Archive of Our Own

“Han Jisung.”

Jisung’s fingers still over his keyboard at the booming of Minho’s voice across the office. Next to him, Hyunjin flinches and starts shoving his belongings into his bag just a bit faster. Jisung glances at his computer’s clock – 17:54, six minutes before they are allowed to clock out. He feels uneasy.

He spins his chair around to face the source of the voice – Minho is standing right outside his office’s door in all of his handsome glory, document files in hand. Jisung tries his best not to let his eyes stare too long at the way his arms look in the confines of his dress shirt, or the way the buttons seem to be fighting for dear life to hold the shirt together, or the way his tie is just a bit crooked.

Jisung would love to fix it for him.

He blinks, pushing the thoughts away as he feels a blush creep up on his cheeks.

“Yes?” Did he do something wrong? They haven’t really had any deadlines to meet, so he doubts that’s the case. Minho looks placid, face not giving anything away.

“I need you to stay a bit later today.” His voice leaves no room for arguing. Jisung frowns, especially because they aren’t big on working overtime – well, at least not announced overtime.

Hyunjin snickers under his breath.

He tries not to let annoyance drip from his voice. “Okay, but why?”

Minho raises a brow at him. “I’m going into a meeting right now with Chan and Changbin,” he motions at Chan’s closed door with his files, “and I need one of you to stay just in case. And Hyunjin and Felix are going on a date today if memory serves me right?”

“Yep!” Felix’s deep voice chirps in from where he’s sitting across Hyunjin on their communal desk. His head of blond hair pops over his monitor, a bright smile on his lips. “Precisely right, boss!”

“Well,” Minho gestures vaguely, “mystery solved. Any more questions?”

Jisung thinks he’s getting too old to pout, but he can’t stop his lips from pursing into one. He was really looking forward to doing nothing all night, dammit!

“No,” his shoulders sag as he slumps into his chair. “Alright.”

The corners of Minho’s lips lift in what Jisung could only describe as a tight smile. “Great. My daughter will also be arriving any moment now and I need someone to watch her while I’m in the meeting.”

Jisung is pretty sure you’re not supposed to hear record scratches in real life when you’re hit with something so out of left field, but right now it screeches very loudly in his head.

Did he hear Minho right? Did he just say daughter?

Oh my god, has Jisung been trying to flirt with a married man?

He’s going to be sick.

“Wait, what?”

« «

“You really need to quit this job, you know that, right?” Hyunjin kindly tells him over coffee one spring morning on their commute to work. “You look like shit, Sung.”

“Wow, thank you, asshole,” Jisung says with a scoff, bumping Hyunjin with his shoulder.

The thing is – Jisung knows. He knows he needs to quit for the sake of his mental health, that he is miserable where he is right now, but it’s not like he can. If he had had any luck finding a new one then yeah, maybe he could, but that’s certainly not the case. The market is fucking oversaturated, and finding a job now feels nearly impossible.

He also knows that Hyunjin is just trying to look out for him. They were classmates in university, and their relationship grew vines way past the threshold of classroom doors. And as much as Jisung hates to admit it, Hyunjin is the only connection he still has from his early twenties.

“You know I can’t do that,” he adds as they go down to the subway lines, doing their best to avoid being shoved down the stairs by commuters who are in a hurry. “At least not without having something else lined up beforehand. I have bills to pay! Being an adult fucking sucks.”

Hyunjin hums. “Well, you see, the agency I’m working for right now is kind of looking for new people? We’re still kind of small but they pay very well. I could refer you to my boss if you want.”

Jisung wrinkles his nose, following down the corridor to the green line. “No, that’s like, nepotism or something.”

Hyunjin straight-up slaps him on the arm. It doesn’t hurt that much but he still puts on an act as if it did, face contorting with a silent scream. Hyunjin rolls his eyes at him.

“Not like that, you fucking dumbass. I’m pretty sure if I tried telling my boss to hire you simply because I said so he would laugh at me and ask me if I’m crazy.” It’s Hyunjin’s turn to wrinkle his nose at the thought. “What I can do, however, is refer you to him and let him take it from there.”

Jisung still feels like he should say no, but he mulls the words over in his head.

“C’mon, I know you’re talented and pretty competent,” Hyunjin adds, bumping into him as they stand in line to wait for the subway. “But I can only do that if you let me.”

Jisung sighs. “Okay,” he concedes, already feeling anxiety creeping up in his guts. He tries to squash it down, but the effort seems futile. “Okay, fine, you can do that.”

Hyunjin does a little ridiculous victory dance, and Jisung can’t believe how endeared he is by his stupid best friend.

»

Hyunjin fails to mention how inhumanly beautiful his boss is.

Jisung, in true Jisung fashion, makes a fool of himself during his interview, flustered beyond belief to be stared at by one of the most beautiful men he’s ever had the privilege to see. The man – Lee Minho, he was told – seems almost amused to watch him stumble on his words and nervously wipe his hands on his jeans ever so often.

If Jisung had the balls to look him in the eyes, he would see the amused glint in them.

But he can’t.

What he does do is stare at the downturn of the man’s lips the entire time, like he’s some sort of fucking creep, simply because he can’t bring himself to look further up than that for more than a few seconds at a time. When he smiles, Jisung distantly thinks he resembles the Cheshire cat.

(Jisung does get the job, and he cries in the shower that night out of relief.)

» »

“Did you just say daughter?” Felix voices the million-dollar question when Hyunjin can’t seem to pick his jaw up from the floor. Jisung thinks his brain is starting to smell like burning rubber.

There’s a knock on the door before Minho has the chance to reply and Chanmi pops her head into the room, confusion clear in her eyes.

“Uhm, sorry to interrupt,” her eyes dart from the men on the working station to Minho, “but there’s someone out here looking for you, Minho.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho ushers her on with the hand that’s not holding onto the files. “Let her in.”

Jisung feels his blood run cold. Flirting with a married man will surely go down in history as his lowest point in life. But while that does make him a terrible person, doesn’t that make Minho even worse than him? For allowing Jisung to keep it up for as long as he has. It’s not like he doesn't know what Jisung is doing.

Chanmi pushes the door open and Jisung watches as a woman, who looks no older than them, steps into view. And, fuck, of course she’s gorgeous.

Of fucking course Minho’s wife would be gorgeous.

With a small face and the prettiest doe eyes, plush, pink lips, and slick black hair that goes all the way down to her mid-back. Of course. Jisung feels like the worst person to have ever graced the earth. And then his eyes fall on the miniature human being hiding behind her, fingers gripping her tightly by the hips

“I’m really so sorry for such short notice,” the woman says apologetically, offering Minho a weak smile. Hyunjin sidekicks Jisung’s foot, but Jisung can’t be bothered to look at him. “They’re calling me in last minute at the hospital and I couldn’t find anyone to watch her in such a short time.”

Minho smiles at her, sweet and genuine. Oh, this is bad.

“You know you don’t have to apologize, Haneul,” Minho brushes her off with a dismissive hand. “Besides, spending time with her will never be a problem for me.”

Minho tilts his head to the side, trying to get a better look at his daughter hiding behind her mother’s back, outstretching an arm to her.

“C’mon, do I not even get a hug?”

Her entire face seems to light up, eyes slitting into crescents as a smile makes its way to her lips. She seems all too eager to leave her spot behind her mother and run up to him, little giggles bubbling up as she does so. She stretches her arms above her head as she gets closer to Minho, and he effortlessly picks her up with one arm when she jumps into a hug.

It’s adorable, to say the least.

Minho buries his face into his daughter’s cheek, assaulting her face with several kisses and pulling more giggles out of her.

“Hi there, princess.” Jisung has never heard Minho speak this sweetly to another human being in the year he’s worked with him. It does something to his heart, but he can’t even dare to think about it. Not now. “Are you excited to spend the night with daddy today?”

“Yes!” She says with a vigorous nod of her head, inky black hair falling over her face when she does so. She hooks her arm around Minho’s neck and twists around to face her mother, big smile still on her lips. “Bye, mommy!”

Her mother – Haneul, Jisung supposes – scoffs at her eagerness. “Should I be offended at your eagerness to see me gone?” She crosses her arms over her chest, but there’s a small smile on her lips when she does so that is enough telling that she is just playing around. “You really take after your father, after all.”

The little girl waves goodbye in response. “Love you!”

“I’ve put some extra clothes in her bag just in case,” Haneul says, clearly directed at Minho. “Call me if anything happens, okay? And if I don’t pick up, you have the head office’s num—”

“Haneul,” Minho cuts her off, voice stern despite the easy smile on his lips. “You know we’re going to be fine. I’m her dad.”

Haneul sighs. “I know, I know. But I’m her mom, it’s only natural for me to worry, okay?”

“You’re going to be late,” Minho gently reminds her.

“Sh—” Haneul seems to catch herself before she outright curses in front of their daughter. “Yeah, right. Okay. Byeollie, mommy’s leaving now, okay?”

“Bye-bye,” the girl repeats her farewell, caring far less about the parting than her mother does. “See you!”

Haneul looks like she wants to say something else, but one look at her smartwatch is enough to have her decide against it. She sends the child a flying kiss from across the room and turns to leave as soon as the gesture is reciprocated.

“Well, this is awkward,” Hyunjin murmurs next to him, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Jisung punts him on the shin, and it takes Hyunjin all of his might not to scream in the confines of the office.

Minho successfully draws Jisung’s attention back to him with a loud groan, and Jisung looks over just in time to see him put her back down on the ground. She immediately fits her hand in his, holding on for dear life.

“I guess I should introduce everyone.” Minho’s impassive mask is back on display, and if Jisung hadn’t just witnessed the last few minutes he would be none the wiser. “Everyone, this is Byeol. Byeol, say hi to everyone.”

She moves to step behind Minho, but he holds her firmly in place. She gives them a shy little wave, and Jisung instantly feels his heart melt in his chest. Now that he can get a good look at her face, he notices how much of Minho he sees in her. One would call her his spitting image.

Felix coos so loudly it startles the lot of them.

“Hi, Byeollie!” Felix excitedly waves back at her. “I’m sorry that Hyunjinnie and I can’t stay to play with you, but I’m Felix!”

“Hi, I’m Byeol…” Minho gives her little hand a reassuring squeeze as she waves with the other, laughing fondly at her antics like Felix hadn’t just said her name out loud.

“And I’m Hyunjin,” Hyunjin helpfully offers with a wave of his own, a bright smile on his lips. “We have to go now, but I hope we can play with you some other time, okay?”

Byeol looks up at her dad and then back at Hyunjin, giving him a small nod as she squeezes Minho’s hand a bit harder. Felix makes his way around the desk and to Hyunjin’s side, slipping his hand into Hyunjin’s grasp and tangling their fingers together. They quickly bow at Minho and book it for the door, slipping out of the office like criminals running from the cops.

Which leaves Jisung to face the reality of his moral crimes on his own as he fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket.

“Byeol, this is Jisungie,” Minho softly tells her, gesturing at Jisung with the hand holding onto the files. Something twists in Jisung’s chest at the way Minho calls him, especially because he never did so before this very moment. He offers her a small wave. “Daddy has an important meeting to attend right now, so Jisungie will play with you for a while, okay? And then we can go home.”

Byeol nods, pushing her hair off her face with her free hand when it curtains her eyes at the movement. “Okay, daddy. Go make lots of money for us!”

Minho snorts a laugh. “You little capitalist gremlin, who taught you to talk like this?” There is no heat behind his words nor when he gently tugs on her ear; all it does is pull a laugh from her. “Behave and listen to Jisungie, alright?”

He bends at the waist and places a kiss on the crown of her head, pushing her forward and encouraging her to make her way over to where Jisung is sitting across the room. The stern look is back on his face the moment he straightens his back, and all he offers Jisung is a small nod before he turns to Chan’s door and disappears into the room for god knows how long.

« «

It takes Jisung a solid month to stop feeling tongue-tied whenever Minho so much as addresses him in the office. That doesn’t mean he’s less of a fool, it just means that he can now speak without having Hyunjin snicker at him from across the table.

In his defense, it isn’t entirely his fault.

Jisung thinks it’s unfair that Minho looks the way that he does, that he’s just the right amount of cold to have Jisung on edge at all times. Which is not necessarily a bad thing – “It adds to the thrill of coming into work,” Hyunjin has said on their commute one morning – but he would really appreciate not feeling like he’s getting a heart attack whenever Minho graces them with his presence.

Honestly, if Jisung didn’t see the way Hyunjin went tomato-red on the face at Felix’s advances on him, he would swear the man had the hots for their boss.

Which wouldn’t be surprising. Jisung refuses to believe he’s the only one in the trenches in this agency.

It takes him another month to realize that, yeah, maybe he is the only one down in the fucking trenches, and he would like to reiterate that it isn’t his fault.

Not when Minho, despite being a strict manager, is also attentive and kind as a boss and actually listens to their opinions and takes them into consideration. Not when those traits carry out to who he is as a person, too – or maybe it’s vice versa? – and Jisung sees through his mask of nonchalance when he orders them food without having to ask for their preferences. The shocker is that he actually gets it right for every single one of them.

(Jisung isn’t saying he’s easily sold when it comes to pastries but, you see—)

And Jisung?

Jisung is a goner when he catches Minho secretly smiling at him late one afternoon when he was doing a dramatic reenactment of the night he and Hyunjin passed out drunk in some bushes on campus to Felix. He feels himself go red in the face, an awkward laugh bubbling up his throat as he finishes up his little act, wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

But there’s a glint in Minho’s eyes that Jisung hasn’t seen prior to this, and he files the moment away in a Minho-shaped pocket in his brain.

It takes another couple weeks until the flirting starts. Jisung is a man on a mission.

» »

The fact of the matter is that Jisung has no idea of what he’s supposed to do with a child. He has been so far removed from his family that he wasn’t all that present when his cousins started having children, and his brother has no plans of having children of his own in the foreseeable future.

So, when Byeol waddles over to where he’s sat and climbs into Hyunjin’s chair, Jisung kind of panics.

“Hi,” he says, half-smile on his lips, stretching out a hand to her for a handshake. Byeol takes it easily, any traces of the shyness she had been sporting not a minute ago completely gone. Jisung decides it’s best if he does what he does best. “It’s very nice to meet you, your majesty,” he says in jest.

It successfully pulls a giggle off Byeol as she shakes his hand.

“I’m sorry that your father, the King of—”

“Kittens!” Byeol excitedly offers, and Jisung’s face contorts in amusement.

“—kittens is very busy right now and can’t come out to play with the princess, but I hope this lowly court jester will suffice for now.”

Her nose scrunches up with a smile. “You’re funny.”

He adds ‘being called funny by a child’ to his list of Small Accomplishments In Life.

“What is it that you do, sir?” she inquires, swinging her feet where it hangs at least a foot off the ground.

“You can just call me Jisung,” is what he starts with. She gives him a small nod in response. “Well, I’m a designer for your dad. And what that means is that… I draw things for him sometimes.”

He’s sure there is a better way he could have explained his profession to a child, but he figures this will suffice for now. He can mull it over at a later time. He doesn’t even know how old she is and if she would understand what he means if he were to be more detailed.

Byeol’s face seems to light up at the information.

“Draw something for me!” It’s not a question, and Jisung thinks he wouldn’t have been able to say no to her cute face even if it was.

“Okay,” he says, scrambling for a blank paper sheet and a pen through the drawers of his desk. He’s feeling pretty creatively drained, but he figures he can try something easy. “How old are you, Byeollie?”

She puts up six of her fingers for him.

“I’m six.” She wiggles her fingers for emphasis. It tugs at his heartstrings a little – how can she be so cute?

He wonders if Minho used to be this cute when he was her age.

Jisung frowns at himself. Shut the fuck up, will you?

He puts all his heart – and mental capacity – into drawing the number six in bubble font, giving it cartoonish eyes and limbs to go with it. Byeol waits patiently as he goes a step further and actually makes the thing look like a glazed donut monstrosity, and while it is nowhere near one of his finest works, he thinks it should be enough to satisfy a six-year-old.

He lifts the final work off his desk and shows it to her, feeling uneasy for some reason. If there is one thing he knows about children is that they can be fucking ruthless.

Byeol, however, looks in awe at it.

“Do you like it?” He asks nervously, unable to stop himself from chewing on his lower lip.

She snatches the paper off his hands, giving it a long once over before pressing it tightly to her chest, crumbling the paper in the process.

“I love it!” She says with a nod, crushing the paper harder against herself. “Can I keep it?”

Jisung never knew relief could taste so saccharine sweet.

“Of course. You can even color it when you get home if you want.”

She excitedly kicks her feet in the air.

“Okay!” She puts the paper down on Hyunjin’s workspace, running her hands over it to smooth out the creases. “I’ll ask my daddy to show it to you when I’m done.”

Jisung doesn’t mean to flush so deeply in front of her, he really doesn’t. And he is somewhat glad that she doesn’t notice as Hyunjin would certainly have. He doesn’t think he’s capable of explaining to her why the mere idea of her dad coming into work one morning and whipping out his phone to show Jisung – and only Jisung – something they did in the privacy of their home makes him feel things he shouldn’t feel.

He tries to steer them away from the forbidden thoughts.

“You said your dad is the king of kittens,” Jisung prompts, because that is definitely something he didn’t see coming from Stoic Minho and now he needs to know. Well, other than the fact that the man himself looks like a cat. “Why is that?”

“Because he loves kittens, of course,” she says it like it’s obvious. Jisung writes the information on a mental sticky note and glues it to his brain. “On weekends we play with a whooole bunch of them at the shelter. I want one too, just like daddy has Dori, but my mommy says I can’t.”

Well, damn, now Jisung wants to prod but feels bad for questioning a child about all these things. For now, he will be content with the knowledge that Minho is, apparently, a softie for cats. Will maybe use it to his own advantage in the future.

He grabs a few more sheets of blank paper and looks for the assortment of colored markers he knows Hyunjin must’ve hidden somewhere in the drawers. As long as she doesn’t completely ruin the tips it should be fine to use, right?

If not, then he’ll just have to buy Hyunjin new ones – even when he knows it will make an ugly dent in his paycheck.

“I actually really like big cats,” Jisung tells her as he readies the materials on his desk. She looks at him with curiosity in her eyes. “Like lions and tigers. Do you like them too?”

Byeol nods. “Cheetahs are my most favorite, they’re super fast!”

Okay, yeah, this little girl is his new favorite person on earth.

But don’t tell Hyunjin that.

“Do you want to watch something about them?” He’s not going to say it out loud but finding someone who shares his enthusiasm about nature, even if it’s a child of all things, is pretty exciting. He doesn’t care how lame that makes him seem. “I know some pretty cool stuff we could watch to pass time while your dad is busy.”

« «

The problem with Jisung’s poorly thought-out plan is that he’s really bad at flirting.

Like, really bad at flirting.

Not to mention that Minho still is his boss, and he still feels intimidated whenever Minho looks at him with emotionless eyes if Jisung tries to talk to him too early in the morning or too late in the day. But it’s fine. If Minho notices what Jisung is trying to do, he hasn’t shut him down yet, so he will take it as a win.

He starts off easy – a few compliments here and there, innocent enough that if anyone were to suspect, Jisung could easily pass it off as sucking it up to his boss. Minho seems unfazed at his antics for a while – the first time Jisung does it, all he gets as a reaction is an eye roll and being walked off on, but that’s alright.

He can be persistent. So, he hikes it up a notch.

“Hey, boss!” he calls out one day when they’re back from lunch. Minho is just about to cross the threshold to his office, a steaming cup of coffee halfway to his lips. He turns to look at Jisung. “Any chance you have an extra heart?”

From his peripherals, Jisung can see Hyunjin curling into himself. Felix buries his head in his hands, likely in secondhand embarrassment. He can barely contain the grin that blooms on his lips as Minho raises a questioning brow at him.

Jisung brings his hands to clutch at his heart and, putting on his best dramatic flair, “Because mine’s been stolen!”

From the other side of the room, Jeongin and Seungmin can be heard trying – and failing – their best to suppress a laugh.

Jisung’s heart is actually racing at rabbit’s speed in his chest, pretty damn loud in his ears, but his grin doesn’t waver. And the only reason for that is because he can see Minho still for a moment, eyes shaking, before the tips of his ears start coloring red.

Jisung feels euphoric.

The moment doesn’t last longer than a second or two. Minho is quick to collect himself and scoff at Jisung’s antics, resuming his walk to his office and pretty much slamming the door shut behind him.

Hyunjin punches him hard on the arm, saying something about cringe and likely telling him to shut up, but he doesn’t hear any of it. It doesn’t matter, anyway.

For the first time, Jisung feels like his silliness is finally getting through Minho.

» »

Forty minutes into the documentary on cheetahs and three badly drawn sheets of paper later, Jisung finds his hands tangled into Byeol’s hair with her perched on his knees. He tried telling her he doesn’t know how to braid hair, but the girl would have none of it.

Jisung doesn’t know how to braid hair. Whatever monstrosity he’s managed to do with this poor child’s hair is so far removed from a braid he could probably cry. She would probably cry if she saw it.

“You’re a fun uncle,” Byeol says as she adds to her pink and blue cheetah drawing, and it catches Jisung a little off-guard. “A funcle!”

“Wow, thank you so much, your majesty!” Jisung playfully bows behind her, wincing when he tugs on her hair a little too hard and her head tips back. She doesn’t complain, though, as if she’s used to the rough tugging on her hair. “That’s the highest grade of compliment coming from a princess such as yourself!”

