

Minho gazes up at him, Jisung sees the black in his pupils. Heaven in his eyes. “Fucking hell, Jisung,” Minho puts a stop to any further explanation as he pushes his index and middle finger through Jisung’s parted lips. His mouth is welcoming, sloppy. His tongue swirls around the thickness, hushed moans vibrating through Minho’s fingers.

Third finger slides in. Slicker. Feeling the fingers pressing flat against his tongue, and stretching him open inside, that’s all it takes for tears to cascade down Jisung’s cheeks. He chokes in a way he can only imagine.

It’s wet when Minho pulls his fingers back from his mouth, spit connecting them together. Minho leans in to kiss him better, instead. It’s almost desperate as he leaves Jisung no choice but to moan into the kiss by curling his fingers into his sensitive spot.

“God, I’m ready, Minho, fuck me,”

It feels like years as Minho pulls out of his boxers, lubing himself up. He cradles Jisung’s ankle, guiding his foot to the crown of the backrest. His other leg winding around Minho’s waist naturally.

That’s when Jisung cries out as Minho rotates against his entrance, and sinks in. It’s all blurry and hazy at the back of his mind. But the sensation of the rising heat settling in his belly as Minho pulls back, and starts to thrust in again and again until Jisung can no longer count how many times is clearer than any other sensation. His moans feel the prettiest when his vocal cords sounds a little broken.

“So pretty and needy, taking me so well, Jisungie,”

Jisung hums attentively. There flickers a moon gleam in his face, and Minho sees his tear stained cheeks. Shivering lips. Minho slows his pace down, a hot whisper into his ear, “you okay? Want me to stop?”

Jisung chews on his lips, shaking his head, “I’ll die if you stop,” he clings onto his neck tighter it might hurt, “Faster, Minho, don’t pull out until you’re finished in me,”

Minho is a good listener. A man of action. He loves it when Jisung orders around, telling him what to do. He sets his pace faster again, higher in the clouds. The couch gets shaky, Jisung’s whines are muffled as he grips onto him tighter, getting his prostate slammed over and over again.

Minho feels giddy, he thumbs away the glistening tears clinging to the corners of Jisung’s eye, it’s the crooked grin on his face captivating him, making him say, “God. Wanna have you all to myself. Take you with me. You’re the prettiest, sweetest.”

Minho hopes it doesn’t linger. He hopes Jisung laughs it away. And, Jisung does. He almost laughs as he catches a glimpse of Minho’s dick going down in his cheeks, pulling back, and pushing in again. His cock throbbing against his belly, leaking on his stomach with each thrust. Minho is glad Jisung is too immersed in it to notice. His mind is soaring high, up with the stars.

“I—I’m so close, hyung-ah, p—please touch me,”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” Minho whipsers, tenderly placing a kiss on his cheekbone, reaching a hand to wrap around his cock, “I’ll do anything for you,”

Jisung’s body jerks forward, coming all over onto Minho’s fist with a loud groan out of his throat. He brings Minho’s soiled hand to his lips, licking his fingers clean in his mouth, batting his eyelashes in a way putting it to an end. Minho feels like blasting, Jisung’s hushed whimpers around his knuckles go directly into his dick, one last perfect slam, he spills over his prostate, feeling the acid in his throat burning. His mouth parching.

Minho slumps down onto his chest, not pulling out, struggling to catch his breath. Jisung’s fingers kneading the nape of his neck is soothing, melting away all the tension. Minho prays this enchanting dream lasts forever.

A hot whisper caressing his ear, “thank you, Minho. Thank you for everything.”

Minho feels his vision blurry. Wet. He pulls out carefully as it starts to feel like hurting Jisung. He can feel a pair of eyes burning a hole in his back as he rises to his feet, roaming across the house in search for baby wipes.

They both only have their boxers on as they curl up against each other in bed, lazy with post orgasm. Jisung leans in to press his lips onto Minho’s forehead, temples. His eyes half lidded. For the last time, Minho falls asleep so easily wrapped in someone else’s arms.

𖦹

Minho likes his coffee strong. To leave a bitter taste on his palate. He never skips coffee in the mornings. Seven am at his high rise apartment once he’s back, sipping on his black coffee on his little balcony.

His balcony is a bit plain. Colorless. Jisung has flower pots everywhere in his house. In front of the window in his room. Begonias and pansies. Jisung would take care of his balcony, polishing it into a garden. Flowers bloom where he touches, springing to life. Lilies in his chest.