Byeol giggles. “You’re so silly. I like you, uncle.”

The door to Chan’s office creaks open, the loud voices of the three men inside it spilling outside. It startles Jisung a little and this time, when he accidentally tugs on Byeol’s hair, she lets out a little ow.

He looks up just in time to see Minho frozen by the door, both Chan and Changbin peeking over his shoulders.

“Oh! Byeollie!” It’s Changbin who calls out, a bright smile on his face as he pushes Minho slightly aside. Byeol looks up at the sound of her name, waving excitedly at him. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“Hi, Uncle Binnie!” She lifts her unfinished drawing for them to see. “Look at what I made with Uncle Jisung!”

Jisung really would rather not take credit for something so ugly, but he will let her have it.

“Woah, Byeollie, you’ve grown so much since we last saw you,” it’s Chan who says it, and he almost pushes Minho out of their way, like they’re more excited to see his daughter than her own dad. “When’d you get this big?”

“I’m not big,” she says solemnly with a shake of her head. “You’re just small.”

Jisung should really fear being fired, but he doesn’t have enough time to stop the laughter that bubbles up his chest and spills over his lips. The audacity of this girl. Minho laughs, too, obviously caught off-guard at his daughter’s sudden bluntness, and it’s the most unguarded Jisung has ever seen him.

“Wow,” Chan mumbles bitterly, shoving Minho by the shoulder. “She does take after you.”

Minho walks over to their workstation, something akin to curiosity in his eyes when Jisung doesn’t detangle his hands from Byeol’s hair. Honestly, it’s just that Jisung doesn’t know how to get out of this situation.

“What do we have here?” His eyes are on Jisung when he asks, though they quickly flit down to Byeol’s ugly artworks, then at the monitor still playing the last of the documentary. He hums curiously. “Big cats?”

Jisung starts struggling to detangle his fingers from the mess he’s made.

“Daddy, can Uncle Jisung go home with us so we can continue playing?”

Jisung freezes, and so does Minho. Chan and Changbin also don’t seem to have moved an inch from where they’re standing.

What?

Jisung panics. And he laughs.

“What?” He hates that his voice cracks, and the quicker he tries to fix her hair the harder he tugs on it. “Byeol—”

“Jisungie has to go to his own home, darling,” is the answer Minho gives her, leaning into the table and crossing both arms over his chest. Fuck, Jisung can’t look at him right now – not with his shirt buttons fighting for dear life.

She kicks her feet petulantly, heels hitting hard against Jisung’s shins. He silently cries out in pain. “But I want to keep playing with him! Uncle Ji, don’t you want to keep playing, too? We can even play with Dori!”

She’s giving him puppy eyes and pouty lips. There is no way a negative will come out when he next opens his mouth.

Byeol turns to her dad, hands clasped together, clearly willing to beg. “Daddy, please? Pleeease?”

Minho presses his lips into a thin line and takes a deep breath. Jisung can feel his heart slowing to a complete stop.

“Well,” his eyes are on Jisung now. Jisung feels like he can’t breathe. “If Jisungie wants, we can have him over for dinner.”

Byeol fully twists around to give him front view of her begging hands. He’s trapped.

“Uhm,” he starts, uncertain. “What about— what about your wife?”

Minho blanks.

“My… wife?” His brows draw in confusion. “I don’t have a wife, Jisung.”

His brain feels like a battlefield of emotions, where the strongest one he feels is relief. He had spent the last hour in utter turmoil, thinking that he had been flirting with a married man this entire time and was now being tortured by the gods by babysitting for their cute daughter.

Hearing that Minho does not, in fact, have a wife is a breath of fresh air he didn’t know he so desperately needed, but it also adds to the giant list of questions that keeps growing in his brain.

“Oh,” his voice comes out softer than he intended, and he hopes the relief isn’t too obvious. “Well, if it’s not a bother then I guess I could play with her a bit longer.”

Byeol squeals in victory, her bones digging hard into Jisung’s legs when she happily bounces on his lap. Minho’s face immediately melts into fondness at her reaction, and something blooms in Jisung’s chest.

He’s not entirely ready to acknowledge it.

In the background, Jisung swears he hears Changbin wolf whistle.

“Well, I guess this fixes the problem, then.” Minho pushes himself off the desk. “Give me a minute to gather my things and then we can go.”

All Jisung can do is nod dumbly at him. When the man is on his way to his office and he can finally bring his attention back to the screen where the documentary had been playing, the credits are already rolling. Byeol seems satisfied with her drawings, now gathering them into a neat pile so she can – presumably – bring them home with her.

When she hops off Jisung’s lap, he can’t help but whine at how ugly her hair looks. He can’t believe he’s going to let her walk out into the world looking like this.

« «

Minho gets Jisung coffee one morning as he’s coming into work, weeks after that. No words were exchanged, no asking what his coffee order would be – just a large cup of americano silently placed on his desk with Jisung’s name hastily scribbled on it.

Hyunjin whines about favoritism and fairness in the workplace while Felix tries to console him.

Jisung completely tunes him out, his heart beating in his throat. Maybe it’s a good thing that Minho isn’t around to see the way his cheeks flare up when he wraps his fingers around the still-warm cup of coffee – and when Hyunjin bullies him over it later, he can just blame it on the weather.

» »

Minho’s house is a home, that much Jisung can tell.

Byeol doesn’t give him much time to take in his surroundings before she is dragging him into the apartment by the hand, though. He vaguely registers a cat brushing by his legs, meowing at their presence – he figures that must be Dori. His eyes quickly scan the several framed pictures and polaroid tacked to the walls as Byeol leads him to one of the rooms – most of which are of the little girl either on her own or accompanied by Minho.

“Look, uncle!” Byeol tugs hard on his hand, trying to get his attention and switching on the lights to the room they have just walked into. “Look at what my daddy made for me!”

The room, very clearly jungle-themed, must be what a child’s dreams are made of, from the mural that frames the bed to the array of stuffed animals littering the floor – the highlight of which is, very clearly, the child-sized cheetah taking up a good part of the mattress.

“Wow,” he breathes, actually in awe and not just to flatter her, “your room is so cool.”

“Byeollie is very lucky to have a daddy like mine,” she adds, nodding her head vigorously. “He’s the bestest dad in the entire world!”

“You’re still not getting ice cream after dinner,” comes Minho’s voice from the bedroom door, and Jisung is ashamed to admit that it startles him a little. When he turns to look at the man, cheeks a little warm and certainly reddening, he finds Minho with a teasing grin on his face. “Flattery can only get you so much in life, Byeollie.”

Byeol pokes her tongue at her dad in mischief but doesn’t refute his statement, almost like she knows the statement won’t hold true any longer by the time dinner is over. Jisung hopes Minho has more self-control with his daughter than Jisung currently has.

The girl has him sit on her bed, handing him one of her puma plushies as she busies herself with going through a chest of what, at first glance, Jisung supposes are her toys. He’s soon proved to be wrong – it’s a chest full of costumes, and she’s going on a rant about needing to find something fit for royalty. It’s endearing, but the mess she’s making is going to be a nightmare to clean up after.

It takes them quite some time, but Byeol seems satisfied when Jisung has his hair up in pigtails, a plastic, bedazzled crown perched on his head, and glitter glue smeared on his skin as… makeshift makeup? He really doesn’t know.

He can hear Minho outside and the man doesn’t stop by to check up on them again, likely busy with putting dinner together. Jisung feels bad that he’s not outside with him to help, but Byeol makes it impossible for him to leave – and, honestly, playing with her really isn’t so bad. Her laughs and giggles and squeals of happiness when Jisung lets her climb onto his back for some light roughhousing feels quite rewarding.

Jisung easily loses track of time.

They’ve settled now, and Byeol has gotten her favorite book off the bookshelf for Jisung to read to her. He’s sitting on the floor and she’s lying on her bed tummy down, chin propped up on her hands as she follows along with every page turn of the book.

“Hey—” Minho stops dead in his tracks when he shows up at the door, doing a piss-poor job of holding in his laughter. “Pfft— Byeol, what did you do to Jisungie?”

Damn. Minho is dead set on giving Jisung a heart attack with this nickname, isn’t he?

Byeol smiles brightly up at him, clearly proud of her work. “He looks so pretty, doesn’t he?”

“Pretty,” he repeats humorously. Jisung glares at him, though he knows it’s wasted effort. “Yeah, our Jisungie looks so pretty.”

And listen, Jisung knows Minho is teasing. He’s not that dense.

That doesn’t mean he has any control over how his body reacts to having Minho, of all people on earth, call him pretty. Our Jisungie.

So, yeah, call him a loser. He probably deserves it.

“Dinner’s ready,” Minho adds, “so, chop chop, both of you.”

The night’s menu is japchae and adorable, heart-shaped rolled eggs. Minho insists on saying it’s not much, but the aroma that fills the apartment has Jisung begging to differ – especially when his stomach grumbles rather loudly, and all it does is have both Minho and Byeol clowning him for it.

Dinner time means catching up time, it seems. Minho prompts his daughter with questions about her week, and she easily falls into rant mode as she goes over every little detail of what’s happened to her up to this very moment. And Minho is so, so fucking attentive to everything she has to say, giving her appropriate reactions that match her enthusiasm and prodding for more details.

What gets to Jisung, though, is the way Minho almost absentmindedly fills everyone’s plate with food, including Jisung’s.

It really shouldn’t mess with his feelings so much, but Jisung can’t help but stare down at the hearts sitting on his plate, served with utmost care. Jisung’s traitor heart picks up speed, pumping blood straight to his cheeks.

“Thank you for the meal,” Jisung mumbles, feeling shy and hoping Minho won’t pay too much attention to his rosy cheeks.

Minho turns to look at him like he’d forgotten Jisung was even there amidst Byeol’s ranting, and there is the gentlest of smiles on his lips. Jisung feels like he could melt right through the floor in an instant.

Byeol takes it as her cue to thank Minho for the meal as well and promptly attacks her plate, putting her bunny chopsticks into action.

It’s probably two hours after dinner when Minho finally manages to convince Byeol to go to bed, and it’s only after promising her that Jisung would come to play with her again some other time. Jisung hadn’t actually been asked if he would, but he doesn’t think he would have said no if he had.

Besides, he’s pretty sure that lying is okay and acceptable sometimes.

He watches from a distance as Minho turns her night light on and hits the overhead lights, dousing her room in a calming atmosphere. She is already yawning and dozing off on her pillow when Minho walks out of the room, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

While Minho isn’t looking, Jisung takes the opportunity and his spot on the living room couch to stare a little. Compared to the man he usually is in the office, there is little that resembles him now – with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the first button popped open, and hair just a tiny bit mussed, Jisung can see the tired bags under his eyes.

Minho stalls by the open fridge, as if pondering what to do next.

“Do you want some beer?” He asks but doesn’t turn to look at Jisung.

“Uhm,” Jisung hesitates but then says, “sure,” figuring that this could be a good opportunity for the both of them to wind down from the day—well, the week, honestly.

But Minho only closes the fridge with one bottle of beer in hand, which he pops open on his way back to the living room. Dori trails after him, purring as he speeds up and jumps on the couch before Minho even makes it, slotting his furry body right next to Jisung.

“Don’t put it on my coffee table without a coaster,” Minho warns as he hands Jisung the bottle and sits down next to Dori, immediately reaching to rub behind his ear. The cat leans into his touch, his purring only growing louder. “If you stain it I’m making you pay for a new one.”

There is no real heat behind his words, but Jisung doesn’t exactly put it past him to follow through with them.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “Aren’t you getting one as well? I mean, it’s Friday.”

Minho shakes his head, allowing his body to sink a little deeper into the couch as a heavy sigh escapes his lips. He looks more exhausted than Jisung feels, which is to say a lot.

“I don’t drink when I’m with her.” He nods gently towards Byeol’s door as a means of explaining.

Jisung pauses. “Right.”

Makes sense.

“I guess I should apologize for springing this on you so suddenly,” he continues, and Jisung really wants to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for until he realizes how weird that would be. So, he just takes a sip of his beer and lets Minho continue. “I just don’t think there was anything else I could’ve done on such short notice. Having her sit with me through the meeting would’ve been torture for all parts involved, but mostly to her.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He tentatively places his hand on Dori’s head, smiling to himself when he doesn’t move away or tries to claw at him. “She was a delight to play with. It was just… surprising, I guess you could say.”

Minho nods, listening attentively. He lets his head rest on the back of the couch.

“I’ll pay for your hours if that makes any of it better.”

Jisung frowns, feeling a little offended for some reason. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Minho gives him a side glance but doesn’t yield. “Babysitting isn’t part of your job description, Jisung. Of course I’m going to pay for the hours you spent watching after her.”

“Okay, but consider this,” Jisung tries to bargain, mostly because he would feel extremely uncomfortable taking money from Minho when, for the most part, he did this because he is… well, Minho. “You gave me dinner and a beer. We’re pretty much even!”

Minho deeply sighs. “The glitter glue is non-toxic, by the way. You should be able to wash it off easily and not get a reaction from it. I’m sorry she put you through that.”

He reaches for his face, having completely forgotten about Byeol’s artwork on his skin. He chuckles, unable to believe Minho has managed to sit through the entire night with him without laughing after the initial shock. Jisung wonders how many times he has been the one to be Byeol’s canvas for her playtime.

Countless times, probably.

“God,” Minho chuckles, staring up at the ceiling, “this isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

Jisung purses his lips curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“This,” Minho gestures between them with a hand.

Jisung feels his heart sink.

“Oh,” is all he can manage to say, because what can he say? He can feel his dinner threatening to come up his throat.

“I wanted to take you to a nice café, or something like that. Take you out to town and just… I don’t know, have a nice time together?”

Wait.

“But I didn’t—I couldn’t bring myself to say anything because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to say yes just because—just because I’m your boss.” Minho almost sounds dejected. “It felt gross.”

Oh.

Oh, my god.

“Wait.” Jisung fully turns his body to him, brows set in a deep frown. He pulls one of the coasters displayed on the coffee table closer to him and puts his beer down because what the fuck is happening right here. “You can’t just—you can’t just say that. You can’t just fucking say that.”

Minho’s head lolls to the side on the cushion, and Jisung absolutely isn’t equipped with the tools to handle the way he slowly blinks at him.

“I wouldn’t have said yes because you’re my boss.” He can already feel his cheeks warming up. This is his moment of being upfront; he can’t mess this up. “I would have said yes because I’d just really fucking love to.”

Maybe Jisung is being dramatic, but it feels like he is going to die. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, thinks he can feel the blood rushing in his veins and directly to his face, can definitely feel the way his hands start to sweat.

And Minho is still slowly blinking at him, though his ears have definitely gone a lovely shade of red.

“Would you still say yes now?” Minho’s voice is quieter now. Jisung thinks there’s something akin to uncertainty in it. “Despite knowing that I have a child?”

Now, what kind of stupid fucking question is that?

His frown deepens.

“With all due respect,” Jisung folds his hands in his lap, “but what the hell are you talking about? Do you think you are any less desirable because… you’re a parent?”

Minho shrugs. “Byeol is and always will be my number one priority. People usually have a hard time accepting that.”

“I would say yes,” Jisung amends like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I will say yes if you still want to ask. And not because you’re my boss.”

“Why then?” Minho asks with a hum.

Okay, yeah, Jisung’s face is about one second away from bursting into flames.

“You’re just,” he gestures wildly with his hands, praying earth will implode before he gets to finish the sentence, “like, I don’t know! Interesting. And hot.”

He pauses.

“Sorry.”

There’s a sly smile on Minho’s face that Jisung would like to wipe off. Or kiss it away. Definitely kiss it away.

“Okay,” Minho looks up at the ceiling again, and Jisung feels slightly relieved to not be stared at anymore. “I’ll think of a place and then we can circle back to this. In the meantime,” he pauses, biting the insides of his cheeks as he mulls over his thoughts, “you can come to the animal shelter with us tomorrow if you want. I think Byeol would love to see you again.”

Jisung hums. “Would her dad want to see me again, too?”

It manages to pull a snorty laugh out of Minho.

“I suppose you could say so.”

Jisung feels like a blushing teenager when Minho calls a cab for him and takes him to the front door as they say their goodbyes.

He wishes Minho would lean in and kiss him goodnight, but he doesn’t. He just leans against the door with Dori at his feet, a small smile on his lips as Jisung stumbles over his words and his own two feet when he turns to leave.

And when he gets home, half an hour later, there is a text from Minho sitting on his phone, asking him if he’s made it home okay.

Jisung feels fuzzy all over.

Despite his best efforts, Jisung doesn’t get much sleep that night.

»

If one were to ask Jisung why he is out of the house before noon on a Saturday, he would vehemently say that he isn’t and would probably ask if they have gone insane.

Because, you see, the problem isn’t that he is up before noon – the inability to stay asleep after nine comes with the age, he thinks. Unless he is exhausted to the bone, Jisung hasn’t been able to sleep in even on his free days for years now. But it’s one thing to be up before noon, and another entirely different thing to allow himself to be perceived by the world before then.

So, yeah, it’s a little out of character for him to be all dressed up and out of the door this early in the day, going an extra mile to cover up his dark circles with a light layer of foundation. He hopes it isn’t too noticeable.

Jisung feels slightly insane. He hadn’t realized how much the situation with Minho and Byeol had affected him until it was time for him to go to sleep, only to find himself unable to.

Would you still say yes now despite knowing that I have a child?

At the time, the question had seemed ridiculous to Jisung, and he couldn’t even fathom why Minho would ask such absurdity. His answer had been yes and it would still be yes regardless of him having a child, but it got Jisung thinking.

If Jisung isn’t too over himself and has read the situation correctly, Minho has been aware of his advances all this time but was hesitant to do something about it. He can understand fearing Jisung would’ve only said yes because he was his boss – abuse of power is a real thing, after all, and he doesn’t peg Minho as the kind of person who would purposefully do something like that.

The thing with his daughter, though? He doesn’t get it.

Jisung checks his phone for the shelter’s address for the millionth time just to be sure he isn’t going in the wrong direction. The last thing he needs is to get lost and be late to meet up with Minho and Byeol. At least he’s gotten off at the right station, that’s for sure.

Despite the nice and chilly weather, the city’s hilly geography does little to keep Jisung nice and composed as he nears the place. He can feel sweat dampening his hairline and the collar of his shirt. His cardigan has been long discarded of, the article now thrown over his shoulder as he speeds up what he hopes to be the last hill in his trajectory.

He knows he’s in the right place when he hears Byeol’s happy squeals echoing down the street before his eyes even register the two figures standing outside of a building. The smile that spreads on his lips is involuntary and instant – suddenly, Jisung doesn’t feel so tired anymore.

“Uncle!” She screams, and Jisung thinks she’s waving her arm at him. “Over here!”

Ah, to be young and still able to see. Jisung hasn’t known what that feels like since he was twelve.

He can hear Minho lightly scolding her, likely for being so loud, but Jisung can’t make the words from this distance. He quickens his stroll to a jog, smile widening when Minho lets go of her hand and she immediately charges towards him.

There is very little time for him to prepare for what comes next. Byeol has her hands raised above her head, and with the way she moves, Jisung knows she’s going to jump. He does his best – he stops his jog and squats a little, hands ready to catch her when she barrels into him.

Still, he can’t help but groan like an old man when she eventually gets to him and jumps into his arms. It’s not that she’s heavy, because she really isn’t, it’s just that he feels a little sore from the roughhousing of the previous night. Maybe he should consider going to the gym again.

“Hey there, princess,” he greets her with the biggest smile, perching her on his hip so it’s easier to carry her while he walks.

“You really came.” There’s a big smile on her face as well, her cheeks round and squishy. Jisung doesn’t hold himself back from pinching it lightly.

“Why, did you think your dad was lying to you?” He raises a brow at Minho, now within earshot of him. “You’re not supposed to lie.”

Byeol shakes her head, a small pout replacing her smile. “Well, no. My daddy doesn’t lie, but he likes teasing me a lot.”

There’s an amused grin on Minho’s lips that Jisung can’t get over.

“Aren’t you embarrassed to do that to your own child?” Jisung questions, but he can’t help but giggle a little.

Now that he’s getting to see Minho up close, he feels like the man is stealing the air from his very lungs with his bare hands. There is something very weird about seeing him out of his office attire – Jisung had never been witness to that, but seeing him in a plain t-shirt, light-wash jeans, and a creamy cardigan is surely rewiring something in Jisung’s brain.

The forehead on display really just feels like a low blow to his poor heart.

“It builds character,” is the answer Minho offers, and Jisung snorts a laugh at it. He tugs on Byeol’s dangling leg. “Are you ready to go in?”

She nods, smile returning to her face, and Jisung takes it as his cue to let her down. Byeol is quick to push the doors to the building, walking in like she owns the place herself, Minho hot on her heels.

The girl working the front desk greets Byeol by name rather cheerfully, and Jisung has to remind himself that, apparently, this is something she and Minho do every weekend. She gives Minho and himself a small bow – which they are quick to return – and takes Byeol by the hand, leading her further into the shelter.

Minho seems to relax then, stalling a little. The grin he had been sporting outside is gone, and though his expression is difficult to read, Jisung doesn’t take it as a bad thing.

“So,” Jisung starts, “how long have you been doing this, Your Royal Highness Minho, the King of Kittens?”

He tries his best to keep his expression neutral, but it’s hard to hold in his laughter when Minho gives him a funny look. From the way Minho easily navigates the place, he can safely assume that it’s been long enough.