Want to have you all to myself. Take you with me.

Minho hasn’t stopped thinking about it since he said it. His mind spiraling into the abyss.

Could he really take Jisung with him?

Would it be okay for Jisung to give up on everything here to be with Minho?

Minho laughs to himself as he folds his clothes neatly, stowing them away in his suitcase. It’s late now. Too ridiculous. Minho is leaving tomorrow morning. He could never ask Jisung to leave his life here and come with him. Minho can endure the ache of sipping on his coffee on a plain balcony, too.

Minho’s mother calls him for the first time. In the night when he’s laid across his bed, counting the cracks in his ceiling. Minho picks up after the third ring.

“Hello,”

“Hi, mom,” Minho murmurs, hesitant. Hopes he doesn’t falter. “Did something happen?”

“Um, no?” She says, “I just wanted to hear my boy’s voice. How have you been?”

Minho doesn’t remember her having a doctor appointment. It’s not like she has six months to go.

He straightens up, leaning against the creaky headboard.

“I’ve been great. I’ll be back tomorrow. We can talk better then.” His voice trailing up, trying to cut it short, she catches on it so easy. Expectedly.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t your grandma take good care of you?”

Minho chuckles weak, circling his fingers around his temples. “No, she did. She does. It’s not about her.”

“What’s up with you, then? What happened?”

The walls sway around him, tying his stomach into a knot, and Minho has nothing to fear other than the sickening sensation bubbling up in his gut.

“The worst happened, mom.”

She’s his mother. Same blood running. She’ll get him even if no one does.

“Jesus Christ.”

Minho’s mom used to tell him fairytales to sleep when he was 8. Where the princess kisses the frog to break the curse, watching the slimy frog turning into a handsome prince, the son of the neighboring kingdom.

“Ew. I would never kiss a frog even if it turned into a prince.”

His mom giggled, setting the book on Minho’s nightstand. Tugging on the string of the lightlamp.

“Of course, you wouldn’t, silly. You’re not the princess.”

When Minho came out as gay at the age of 16, his mother didn’t talk to him for two weeks. She had to digest. Chew on it. Being gay was against her traditional family concept.

She acknowledged it, eventually. Came to terms with the fact that Minho wouldn’t give her any grandchildren.

“Falling in love is the worst, mom. Look at you now,” 12 years old Minho said to his mother. Childhood ignorance. The fire in his throat used to erupt into his words so easily. Carelessly. His heart ached everytime his mom mourned for his dad. He bawled his eyes out to his pillow, promising himself never to fall in love.

Mother’s expression was sour when he told her about Junwoo. His first long term relationship. She didn’t want to have him in her house until three months of dating. Had to invite him for a dinner when shit got serious, Minho had insisted on he was the one.

Minho fell in love. Had his heart shattered. Tears never dried in his eyes. His mom let him lay his head on her lap. Caressed his hair with a cold gaze on her face.

“Falling in love is the worst, mom. Look at me now.”

Fingers trembling now, Minho presses the phone into his ear. He knows that she understands. The long, resigned sigh on the other end of the call betrays her.

“What’s his name?”

“Han Jisung.”

Four. Minho has four cracks on his ceiling. When he ends the call, he rolls on his bed like a teenager having a crush for the first time. The knot in his throat loosening. A bird in the hand. Minho knows Jisung should be meant for more than just summer. For every season. Every year.

Jisung would look good in Minho’s living room. Picking what movie to watch. In his bedroom. Tangled in the sheets, sunlight kissing his face, putting Minho in his place. In the evening, telling Minho about how his day has been. They could be the cheesiest couple in the town. Baking chocolate chip cookies for the neighbors type of couple.

Minho meets Jisung at the river. Their sweet spot. The water flows stagnant, soothing. Minho wanted to meet him before the morning he leaves. Once more to see him.

“Something strange happened the other day.” Jisung looks up at him, moon painting his face into the prettiest shade. A million dollar worth painting. Eyes sparkling. Minho is lucky Jisung offers him his sweetest smile.

“What happened?”

Minho swings his feet, sending a wave across the river. Wind blowing shuddery across his neck, through the trees. Minho insisted on meeting him at ten in the evening.

“I encountered my ex.”

“What’s the strange about it?”

“He told me about you.”

Minho feels the bile in his throat. Burning his nasal passages. He hopes Seungmin didn’t talk shit about him. Minho wouldn’t want Jisung to remember him bad.

“What did he tell?”

Jisung hesitates, his gaze faltering before he tears his gaze away, “he assumed you were my boyfriend. Gave me some advice, you know, like he was trying to be the good guy, reconciling the couple.”

Minho’s heart rumbles in his ears. A rosy hue lighting up his cheeks with the idea. He giggles. Soft and low.

“What did you tell him that made him think you were my boyfriend?”

Minho frowns, the rock beneath him seeps into his very bones, sharper and more unyielding than ever. “I didn’t tell a lie. However he wanted to take it.”

Minho doesn’t want to leave him. Minho doesn’t want Jisung to leave him. A knife twisting in the pit of his stomach. His eyes are the easiest on Jisung’s face. The loveliest. His gaze drifting lower, Minho could reach for his lips if it didn’t mean to be their last. He wants to remember the last meeting of their lips from Jisung’s room. In his fitting for two bed.

Jisung knows the attention very well. Like a second skin on his frame Minho’s heavy, searching eyes. Jisung likes the attention, likes it best when it comes from Minho. He’s a tutor at reading people.

Jisung had graduated from university with honors. Minho knows he studied psychology. Never had the opportunity to pursue a career in his field. Minho’d like to clear the way for him. A gem to forge into. 

“My mother is coming back.” Jisung brings up again.

His mother is coming back. 

Jisung must be sick of her. Nauseated. Minho’d like Jisung to share a house with him instead.

There lays his last chance. A fragile thread of hope. Minho would be fool if wasted.

“Move in with me.”

Couldn’t afford to waste it. Minho knows he’s the bravest man in the planet now, because Jisung’s gaze widens, eyes flashing with flames coursing through his veins. He knows Jisung’s heart is an ice cube melting into water in his chest.

“You’re not serious.”

Minho tilts his head, raising an eyebrow like it proves him he’s serious, “I’m serious. You can’t stand your mom. I can’t stand being alone. Move in with me, and we’ll be okay.”

Minho words it easily. In the most natural way, Jisung doesn’t even blink, doesn’t breathe. He looks into his eyes. Minho’s see through soul. His shoulders slumping down slowly. He swallows hard.

What’s the worst he could say? Rejecting his generous offer? Minho hopes Jisung doesn’t laugh in his face. He would understand if he didn’t want to tag along after a stranger to a foreign city. He really wouldn’t judge him, but would collapse into tears if Jisung made fun of him.

The silence is ear bleeding. Jisung lets it linger, withering his eyes away. His stare is intense enough to carve a hole in water.

Minho jumps into the conclusion. The turmoil in his chest is deafening, settling in, coiling until it’s all he can feel. Ears ringing. Could it be that he fell for a loser? Minho hopes Jisung laughs in his face, so he can shake this feeling and get over him.

But Jisung doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t mock. And that makes the ache in Minho’s chest grow.

“We’re not gonna be okay, Minho. Not that simple. I’m in love with you. You’re selfish if you think I can be there to drown out your loneliness.”

A bee stung Minho’s tongue when he was 12. He couldn’t stop crying for hours. It feels like a bee stings his tongue for the second time at the age of 27. His mouth sets in a tight, unyielding line, the edges of his vision blurring as colors blend into one another. He feels the icy chill of the water lapping at his feet, but it barely registers in his mind. If a bee stung him now, Minho wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t react at all.

Jisung is in love with him.

People change. Minho figured Jisung eventually would be in love with him.

It hits Minho like a blow to the chest, knocking the air out of him.

Minho never changed. Minho fell in love with Jisung the very first day he held his hands, whispered tender kisess on his neck. Minho never thought of Junwoo after Jisung caressed his back to sleep, felt his hair falling through his fingers.

Jisung made it effortless to forget. Minho wishes it never feels effortless for Jisung to forget him.

Minho wants to make his intention clear, so he gets to cry from his eyes to his feet freely when Jisung finally leaves him. He would’ve done what he could. His sleep would be peaceful. 