“Since my early twenties,” Minho replies, choosing to actively ignore Jisung’s comment. “I took a gap year between university and grad school to work as a volunteer here. Before that, I came here every weekend of my senior year to volunteer as well. It used to be a nice moment of reprieve between writing my thesis and wanting to die.”

Jisung hums in acknowledgment.

“Now I don’t really have the time to do that anymore,” Minho sounds almost sullen, “so I do monthly donations instead, and bring Byeol over on weekends to give the cats some attention and love.”

Jisung thinks it’s admirable that he has this much kindness in his heart.

“That’s… very kind of you.” Cute too, he wants to add but chooses not to.

Minho hums. He takes them through a door to an outdoor patio, where Byeol sits on the fake grass, churu in hand, surrounded by cats of all kinds. Despite her young age, she seems to be in her element, calmly telling the cats to wait for their turn and gently pushing them away when they start trying to climb all over her.

“I was trying to help them find Dori a new home a couple of years ago,” Minho continues, sitting by one of the patio chairs, under the shade of an umbrella. “Ended up adopting him myself instead.”

Jisung nods along. “I never really saw you as the cat butler type,” his mouth says before he can think to stop himself.

Jisung’s face contorts almost comically in surprise at his own words and at the way Minho’s brows draw in confusion.

Shit. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with him?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yeah, Han Jisung, what the hell is that supposed to mean? Sorry, I didn’t peg you as the type who’d willingly be bossed around? Shut the fuck up.

“Nothing!” He quickly retracts, plopping himself down on the chair opposite Minho’s. “I don’t know why I said that. Sorry.”

Minho squints at him, studying him closely, and Jisung all but squirms under the scrutiny of his gaze. It’s something he’s used to in the workplace, sure, but now it feels entirely foreign. Minho purses his already-usually-pouty-and-pretty lips like he has something to say about it still, but Jisung is relieved when he drops the subject and averts his gaze.

Jisung can feel his heart beating at a rabbit’s speed in his chest.

Here, under the morning glow, Jisung thinks Minho is breathtaking. There is an easy smile that falls on his lips as he watches Byeol play with the cats, utter fondness in his eyes. The smile widens when a black cat walks toward them, rubbing itself against Minho’s shins before laying directly over his feet and rolling on its back.

It feels like his heart is going to burst when Minho bends at the waist to give the cat some belly rubs, his eyes slitting into crescents the further his smile widens. Jisung is so used to his rigidness in the office that everything about this feels foreign to him – right now, Minho is soft lines instead of sharp edges.

He’s screwed.

There’s so much he wants to ask – so much he wants to get to know about him, about his life and Byeol and everything in between, but he doesn’t know how to ask. He doesn’t know if he should ask, really, so he doesn’t.

For now, Jisung just sits with him and takes in all the little things he’s getting to learn about Minho.

For now, this is enough.

« «

“Don’t you feel shame?” Hyunjin prompts him one night over beer and fried chicken at his place.

Jisung obnoxiously scrapes his teeth over the bone in his mouth, mostly because he knows Hyunjin hates it when he does so. His lips curl into a grin when Hyunjin’s face contorts in disgust, and he’s quick to dodge the balled-up napkin the other throws at his face.

“No,” Jisung answers, throwing the chicken bone into the takeout box. “Should I?”

Hyunjin takes a long sip of his beer before he replies. “Well, I mean, I don’t know. Doesn’t it feel even a little weird for you to thirst over your boss?”

And, yeah, maybe Jisung should feel a little shame in it, especially when he feels shameful about pretty much everything else in life, but he doesn’t. It’s not like it’s doing anyone any harm, is it?

So that’s exactly what he tells Hyunjin.

“Besides,” he points a drumstick at Hyunjin’s face, “if I have to hear you tell me in explicit detail all of the things you’d like to do to Felix then I think I’m allowed to say some things, too.”

“Wow, okay. For starters,” Hyunjin bumps his drumstick against Jisung’s, “me saying I want to hold Felix’s hand as we stroll along the Han River does not equate to you saying you’d suck Minho’s toes if he asked. That’s disgusting.”

“You literally told me you’d like him to ride your face until it went numb! I didn’t need the mental image of your tongue on his asshole! How am I supposed to look at him now?”

“That’s called retribution,” Hyunjin calmly adds. “How do you think I feel having to look at Minho every day whilst trying to purge the horrid images you’ve planted in my brain? He called me into his office the other day and all I could fucking think about was him bending you over his desk and railing you senseless. He asked me if I was feeling okay and all I could think to say was that I was running a fever!”

Jisung guffaws.

“I fucking hate you,” Hyunjin mumbles, shoving his entire chicken thigh into his mouth.

Jisung makes a kissy face at him. “No, you don’t.”

» »

Byeol is passed out in the backseat of Minho’s car when they pull up at her mother’s place. She insisted they got burgers for lunch, and Minho’s inability to say no to her struck once again – your mother is going to kill me, he’d told her, and all she did was giggle at him and hold tightly onto Jisung’s hand.

Jisung feels like the day has gone by in a breeze.

“Byeollie,” Minho gently shakes her leg, trying to ease her awake. “We’re home, princess.”

Byeol grunts in her sleep, pulling her leg away from Minho’s grasp. It makes Minho chuckle lightly like he expected as much from her. He doesn’t give up, though – only holds her ankle a little tighter and tries again and again, until her eyes flutter open and she’s able to give him a proper reply. From the rearview mirror, Jisung can see her grumpily rubbing her sleepy eyes with tiny fists, a light furrow on her face as she looks out of the window of the car.

“We’re here already?” she asks with a big yawn, a pout falling on her lips. “What about Uncle Jisungie?”

Jisung feels a blush creep up his cheeks. What is she trying to ask?

“Well, Jisungie will be going to his own home, too,” is what Minho answers, giving Jisung a quick side glance just in case.

Jisung twists on his seat, pulling the seatbelt away from his neck so it doesn’t dig uncomfortably into his skin. Byeol is looking at him with big, sleepy eyes, slowly trying to blink herself back into reality. “Did you have fun today?”

Byeol nods lightly, and her eyes then follow Minho as he gets out of the car and makes his way around it.

“I had a lot of fun, too.” Jisung tries his best to be reassuring, and he finds that he’s not lying in the slightest when he says it. Before Minho gets the chance to open the door, he adds, “I’ll make sure we get to play more some other time. How does that sound?”

The pout on her lips is quickly replaced by a smile, and her nodding grows in intensity. She’s unbuckling her seatbelt when Minho opens the door for her. “I want that,” she says, and Minho gives them a funny look.

“What are the two of you plotting now?” He questions, arms akimbo, one brow raised questioningly.

Byeol giggles, climbing out of her car seat to crawl across the backseat. “I was just telling her we can play again some other time,” it’s Jisung who answers, and Byeol nods as she reaches her dad, “so there’s no need to feel sad that today is over.”

“Oh yeah?” Minho takes Byeol by the hand and helps her jump out of the car. “If she promises to be a good girl then I’ll see what can be done about this.”

“I’m always a good girl!” She petulantly says, stomping her feet on the ground, and Minho’s eyes wrinkle with the force of his smile as he pats her head a couple of times.

“Sure you are,” Minho says in jest just to tease her, and it almost works in infuriating the girl. “Now let’s get going, your mom’s waiting inside.” He looks at Jisung through the open door, head slightly tilted to the right. “Are you coming?”

Jisung doesn’t know why the idea of showing up at Minho’s ex’s doorstep with their daughter makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. It’s not like they have anything going, really, or that it would be awkward to anyone else but himself, but it still makes him feel weird. Would Byeol’s mother think anything of it – of him – if he were to show up at her door with her daughter?

He doesn’t really want to find out.

“Uhm,” he hesitates between his myriad of thoughts. “I think I’ll stay here if that’s alright.”

There is something that crosses Minho’s eyes that Jisung can’t quite read, but it’s gone too soon. “Sure,” he says with a nod. And before he closes the door, “I’ll be right back.”

Jisung straightens himself in his seat and watches as Byeol skips home, almost dragging Minho along, urging him to walk faster. From inside the car, he can see Minho saying something to Byeol, though he can’t hear the words being said. She animatedly talks back, so he figures Minho isn’t teasing his daughter like Jisung had been witness to quite a handful of times now.

There is something fond growing in Jisung’s chest. He watches as Byeol gets on her tippy toes to ring the doorbell and then turns around to look back at Minho’s car. Jisung almost looks away immediately, ashamed of having been caught staring, but then she raises her hand and waves him goodbye, and he thinks he feels his heart breaking.

He waves back at her just as the front door opens, and then she’s gone in an instant.

Minho exchanges a few words with Haneul at the doorstep but it doesn’t last long. Jisung can see Haneul call back into the house, and not long after Minho is crouching down to meet Byeol in a tight hug. He places a kiss on the crown of her head and tickles her sides until she’s squirming away from him, a smile big on her lips.

It’s a lovely sight to be seen.

He gets back up, exchanges a few more words with the two of them, and then the door is closed. Jisung forces himself to tear his eyes away when Minho turns on his heels and makes his way back to the car, unwilling to have Minho know he had been looking all along.

“Thanks for coming today,” is what Minho says once he stops at the curb of Jisung’s apartment building, lowering the volume of the radio until it’s completely muted. “I hope it wasn’t too boring.”

Jisung feels personally offended at the mere thought that anything about their day had been boring. An outrageous suggestion, really.

“You’re not boring,” is what his mouth says without him really meaning to, and he’s horrified by his blatant honesty. It’s not a lie, but it’s definitely not how he intended to say it. “Uhm, it wasn’t— it wasn’t boring.”

Minho’s smile is almost shy. “That’s a relief.”

“You didn’t have to drive me all the way here,” Jisung adds, voice a bit small, and he doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed by it. “But thanks, anyway.”

For a moment, Jisung feels suspended in time. Minho is just sitting there, staring at him with slow-blinking eyes – like a cat – and he’s flustered. Jisung thinks he wants to say something, and he would like to, too – to ask things, to prod, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth. Minho doesn’t, either.

He wishes this was the moment where either of them would lean in – or maybe both at the same time, and maybe they would meet in the middle. Maybe Minho would taste like the mint choco ice cream he had after lunch, or like the Americano he’d been sipping on through the drive. Maybe he would smell of aftershave and Jisung would never be able to go through his morning routine again without thinking of him.

“Well,” Jisung coughs out with an awkward laugh like the coward that he is, “I should get going now. I’ll—uhm. I’ll see you on Monday!”

Minho’s expression shifts into one of surprise, but Jisung has his hand on the door handle and is out of the car before the other can even react. He flinches when he slams the door shut with a bit too much force and all he can do is pray that Minho won’t hate him for it.

He’s into his building in an instant, not once looking back, his heart hammering in his chest.

»

On Monday morning, Jisung shouldn’t be surprised to see Felix walking up to him at the subway station, perched on Hyunjin’s arm. It still catches him off guard to see his radiant smile before he’s even had the chance to have his morning coffee.

“Good morning, lovebirds,” he greets with faux disgust in his voice, wrinkling his nose for good measure. “I hate that you look so happy this early in the morning.”

“Aw, Jisungie, don’t sound so bitter.” Felix’s voice sounds a lot deeper than it usually does, likely still thick with sleep. “I’m sure if you woke up with a mouth around your cock as well you’d feel as happy as I do.”

“Wow! I did not ask about any of that!” Jisung brings his hands up to his ears, wishing he hadn’t heard a word of what had just been said. He glares at Hyunjin. “Why are you teaching him to say such depraved things?!”

There is a flush high on Hyunjin’s cheeks and a hint of a smile on the corners of his lips. “He has always been like this, don’t blame me. I wouldn’t have actively chosen to share this before coffee and you know that.”

Jisung gasps – loudly, for the dramatics – and redirects his glare to Felix. “You evil little gremlin. I thought I could trust you!”

“Never trust a man with a pretty face, Jisungie.” Felix’s smile is unwavering, and Jisung can’t even be mad at him for too long. “Besides, I know you say stuff way worse than this, don’t be so dramatic.”

Hyunjin is starting to walk them toward their favorite coffee stall for their daily dose of caffeine, making sure they won’t be late for work. Jisung bumps hard into his shoulder, making him stumble on his feet, dragging Felix along with him.

“You’ve been snitching on me?” Jisung says a bit too whiny. He doesn’t really care if it’s Felix, but he will surely try to make him feel bad about it. “Can’t trust a man in this life.”

“I don’t need to say anything,” Hyunjin deadpans. “You do all the work yourself. Your mouth is as big as your ego.”

Hyunjin goes through the motions of ordering their coffee like it’s second nature – two Ice Americanos for them and nothing for Felix. He’s pretty sure they wouldn’t have to say a word for the cashier to know their order at this point with the way they stop here every single day.

“How did Friday go, though?” Felix asks as Hyunjin pushes Jisung’s cup of coffee into his hands. “With Minho’s… kid.”

Right. Friday.

Jisung knew Hyunjin wouldn’t hold it against him if he left his messages asking about it on read, but he also knew the topic wouldn’t be dropped so easily. How can Jisung even begin to explain everything that has happened since they left for their little date on Friday?

He does a brief run-through of events when they hop on the train, from when Minho went into his meeting to when Jisung slammed the door of his car shut and ran away without looking back once. The look they give him is one of complete disbelief, though Felix looks more shocked than Hyunjin does.

“Wait, you went to his place?” Hyunjin backtracks. “Like, his actual house? Because he invited you?”

“Well, technically, Byeol invited me,” Jisung corrects. “You have no idea how hard it is to say no to her. He was probably just being polite.”

“Didn’t you say he invited you to their cat petting date?” Felix adds. “Aren’t you, like, allergic to cats?”

Jisung feels himself blushing bright red. “It only makes my nose a bit stuffy, it’s not like I’m going to die.”

“Oh, you’re so whipped.” There’s a shit-eating grin on Felix’s face when he speaks. “I thought you were just, like, really horny for him.”

That’s the fucking thing, isn’t it? Because that’s exactly what Jisung thought, too, not three days prior to this very moment.

And now? Well, now he doesn’t know what to do with all of the feelings that are growing roots so deep in his heart he doesn’t think he would be able to weed them out even if he tried.

“It’s not my fault, okay,” he’s mumbling now. “I can’t help it when he’s like, so fucking nice and caring on top of being that hot and handsome. I never stood a chance.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Hyunjin asks after a while. Jisung looks at him questioningly. “Like, that he has a daughter and all. I mean, that’s a lot of baggage.”

Jisung frowns. “What the fuck, no. Why would that bother me?”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I don’t know, it just sounds like a lot. I mean, just the other day we didn’t even know he had a kid. Who hides something like that?”

It’s not like that very question hasn’t been plaguing Jisung’s mind ever since Minho dropped that bomb on his lap. Jisung wishes he could say he hasn’t lost sleep mulling over the whats and whys, but he’s not a liar. He’s thought of asking Minho those questions, of course he has, but he doesn’t think it’s the right time.

Minho must have had his reasons to not mention it to them. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t really see a reason why he would’ve mentioned having a kid to them up until now – he’s their boss, after all. He doesn’t owe them anything.

Chan and Changbin seemed familiar enough with Byeol that Jisung doesn’t think Minho had been keeping her a capital secret on purpose. He’s just… a little secretive, is all.

So that’s what he answers to Hyunjin.

“I’m not trying to be nosy,” he adds. “I don’t even know if—if we have something. He could’ve been nice to me for the sake of his daughter, I don’t know. If, you know, eventually, he wants to tell me… Well, I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

Whipped, Felix mouths, and that’s the end of it.

»

Except, it’s not the end of it at all.

Nothing really changes at the agency for the most part. They arrive on time, Minho arrives shortly after, and they get to work. The thing is that now Jisung is hyper-aware of his surroundings, and Minho’s stolen glances don’t go unnoticed – that, and the fact that Hyunjin does a really fucking poor job at being quiet whenever Minho leaves his office for whatever reason, teasing Jisung like he’s a hormonal teenager and not a man almost in his thirties.

Felix fills Seungmin and Jeongin in on the drama during coffee break, and all Jisung wants is to be beamed up by aliens as quickly as possible.

“That’s disgusting,” Jeongin says with a wrinkle of his nose as he adds another sugar cube to his overly bitter coffee. “That’s, like, us ogling over Changbin. Gross.”

The way Seungmin’s cheeks brighten up doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Speak for yourself,” Seungmin sounds pretty defensive when he speaks, downing his coffee like a shot of Espresso and successfully avoiding its horrible taste. “Changbin’s, like, hot.”

“Ew,” Jisung is fairly sure Jeongin’s reaction isn’t at the taste of his coffee. “I hate you people.”

Felix, still filling his water bottle, chimes in. “I wouldn’t get your spirits so high, Min. I’m, like, sixty percent sure there’s something going on between him and the big boss.”

Jeongin’s demeanor does a complete one-eighty, interest clearly peaked. Hyunjin spits his coffee back into his cup in surprise.

“Wait, what?” Seungmin is frowning now. “Where did you get that from?”

“They’re always coming in and leaving together,” Felix supplies, closing his now full bottle, “and Jisung said Byeol sounded pretty familiar and comfortable with both of them on Friday. Also, on slower days, Changbin goes into Chan’s office for a bit longer than he’d usually need and he always comes out looking a tiny little bit flustered.”

“You’re nosy,” Hyunjin says, baffled. “What did I get myself into?”

Jisung tunes them out for a minute. From where he’s standing in the break room, he has a clear view of his work desk. From where he is standing, he can see Minho coming back from his own little break with two coffee cups in hand.

He can feel his heart beating minutely in his chest. Jisung watches as Minho walks up to his desk, places one of the cups right in front of his keyboard, and smiles the tiniest of smiles to himself before leaving without so much as looking in his direction. His nonchalant façade is back on before he even makes it to his office.

The sound of Minho’s door clicking shut seems to be enough to pull them out of their gossiping break, and they are quick to scatter back to their seats and get back to work.

The coffee cup, of course, does not go unnoticed by any of them, though they’re not nearly as loud now, what with one of their bosses sitting right around the corner. Jisung’s hands are sweaty when he sits back down, a little shaky when he reaches for the cup and notices something scribbled on it in black ink.

I’ve bean thinking about you a lot, the thick marker letters read.

Jisung could seriously throw up from the somersaults happening in his stomach right now and how fast his heart beats. He’s not sure ingesting caffeine will do him any good, but he still brings the plastic straw up to his lips and sips on the beverage like his life depends on it.

Hyunjin, seeing the black smear on the cup, tightly grabs Jisung by the wrist and pulls it towards himself to read it. Jisung watches him for the few seconds it takes him to register the note in his brain, an amused smile stretching on his lips when Hyunjin’s face contorts in disgust and he fake retches, pushing Jisung’s hand away from him.

“I agree with Jeongin,” Hyunjin dramatically loudly whispers. “That’s disgusting.”

Corny as it may be, Jisung can’t hide how giddy it makes him feel. To Jisung, it means that Minho hadn’t been just saying things on Friday, back at his place. It means that Jisung hasn’t been the only one unable to get the other man off his mind, and maybe not the only one losing sleep over… whatever it is that’s blooming between them.

He unlocks his phone and quickly sends a ‘me too’ to Minho’s contact, a smile dancing on the corners of his lips. The status quickly changes to read, though a reply never comes. Which is fine because he wasn’t expecting one.

Jisung pockets his phone and gets back to work.

»

It’s almost a week after The Incident when Jisung finds himself in Minho’s office, with Hyunjin and Felix beside him for a sprint meeting.

Minho is done running over their projects and tasks and seems pleased enough with the delivered results, which is a relief for all of them. No matter how much time passes or what happens off the clock, it still makes them nervous to face Minho when it comes to work-related matters simply because of how much of a perfectionist he is.

“Hyunjin, Felix, you’re dismissed. Jisung,” Minho’s eyes are unreadable when he directs his gaze at him, “please stay a bit longer. I need to talk to you.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Did he do something wrong?

Hyunjin’s sharp inhale does little to quell his incoming nerves.

“Good luck,” Felix whispers to him, and then, louder, “see ya, boss!”

The two scurry out of the room like roaches, slamming the door shut in their hurry. Jisung feels frozen in his seat, thumbs twiddling nervously on his lap as he waits for Minho to speak. Minho, however, takes his sweet time in putting his things away, like he’s enjoying watching Jisung suffer.

“Uhm,” Jisung starts, unable to deal with the silence that follows Hyunjin and Felix’s exit. “Did— did something happen, boss?”

Still stacking his papers neatly, Minho shakes his head. “No,” he says simply, and while Jisung still feels like he can’t relax, at least he can breathe a little easier. “Tomorrow is Friday.”

I know, Jisung wants to say. I’ve been counting.

“Tomorrow is Friday,” he repeats instead. “And?”

When Minho looks at him again – properly looks at him – the stoic mask is completely gone. His eyes are soft and there is a hint of a smile on his lips, and it’s then that Jisung knows he can let his guard down. This is the Minho he’d witnessed the weekend before – soft curves and no sharp edges.

“I wanted to know if you’d like to go out,” Minho adds. “With me.”

“Oh,” Jisung’s fingers immediately stop along with his heart. “Like— like, a date?”

“Like a date,” Minho says with a nod. “No Byeol this time, just me.”

A date. Minho is asking him, Jisung, on a date. An actual date, no child involved. Just the two of them.

He feels like he can’t breathe.