“I’m not selfish. I just— I don’t think I can leave you behind, and to prove my point, I’m asking you to come with me because, as you can see, I’m miserably in love with you too. And you made it clear that you want me too, so, I hope you’re not freaked out about the idea of living with a stranger, because I couldn’t be happier if you decided to live with me,” Minho’s hands clenches into fists at his sides, his body goes rigid, a sharp twitch rippling through his limbs. “But if you don’t, that’s cool. I can also visit you every vacation. I’ll keep coming until the day you have a boyfriend and our time comes to an end.”

Minho gets rid of the burden on his chest as he breathes out. It’s on Jisung now. Minho feels lighter, smaller than ever.

Jisung gapes. His fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt slips into his lap. Almost gracefully. When Jisung opens his mouth to speak, Minho feels his world starts to spin again.

“Do you admit that you’re in love with me?”

Minho doesn’t even hesitate, “yes. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Jisung presses his lips together, “Minho, I— I don’t— don’t know if we can—”

Minho’s throat feels tight and sore, and to be dramatic, his eyes are almost at the verge of tears. The gleam of the night is not determined enough to wash away the tremor within him.

“Don’t decide right away, think about it,” but Minho is determined enough to not give up until he sees the end. He stands up, shrugging the dirt off his shorts, Jisung’s eyes following along carefully. He holds out his hand for Jisung to take, helping him up to his feet. “I know we’ve only known each other for a month, and it sounds a little off and sudden, you moving in with me— but,” Minho stares at their hands, thumb gently brushing against Jisung’s knuckles, twisting the ring around his finger. “I want to go all the way with you. Wanna be there for you. I don’t remember falling so easy for someone else, Jisung. I don’t remember taking a step like this.”

The night has fallen dark, but Minho can easily recognize the smile taking shape on his lips, pulling at the edges of his mouth. It’s his to make the choice now.

Jisung shakes his head, “I— I can’t just leave here and come with you. We wouldn’t have a routine, Minho. I wouldn’t have a job. You hate when there’s no order, and I’m not good enough for your idea of a relationship—”

Minho tilts Jisung’s chin, watches his pupils dilating, filling with tears, “remember you told me that people change? You’ve changed me as a person, Jisung, I’m not the guy I was in my relationship with him. It’s okay even if you don’t pass all the job interviews. Doesn’t matter.” He tucks a hair strand behind his hair, holding his face in his palms, “I just— I can’t stand leaving you to rot in this suffocating place.”

Minho’s heart hops up to his throat, souring in his mouth, and echoing rapidly in his ears, but he doesn’t even flinch when Jisung leans in to bridge the gap. Jisung kisses him stupid, hastily. He cradles the back of his neck clumsily, palm pressing desperate against his skin. Minho hugs his slender waist, his ears burning as Jisung opens up for him, his tongue swiping across his mouth, diving in, swimming, searching. In a way might be called purification. Jisung sucks on his tongue like he wants to fill his stomach. Minho’d like to feed him best.

Minho kisses away the strand of spit connecting their lips once they’re out of breath. Minho cups his face, and kisses him again, again until their lips get bruised, legs shivering. He presses their lips together to imprint the taste in his mind. Pacifying the longing in his heart. Jisung’s fingers are tangled mess in the roots of his hair once they pull away.

Their foreheads touching, Minho’s heart hammering in his chest as he pinpoints, “I want you, Jisung. Want you to give it a try. Come by the station tomorrow. If you don’t, I’ll have my answer and leave it to be.”

“Hyung…” Jisung stutters, tucking his face into the warmth of Minho’s neck, breathing him in. The sensation of the tears soaking into his shirt is vivid. Minho’s arms only can tighten around Jisung’s faltering body. His betraying feet.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for being an asshole for the past week.” Minho whispers, a poor attempt to clear himself. His hand drawing lazy circles across his back. “I was so scared. I am so scared that I won’t see you again,”

Jisung sobs, a heart clenching melody into his ears. Lips quivering, Minho knows what it means for him. The taste of the farewell has never been so sharp on his lips, never been so close.

At night, Minho bleeds his fingernails from biting. He can’t sleep until the first lights of the day intrude through the curtains. The tears prickling at his eyeballs make it possible for him to finally get some sleep.

It ends with the blink of an eye. Minho feels his eyes heavy on his face. Like they’re not in their right place. Like his face is messed up, his nose bleeding out where his eyes should be bawling out.

Minho’s nose is bleeding again as he looks in the mirror. He washes up. Cold water pouring over his body is the first thing reminding him it’s real, living, not a nightmare.