“Yes,” he answers, and his voice is merely a breath, his heart beating so loudly in his ears he can’t even hear himself. And then, louder, “I’d really love to.”

The smile that slowly blooms on Minho’s lips is one of the prettiest smiles Jisung has ever had the chance to see, though he might be a bit biased on that. Minho averts his eyes as if feeling shy, the tips of his ears blushing red as he gives Jisung a small nod.

Jisung can’t help but smile to himself, too. When he first started his flirting game with Minho, he never really thought anything would come of it. Minho is his boss after all, and even more so, is way out of his league. Not that he thinks he’s incapable of scoring a date with someone hot, but definitely not to this extent.

Does that mean Minho really meant it when he said, through a scribbled note on his coffee cup, that he’s been thinking about him? Has Minho planned something for the night, or will they be deciding what to do on the go? Are they going anywhere fancy? Jisung doesn’t think he has an outfit suitable for that.

“Jisung,” Minho softly calls for him, and it’s only upon his pointed look at the general direction of his lap over the table that Jisung realizes the nervous bouncing of his leg. Minho’s smile softens impossibly. Jisung feels like he’s going to explode. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah,” he says dumbly, smile broadening. “Me too.”

Minho visibly relaxes in his chair. “I’ve made a reservation for tomorrow night, a while after work. Since, uhm, I don’t think you drive, we can go in my car.”

“Okay,” he nods and licks his lips nervously. “Do I—do I have to dress up? Are we going anywhere—fancy?”

Minho chuckles and shakes his head no. “No need. You’re perfect as you are.”

Jisung pauses, the words shocking him to his very core. He knows Minho didn’t mean it like that – he was just talking about his clothes, he’s well aware, but the way Minho’s eyes go wide in shock and his ears burn dark crimson is enough to make Jisung want to melt right through the floor.

He never thought he had some weird sort of praise kink, but now he thinks he might as well.

Minho coughs awkwardly. “Anyways,” he continues, and he never takes his words back. “Tomorrow after work we’ll—go, then.”

« «

“Jisungie,” Hyunjin groans beside him, head rolling on the grass, drunk beyond belief. Above them, the night sky is starry and bright. “Don’t you get lonely?”

Twenty-something-year-old Jisung doesn’t answer.

Does he get lonely? The answer should be pretty obvious.

» »

“You’re wearing a different perfume.” Hyunjin’s tone is almost accusatory when he speaks, his eyes slitting as he stares Jisung up and down. “Why?”

The nervous bouncing of his leg stops momentarily. Jisung glances at the clock on his computer screen – 17:28 – and then at Hyunjin, feeling his heart race in his ribcage.

The way Hyunjin is looking at him is enough for Jisung to know he has been holding back from asking the entire day, and now he can’t hold it in any longer. Jisung doesn’t blame him – he’s been wearing the same perfume since they were roommates back in college, of course Hyunjin would notice if he were to suddenly change it.

Besides, he’s been feeling on edge all day. The way his nerves translate into action is anything but discreet.

Jisung shrugs, putting actual effort to stop his leg from nervously bouncing again. It physically pains him. “Nothing,” he says because it’s the easiest answer.

“You’re lying,” Hyunjin states simply, returning his attention to the screen before him. “I won’t make you tell me right now, but whenever you’re ready, I want the full story in minute detail.”

Jisung opens his mouth to answer when the door to Minho’s office opens, the man himself walking out of the room and turning the lights off behind him. Jisung feels his heart stop beating; Minho only turns the lights to his office off when he knows he won’t be going back to it, so does that mean this is it? Is this the moment Jisung has anxiously been waiting for all day?

Their eyes meet, but Jisung can’t read anything in them.

“Are you ready to go?” Minho’s voice is level and smooth, quelling his nerves and setting them alight at the same time.

Jisung glances at Hyunjin just in time to see the confusion on his face quickly turn into realization. He feels his cheeks heat up and immediately looks away.

“Yeah,” he breathes, turning back to his computer to quickly suspend it for the day. Grabbing his bag, Jisung is quick on his feet. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He doesn’t have to look at his friends to know they’re all staring at him. He can feel their burning gazes on the back of his neck as he beelines for the door, Minho already a few steps ahead of him. He feels like a criminal and a terrible friend, but he would rather deal with Hyunjin’s inquiry after the deal is done than before he’s even gotten to experience it.

“I got us a reservation at six,” Minho offers once they are in the elevator, not quite meeting Jisung’s eyes. Jisung thinks it’s fair – he can see the tips of Minho’s ears reddening, and it’s comforting to think that maybe Minho feels just as nervous about this as he does. “So, we need to leave now if we want to make it on time.”

“Yeah,” Jisung intelligently says again, and it feels like the millionth time he does. “That’s alright, I was kind of done with work anyways.”

He doesn’t mention that he’s sped through his entire workload before three in an anxious frenzy and has just been mindlessly switching tabs on his browser for the last two hours of his shift.

“Uhm, where are we going, by the way?”

Minho seems to consider the question for a moment.

“It’s—” he looks at Jisung very briefly but is quick to avert his gaze back to the elevator pad. “I’d like to keep it a surprise if that’s okay.”

Honestly, Minho could be taking him to slaughter and Jisung would still willingly let him, but he’s not going to say that out loud. He just nods and follows Minho to his car instead, his blood thrumming in his veins and rushing in his ears.

Jisung has a hard time believing any of this is actually happening. Not even a week ago, Jisung had been sitting in the same passenger’s seat of Minho’s car, with Byeol chatting away in the backseat and rock music lowly playing through the radio. Minho still turns the same playlist on throughout the ride, but there is no Byeol this time.

This time it’s only him, Jisung, and a heavy load of unspoken tension between them.

It’s not bad, though. Jisung’s anticipation is palpable, and the way Minho speeds through the city still makes Jisung think he anticipates it just as much.

Would you still say yes?

Jisung would say yes a million times if he asked, in a heartbeat.

Jisung feels out of place the moment he steps out of Minho’s car.

Minho had told him they wouldn’t be going anywhere fancy, and that dressing as he usually does would be fine, but now Jisung is starting to think he was lying all along. The neighborhood they are in is definitely more expensive than Jisung would ever dream of being able to afford, the streets lined up with imported cars he would never dare dream of riding.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants, fingers curling into fists as uneasiness settles in his stomach.

“Minho,” Jisung’s voice struggles to come out over the knot forming in his throat. “You said we weren’t going anywhere fancy.”

Minho looks at him with confusion in his eyes, head tilted to the side. “I know.”

“Well?” Jisung looks at the small, nondescript building ahead of them and then at their surroundings. “What are we doing here, then?”

“Jisung, I promise you’re fine,” Minho says, walking up to him and offering an outstretched palm for him to hold. “Trust me?”

Jisung stares at Minho’s hand for a few seconds before taking it in his. His heart feels like it’s going to shatter his ribcage to pieces from how hard it beats inside it, and all he can do now is hope his hand won’t get clammy from nervousness.

Minho’s hand is soft and warm – and considerably small – in his hold, and he tries his very best to act normal when Minho laces their fingers together. For all it’s worth, though, it does help calm him down a little bit; his breathing comes a lot easier now as Minho walks them toward the entrance of the building.

“Uhm, I think I should tell you now that we’re here,” Minho lowers the volume of his voice as they go in. “I booked us a pottery class. This is a private studio, so there will only be the two of us and the instructor.”

“Oh.” He tries not to sound surprised but he knows he fails royally. This is definitely not what he was expecting at all. “That’s—”

Minho’s fingers tighten around his hand. “Unexpected, I know. I just— I just thought it would be fun if we did something… I don’t know. Different, I guess.”

Yeah, Jisung feels so normal about this – about the idea of Minho taking time off his day to plan something for the two of them that would be unique and unlike any other date Jisung has ever gone on. Not that Minho could have known, but it’s the thought that counts.

He squeezes Minho’s hand reassuringly.

Jisung doesn’t usually consider himself a very jealous person, but something akin to it burns deep within him when he realizes what’s going on.

The studio instructor, a young woman that can’t be any older than him, is crystal clear with her flirtatious advances on Minho throughout the night. It was fine at first because working with clay apparently wasn’t something Minho had ever done before and a little bit of extra help was certainly needed, but.

Jisung thinks there is a line between being helpful and whatever it is this woman is trying to achieve by holding Minho by the hands and physically guiding him through some of the motions of pinch pot.

“If you do it like this,” she explains, guiding Minho’s thumb and forefinger over the walls of the bowl he is trying to make, “the walls won’t come off too thin.”

Minho forces a smile, subtly shaking her off him.

“Thank you,” he says through slightly gritted teeth. “I’ll ask Jisungie for help if I need it.”

Jisungie. His heart thrums in his chest.

The woman seems to finally look at Jisung for the first time that night, pupils shaking and cheeks burning bright red. She quickly straightens her back, pulling her hands to herself and shoving them into the pockets of her apron.

“Of course,” there is an audible shake to her voice when she speaks. “I’ll explain the next steps once you two are done with the shaping.”

“Thank you for the help,” Jisung says, bowing his head at her as she backs away to her own station to busy herself with something else to do. Lower, he breathes, “Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Minho mumbles, and it’s now clear to Jisung that he had known all along what had been going on. The only reason why Jisung’s newfound jealousy hadn’t eaten him from the inside out was that Minho clearly didn’t care about her even one bit. “You said you’ve done this before?”

Jisung hums, smoothing a thumb over the bottom of his own bowl. “Hyunjin and I had a sculpting elective in university, but I haven’t done anything with it since. I’d forgotten how fun and relaxing this is.”

He glances at Minho just in time to see him smile to himself, fingers hard at work.

“Minho, can I ask you something?” Jisung keeps his hands busy on the clay, his brain running a thousand miles per hour. Minho hums his consent. “What… happened?”

Minho’s hands still on the clay, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly. Jisung almost wants to take the question back, to apologize for being nosy and move on with their night, but he finds himself unable to. If he sits with his thoughts on his own for any longer than this he will drive himself crazy.

It doesn’t hurt to be curious, he supposes. Especially not when it comes to the person he’s – romantically – interested in.

“Haneul and I met during my junior year of university, at a Christmas party. She was friends with Changbin’s sister from nursing school, and I guess we got along pretty well.” Minho tries to smooth out some of the ridges on his bowl, though his efforts seem futile. “Somehow, along the way, she started showing interest in me in a way she hadn’t before, and I decided to give her a chance and see where we’d go.”

Jisung’s hands freeze on his bowl as Minho continues.

“We dated through my senior year and then through my Master’s. We weren’t careful enough and she got pregnant just as I was starting my last year of grad school.” There is bitterness in Minho’s voice, and Jisung isn’t sure he is aware of it himself. It makes his heart ache. “Byeol was born at the end of that year, after I turned twenty-five, and things were difficult for everyone – mostly to Haneul, though, since she had to put her career on hold because of it.”

Minho stills his hands as well, but he doesn’t look up at Jisung when he speaks.

“We had a lot of regrets; we were both still so young. At the time, I could tell she was growing to resent me because of everything that happened, but our feelings were never directed at Byeol. She’s an angel, and she doesn’t deserve anything less than love. None of it was her fault.”

He turns his bowl around and starts working on the walls again, and Jisung decides to do the same.

“We stayed together until she was able to become a registered nurse since we didn’t trust people to babysit Byeol for us while she was that young. Byeol was almost three by then, and we split shortly after. We never married.”

“Minho…” Jisung trails off, unsure of what to say. Curiosity had been getting the best of him for the past week, but now that he knows what happened, he doesn’t know what to do with the information. “That sounds like a lot, I’m sorry.”

Minho’s smile is small but certain when he shakes his head. “I felt sorry for myself for the longest time, too, but that’s water under the bridge. Though we didn’t exactly have her by choice, Byeol is the light of my life and I wouldn’t change it. Watching her grow has been one of the greatest joys in my life.”

“Did you know back then?” Jisung does a once-over on his bowl and decides it won’t get any better than this. He sets the clay aside. Minho hums in question, prompting him to continue. His heart punches him in the chest. “That you— that you liked men, too, I mean.”

“Oh,” Minho’s voice is soft, and then he laughs. Jisung is confident to say it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard in his life. “Yeah. I’ve always known, I think. My partner before Haneul was a boy I met in high school; we broke up during my freshman year, he said I had changed. I went through a bit of a phase after that, and that’s when I met Chan.”

Unsure of what to do with so much information, Jisung shares in turn a little bit of his early twenties as the instructor guides them through the underglazing process.

He tells Minho about how he chose design as a degree because of his passion for arts and comics, and because his parents refused to let him pursue fine arts instead. He talks about Spider-Man and how he used to be obsessed with drawing his childhood hero, and how even in his late teens he never really grew out of it.

As they select the colors they want to add to their pottery pieces, Jisung tells Minho about the countless sketchbooks he still has stored in boxes somewhere in his apartment, collected through years of unbridled inspiration, and how he’s still unable to get rid of them to this day.

Minho calls Jisung a nerd, and while Jisung would have found offense in it when he was younger, now he can tell Minho’s tone is more teasing than it's condescending. It makes Jisung smile to himself, the tops of his cheeks coloring red.

The conversation naturally quietens down as they get their brushes to work. Minho is the most concentrated of the two of them, and it’s clear he is trying his best to do a good job. Jisung finds it entirely endearing and stores the image in his Minho-shaped safe in the back of his brain.

Jisung decorates his pieces mostly with oranges and greens, a faint smile on his lips as he works his brush through the design he has envisioned in his mind. The result needs to be mildly satisfactory at the very least, so he does his best to concentrate.

From then on, the process is out of their hands. The instructor takes the pieces once they are done decorating them for firing and the final glazes, and then all they have to do is wait.

Minho takes the waiting time to go on a tangent about his cats – his childhood ones who still live with his parents and also Dori, currently living with him. Jisung quickly finds out Minho’s gallery mostly consists of his daughter and said cats, and he feels like his heart could burst at how cute they are.

“My parents spoil them so much,” Minho says with a chuckle as he swipes through the pictures, pausing on a particular one with two white and orange cats dressed in cute costumes. “They’ve always done it, but I think it’s gotten worse since I left home considering I don’t have any siblings.”

“I mean, how could they not?” Jisung can almost hear the pout in his own voice. “Look at how freaking adorable they are!”

“I know, right?” Minho’s nose wrinkles with the force of his smile. Jisung’s heart does a somersault. “I miss them a lot.”

“Does Byeol know them?” He thinks it’s a pretty silly question to ask, especially considering they live at her grandparents’ house, but Jisung doesn’t want to go around assuming Minho has a great relationship with his parents. God knows that he doesn’t have that for himself.

“Oh, she loves them,” Minho says with a nod. “I think they’re part of the reason why she’s been giving her mom such a hard time about wanting a cat as well, though Dori is a lot to blame too.”

Jisung watches Minho’s face closely when he presents his finished ceramic piece to him. His intentions should be pretty clear by its design – an array of green leaves on the outside, and a lion painted on the bottom. Minho slowly blinks at the design and then at Jisung, his eyes filled with curiosity.

Jisung can feel himself growing hot around the collar of his shirt.

“Uhm, this is for Byeol,” he mumbles, suddenly feeling tongue-tied, pushing the ceramic into Minho’s hands. “I thought she would really like it.”

“Jisung…” Minho’s voice is the softest Jisung has ever heard, the tips of his ears going red. He struggles to take Jisung’s offering into his hold while also holding onto his own piece. “You didn’t—you didn’t have to. I don’t even have anything to give you back right now.”

Jisung wildly waves his hands dismissively, feeling his blood rush in his veins. “You don’t have to! You don’t—this,” he gestures between them, “is good enough. I had fun today.”

Minho sinks into the seat of his car, shoulders sagging. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t seem to find the words – Jisung knows all too well what that feels like. So, in a moment of bravery, he places a hand on Minho’s thigh in what he hopes is a comforting gesture, rubbing his thumb softly against the material of his slacks.

When Minho looks up at him again, Jisung offers him a small smile.

“I didn’t know if I’d made the right choice,” Minho says slowly, words measured. “For the date, I mean. I didn’t know if you’d find it boring, and I still can’t tell if you’re saying you had fun just to make me feel better about it. I really just wanted us to do something… I don’t know, like I said, different.”

Jisung kneads the meat of Minho’s thigh reassuringly. “I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. It was an unorthodox choice, sure, but I genuinely liked it. No one’s ever taken me on a pottery date before, that’s for sure.”

“Okay,” Minho breathes, and then he smiles.

Jisung feels slightly obsessed with the curve of Minho’s lips and the way they naturally pout, feels like he could lean in and kiss him, and he wonders again – wonders what Minho would taste like, if he would taste like the coffee he had god knows how many hours ago, if he would taste like breath mints, if he would taste just like himself.

“Should I get you home now?”

His fingers dig into Minho’s thigh a little harder and he wants to say no. He wants Minho to be a bit more daring, wants to be taken on a ride until the city lights are long forgotten behind them. Jisung wants Minho to lean in, too, and kiss him so stupid he can’t remember his own name.

He can feel his heart racing in his chest, and he wants to say no, but his mouth says, “Alright,” and it’s with that one word that Jisung breaks his own heart.

Jisung feels like he’s paying for his crimes for all of the times he’s whined at Hyunjin for acting like he’s a teenager in love instead of a full-grown man.

The night air is chilly where they stand outside of his building, Minho’s car parked on the curb. Jisung can’t help but fiddle with his thumbs, tongue nervously running over his lips with every second that passes without either of them saying anything. He can only hope the loud beating of his heart is for himself alone to hear.

Despite the tiredness that is evident on his face, Jisung thinks Minho looks stunningly beautiful even under the shitty streetlights. Maybe he’s biased, and maybe Minho looks the same as he usually does, but he doesn’t think that is the case.

There is something about him tonight that is different from the other times Jisung has seen him – something about the way he looks at Jisung with fondness in his eyes, about the way he smiles when Jisung steps just a little closer to him.

“I really had fun tonight,” Jisung reiterates because he feels like he needs to. He licks his lips again, hyper-aware of the way Minho follows the movement with his eyes. He really wants to kiss him. “I mean it.”

“Thanks for indulging me,” Minho says, and his eyes take a second too long to look up at Jisung again, “and for the gift for Byeol.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he breathes. He’s at his limit. “There’s something else you can do, though.”

The corners of Minho’s lips twitch, and Jisung’s eyes immediately fall on it. He needs Minho to take the hint.

“Yeah?” Minho’s voice is almost a whisper, teasing, making it clear that he’s being difficult just for the hell of it. “What is it then, Han Jisung?”

There is only so much Jisung can take before he breaks.

With an indignant huff, he steps into Minho’s personal space, closing what little gap they still had between them. Being this close, Jisung can smell the lingering scent of his cologne, cottony and fresh, could count his lashes if he wanted and the sparkles in his eyes, can perfectly see the sharpness of his philtrum and Jisung wants to kiss him so, so fucking bad.

It’s Minho’s turn to lick his lips and that is Jisung’s breaking point.

Feeling bold, he runs his fingers over the soft silk of Minho’s tie, grabbing it tightly and pulling him closer. He can see the moment Minho holds his breath and waits – his face mere inches away from Jisung’s, his blinking eyes ever so slow.

Jisung closes the gap and kisses him.

He can’t even really call it a kiss – the peck of their lips is too quick to be called that, but Jisung will run with it for as long as he can. Minho’s lips are soft, molds perfectly against his, and Jisung hates how even this little will ruin every other kiss for him for as long as he lives.

Minho doesn’t pull away but doesn’t deepen it either. He’s still, and Jisung’s heart is beating so wildly in his chest he fears he will soon start feeling sick. Jisung lingers for as long as he can – for as long as his nerves allow him to, and then the fear of people seeing them – of doing something to the two of them – starts settling in.

When he pulls away, he can feel his face aflame. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, can feel the erratic beating of his heart, but even more so than that, Jisung feels pure bliss.

Bliss of having kissed the most beautiful man he has ever seen, of having said man smiling so stupidly at him, so fucking pretty. Jisung wants to kiss him again – and again, and again, and again, but he doesn’t.

He takes a step back, hand flying to his lips like he can’t believe what he’s just done, mouth curling into a smile without him meaning to. He can’t help it – he’s happy, the happiest he’s felt in a while, and it terrifies him.

Minho grabs him by the waist, pulling him closer, and Jisung embarrassingly squeaks at the sudden move, eyes going impossibly round at Minho’s boldness. The movement is quick, but Jisung watches it happen in slow motion – the way Minho leans in, face so close to his again, making him think he’s about to be kissed again.

But Minho goes for his cheek this time, plants a soft and chaste peck on his burning skin, and quickly pulls back, stupid smile still plastered on his face.

“Good night, Jisungie.” Minho’s voice is almost dreamlike to Jisung’s ears, and it takes him a minute to register what is going on.

Minho is already walking backward, back to his car, hands shoved in his pockets. Jisung can’t believe the night is already over.

“Good night,” he breathes, the hand previously on his lips now touching the spot Minho had kissed on his cheek. “See you.”

»

“We should go get some drinks,” Felix happily states as he drops a sugar cube into his cup of tea. It’s the third one in a row. They all pull a face at him.

“Why would I willingly hang out with you losers?” Jeongin says with a raise of his brow, jutting his chin at Felix’s cup. “You can’t even be trusted with regular beverages; I can’t begin to imagine the horrors you’d do with alcohol.”