Minho’s ticket is for ten. Work starts on Monday.

At nine, Minho feels like suffocating. His grandma hugs him like the world comes to an end. Or maybe it really does. Minho feels like a cartoon character trapped in a human body. The last vivid thing he felt was Jisung’s tears on his skin. Minho knows these tears were not in vain. He knows Jisung wouldn’t show up.

Jisung doesn’t show up. Minho waits until the very last minute. The suitcase in his hand falters. His heart aches. Minho knows Jisung won’t show up.

Jisung doesn’t show up. Minho is a man of his word, he leaves it to be. He gets in the train. Hours pass. Centuries pass. The rain outside grows heavier, more violent. It shows him who can cry the hardest.

Minho wouldn’t forget a face like his, but, he’s glad to have a picture of Jisung on his phone. He won’t dial his number. He won’t ask. Minho will pray Jisung doesn’t have a boyfriend for the next months, so he would still have permission to love him.

The silence in his apartment is severe. Oppressive. Everything is the same as he left. He drops his keys on the table, the clatter filling the room. Minho falls asleep easily once he lays his head on his pillow. He can let it all go, at least for a while, and drift into dreams where he can still hope that next summer, his feelings might still have a place.

The city is noisy. Minho returns to his routine. He grabs his coffee from his favorite shop on the way to the office. Sugar free. The barista knows his face, his preferences. She welcomes him with her sweetest smile.

Colleagues are pain in the ass as usual. Minho hopes he doesn’t collapse.

He doesn’t collapse. Jeongin invites him to join him during lunch break.

Jeongin’s chatter floats around Minho, but his focus is miles away, barely registering a word. Flower bouquets. Family dinners. Traditions. “Is everything okay, hyung?” He asks, taking a bite from his grilled cheese sandwich. Jeongin catches on his tremor so easy. So predictable.

“It’s okay,” Minho murmurs, blinking away, “I couldn’t adapt to work.”

Jeongin narrows his eyes, not buying it. Has to be nosy about it or else he’ll die. “It’s just— you’ve been a bit distant since you came. You were acting weird when we met yesterday too. You seem— distracted. I’m your best friend. Tell me what’s wrong.” Jeongin tries his best to find the right words. Minho finds it almost endearing.

He takes a moment, licking away the last grains of rice clinging to his lips. He reaches for a tissue, wiping the soy sauce from the corners of his mouth with deliberate care, using the moment to gather his thoughts before responding. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Jeongin drops his sandwich down on his plate, “try me.”

Minho feels his lungs burning with the effort of taking a breath, and all of it brings. All of that. Every fiber of his being and mind and soul. His heart descends down to the deepest corner of the sea, disappearing into the abyss where no ray of light can reach.

“I met someone. He made me feel divine. I fell in love. And I left him.” It never been so easy for Minho to say it out loud. The leaving him part.

“Oh, hyung. I’m so sorry,” Jeongin gapes, he reminds Minho how pathetic he is with the pitying, sorrowful look in his eyes. “Is he the same guy you were at home with when I first called you?”

Minho chews on his straw, his grip tightening around the glass, knuckles bleaching pale.

“Yes. He is.”

Minho cries from his eyes to his feet once he’s home. Jisung’s mom must’ve home by now. Maybe Jisung is crying too. Minho wonders if it would be any different if Jisung had enough time before deciding. Minho doesn’t think so, if honest.

Minho doesn’t cry when he lays his head on his mother’s lap. His mother doesn’t drag her fingers through his hair. She exhales a long, weary sigh, the air pushing out slowly from her parted lips. Disappointment in her dictionary. Minho knows his mom better than anyone else.

“Did you made him any promises you couldn’t keep?”

Her expression is vacant as Minho’s eyes land on her face, her eyes giving nothing away, betraying no thoughts. Minho drifts his eyes away swiftly. The bony edge of her knee digs into his cheek.

“No. We didn’t expect anything from each other,” he stops, “at first, at least.” He swallows. “But, no, I never promised him anything.”

That’s when her fingers glide through his hair, Minho feels the cool metal of her wedding ring brushing against his scalp. “Then, don’t worry. You’ll forget him eventually if there’s no promises made. It’d be a shame if you had made.”

Minho’s lips press together in a firm, rigid line. Nausea tightening in his gut. Minho never made him a promise of a faithful lover. Jisung is no lover of his. He is no one’s. Minho will let it pass away. Trees will shed their leaves.