Honestly, Jisung thinks the sentiment isn’t unfounded. They do make atrocities with what the agency supplies them with every single time, but if he’s playing devil’s advocate, it isn’t entirely their fault. Whoever is in charge of preparing the coffee and tea served in the break room should probably be arrested.

(The thing is, they all know it’s Chanmi who does it, and none of them have the heart to tell her it sucks. They drink it out of courtesy, and also because sometimes a shot of shitty coffee is better than falling asleep on their desks hours before they are allowed to go home.)

“No, actually, I think Felix is right,” Seungmin counters, pulling a face the moment he sips on his coffee. Sometimes it does feel like torture. Jisung still hasn’t tried his. “I’d love to see these fools make an even bigger fool of themselves.”

The smile Felix had started to pull at Seungmin’s words quickly turn into offense, a loud gasp escaping his lips. Jeongin snorts.

“I’m in,” Hyunjin chirps, forgoing the horrid coffee for water this time. “I mean, it would be messy but fun.”

Jeongin squints at Hyunjin, seemingly not buying it. “How can you be so sure?”

Hyunjin’s lips twitch into an evil smile, and Jisung immediately feels his blood run cold. He knows the exact words that are about to come out of Hyunjin’s mouth and he doesn’t like them one bit.

Embarrassment burns hot in his stomach, and before he can turn around to leave the room, Hyunjin blocks the entrance with an arm and a leg.

Jisung loudly groans, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“There was this one time Jisungie and I were out late partying,” Hyunjin’s devil smile only grows wider, and it makes Jisung hate him a little bit for it, “and on our way back this guy right here tells the taxi driver to stop in the middle of the highway or else he’d vomit in his car.”

Where Seungmin looks amused, Felix looks horrified.

“Did he?” Felix asks, eyes almost bulging out of his skull.

Please, god, end my suffering.

“Of course he did!” Hyunjin exclaims. “What was he supposed to do, let some dude barf all over his car? We clearly didn’t have enough money to pay him for a car wash. So he stops the car, and thank fuck it’s really late, right, so there aren’t that many cars driving past us, and Jisung stumbles out of the car, out of his goddamn mind.”

“Dude, c’mon,” Jisung moans, willing to beg for mercy. “I promise you don’t have to tell this story to everyone we know.”

“Wrong. I absolutely do,” Hyunjin corrects. “It’s in my best friend job description. Anyways, as I was saying— he stumbles out of the car, and he’s not even a foot away from the door when he spills his guts out on the asphalt, and it’s so fucking disgusting because of course it was Mexican night. The taxi driver is already so fucking pissed, though I’m pretty sure he was way more relieved that the vomiting didn’t take place inside his car, but then—”

Jisung, a man desperately trying to find an out of this situation, does the only thing his brain can think of to get them out of there – he bites down on Hyunjin’s arm, successfully pulling a pained yell out of him. It doesn’t, however, make Hyunjin move an inch; instead, he only grips harder onto the door frame, frowning down at him.

“Then Jisung lies down, you know, in the middle of the fucking road like a fucking lunatic, and I’m so fucking drunk I can barely do anything to help him. Eventually, I manage to get him back into the car and the driver doesn’t speed as much the rest of the way, and we somehow made it home safely. To this very day this little guy right here,” Hyunjin finally takes his arm out of the way, but it’s only to firmly place his hand on Jisung’s shoulder, rendering him unable to move, “still does not remember any of it.”

Jisung groans, swatting Hyunjin’s hand away from him as the other loudly cackles.

“Moral of the story is, don’t kill a bottle of tequila in under two hours,” Jisung offers, glad that at least now it is over. “The only reason I know there is some truth to this whole thing was because of the vomit splatter on my shoes the following day and a charge on my card of double the amount we should’ve had to pay to get home that night.”

“Okay, I take it back,” Jeongin says. “Maybe hanging out with you losers will be fun at last.”

“When though?” Seungmin asks. Jisung can hear movement outside the break room, which means they should probably get back to work soon.

Felix ponders the question for a while. “Tonight?”

“Tonight?” Jisung questions with a frown. “It’s Wednesday!”

“Okay, and?” Felix rolls his eyes at him. “Can’t handle a few drinks on a workday, Jisungie?”

Jisung hates how mocking Felix sounds, hates it even more that he takes it as a challenge and now he won’t be able to say no. Jisung scoffs, muttering a “fine” under his breath that has Hyunjin snorting a laugh as he unblocks the doorway for them.

“Tonight, then?” Seungmin confirms, fetching his phone from his pocket and typing something into it. “Fine. Let’s pray we survive this dreadful day and then we can go.”

»

Jisung can feel bile rising in his stomach when Felix slams his glass of beer and soju in front of him, prompting all of them to drink. It’s their third glass in twenty minutes – on top of all the other ones they’ve already had before.

“You!” Hyunjin points his empty glass at him, drunk blush high on his cheeks. “You secretive little fucker!”

Jisung knows the burp that follows his words is involuntary, but he can’t help the loud cackle that escapes his lips at his friend. Hyunjin retreats his offending hand, Felix patting his back comfortingly whilst also laughing at him.

“What is it now?” Jisung groans, wishing he hadn’t chugged the beverage in one go. He’s going to feel like shit tomorrow. “What are my crimes this time?”

“You’re sucking our boss’s dick and won’t even share the details!” Hyunjin truly does sound offended, making Jisung wonder if it’s just the alcohol talking. It likely isn’t, and it makes him feel bad. “After all I’ve endured for you!”

“Okay, wow, first of all,” Jeongin interrupts Hyunjin’s drama between hiccups, “we as a collective haven’t consented to hear about Jisung’s whore antics.”

Jisung gasps in offense. “First of all you little shit,” a hiccup and a burp, “I’m not a whore—”

“Anymore!” Hyunjin unhelpfully supplies.

“—second of all, I’m not sucking his dick! Yet.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Seungmin laments, earning a few light pats on his back from Jeongin.

Jisung scoffs, rolling his eyes at him. “Please, don’t be so dramatic. I know you’d be on your knees gargling Changbin’s balls if you could.”

“You’d be right about that, but I’m for real.” Under the shitty bar lights, it’s hard to see how pale Seungmin has gotten. He looks unwell and this can’t end well. “I really think I’m going to be sick.”

Jeongin pours a tall glass of water, raising it to Seungmin’s face and pushing it against his lips. Seungmin is reluctant to take it at first, but Jeongin is insistent on it until he relents. Felix pushes the basket of fries across the table and Jeongin takes a couple of them as well, offering it to Seungmin once he has sipped on some water.

“The difference is that,” Seungmin talks through a mouthful of fries, color slowly returning to his face, “I’m never going to act on it because I’m pretty sure Felix was right the other day.”

Felix cocks his head curiously at him. “What do you mean?”

“I saw him and Mr. Bang holding hands,” Seungmin says solemnly. “They thought everyone had already left, I think, but I hadn’t. And then I saw it. But this isn’t about me.” He waves his hands dismissively, jutting his chin at Jisung. “How’s your toe-sucking journey going?”

Jisung glares at Hyunjin. “Seriously, man? Cut me some fucking slack!”

Hyunjin just shrugs, leaning into Felix. He’s close to being a goner.

“I’m not sucking his dick or his toes,” he groans. “It’s… pretty tame. He’s, like, just very reserved, but he told me some stuff on Friday. About Byeol and some other things. It was nice; he took us to a pottery studio.”

“That’s so fucking lame,” Hyunjin hiccups, booing him right after. “Losers!”

“You asked for this, now deal with the consequences! It was just very nice to get to know each other a little better, I guess. And then he took me home.”

Jeongin looks at him with owlish eyes. Despite his reluctance and snarky remarks, Jisung knows he’s just as curious as everyone else is. “Well? Did you kiss him?”

Jisung feels his face burn, the memories of that night still fresh in his mind – of the way he grabbed Minho by the tie and pulled him close, the way Minho’s lips felt against his, the way his hands felt around his waist when he pulled Jisung close again to peck him on the cheek.

He has to physically stop himself from reaching up to touch his lips again, just like he did the week before, but he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.

“Oh my god, you did!” Jeongin exclaims, pretty much shoving Seungmin aside. “Spill it!”

“So much for not wanting to hang out with us losers,” Felix comments under his breath, to which Jeongin promptly responds with, “Shut up, you twink fairy.”

“He wasn’t going to do it first, okay! I had to do something before he drove me completely crazy!”

“What a gentleman,” there’s sarcasm dripping in Hyunjin’s voice, and Jisung tries to ignore it. “Fucking weirdo.”

Felix shakes his head, lightly slapping Hyunjin on the arm. “No, I think I understand. Didn’t you mention he didn’t want you to feel forced to say yes just because he’s your boss? When you went to his place that one time.”

Jisung nods, mulling Felix’s words in his head.

“Maybe that’s what it is?” he continues. “Like, he doesn’t want to make the first move because he’s still unsure about power dynamics and all.”

Seungmin squints at him. “Are you sure you’ve drank just as much as we did? How are you having coherent thoughts right now?”

Felix shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, buddy.”

Now that Felix puts it this way, it kind of makes sense to him, somewhat. Jisung thinks it’s a silly thought to be had, that Minho would be crossing a line or pushing his boundaries if he were to make the first move, but he’s not the one on the other side. And it’s not like Minho could fully trust that Jisung wouldn’t do anything against him if he were to.

“You’re so smart,” Hyunjin presses a finger to Felix’s temple. “That’s why I like you so much.”

It’s pretty comical yet endearing at the same time to watch Felix blush so hard under Hyunjin’s words, the way it makes him smile a little silly, a little fond. Jisung won’t ever say this to their face for fear it feeds their ego, but he really thinks the two of them are perfect for each other.

He wishes they would think that of him and Minho, too, but he doesn’t think that is going to happen anytime soon; or, at the very least, it won’t happen while Minho is still so hidden in his hard shell. He wishes they would get to know him better, would feel more at ease around him just like he does, but that’s not for Jisung to decide.

All he can do, for now, is hope that if they eventually come to be something in the future, things will change for the better.

“Should we go for one last round?” Seungmin slurs around his words, eyelids heavy. “I promise I’m not going to pull a Jisung.”

They do go for one last round – this time it’s only soju filling their glasses, a futile attempt at reducing the damages the following day. Jisung has a hard time recalling the last time he’d gotten this sloshed on a weekday after he was done with college.

Feeling way less drunk than Hyunjin does, Jisung walks his best friend and Felix to Hyunjin’s doorstep, making sure they make it inside his building safe and sound, dismissing their attempts at calling a taxi for him. He’s sure he can make it home in one piece.

(He doesn’t tell them he almost kissed a light pole and face-planted on the steps right in front of his building. He thinks he can live with that shame on his own.)

handsome boss minho 🐱

03:17

im ohme!

jome*

fuck HME*

whatevr u know wht i mean!!!!!

kind of miss u

whys my floor moving

05:24

hope you made it to bed safely

and that you won’t feel like shit today

drink lots of water and take an aspirin

06:32

kind of miss you, too

»

They are halfway through their weekly meeting when Minho’s phone lights up with an incoming video call where it sits on the desk. Jisung doesn’t mean to pry, but his eyes react quicker than his brain and common sense do – on the screen, Jisung reads Haneul’s name.

Minho frowns at his phone and is quick to pick it up.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, frown deepening as he checks the time. By the look on his face, Jisung takes a wild guess that this isn’t something that happens very often. “I have to take this.”

It’s the way he doesn’t excuse himself from the room and just swipes to answer the call that gives it away that this must be out of the ordinary for the two of them. Minho’s forehead only creases further in the few seconds it takes for the call to connect; Jisung doesn’t miss the way both Hyunjin and Felix side-eye him as Minho waits.

“Haneul?” Minho calls, visibly worried. “I’m in a meeting right now. Did something happen?”

There is loud rustling coming from the other end of the line, then the sound of the phone hitting against wood, Minho’s face slowly going from worried to curious.

Then, a loud and chipper, “Daddy!”

Jisung can’t help the way he smiles when Minho’s worry completely melts away.

“Hey, princess,” Minho’s lips slowly stretch into a smile, his eyes fond. Jisung’s heart clenches in his chest. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m all good. All good!” Jisung can’t see the screen of Minho’s phone, but he can perfectly picture Byeol nodding her head, an adorable smile on her lips, cheeks round. “Daddy, can we go to the trampoline park?”

“The trampoline park?” Minho repeats, raising one brow questioningly. “Okay, we can go tonight.”

Byeol squeals on the other side and proceeds to drop her mother’s phone on the floor. All four of them wince at the noise it makes, then at Haneul’s reprimanding words that follow in the background.

“Can Uncle come, too?” Byeol asks, tone a little more excited now.

For a split second, Minho’s eyes flit up and meet Jisung’s, and the split second is enough to make Jisung’s heart leap in his chest. He can feel his cheeks warming up already.

“Which Uncle?” Minho still asks, though Jisung has an inkling that they both already know the answer to that question.

Hyunjin kicks his ankle like the little shit that he is.

“Uncle Jisung, of course.” She answers matter-of-factly. “Don’t be silly, daddy.”

Minho looks at him again and, yeah, Jisung’s face is definitely burning up now, though the tips of Minho’s ears aren’t faring any better. This time, Minho looks at him for a bit longer, trying to convey the question with his eyes. Honestly, there isn’t a world where Jisung would’ve said no.

“Okay,” he mouths, giving him a thumbs up, watching the way the corners of Minho’s lips subtly twitch with a hidden smile.

“Okay,” Minho repeats aloud to her, “I’ll bring him with us. I have to go now, okay, princess? Daddy is busy with work and your nice Uncles are waiting for me.”

“Alright! Bye-bye,” she greets.

“Love you, princess.” Minho’s smile is so fond. Jisung is going to die.

“Love you too, daddy!”

The call immediately disconnects, and the tension that follows is palpable. Next to him, Jisung can feel Hyunjin trying his best to control himself and not say something inappropriate in front of Minho, though he knows that the minute this meeting is over he will definitely say something about it.

Minho clears his throat. “Anyways, sorry about that. As I was saying—”

And Jisung admittedly tunes out whatever work talk happens after that. Now he can’t stop thinking about what could have possibly prompted Byeol to ask Minho if he could tag along with them – had Jisung really just caused a very good first impression on the little girl to the point that she has already grown this attached to him?

The alternative is that Minho has been talking about Jisung to his daughter, and the mere thought alone makes him feel slightly sick, but not in a bad way. That would mean Minho is serious about him; Jisung isn’t a parent himself, but he is pretty sure parents don’t usually introduce casual dates to their children and make sure they partake in mundane activities with them.

It almost makes Jisung laugh, the idea that Minho is actually serious about him and it isn’t something he’s just making up in his head.

“You’re dismissed,” Minho’s voice cuts through his thoughts, tethering him back to reality.

Felix and Hyunjin are quickly on their feet, bowing their heads at their boss before leaving the room in a hurry. Jisung, however, stays glued to his seat, tongue-tied.

He doesn’t know what it is that he wants to tell Minho, or even if he wants to tell him anything at all, but he can’t bring himself to leave just yet. And Minho doesn’t look at him questioningly when he stays either, so Jisung figures the feeling must be mutual.

“I’m sorry I keep doing this to you,” it’s Minho who breaks the silence that follows Hyunjin and Felix’s departure. “Byeol has a habit of backing people into a corner when she really wants something, and it’s really hard to say no. You didn’t have to say yes. I’m sure she will eventually understand if I tell her you couldn’t make it.”

“Minho, I don’t mind.” Jisung tries to be placating. “I said yes because I wanted to. I like spending time with her, and that means I get to spend more time with you, too, doesn’t it?”

The way Minho smiles at him now is reminiscent of the way he did right before Jisung kissed him after their date, and now Jisung wants nothing more than to lean across the table and do it again. They haven’t really talked about it after it happened – Jisung because he’s shy and a little embarrassed about it, and Minho—

Well, Jisung figured it was because he’s Minho.

They do talk a lot more through texts now, so Jisung figures it’s not all bad.

“I like spending time with you too,” he adds, and it’s not an afterthought.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Minho says, like it’s the most logical thing to follow Jisung’s comment with, like it isn’t completely out of left field and isn’t catching him off-guard.

Jisung blinks, the apples of his cheeks warming up at the sudden— bluntness? Confession? What does he do from here? Lean across the table and grant Minho his wish?

“You can,” is what he blurts out, flustered. “You totally can do that.”

Minho glances at the door, closed but certainly not locked. Jisung is growing impatient with his second-guessing.

“Minho, I swear to god—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Minho is quickly on his feet, strong hands grabbing him by the collar of his shirt as he leans over the table and into him. Jisung struggles to get off his seat on time and ends up kicking it back over. The sound it makes as its metal legs hit the floor is louder than probably either of them would’ve liked, but Jisung doesn’t have time to worry about that.

All he can focus on is how close Minho’s face is to his, on the curve of his pouty lips, the way his lashes flutter when he flits his gaze from his eyes to his lips. Jisung feels like he can’t breathe – everything is happening too fast and not fast enough at the same time.

“Are you sure about that?” Minho asks, voice low and raspy, making Jisung’s heart thunder in his chest and his blood sing in his veins.

Minho doesn’t give him enough time to answer.

He closes the gap between them just as Jisung parts his lips to reply, smashing their lips together. Jisung can hear his heart beating in his ears as he reaches up to grasp Minho’s shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Minho’s lips are still just as soft as they had been that night, and Jisung hates to think that they were made for each other somehow – life isn’t a fairytale, but how the hell else does one explain the way the shape of Minho’s lips – fuller on top and thinner on the bottom – perfectly complement Jisung’s? How does one explain the butterflies Minho makes him feel in his stomach with a mere press of their lips?

Jisung wants to kiss him longer, kiss him deeper, but this isn’t the time or place.

Minho pulls back but doesn’t let go of the collar of his shirt. Jisung stays a while with his eyes closed, wanting to savor the aftertaste of Minho’s lips for just a little longer.

“That okay?” Minho’s voice has gone down to a whisper, breath fanning his face when he speaks.

When Jisung opens his eyes again, Minho is still just mere inches away from him, looking like an absolute dream.

“Yeah,” Jisung breathes, lips slowly stretching into a smile. “More than okay.”

A knock on the door startles both of them out of their little bubble and Minho almost pushes him away as it starts creaking on its hinges. Jisung is smoothing the creases out of his shirt left by Minho’s grip when Chan’s head pops into the room, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Minho,” Chan starts, though his eyes linger on Jisung, briefly glancing at the knocked-over chair by his feet. “Our meeting is about to start.”

Minho clears his throat awkwardly. “Right. We just finished here; I’ll be there in a minute.”

Chan lingers by the door for a moment too long, eyes flitting back and forth between Minho and Jisung until he’s decided he’s seen enough and leaves them alone again.

Jisung feels like a deer caught in headlights. He is flustered beyond belief, blinking rapidly at Minho as his brain tries to process what just happened – but then Minho laughs, a contagious giggle as he reaches for the tip of a burning ear, eyes wrinkling and all, and Jisung thinks he’s beautiful.

He can’t help but laugh along, feeling the weight of the guilt and the fear of being caught lift off his shoulders.

“Do you think he noticed something?” he asks, bringing his palms up to his cheeks, trying to will them back to normalcy. His skin feels so warm.

Minho nods, grin widening. “Oh, he knows.”

Jisung feels his heart sink in his stomach and fall out of his ass, smile vanishing from his face. “What do you mean he knows?!”

He completely failed to consider that Chan, The Boss Supreme, could know about what is going on between them. Jisung knows that what is happening isn’t supposed to – coworkers aren’t supposed to date, and he’s pretty sure it’s even worse in the books when one of the parties is a superior to the other, but he still somehow hoped that things would be okay.

Does this mean his job is on the line? There is no way that, if things came to it, Jisung would be chosen to stay over Minho. There is simply no way.

Before his mind can spiral any further, Minho says, “Chan is my friend, Jisung; it just so happens that he is also our boss. As long as it doesn’t affect our work, he said he’s fine with it.”

Shit. “Okay,” he breathes. “Fuck, alright.”

Minho’s smile is kind. “You’re fine, Jisungie. I need to go now before he comes looking for me again, but I promise you have nothing to worry about. I’ll see you later?”

Jisung nods, still feeling a little dumbfounded. “Of course.” And then, stupidly, “you know where to find me!”

Minho giggles again, nose scrunching, and then he is out of the door.

Jisung has a hard time easing his rabbit heart.

»

If Jisung thought Byeol had been overly energetic the previous times they met, it doesn’t even begin to compare to how she is tonight. She has been on an energy rampage since the second Minho rang the doorbell of her home, bouncing up and down the moment the door was opened and squealing loudly at the sight of Jisung standing next to Minho.

(Jisung swears he tried to ignore the way Haneul’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, but the moment sits in the back of his brain like an itch begging to be scratched.)

Throughout the ride to the park, Minho did little to try and keep her voice and energy down because, well, kids will be kids, but Jisung could sense it was stressing him out by the way he gripped the steering wheel, veins popping on his hands and exposed forearms. So, he did the first thing that came to mind in an attempt of calming him down – he placed a gentle hand on Minho’s thigh, heat pooling at the collar of his shirt, keeping his eyes on the road.

With the strain on his voice gone when he next spoke to Byeol, Jisung thinks it worked fairly well.

And now that they are at the park, while Minho pays for their grip socks, Jisung thinks Byeol could bounce off the walls from excitement if he let go of her hand. Her small fingers grip his hand tightly as she chatters away – he swears he is doing his best to pay attention to what she is saying, but he’s lost the plot the moment she introduced a third school friend into the conversation.

“Byeollie,” Minho calls over his shoulder, stern but gentle, “don’t give Jisungie such a hard time.”

“I’m just telling him about all the fun things we can do, daddy!” She exclaims, tugging on Jisung’s hand animatedly. “Wonnie said they even have slides here!”

Minho rejoins them after everything goes through, handing Jisung his own pair of socks and backing Byeol up to the seats. She quickly kicks off her sneakers, pretty much ripping her own socks off her feet and making grabby hands at the ones Minho has in his hold. He only gives them to her after he is seated beside her, Jisung taking the opposite seat to change as well.

Jisung never really thought of himself as a kids’ guy, but endearment fills his heart to the brim as he watches Byeol put her socks on by herself.

Fuck, is he too far gone?

They put their shoes in a locker reserved for the group and then it’s free real estate for Byeol to cause mayhem.

The place is thankfully not packed with people – it’s not even the weekend, after all, so he figures it makes sense. That means most of the free roam room is free for them to use – a staff member reminds them to keep an eye on Byeol at all times and to stay close considering how young and small she still is, and Minho reassures them that won’t be a problem.

Byeol is the first to climb into one of the trampolines, her face splitting into a huge smile as she immediately starts jumping, her pigtails bouncing above her shoulders. Minho follows her closely behind, taking the same trampoline as her mostly for damage control. Jisung takes the one immediately to their right, not wanting to test his luck and add too much weight to the thing.

What both Minho and Jisung failed to consider, it seems, is how fit one has to be as an adult to play on these things for prolonged periods of time. Not that they are out of shape by any stretch of the imagination – god knows how much Jisung has drooled over and dreamed about Minho’s body, but their joints don’t seem to take lightly to the constant bouncing.

Minho is the first one to call it quits, dramatically lying down across the bed for a moment of respite as Byeol keeps on bouncing around him. Jisung figures he should do the same soon, considering how his knees and thighs are pretty much begging for him to stop, but he’s not ready to end his shenanigans just yet.

“Uncle Jisung, come over here!” Byeol beckons him over, jumping to a farther edge to give enough space for the three of them.

Honestly, what happens next is entirely Jisung’s fault.

His common sense tells him that, like a normal person, he should pause his bouncing in order to cross over to the other side. What Jisung does, however, is the opposite of that – the quick math he does in his brain tells him he can safely and successfully jump over Minho’s body and get to where he wants without a hitch.

That is not at all what happens.

The jump does seem successful at first, but the momentum is quickly gone. Jisung starts his descent before he is fully over Minho and he can’t help but look at the man with horror-filled eyes. Minho isn’t quick enough to react – Jisung’s foot gets caught on his knee and the way he falls face first on the trampoline is anything but gracious.

The loud huff that gets punched out of him when he collides borders on humiliating.

“Shit,” Minho curses as he scrambles to get into a sitting position, unaware that he’s done so in front of his young daughter. He’s kneeling next to Jisung in an instant, hands strong on his body as he forces Jisung to roll onto his back. “Are you alright?”

Jisung wants to say he’s fine, but the dull ache on his nose stops him from doing so. Minho’s face contorts with a frown, though Jisung thinks it isn’t one at someone who’s getting a nosebleed. He is probably safe for now.

“Oh no,” Byeol lets out, following her dad to kneel next to Jisung, placing her small hands on his cheeks. “Did you get the ouchies?”

That makes Jisung laugh even through the pain on his face. He places his own hands over Byeol’s, shaking his head firmly and offering her a small smile.

“I’m okay,” he reassures her. “No ouchies.”

“Are you sure?” Minho asks, taking one of his arms by the wrist and bringing it closer to him for inspection. He runs his fingers lightly over Jisung’s elbow, exposed where he’d pushed his sleeves up, and it’s only then that Jisung feels the sting of friction burn.

“Uncle,” Byeol’s voice wobbles, her eyes filling with worry. Jisung’s heart shrinks to the size of a raisin. “Don’t lie to Byeollie, you got the ouchies!”

He squeezes her hand still under his as he sits up, shaking his head again. “No, honey, I’m really okay! It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“I think that’s enough for now,” Minho says, holding onto Jisung’s free hand and helping him up.

Byeol doesn’t let go of the other one even as they get down from the trampoline. Minho doesn’t do the same, though he stays close enough that his shoulder brushes against Jisung’s every few steps as they walk to the food court.

Dinner comes as their best excuse for a sandwich as Minho vehemently ignores Byeol’s begging for burgers. It’s close enough, he thinks, and she will just have to deal with it.

Even as they eat and easily fall into conversation – Byeol’s topic of choice now being insects of all things – she doesn’t really forget about Jisung’s supposed injury. She occasionally feeds Jisung bits of her food with her hands like she’s forgotten Jisung can very clearly still use his own, pleased with herself every time he accepts a bite and swallows diligently.

“Here,” Byeol waddles back to him after rummaging through her small backpack, a single bandaid in hand. “For your booboo.”

She doesn’t let Jisung say that he is alright and not at all hurt. She rips the bandaid open, small hands carefully handling his not-actually-hurt elbow before placing the Doraemon bandage where his skin has gone red from the fall. She presses it gently against his skin, making sure it sticks, before leaning in to press a kiss over it.

“Now you will be all good!” she says with a confident nod, determination on her face.

Jisung feels like he could cry. Not because he’s hurt, but because of all of the care and worry that Minho and Byeol have shown toward him over something so small. He can’t remember the last time he felt so cared for, like he belongs; because that’s how they make him feel – like he belongs.

The realization that he wants to be a part of their family so badly hits him like a ton of bricks.

Jisung thinks he’s a few instances too late in realizing that not only had his feelings for Minho grown in the past weeks they’ve been getting to know each other, but his familial feelings for Minho’s daughter as well. He meant it when he said he didn’t mind spending time with her – she is a ball of love and sunshine and being with her brings Jisung as much joy as being with Minho does.

Jisung’s heart aches when he reaches for her face and lightly pinches her chubby cheek.

“Thank you, Byeollie,” he manages to let out through embarrassing cracks in his voice.

Sitting next to him, Minho places a hand on his thigh and squeezes it softly. When Jisung turns to look at him, he sees the same fondness mirrored in his eyes, and it makes him wonder if Minho feels the same. He wonders if Minho wants him to be a part of their family too, and wants this to be a regular thing between them – between the three of them, not just the two.

Jisung isn’t trying to get ahead of himself, and maybe that’s just his wishful thinking at the end of the day, but it hasn’t hurt to wonder thus far.

He wants to tell Minho how he feels but he doesn’t want to scare him off. Maybe it’s too soon for this – has Jisung caught feelings too fast? Is this a normal pace for things to be happening? He doesn’t know the answers to any of that, and he’s too afraid to ask.

For now, he will be content to bottle his feelings and put them on a shelf to be addressed at a later date.

Minho is driving Jisung home when his feelings bubble up in his stomach all over again.

The radio has been turned down for the sake of being able to hear whatever it is that Byeol is talking about – which is currently about a documentary about sharks she watched on Animal Planet the other day. Jisung has a stupid little smile on his lips, happy to indulge her in anything animal kingdom-related, and he doesn’t miss the side glances Minho steals every now and then.

Jisung thinks this must be what genuine happiness feels like.

Between one topic and another, Minho interrupts Byeol in her line of thought.

“Byeollie, can daddy ask you something?” His voice sounds careful and measured, and it makes something in Jisung’s chest stir.

In the backseat of the car, Byeol hums as if deep in thought, like she’s considering saying no to her father. Minho watches her closely through the rearview mirror, uneasiness marring his features.

Ultimately she nods, pigtails bouncing above her shoulders. “Of course, daddy.”

Minho seems to deeply consider the next words that come out of his mouth, and to say they stun Jisung to his very core would be the understatement of the year.

“If daddy were to really like someone, would you mind if I dated them?”

Jisung’s head snaps toward Minho so fast his neck hurts. He is sure his eyes are comically big as he stares at Minho, trying to read his mind and understand what the hell is going on and why he’s prompting such a question at his daughter now of all times.

But Jisung isn’t a mind reader, and all he’s left with is his heart racing in his chest and his face burning hot.

“Hm,” she hums, tapping her small forefinger on her chin. Jisung wonders if her parents have considered putting her in acting classes. “Like more than me?”

Some of the worry on Minho’s face melts away at the small smile he gives her through the mirror. “Never more than you, princess.”

Jisung’s heart punches him in the chest. He thinks he is going to be sick.

“Good,” she says with a definite nod. “I don’t mind, but Byeol is daddy’s number one girl!”

Minho rubs his hand on the steering wheel. Is he nervous?

Jisung sure is.

“Uhm,” Minho coughs awkwardly. “What if it’s not a girl?”

Jisung turns back around to face the road, mortification dripping cold in his blood. He didn’t even consider this as a conversation they—Minho would have to have with his daughter. Does she know what he means by that question? He isn’t sure the concept of queerness would have been easily approached, if at all, with a child so young considering the country they live in.

He almost asks Minho to stop the car so he can vomit. He can deal with rejection from all sides for all he cares, but he doesn’t think he would fare very well if it were to come from Byeol.

Byeol, however, is quick to put his worries to rest.

“Then that’s even better,” she states simply. “No competition to be daddy’s number one girl. Do you like boys too, daddy? Like mommy!”

The relieved sigh Minho lets out is unmistakable. “You could say that.”

“Okay,” she says, and that’s the end of it for her.

For Jisung, however, that’s not the end of it at all.

Minho drops him off at his building as planned, and that is fine and all, but before Jisung leaves the car and retires for the night, Minho pulls him back by the sleeve of his shirt and plants a kiss square on his cheek.

In front of his daughter.

Jisung doesn’t know if the fact that Byeol doesn’t seem to react to it at all makes it better or so much worse.

He takes a cold shower the minute he has crossed the threshold of his apartment, forcefully willing his body to cool down before he combusts with his thoughts.

Unwilling to be left alone with his spiraling thoughts for longer than strictly necessary, Jisung picks up his phone and blindly rings Hyunjin’s contact for a video call, praying that his best friend won’t be asleep already – or that he won’t be interrupting anything with Felix. He shudders at the thought.

The call connects on the third ring.

“What’s up, loser,” Hyunjin’s voice comes clipped due to poor connection, his video extremely pixelated while the call stabilizes. All Jisung can make out is Hyunjin’s white shirt, his pale neck, and a hand on his shoulder.

When the quality gets slightly better, Hyunjin adjusts the angle of his phone to show his face. It’s clear he’s in bed, hair a halo on his pillow, Felix’s face peeking at the right edge of the screen.

“Please don’t tell me you picked up mid-fuck,” Jisung groans, dread thick on his tongue.

It’s Felix who scoffs. “You think I’d let him?”

Jisung raises a brow at the two figures on the screen. “I wouldn’t put it past either of you.”

Both Hyunjin and Felix grin at that, but it’s Felix who answers, “and you’re so right about that.”

“No, we weren’t fucking just now,” Hyunjin continues, actually answering his question. “But if you’d called five minutes later we might’ve. Seriously, though, what’s up?”

“I need an opinion; Felix can give his five cents too if he wants, I guess.” On the screen, Felix scoots closer to Hyunjin, almost draping himself over his body. Hyunjin hums for him to continue. “So, I went out with Minho and Byeol, right—”

“Oh!” Felix immediately interrupts. “How did that go?”

“All of my joints hurt, but it was fun.” He moves his phone back and brings his not-actually-injured elbow into view, Doraemon bandaid still in place. “Byeol gave me a bandaid ‘for my booboo’ when I fell and I don’t have the heart to take it off. I’m not even hurt!”

Hyunjin seems stunned for a moment, likely realizing Jisung is in deep shit with his feelings.

“Wow, Sung,” Hyunjin wolf whistles. “You’re really… how do I even say this?”

“Emotionally attached,” Felix offers. “You seem very emotionally attached to her.”

Yeah, if even Felix can read him like an open book this easily, Jisung is sure there is no turning back now. Part of him doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s easy to see he’s grown attached to Minho’s daughter since day one. If things don’t work out between them, he’s not really sure how he’s going to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.

“That’s not all of it,” he continues, making no effort to deny the accusations. “Minho asked her on our way back if she’d be cool with him dating.”

Both of his friends gasp.

“Her only hang-up with it was that she didn’t want him to love another girl more than he loves her.”

Hyunjin readjusts his phone to show more of their faces. “Well, you’re not a girl…”

“I fucking know,” he stresses. “And I was like, looking at him, you know, trying to telepathically ask him like, hey, what the fuck are you doing right now? Are you crazy? But he just went – what if it’s not a girl?”

“Did he—” Felix stutters. “Did he come out to his daughter just like that?”

“I guess?!” Jisung can feel his nerves fraying at the edges. The more he thinks about it, the crazier it sounds. Who does that? “And you know what she said? That’s even better because then she won’t have any competition. Can you believe it? And then he kissed me in front of her!”

“Wow, okay, hang on,” Hyunjin backpedals. “What you want is our opinion on how crazy Minho is on a scale from one to ten? Because I’ll give him a solid seven.”

“No,” Jisung shakes his head. “I want your opinion on what the hell you think was going through his head because Byeol was in the car with us when he dropped me off and I couldn’t just ask.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin’s voice softens at the same time that Felix says, “well, isn’t that obvious?”

Jisung blinks at his screen. Is Felix about to be the voice of reason again?

“I think he’s making his intentions pretty clear, Sungie,” Felix continues. “He’s already allowing you to be part of his daughter’s life, to some extent, and now he’s asking her if she’s okay with him bringing a love interest of his into her life. He hasn’t spelled it out for either of you yet, but I think he doesn’t want her to be caught off-guard when things become… I don’t know, official?”

Jisung’s heart squeezes in his chest. If any of what Felix just said is true – and he has an inkling that it is – then it means that Minho has been having the same thoughts as Jisung for a while now. It means Minho wants them to be three, too, and it makes unwelcome tears well up in his eyes.

“Oh my god, are you crying?” Hyunjin asks, his voice soft.

“No,” he answers too quickly, but there is no mistaking the way he sniffles and tries to will his tears back into his tear ducts. “Fuck, I just like him a lot, okay? This isn’t fair.”

“Hey, that’s no reason for you to cry,” Felix says with a small smile. “From the looks of it, he really likes you too, Sung.”

“I know!” He stubbornly rubs his eyes. “I just, like… I don’t know if I deserve any of this.”

“Hey, no, what the fuck,” Hyunjin frowns. “Don’t start with this bullshit. Out of everyone I know, you deserve happiness in your life the most, Han Jisung, and I will not hear you say otherwise.”

“But—”

“You and I both know all the shit you’ve been through,” Hyunjin continues in his tirade, “especially with your family. I will not sit here and hear you say you don’t deserve this. You’re not even dating the guy yet but you fucking deserve to have a happy family of your own, okay? Shut up.”

Jisung can’t seem to push the knot in his throat down no matter how hard he tries. Hyunjin is right – it had taken him a lot of therapy to come to accept that he’s not a defect like his parents insisted he was, and that despite everything they put him through he still deserves to be happy at the end of the day.

But things are different now that happiness seems to be within reach. All Jisung wants is to stretch his fingers and touch it, but he is afraid that the bubble he’s built for himself in the past few weeks will burst in a split second. He’s afraid that if he gets too comfortable with it – with the feeling of being happy – all there will be left for him is emptiness and heartbreak if things eventually end.

He doesn’t realize there are tears overflowing in his eyes until Felix softly calls out for him, trying to get his attention.

“Sung,” he repeats until he’s sure he has Jisung’s attention. Jisung nods for him to go on, pressing the heel of his hand into his eyes to try and stop the tears again. “I don’t know what happened in your past, and you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, or at all, but— Hyunjin is right. I didn’t know you before we started working together, but you’re a great friend and a good person. Good people deserve to be happy.”

Jisung groans, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t mean for this to get so sappy, I’m sorry. I’m ruining your pre-coitus moment with this bullshit.”

Hyunjin laughs softly. “It’s like you don’t know me at all. We’ll get back to it without a hitch.”

“Gross,” Jisung says, pulling a face that is mostly only for show. God, he fucking loves his friends. “No, but seriously, thank you for the talk. And— and the advice.”

“Of course, Jisungie.” Hyunjin’s smile is sweet, Felix’s radiant next to him. “We’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Jisung hangs up the call first.

He slumps into bed, burrowing his head under his pillow, wishing it would suffocate him to death. Things had been fine until now – until Minho hinted that he might like Jisung back the way Jisung does, until he hinted that he wants Jisung to be part of his family just as much as Jisung wants to.

He’s not scared of commitment, so why does his heart feel like this now? Like it’s trying to shrink in his chest until it ceases existing, until Jisung is left an empty shell of himself.

He presses the pillow against his face and screams, hoping the noise will be muffled enough and not worry his neighbors. The last thing he needs right now is someone knocking on his door.

handsome boss minho 🐱

23:12

i want to take you on a date tomorrow night

a real date this time

Jisung’s face feels stuffed full of cotton.

handsome boss minho 🐱

23:13

what are you talking about!! we had a real date last time

at least in my books

but the answer is yes

what about byeol tho

she’s not staying with me for the weekend

haneul had an overnight shift at the hospital today, so i offered to keep byeol for the night

they are going to her parent’s hometown tomorrow

Jisung’s heart skips a beat or several.

handsome boss minho 🐱

23:19

okay mr. boss man, where are we going?

what’s the dress code?

don’t say tuxedo because there’s no time to dry-clean it

you can dress as usual, jisungie

you always look good

i see my plan to woo you with my good looks has been working ;)

…

i want to take you to dinner

somewhere nice and quiet

where we can talk

The beating of Jisung’s heart slows to an almost stop, his hands getting clammy.

handsome boss minho 🐱

23:22

there are some things i need to say

i think i owe you this after today

Okay, yeah, there is no denying that Minho wants to talk about whatever that was that he pulled with his daughter without talking to him first. This should be a good thing – if Minho is asking to take him on a second date, then this shouldn’t mean that he wants to call things off.

Jisung is both happy and extremely nervous at the same time.

It is well after two in the morning when he finally manages to fall asleep.

»

Jisung swears he tries to be normal about his attraction to Minho on regular days. Things just get very complicated when the man himself decides to show up to work looking different than he usually does.

He doesn’t want to think Minho is doing all this for him, mostly because his ego doesn’t need the extra massage at the moment, but he can’t argue against facts.

Fact one: Minho and Jisung are going on a date later that day.

Fact two: Minho usually shows up for work with a white button-down and a black tie. Simple but chic.

Fact three: Minho is standing across the room from them, talking to Changbin, wearing a black button-down and no tie; an unusual sight, as pointed out by every single one of his friends and Bang Chan.

Fact four: Minho’s forehead on display isn’t as unusual of a sight, but it still makes Jisung feel hot and bothered around the collar of his shirt.

“Damn,” Felix murmurs across the table from Jisung. “By the looks of it, he’s out to kill you tonight.”

“Please,” Jisung whispers, and it almost comes out as a pathetic whimper. “He can’t just melt all my worries away with his good looks like this. That should be illegal.”

“You’re horny,” Hyunjin whispers back, “and grossly infatuated. He doesn’t have to try that hard to do that.”

Again, Jisung can’t argue against facts.

It’s then that, seemingly finished with his conversation with Changbin, Minho turns in their direction and looks directly at him. They are all too stunned to react in time, which results in everyone bearing witness to the widest, brightest smile Minho sends Jisung’s way.

Jisung feels his cheeks blush hot pink, unable to stop his lips from outstretching into a smile of his own.

Honestly, Minho is just so fucking beautiful it’s unfair. Jisung thinks he’s completely right in his opinion – it should be illegal for Minho to make him feel the things he does.

The fact that even Changbin is stunned by the sudden display of—affection? Fondness? Is enough telling how out of the ordinary everything about Minho seems to be today. Not that Jisung minds – he really doesn’t. He really fucking loves it, even.

Minho retreats to his office shortly after, leaving the lot of them completely dumbfounded and Jisung’s heart beating so fast in his ribcage he can feel his bones breaking.

»

Jisung can feel the adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream, prickling at his skin.

Minho had kept his word of not taking him anywhere fancy this time – though he hadn’t exactly done that the time before, either. Jisung’s real problem lies within his brain and the nervousness he felt when he saw Minho all dressed up for the day, making him feel improperly dressed for whatever was to come at night.

But now that they are here – now that Minho is sitting across from him in this quiet little restaurant, a hole on the wall of sorts, Jisung feels like he can put his heart at ease.

“I usually come here when I need some time away to think,” Minho explains, pouring beer into Jisung’s glass and then just a little bit for himself.

“Do you come here often?” It’s a less invasive question, Jisung thinks. He takes his glass of beer in his hands.

Minho gives him a lopsided smile. “Lately more than usual.”

He hums in acknowledgment. Minho raises his glass and knocks it against Jisung’s, and they both take a sip of the beverage.

There is a lot that Jisung wants to ask, a lot he wants to talk about, and a lot he wants to know. More than anything, he wants to tell Minho how he feels – be honest with his feelings for once because it’s the least Minho deserves from him, but he can’t push past the butterflies in his stomach and do any of that.

The night before, Minho had told him there were things he wanted to say, and Jisung hasn’t stopped thinking about it for a second since. He wants to be hopeful; he doesn’t think he’s been reading Minho’s hints wrong, but chances are never zero. He would rather not put his foot in his mouth and end up saying the wrong thing and scaring him away.