The crisp air of autumn has settled in, painting the world in hues of gold and amber as the leaves begin their gentle fall. Minho has papers due next week. He pulls the warm, crispy bread from the toaster, smearing peanut butter on it.

He flips open his laptop, the screen lighting up. His fingers hovering over the keyboard as he opens his email client. His eyes scans the list of incoming messages, pausing when he notices an unfamiliar sender. He squints. Coffee tastes bitter in his mouth. The email is from a username he doesn’t recognize, and the subject line is vague. The email opens to reveal a single attachment: a photo. Minho’s eyebrows knitting together, hovering the cursor over the image.

Curiosity piques, he clicks on the photo. The background is a blur. A silver necklace around someone’s fingers. Crooked, long fingers. A few red scratches scattered across. The piece of bread catches in his throat, Minho coughs a few times, pulling himself upright, his heart thudding wildly in his chest.

He zooms into the photo. A silver necklace, adorned with pearl inlays. Moisture wells up in the corners of his eyes as he notices a small “L” carved into the interior. His smile twists with a bitter edge. A hand pressing down on his gaping mouth. His fingers moving up to feel around his neck, unconscious. Right. His necklace is nowhere to be seen for nearly a month. The thought of looking for it vanished from his mind. He overlooked it.

Minho’s eyes bore into the photo, unwavering, for a full half hour. He memorizes the every line, every shadow, every trace of the fingers around his necklace. Eats it up for breakfast.

Minho’s heart stutters. He recognizes the familiar fingers in the photo very well. There’s no mistaking it— those are Jisung’s hands, the same hands that once lazily mapped out paths on his skin, the same hands that held his so tightly. His gaze drops to the necklace lying in Jisung’s palm. It all makes sense. Where else could he drop his necklace but at his place?

But why now? That’s the question that needles at him, casting a cold chill through his spine. It’s been a month— an entire month of radio silence. And now, out of the blue, this? A photo of his necklace, sent without a word of explanation through his mails? Minho can only hope it’s not a fleeting, ethereal dream woven by his longing heart.

His phone is out in a flash, fingers trembling over the contact he’s dreaded to call. He hesitates. Tears would be flooding over his cheeks if he heard that familiar, honeyed voice on the other end. With a deep breath, he opts for the less daunting route, a text message should be suffice instead.

Hi, how did you find my email addr/

He grimaces, backspacing over the text. This approach isn’t fitting when trying to reconnect with the love of your life after a month of no communication.

Hi, where did you find my neckla/

Hi, how have you been

Hi, how h/

Minho leans back in his chair, his fingers runinng through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. It’s useless. The butterflies haven’t died in his chest yet.

Lee Minho

Hi

You found it

That was you, right?

Minho flings his phone onto the couch, his head sinking into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. A fleeting dream, clouds looming over his head. Eyes staring into the void, lips trapped between his teeth.

Minho has been jealous of his mother since childhood. She always had the right to speak on his behalf. Minho hated when he was silenced. He clenched his teeth everytime his mom shushed him, and took a word for him.

Minho doesn’t call anyone to get their opinion on him and Jisung. It’s a drop in the ocean. Minho still would be a fool at his feet if Jisung changed his mind. He doesn’t need advices. No one knows better what’s good for him.

Jisung’s always been in his system. In the back of his mind. Replaying every scene like the first time.

It’s not a figment of his imagination, nor is it a fleeting dream. It’s so vivid and real now Minho’s phone lights up, a message through his screen. He leaps to his feet, rushing to snatch his phone.

Jisungie

Hi

Yes, that was me

Minho blows out a deep, sharp breath, deflating his lungs. Fingers quivering above the keyboard. He drops onto the couch.

Lee Minho

You could’ve called me

To let me know you have my necklace

Jisungie

…

Jisungie

online

Jisungie

…

Jisungie

You might’ve changed your number

I took the guaranteed way

Lee Minho

Oh

Where was it

Jisungie

Found it under my bed

You probably dropped the last time you were here

Lee Minho

Makes sense

Keep it if you want

Jisungie

Yeah?

I thought I’d give it to you myself

Minho blinks, eyes twitching, his hands falling into his lap, as a life is taken from them. He stares down at his fingers curling inward, clutching into the air like a baby moving his fingers for the first time. A sudden, icy sensation. What the hell.

Lee Minho

Wdym you can give it yourself

Don’t bother with shipping or somethinh

If that’s what u mean

Jisungie

No I mean

Does your offer still stand

It doesnt have to

No problem 

Jisung is an enigma. An intruder. He’s a defect in Minho’s functioning system. Emerging out of nowhere after a month, disrupting Minho’s carefully constructed facade and reigniting the dormant embers of his heart. Shattering the walls he tried to build around his heart, breathing life into the barren landscape of his soul once again.

Minho is the same. A fool.

Lee Minho

Don’t fuck with me

And yes

It stands

Jisungie

Cool

I found a job in the city

I passed my online interview

We shouldn’t miss even the smallest opportunity, right?

You told me that

It doesn’t come along all the time

I want to give it a try

Jisung never wastes an opportunity that comes his way.

Minho wipes away the tears glistening in his eyes on his sleeve. He wears his heart on his sleeve like a tattoo.

Lee Minho

I’m happy for you

Don’t miss on it

Jisungie

I’m sorry hyung

So sorry

Never stopped thinking of you

But I had to

I couldn’t just show up

I have one last interview face to face

Then I’ll work in human resources for an ad agency

Well hope so

I can tell you about it better later

You there hyung?

Minho is not there. He’s thinking about whether he should replace his kitchen cabinets or not. Maybe it should be more minimalist. He also have things to throw away. Minho knows Jisung would be a understanding roommate anyway.

His pulse drums in his ears, fingers shaking as they hover over the keys.

Lee Minho

Yeah I’m listening

That’s amazing Jisung

Jisungie

You know

I also don’t wanna miss on you too

If you give me a chance I promise I won’t fuck it up

I’ll be there for you this time

I want you always want you

You still have my heart Minho

Minho doesn’t need to hear anything else to know what’s best for him. He doesn’t need to waste another second for rotten promises to come back to him.

Tired of pretending, tired of covering. His heart is content. Minho knows what makes him happy and what doesn’t. For the first time, he dares to put himself first. Minho hits the dial button without hesitating. Jisung will make it worth it for him.

“Hi.”

Minho hears him inhale. Minho would capture every breath he takes, sealing it in a jar just to make sure he never runs out.

“Hi, hyung.”

“When is your interview?”

“Next tuesday.”

“Got your ticket yet, or should I get one? Which day?”

A hearty chuckle on the other end, an impeccable feast for Minho’s senses, the sound he can never get tired of. His lips curl into a smile of their own accord. “No need, hyung, I already bought one for friday,” his voice trailing of, fainting, “Should I start looking for a place to stay or—”

“No. You’re staying with me.” Minho feels weightless, floating, soaring above the earth. “don’t fuck it up, Jisung.”

“I— I won’t.”

“Promise?” His heart lays bare. The barest Jisung could ever witness.

“Promise.”

Minho knows Jisung’s preferences. His favorite dishes, songs he listens to sleep or taking a shower. He knows that Jisung hates it when the water is cold enough to chill his scalp, boiling enough to the point of wrinkling his fingers.

Minho lounges on the couch, staring at the ceiling after Jisung has to end the call because he’s still working at the store until the very last day. His fingers drift up, tracing the contours of his neck, where his necklace should hang.

Minho feels something real that makes his heart race faster and his chest swell, apart from that disgusting nausea he felt all over his body for the past month. He can’t stop smiling. His laughter turns into soft sobs as tears start to pour out, spilling over in salty droplets. Streaming down his cheeks, fervor on his skin.

Minho doesn’t believe in time. It’s never been necessary to go through years for him to love someone.

Minho won’t hesitate to ask Jisung to be his boyfriend. He’ll drape his necklace around his lover’s neck.

Minho will kiss him on his lips like endless. Not only for summer but for every season. The spring in his heart would never end.

Minho won’t make the same old mistakes. He’s no responsible for anyone else. His mother was wrong. He never had to strive to keep someone with him forever. Love doesn’t require relentless effort to last. True love waits. It’s patient. Timeless.

Minho will pray time stops whenever he’s with Jisung, so he can have him for a lifetime.

He’ll sit back, sipping on his black coffee, crossing out every day on his calendar until Friday.

One last try. Minho’s heart is light. He sees the light of the day.

Minho waits for his baby come home.