So, he waits until Minho is ready to talk.

“I think I should start by apologizing for what I did yesterday,” Minho says after a while, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on his glass. “But I honestly don’t even know where to begin.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Jisung’s voice is soft, and he means it when he says it. “But I’d love some explanation, I’m not going to lie.”

“Before I talked to Byeol about it, I should’ve talked to you first,” Minho continues, “about the way I feel. I know, and I feel sorry about that. I can’t change the past, and I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you if I made you feel uncomfortable, but—”

Minho exhales heavily, tightening his grip on his glass.

“I like you, Han Jisung,” Minho says, slow and measured. Jisung’s heart stops beating in his chest. “For the longest time, I thought it was wrong of me to have a crush on you, considering I am your boss and all that, so I never acted on it. I thought it would fade and things would go back to the way they were before. Sometimes, even now, I catch myself thinking if this is right, but you’ve told me time and time again that you’re okay with this and I want to take your word for it.”

Jisung’s tongue feels like it’s glued to his palate. He wants to tell Minho that he is right – that he is more than okay with this, with being with him, but all he can do is nod. Minho gives him a small smile, and Jisung feels himself falling even harder for him.

“Since day one, when you first came to the agency to have your interview with me, there was something about you that had me intrigued.”

Minho puts his glass down and folds his hands over the table. He is looking at Jisung in the eyes now, and Jisung wants to cower, intimidated, but he holds his ground. He needs Minho to know that he is listening – though he honestly feels like he could throw up.

“That’s not the reason why you were hired, though. Bang Chan would never let me do that. I just want to make it clear that you were hired because of your skills and your portfolio, and because you’re just straight-up good.”

Jisung feels himself blush at the sudden praise. He takes another sip of his beer to wash down his nerves.

“You’re weird, you know,” Minho continues, and before Jisung has the chance to feel offended, he adds, “and I really like that. I’ve heard my entire life that I’m weird, so it feels good to have found someone to match up with me. There is still a lot that I don’t know about you, and I know I haven’t been able to fully let my guard down still, but I can only hope that my intent is clear.”

“I’m not as dense as people think I am,” he continues. “I know you like me too, Jisung, which is why we’re here today. I want to make it clear that the feeling is mutual, and we can be something more if you want.”

Feeling his hands shake, Jisung quickly brings them down to his lap to hide them, hoping that Minho hasn’t already noticed. His heart is slowly starting to beat at a normal pace again. This is a lot to unpack and address, and he doesn’t know where to begin either.

He decides to start with what’s at the forefront of his brain.

“I really like you, and it makes me terrified,” Jisung says, watching Minho’s face closely. Minho’s brows draw in a light furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt him. “I wasn’t before, you know. Before— before I met your daughter. I hope this doesn’t sound weird, it’s just that…”

Jisung swallows thickly, throat going dry. Is this the moment where he overshares about his past and hopes that it won’t mess with what they have now? His hands shake in his lap.

“Shit, okay,” he takes a deep, grounding breath. “So, like, I don’t have the best relationship with my family. Haven’t really talked to them since my— since my early twenties. When I…”

Shit. This was supposed to be easier. He’s been through this enough times that it shouldn’t be so hard to speak about it. But this is Minho in front of him, and of course things are different with Minho.

“They act like I’m dead and I… deal with it. Most days.” There is concern in Minho’s eyes, but he lets Jisung speak. Jisung doesn’t know which words he should be saying, so he decides to let his brain run with it. “Well, what I’m trying to say is that my brain keeps telling me I’m undeserving of this.”

Minho’s fingers tighten around his glass and something akin to pity crosses in his eyes. Jisung thinks he hates it.

“That’s not true,” Minho’s voice is a near-whisper. “That’s not—”

“I know,” he says with a light shake of his head. “It’s just… it’s just in my head, I know. How do I say this…”

“It’s okay,” Minho flattens his hands on the table, “take your time.”

Jisung’s heart tightens just a little bit more. “I’m getting ahead of myself here, but I’m just— scared, I guess, of having a happy family again and then having it ripped away from me. Again.”

“Don’t think about that,” Minho offers his palm for Jisung to take. He hesitates, the shaking of his hands still there, but he decides to take it. His hand is soft and warm and a bit moist from the condensation of his glass when he rubs his thumb on the back of Jisung’s hand. “I can’t promise you things will be better, but I can try. We can try.”

He’s not going to cry. Not in this restaurant, not in front of Minho, not because of this.

He swallows his emotions and gives Minho a quick nod and a tight-lipped smile. Minho squeezes his hand and Jisung finds comfort in it – in having Minho here, with him, reassuring him that things can be alright.

He will try his best to believe it.

They are sitting in Minho’s car and Jisung can almost taste the charged air around them. Right now, one of two things will happen – one, Minho will take him home like he’s done so many times before. Two—

Minho twists in his seat and brings a hand to cup Jisung’s jaw. Jisung holds his breath – now Minho is so close he can see every expression line on his face, could count his lashes if he had the brain and the time, can see just how fucking gorgeous he is. Jisung’s blood is fire and his heart is a racing horse in his chest, beating so fast he’s afraid it will beat itself out of his chest.

This time, Minho doesn’t ask. He tilts his head at an angle and leans in, and Jisung’s eyes flutter shut before their lips connect. This time, it isn’t sweet; there is want and need in the way Minho moves his lips against Jisung’s, in the way he takes his lower lip between his teeth, the way his hand is gentle but his mouth isn’t.

It makes Jisung’s head spin. He could be embarrassed at how hard he’s breathing, but it doesn’t really matter. Minho bites down on his lip and what escapes his throat is an aborted moan, surprise making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end while his body melts into Minho’s touch. It’s the brief parting of his lips that gives Minho full access to his mouth, and when he slips his tongue into it, Jisung feels like he’s being pulled underwater.

It’s a lot for him to process at once – Minho’s light taste of beer, the fingertips pressing at the base of his skull and pulling him closer, Minho’s free hand lowering his seat so Jisung is pretty much lying down below him. Jisung gasps at the sudden change of position, hands grasping at Minho’s shoulder because it feels like he’s falling, and Minho giggles at him, his smile radiant through the thick layer of need he wears.

But it’s better like this. Like this, Minho can climb into Jisung’s seat, sturdy body hovering over him and making Jisung feel so, so small. Jisung loves it – the way Minho’s eyes darken when he looks down at him, the way his pouty lips part as he dives in again and licks his way into his mouth, nearly down his throat.

Jisung’s hands itch to explore, to travel down Minho’s body and feel every curve of his muscles, but he keeps them steady on his shoulders, balling the fabric of his shirt the deeper Minho kisses him.

Minho is a fantastic kisser, of course he is. Jisung doesn’t think there is one thing the man above him would be even remotely mediocre at, and that thought alone sends sparks down his spine and settles on his crotch.

“Jisung,” Minho whispers against his lips, voice hoarse, and Jisung embarrassingly whines in response. “I want to take you home.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can, breathing hard through his nose as he tries to calm himself down. He knows what Minho is saying, but a tiny voice in his brain still tells him it’s not what he thinks it is, that Minho wants to drop him off at his place and end the night.

The idea of not having him right now is outrageous. He wants Minho more than he’s ever wanted anything in life; right now Jisung feels like a petulant child being denied candy. It can’t be.

“To my place,” Minho clarifies when Jisung takes too long to answer, rubbing his nose against Jisung’s, lips dragging over the swell of his cheek. “To my place, Jisungie. Do you want to?”

Okay, yeah, fuck, Jisung is going to melt into the leather seat of Minho’s car.

“Please,” he mumbles, not yet daring to open his eyes again. He flattens his hands on the balls of Minho’s shoulders, runs them up his trapezium, and settles them on his neck. Under his fingers, Jisung can feel the veins on Minho’s neck bulging under his skin. It drives him insane. “Let’s.”

He only opens his eyes again when he hears the buckling of Minho’s seatbelt. He can feel his face burning up, his fingertips buzzing where they now rest on top of his thighs. He chances a glance at Minho and is relieved to find him flushed as well, lips slightly swollen from kissing, shiny with a layer of Jisung’s spit.

Jisung feels pride swell in his chest and his cock swell in his pants when he daringly glances at Minho’s lap and finds him sporting a semi as well.

This is, admittedly, the longest car ride of his life. Minho puts the radio on so loud he can barely hear his own thoughts – and maybe that’s Minho’s strategy all along, just so he can drive them to the safety of his apartment building without distractions.

At least that’s what Jisung chooses to believe.

The problem is that Jisung’s worst enemy is his own head, and even through the loud music, he can’t stop the meat and electricity soup that is his brain from conjuring up extremely vivid images of what’s to come. Jisung’s skin burns around the collar of his shirt as he pictures Minho on top of him again, caging him in and kissing him stupid, kissing him until he can’t breathe.

He pictures Minho’s hands on him, but now not on his jaw or the back of his head – he thinks of Minho unbuttoning his shirt, unbuckling his belt, and he’s never felt so glad to be sitting down in a dark car and that Minho can’t look at him right now. His cock twitches against the zipper of his jeans, and he meekly tries to reposition himself in the leather seat so he can adjust the growing problem in his pants.

Minho is going to be the death of him, that much he is sure of.

The ride up the elevator is torture, and Jisung only keeps his composure for the sake of there being cameras pointed at them even as they walk up to Minho’s front door. He would feel some shame, honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that he can see Minho’s fingers slightly tremble as he punches on his passcode before the door beeps open for them.

And while all Jisung wants to do is jump Minho the moment they are inside, Dori comes running to the door within seconds of it being open, his meowing almost sounding like howling. He rubs against Minho’s shins, meowing louder as if complaining that he’s gotten home later than usual.

“Shit,” Minho curses under his breath, looking at Jisung apologetically. “Can you, just… give me a moment.”

Jisung wants to say no simply because this is the moment he has been daydreaming of for the good part of the past year, but he can’t stop his lips from stretching into a fond smile when Dori redirects his affectionate rubbing to his own shins.

“Sure,” he says, and is caught off guard when Minho leans into him and presses a quick peck to his lips.

As Minho makes his way into the kitchen area, Dori quickly trails after him, still meowing and very clearly begging for food. Jisung hates to admit that the domesticity of it all – of watching Minho softly scold his cat while going through the cabinets and then pouring food into his bowl – does things to his heart, but he has long learned to accept that this is who he is now.

Resting his hip against the kitchen island, he lets his eyes roam over the room, taking in every bit of the space and committing it to memory. Minho’s house is more of a home than Jisung’s has ever been – there are new pictures framed on the counter, fresh fruit in his fruit bowl, bits and pieces of his daily life scattered here and there. Dori’s bowls of food and water, a few toys across the floor, Jisung’s handmade ceramic bowl for Byeol on display next to Minho’s on one of the shelves.

Jisung has to do a double-take to check if he’s seeing it correctly.

Sure enough, that is the bowl he’d made for Byeol on their first date, proudly displayed as a piece of art instead of something to be used, on a wooden support and all. And while Minho has told him how he feels, that he wants Jisung to be with him, this is different.

This is Minho displaying a piece of Jisung in his home. Out in the open, for anyone to see.

Minho has taken him on dates, held his hand, kissed him, and aroused him, but this is what breaks him the hardest. Jisung can feel his cheeks warming up to the heat of a thousand suns, hands getting clammy as he presses them into the fabric of his pants.

He’s so stunned – and a little bit shocked – at it all that he doesn’t notice Minho approaching him from behind, strong hands gripping him by the hips and pulling him back, pressing Jisung into his sturdy body. The contact has a near-immediate effect on making him relax, but Jisung can’t ignore the rapid beating of his heart, especially not when Minho presses his lips to the back of his neck.

“Mm,” Minho hums, sounding a bit too pleased, and the noise settles warmly in Jisung’s guts. “You’re so warm.”

“I, uhh,” he says unintelligently, feeling frozen in place.

“Hm?” Minho drags his lips up his nape and to the shell of his ear, raising goosebumps on his skin. “What is it, Jisungie?”

One of the hands holding him by the hips travels up his torso and Jisung’s words die as they form in his throat. He is sure Minho can feel the thrumming of his heart under his fingertips, which only beats faster the further up he goes. Minho grazes over his neck and Jisung swallows thickly when he pauses, as though considering if he should – Jisung wishes he would.

But he doesn’t.

Minho keeps going up until his fingers close around his chin and he tilts Jisung’s head to the side. He’s so close – Jisung can feel Minho’s soft breath fanning his lips, can smell his cologne, can perfectly see the sharp slope of his nose and the angled shape of his cupid’s bow. Exhilaration washes over him when he realizes he can just lean in and kiss him.

So he does. He closes the gap between them and his heart beats just a tad bit faster when Minho’s lips move against his almost immediately, still holding him firmly by the chin. Jisung can feel his brain turning to mush as they kiss, as he brings Minho’s lip between his teeth and it pulls a groan out of him.

It fills Jisung with pride, makes him feel a little cheeky as he twists in Minho’s hold until they are chest to chest, hip to hip, Minho’s hand now resting on the slope of his ass. It’s Jisung who deepens the kiss, who slips his tongue past the seam of his lips and licks into his mouth, who hooks an ankle around Minho’s calf and presses their crotches together.

And then it’s Minho who’s cursing into Jisung’s mouth and pulling him impossibly closer, pushing him back and caging him in against the island. The counter digs uncomfortably into Jisung’s lower back but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Minho is almost soft growling against his lips, kissing him so hard and bending him back until he’s almost laying on the countertop.

Jisung could do this forever – nip on Minho’s lip, taste him on his tongue, bury his fingers in his hair and pull him so close they could fuse into one. And it’s even better now that he can feel Minho’s cock pressing against his hip, half-hard and warm even through the fabric of his pants. Jisung grinds into him and what he gets in response is Minho breaking the kiss to pant hard, the hand on his ass moving back to grip him by the hip so hard it could probably bruise.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Minho murmurs—growls against his mouth, trailing his lips to his cheek, his jaw, his neck. His tongue is warm when he runs it up along the vein on his neck, his lips soft when he kisses over his pulse point, his teeth sharp when he sinks them into the skin. It pulls a soft moan out of him. “So good for me, Jisungie.”

He's sure Minho can feel the way his cock twitches in his pants. And then Minho’s hands fall on the collar of his shirt, deft fingers working on undoing the first three buttons as he kisses his way down the column of his neck and licks over the dips of his collarbones.

“Minho,” Jisung whispers, voice fraying around the edges, twisting his hair in his hold to pull him off for a second. Minho looks quizzically at him, a blush spreading over his cheeks, bleeding up to the tips of his ears. God, his lips are so red all Jisung wants to do is kiss him again. “Not—not in front of your cat.”

The way Minho bursts out laughing is so genuine Jisung can’t help but giggle as well, his heart fluttering in his chest. It’s not exactly what he wanted to say, but he figures it’s a safer way to say take me to your bedroom, please without sounding so desperate. Minho’s eyes wrinkle when he laughs, and when they both look down Dori is indeed sitting right by their feet, staring at them with judging eyes.

“Sure,” Minho says between giggles, seemingly composing himself for a moment. He slips a hand into Jisung’s, entwining their fingers and tugging him off the kitchen island. “Come on, then.”

Jisung tries not to think of how Minho’s bedroom is uncharted territory for him in his apartment. Not that he’s counting, or that it matters, but something about the fact makes his blood simmer under his skin. Minho leads him to the end of the hallway by the hand, to the door that must be his bedroom because it definitely isn’t Byeol’s, and Jisung might be a little too excited for this.

The older quickly pulls him into the room and closes the door with a soft click behind them, and he belatedly realizes it probably isn’t because he is just as excited as Jisung feels but because he doesn’t want Dori to follow them inside.

And then Minho is caging him against the door, towering over him, and his smile is completely breathtaking. As he turns the light on to a low, dimmed glow, Jisung can see that though there is still hunger in his eyes they are softer now, a little subdued; Jisung doesn’t stop himself from grabbing him by the back of his neck and leaning in to kiss his waiting lips.

As Minho leans in to press him further against the door, Jisung wraps his fingers around his wrist and presses Minho’s palm against his crotch, where his cock grows impossibly harder in his pants. His palm is warm as he runs it down the outline of his cock, grip firm as he feels out the shape, as he slides down, down until he’s cupping Jisung’s balls through his pants.

Jisung’s moan is broken and breathless, head hitting the wooden door with a loud thud when he throws it back. His eyes involuntarily slip shut as he allows himself to feel it all, as Minho rubs him firm yet gently, bringing him to full hardness with just a few strokes of his hand.

“Shit,” Minho breathes, his words fanning against Jisung’s lips. “Okay, let’s—let’s—”

He pulls Jisung by the belt loop of his pants, tugging him forward and off the door. Jisung’s eyes snap open at the sudden movement, face warm and flush high on his cheeks. He holds onto Minho’s wrist and Minho lets go of his pants in order to guide him further into the room, towards his bed.

Jisung’s heart beats erratically in his chest.

He gently pushes Jisung back until the back of his knees hit the mattress, until he’s falling back and looking up at him with hazy eyes. They haven’t even done anything yet and Jisung already thinks Minho looks like a fever dream – hair disheveled from having his fingers twist on the locks, lips shiny and red from being kissed, dick tenting in his pants from—well, that’s self-explanatory.

“Wait here,” Minho says, hooking his forefinger under Jisung’s chin and running the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. Jisung can’t resist letting his lips fall open, tongue rolling over the digit. Gently, tempting. He can see desire cross Minho’s eyes. Softly, he says, “I’ll get us—stuff.”

Jisung nods, kissing the pad of his finger before he pulls away, ears burning red.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Minho adds and then he’s retreating for the en suite.

The butterflies in his stomach make exhilaration run through his veins. He can hear Minho going through his things in his cabinets, the door left open making Jisung’s imagination run wild. For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do.

Should he undress? Is that what Minho meant by making himself comfortable? But then if he does, he’ll miss on the chance of having Minho do that for him instead. He wants Minho’s hands on his body, wants to see what he looks like as he sheds Jisung of every one of his layers. And he wants to do the same with Minho, too.

He settles on moving further up the bed, towards the headboard, tucking his feet under his body as he sits cross-legged. Minho’s bed is fucking huge, a king-size no less, and it makes Jisung feel smaller than he usually does.

It makes him wonder if Minho ever feels lonely to lay in such a big bed all by himself.

Impatient and nervous as he hears Minho run the tap in the bathroom, Jisung decides to busy his fingers with undoing the buttons of his shirt. He’s not taking it off – he still wants Minho to be the one to do it, but he figures he might as well give him something nice to look at when he comes back. He knows he has a nice body, and he sure hopes this is going to work.

Minho comes back into the room with his own button-down open and without a belt, a tube of lube and a strip of condoms in his hands. Jisung swears he tries not to stare, but it’s nearly impossible not to when Minho has the nicest fucking body known to man and Jisung is more than just a little gay.

He can perfectly make out the defining lines of his abs even under the shadow his shirt casts on his skin, a nice six-pack that Jisung wants nothing more than to run his tongue over, press his fingers against, maybe mark him up and call him his.

Honestly, he is usually more composed than this, but right now Minho makes him salivate.

“Oh wow,” he mumbles without so much as realizing, lips slightly open in awe. Seriously, how is he real? “Wow.”

Minho’s mouth twitches into a smirk as he settles the items in his hold on the bedside table closest to him, a little cocky.

“Like what you see?” he asks, and he sounds so smug Jisung knows he doesn’t have to answer that question for him to know that yes, yes he fucking does. He climbs into the bed, crawls over to where Jisung is sitting, and cages his lap with his knees, his hands gentle when he cradles Jisung’s face. “I should be the one saying that.”

“Sure,” Jisung says and he almost laughs. He leans into Minho’s touch. “At least you know how hot you are,” he mumbles.

“And you’re not?” Minho asks with a raise of his brow, running a thumb over his cheek, tender. “C’mon now, Jisung.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jisung isn’t trying to be defensive, but he almost sounds like it. He raises his hands to Minho’s hips, dying to reach further up but afraid to do so. “You’re just… you.”

“You can touch me,” Minho whispers and leans in to kiss him.

Jisung doesn’t need to be told twice.

Guided by the gliding of Minho’s lips against his, Jisung allows his hand to slide further up Minho’s body. He starts by the strong lines of his pelvis that disappear into his pants and frame his hipbones, muscles firm under his touch. He goes further up, up the expanse between the waistband of his clothes and his navel, feeling the way Minho’s body reacts under him, the way his muscles move at the most featherlike of touches.

Jisung wishes he could see the way he moves, but with Minho kissing him so nicely he figures just feeling it will be enough for now.

The ridges of Minho’s abs under his fingers feel better than Jisung could have ever conjured up in his wildest fantasies – honestly, he expected Minho to be hot under his work clothes, but this is something else entirely.

Minho breaks the kiss and gently pushes him back by the shoulders, pushing him into a lying position. Jisung wishes he could see how they look right now – with Jisung in his bed and Minho hovering over him.

He looks gorgeous from this angle (though Jisung is biased and thinks he looks gorgeous from all angles), with his hair falling over his face and a glint in his eyes, the hint of a smile on the corners of his lips. Jisung wants to kiss him again so badly but Minho beats him to it – he goes for his neck this time, softly nibbling on the skin as he traces the same path he’d kissed earlier, this time without Jisung’s shirt on the way.

The rise and fall of Jisung’s chest quicken the further Minho goes down his body – down to his collarbones again, then over his sternum, a bit to the left until he’s pressing his lips to Jisung’s rebel heart. There is no way Minho doesn’t feel how fast it beats, but at this point, none of it matters.

What matters is the way Minho runs his hands over the edges of his open shirt and pushes it off his chest, exposing him even further. Jisung feels goosebumps rise on his skin, a choked gasp escaping his lips when Minho mouths at a nipple – the ghost of a kiss, barely there, but it still makes Jisung’s back arch off the bed.

“F-fuck,” he stutters, fisting the sheets. Minho chuckles against him, breath warm on his skin, and it makes electricity zip down his spine.

It is then that Jisung seems to remember that playing with himself is nothing compared to having someone else do it instead – when Minho flicks the tip of his tongue over the bud of his nipple and it makes him moan far too loud for such little stimulation.

He is mortified with himself, hand flying to clasp over his mouth to muffle the string of obscenities that rolls off his tongue as Minho rolls the other one between his thumb and forefinger.

Shit.

It’s not like he’s a fucking virgin to be acting this way, but it certainly has been long enough since he last bed someone else.

Minho runs his tongue flat on his nipple, circles the muscle around it again before taking it between his teeth, pulling a hiss and a low, pleased cry from Jisung as he gently tugs on it. It’s both rough and soft and it makes Jisung’s head spin, makes his cock get impossibly hard in his pants and twitch with every tease of Minho’s touch on his chest.

“Come on, baby,” Minho mumbles against his sternum as he moves to mouth at the other nipple once he deems the previous one red and swollen enough, the hand that isn’t toying with him grabbing him by the wrist and forcing his hand off his mouth. When he looks up at Jisung, all Jisung can see is lust in his eyes. “Let me hear what pretty noises you make for me.”

Jisung’s face burns from embarrassment, and as much as he doesn’t want to be loud and whiny when Minho latches onto his other nipple, he can’t deny the man of what he wants.

He’s honestly not even trying – his vocal cords work against his will in producing the whiniest moans he can muster as Minho kisses him where he’s sensitive, as he tugs and licks and rubs and Jisung’s toes curl into the mattress, hands balled into fists.

“Minho,” he whines, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain, but it hurts so good he doesn’t want him to stop. So, instead, he begs for more. “Please, I—I need—”

Minho seems to know what he wants before he even gets to finish the sentence.

He lets off his nipples, hands then framing his ribcage as he moves his mouth back to his sternum, making his way down his abs. He kisses every bit of skin he can – open-mouthed kisses that light fire on his body, leaving him sticky with saliva with every glide of Minho’s tongue on him.

He breathes heavily, and he fucking loves it.

Minho stops shy of his navel, tongue gliding over the slope of his slightly defined abs, breath hot on his skin, and Jisung swears he sees just a little glimpse of heaven when he feels Minho’s fingers tease around the waistband of his pants.

Anticipation rocks through his body, Jisung feeling like he’s vibrating out of his skin as Minho kisses lower and dips his tongue into his navel.

Jisung never really forgets how sensitive he can be in his general stomach area thanks to Hyunjin always poking his fingers at him just to make him squirm and shriek, and right now it is no different.

Though he doesn’t shriek, a little distressed giggle is pulled out of his mouth as Minho devotes himself to kissing his stomach, his body involuntarily squirming under Minho’s weight. Minho doesn’t let up – only grips him by the hips a little harder, holding him in place as he keeps trailing his way down, down, until his chin bumps against his pants and he feels the need to move back up again.

Jisung’s hands find home in Minho’s hair, tugging hard with every glide of his tongue over his skin, every trail of kisses, but not hard enough that it would hurt or pull him off him.

“So pretty,” Minho murmurs against him almost like he’s talking to himself, and Jisung would have completely missed it if he didn’t feel so attuned to Minho this very second. “So pretty, Jisungie.”

Jisung doesn’t know if it’s the kissing or the nickname or his fingers dancing around the band of his clothes that pulls the pathetic whimper he lets out off him, but he’s too late to register it to even try to stop it from happening. He wants more, more, more, and Minho is too slow to give it to him.

He makes the wait worth it, though.

Even when Jisung thinks his pants will finally come undone, when he thinks Minho will get his hand on his cock again only to be met with utter frustration, Minho makes it fucking worth it. He moves his hands further down his hips, until his fingers are almost slipping under his body and cupping his ass, and Jisung all but spreads his legs further open for him, accommodating his wide shoulders between his legs without even thinking.

And instead of undoing his pants like Jisung so wants him to, Minho dips down and mouths over his clothed cock. Jisung’s moan is guttural, fingers tightening on his hair in a vice grip that he knows must hurt this time, but he can’t help it. Minho’s mouth is warm even through the layers of his clothes, dampens his length as it pulses under his lips, and Jisung can’t tear his fucking eyes away.

He's glad that he doesn’t, because Minho decides to look up at him the moment he moans over his cock, low and muffled and so sexy Jisung can feel pre-cum dribble out of his slit, wetting his underwear. Shit, yeah, Jisung didn’t think Minho could look any hotter but he was so, so wrong.

He’s sinful and gentle and infuriating all at once and Jisung is rendered speechless, his mouth refusing to cooperate when he tries to voice his thoughts, only letting out soft gasps and mewls when Minho moves his mouth further down. His dick hurts when it throbs at Minho’s boldness – he presses his nose into his crotch, and even through the layers he can feel Minho breathing him in, like he’s indulging an intrusive thought without so much as hesitation.

And, yeah, yeah, Jisung’s getting embarrassingly wet embarrassingly fast, and it’s not because Minho’s saliva soaks through his pants. When Jisung grinds against his face, just once, it’s on reflex and desire alone, and Minho doesn’t stop him.

“Please,” he nearly sobs, voice breaking on the last syllable, unable to ask more than just that – please, please, please.

Minho curses under his breath, mouth still on his cock, but his fingers now trace back to the button of his pants and pop it open without so much as looking at it. Jisung doesn’t know why he finds it so hot but he does – his head swims with want and need and just so much of everything when Minho’s nails graze his skin as he curls his fingers into his underwear to tug it down.

He has half a mind to lift his hips to help with the task, a full-body shiver coursing through him when the articles are only pulled down past the curve of his ass and no further than that. It’s tortuous but Minho is kind with the kiss he presses to his hipbone, slow and patient when Jisung wants to be anything but.

Fuck him for being so eager. His blood thrums in his veins, cock drooling where it rests against his hip, begging to be touched. He almost reaches down to do it himself, needing even just the fleeting relief of having his own fingers wrapped around himself, but Minho leaves no room for it.

There’s hunger in Minho’s eyes when he moves further down again and properly looks at his cock, and Jisung just has to hold his breath. Though this has happened a million times in his head and the fantasies he’s created during his long crushing period, this is different.

This is the first time Minho is seeing him like this, seeing him for real and not just in his imagination, and Jisung is fucking nervous.

“Fuck,” Minho’s voice thins, not as composed as he seems to be. His thumbs rub soothingly at his hips, and Jisung mentally begs for him to go lower.

Minho’s either a mind reader or just really tired of waiting too – logic says it’s the latter, but Jisung’s muddied brain sticks to the former. He does move his hands down until both encircle the base of his cock, giving him a few experimental flicks of his wrists. Jisung moans low in his throat, the physical effort that goes into restraining himself making sweat bead at his hairline and pre-cum bead at his cock.

It's so little and so much at the same time. Minho dips and runs the flat of his tongue up his length, lapping at the stickiness that drools down the shaft. Jisung swears he sees stars.

He can’t believe he gets to witness this in real life, in real fucking time – the way Minho’s lashes flutter as he goes half-lidded, the way his nostrils flare just a little as he breathes a little harder when he presses his lips to his tip and kisses him so, so sweetly. It’s sinful, it’s gorgeous, and Jisung grows greedy.

He runs his fingers through Minho’s hair a tad too tender and the man nearly purrs over him, leaning into the touch with the corners of his mouth curling into a half-smile. It almost feels like the lower half of his body is being set ablaze when Minho swirls his tongue around his cockhead just before wrapping his lips around it. Jisung can feel all of his muscles contracting, the wet heat of Minho’s mouth on him so good it makes him feel delirious.

And Minho is just getting started.

He focuses most of his attention on the head for a while, suckling and licking and kissing like that’s all he ever wants to do, where he ever wants to be. He laps at every bead of pre-cum that leaks off him and it drives Jisung a little crazy – Minho isn’t even looking at him anymore yet Jisung can’t pry his eyes away from the way his cockhead disappears past the ring of his lips, the way he leaves his skin glistening with spit.

He lets his hand be added weight to the back of Minho’s head – not pressuring him to take him any deeper, just feeling every movement of his head. Minho hums around him and takes a deep breath; Jisung is still buzzing from the vibrations around his cock when he takes him deeper, flattening his tongue and letting his cock slide into his mouth until his cockhead hits the back of his throat.

“Shit,” Jisung curses around a loud moan, fingers curling and nails digging into Minho’s scalp. It’s hard not to grab a fistful of his hair and shove him down at once. “Shit, shit, Min—”

Minho hums again, swallowing around him as he unhinges his jaw even further. Jisung doesn’t know how much more of this he can take – there is a familiar tightening in his pelvis, a tingling to his fingertips that he can’t ignore, and he’s sure Minho can feel every throb and twitch of his cock against his tongue not to know that he is incredibly turned on.

He really does try his best to stave off his orgasm, but there is only so much clenching of his thighs that he can do to make it work with Minho’s pretty lips still wrapped around him, the tightness of his throat as he takes him deeper making it impossible for him to keep it cool and collected. There is little he can do about the noises that escape his mouth, too, embarrassing little whines that only seem to spur Minho even further.

“Jesus,” he breathes, and it’s absolute blasphemy. Minho keeps going down until the tip of his nose brushes against his trimmed pubes, and both the sight and the feeling make his eyes roll to the back of his head. His words are broken moans. “F—fuck, fuck yeah, oh m—”

Minho pulls all the way back, his dick slipping off his mouth entirely. Jisung’s brows are pinching into a furrow when he looks back down at him – only to be greeted with Minho’s flushed cheeks as he pants, a little breathless, strings of spit connecting his lips so his cock, coating his chin. There is a hint of a smile in his eyes when he looks back at Jisung, but it quickly turns to something else when he leans in and fits his open lips along his length.

“You taste so good, Jisungie,” Minho’s voice is hoarse and ridiculously sexy. He curls his tongue around his length, runs his lips down to the base and back up to the tip to press a kiss where he leaks. “I could make you come just like this, couldn’t I?”

“Mhfm—” the tightening on his ballsack cuts him off before he can even think of words, his fingers tightening even further on Minho’s hair. Minho hisses at the pain. “Could— you could—”

Minho chuckles, and the air it blows against his cock makes Jisung squirm.

“M’not gonna,” he says, giving one last kiss to his leaking tip and then pushing completely off, rising to his knees.

Jisung almost wants to whine in frustration, his cock beading out even more pre-cum at being teased, but he is once again rewarded with Minho’s fucking kindness when the man grabs at his pants and starts tugging it down his legs along with his boxers. He lifts himself as best as he can to help him with the process, sighing in relief once his legs are finally free of the suffocating garment.

“God,” Minho breathes once Jisung is stripped down, discarding his clothes somewhere near the foot of the bed and kneeling between his open legs. Jisung can feel his entire body flush, skin scorching hot. “Look at you.”

Jisung’s muscles tense, pre-cum dribbling from his slit and wetting his hip, adding to the mess of saliva that Minho has left on his cock. There is only so much he can take before he really loses it – though his hand itches to reach down and stroke himself to chase relief, he instead pushes off the mattress and kneels towards Minho.

“This isn’t fair,” Jisung pretty much whines, his open shirt slipping off his shoulders and arms, pooling behind him on the bed. Minho looks at him with amusement all over his face, masked over the thick layer of lust. He slips his hands over Minho’s shoulders, under his shirt. “I want to see you too.”

And Minho is silent for the most part, humming as he lets him run his hands down the expanse of his back, dragging his shirt down with it the farther he goes.

Honestly, Minho is beautiful and Jisung will never tire of saying it.

It goes from the way he looks at him to the way the light shines on every defined curve of his body, every line of defined muscle as his top slips off and his torso is left bare for Jisung to see. He wants to touch so bad, he simply allows himself to – to run his fingers back up his muscular back, over his defined shoulders and biceps and then down to his pecs.

Almost like indulging his own intrusive thoughts, Jisung cups both hands over Minho’s— well, massively great tits, and feels his mouth salivate. Just to make things worse, and Jisung knows he must be doing this on purpose, he flexes the muscles of his chest, makes his pecs move under his hands and Jisung lets the most pathetic noise roll off his tongue, unbridled.

“Shit,” Jisung breathes, voice curling into a laugh. This isn’t funny, but it’s pretty unbelievable that he’s here with Minho’s tits in his hands. “Shit, fuck—you’re so—”

Minho reaches up, places his hands over Jisung’s wrists and weighs them down, down until Jisung starts running his fingers over the defined lines of his abs. Jisung isn’t laughing anymore – the sound that comes off his throat is a whine at best as Minho makes him feel him up, until his fingers stop right over the waistband of his pants.

Minho looks him in the eyes and Jisung swallows thickly.

His fingers work like he’s done this a thousand times – drags to the button of Minho’s pants and swiftly works it open, heat pooling in his groin when Minho moans at the slight relief of pressure around his hip. He moves to the zipper then, applying just the right amount of pressure that it drags over the length of his cock as he tugs it down and works the fly open.

Jisung could honestly keep his eyes trained to Minho’s Adonis belt for the rest of his life, he thinks, or to the way he can see Minho fill his boxers with his thick cock, but when he meekly sticks his hand in to wrap his fingers around the girth of his cock it’s Minho’s eyes he’s looking at. And he notices Minho almost wants to look away, perhaps, pupils shaking as he grips him by the base and firmly squeezes as he slowly moves up to his cockhead.

Minho’s lips part and maybe it’s to say something, but all that comes out is a faint moan when Jisung thumbs at his slit, smearing pre-cum over the sensitive skin of his cockhead. It puts a smile on Jisung’s face – he could drag this out for hours, could have Minho throbbing and leaking over his knuckles, but right now he doesn’t want to wait.

He is still smiling when he gets his hand off Minho’s dick and curls his fingers into the waistband of his pants and underwear just like Minho had done to him moments prior, reveling in the warmth of his skin against his with every graze of his fingers against his body. And Minho just watches him with want and need-filled eyes, letting Jisung have his way with him however he wants.

Jisung can’t ignore what that does to him – the way his entire body burns with desire, the way it settles in his groin and makes his cock twitch, drooling more pre-cum and dribbling onto Minho’s clean sheets.

“Want you so bad,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to Minho’s jaw, down the column of his neck. Jisung can feel Minho’s heart beating on his pulse point under his lips and finds delight in the way it quickens at his words. “I want to feel you inside me so bad.”

With a groan that borders on frustration, Minho wraps his fingers around Jisung’s wrists and pulls his hands away. Jisung is momentarily stunned – did he do something wrong? Said something he wasn’t supposed to? Spluttering words are on the tip of his tongue ready to roll out when Minho climbs off bed with a huff and roughly shoves the remainder of his clothes down his legs.

Jisung can’t help but ogle, and to say that his mouth salivates yet again would be the understatement of the century.

He’s known Minho’s thighs are muscular, because that much is visible even under the layers of his work slacks, but this— this surely takes the cake. He knows Minho isn’t flexing his muscles on purpose now, which makes the fact that Jisung can see the defining lines of his thighs that much harder to swallow.

Not for the first time that night – or ever –, Jisung thinks it should be a crime that Minho looks like this, and even more so that Jisung is the one who gets to see him in several states of undress.

And maybe he stares for a bit too long, because when he looks back up at Minho’s face he’s sporting a smile that awfully resembles the Cheshire cat.

“What?” Minho asks, and his tone almost borders on mocking. Jisung flushes a deep shade of red at being caught. “Like what you see, Sungie?”

It’s not the first time he asks that, and Jisung knows the answer is obvious, and that he doesn’t need to say anything for Minho to know that yes, yes he does like a whole fucking lot what he’s seeing right now, but he still splutters as his brain tries to come up with words to say. It’s especially hard to talk when he can just see Minho’s cock hanging between his legs, heavy and veiny and an angry shade of red.

He still can’t stop staring, though. He stares as Minho makes his way around the bed, as he gets the lube and condoms he’s brought with himself from the bathroom, as he climbs back into bed and rests against the pillows on the headboard.

“C’mere,” Minho beckons with a light tap on his thigh, and Jisung is all too happy to crawl over and comply.

He slots himself on Minho’s lap, shuddering when their dicks slide together. Minho’s body feels like a furnace, suffocating in the best way, and Jisung all but melts into him when he puts his hands on his waist and pulls him impossibly closer.

Minho kisses him again, nice, and slow and so sweet it makes him feel like he’s drowning from the contrast that is feeling their bare cocks touching, leaking over each other’s skin. The hands on his waist tighten as Minho starts sliding down the headboard, until he’s lying down and Jisung finds himself hovering over him, straddling his hips.

He feels obsessed with the way Minho looks from this angle, hair a halo on his pillow, eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted as he stares up at him, a flush high on his cheeks and tinting his ears. He is the book definition of gorgeous and Jisung can’t believe he’s the one who gets to have him like this.

Just as Jisung raises a hand to brush some of his hair away from his face, Minho lets the hands on his waist run further down his body, past his hipbones and down to his ass cheeks. His fingers are grazing Minho’s sharp cheekbones when Minho grabs a handful of ass, kneading the flesh and spreading him apart, and he can’t help the gasp that falls off his lips or the way his hand slips into his hair and tugs a fistful.

“Fu—uck,” Jisung stutters out a curse, head tipping forward and hanging low between his shoulders when Minho grinds up against him and the friction on his cock makes his entire body tingle. “Please, just— fuck me already, yeah?”

Minho drags his lips from Jisung’s to the shell of his ear, voice barely a whisper when he says, “I want so much more than that, Jisungie.”

But before Jisung can even question what that’s supposed to mean, Minho presses a dry finger to his rim – not hard enough to breach, but just enough to have Jisung clench in both surprise and excitement.

Minho runs his other hand from his ass and up his back, touch almost featherlike. Goosebumps rise on his skin, a soft gasp rolling off his tongue when Minho buries his fingers in his hair and tugs, pulling his head until it tips back. And then he’s shoving two of his fingers past the slight parting of his lips, pressing them down on his tongue until Jisung closes his mouth around the digits.

Jisung takes a shuddering breath through his nose as he pushes his fingers further into his mouth, rolling his tongue over them and thoroughly coating him with spit. He feels like he’s losing his mind – the skin of Minho’s fingers feels soft against the bed of his tongue, and though the act is anything but, he’s still gentle in the way he handles Jisung.

When he pulls away, saliva strings and drips from Jisung’s lips to his chin. Jisung feels like his skull is stuffed full of cotton, overwhelmed with bliss when Minho presses a finger to his rim again, now spit slick. He's prepared for the pressure Minho applies now, doesn’t tense when he pushes hard enough to breach, and all but mewls at the feeling of finally getting something inside him.

Minho doesn’t give him room to breathe or to think. He pulls him down into another kiss, runs his tongue on the seam of his lips and kisses him deep.

The stretch of the first finger is hardly uncomfortable, the only discomfort he feels being due to having gone too long without being intimate with someone. And even then that’s not really the case, because his body molds around the digit too easily and perfectly.

He sighs into the kiss when Minho pushes past his thick knuckle, hips grinding back ever so slightly, silently asking for more. Minho tightens the hand on his hair and brings Jisung’s lower lip between his teeth, biting hard enough to tease but not enough to hurt – and it’s only when his hips stutter under Jisung’s body that he understands why.

Minho’s cock is hard where it presses against Jisung’s hip, leaking pre-cum and leaving his skin sticky the deeper he reaches inside him. It fills Jisung with a weird sense of pride, to know that he’s the one getting Minho like this. That Minho is this hard because of him.

“More,” he mumbles against Minho’s lips, chasing him for another kiss.

Minho complies too easily.

Two fingers has Jisung embarrassingly whiny, hands clutching onto Minho’s shoulders and nails digging into his skin as Minho gently scissors him open. It’s not too much, but the pressure he feels in his groin as his cock twitches where it’s pressed between their bodies tells him it’s enough to make him cum if Minho is dedicated enough.

Minho trails his kisses to his neck as he rubs the pads of his fingers against his walls, licks over his pulse point as he changes the angle of his wrist and tries to reach deeper. He’s missing Jisung’s sweet spot by a hair it feels, so close yet so far, and the frustrated whine Jisung lets out is louder than he ever expected it to be.

“So whiny,” Minho comments playfully, grazing his teeth down to the juncture of his neck and his shoulder, biting lightly into him. He pulls his fingers almost all the way out, and he knows it’s just to tease. “Anything you want to say, baby?”

Jisung shakes his head vigorously and Minho rewards him by pushing his fingers all the way in, up until the last knuckle. If he curls them even slightly, he’s sure to brush against Jisung’s prostate, and yet he doesn’t.

He can feel frustrated tears prickling at the corners of his eyes but is quick to try and blink them away.

Minho twists and curls and Jisung feels shockwaves rock through his body, breath coming out in shudders as his vision spots white. Minho’s got his teeth sunk into his neck hard enough that it could bruise (and that thought alone makes his head spin even more), the tips of his fingers pressed so firmly where he’s most sensitive all he can do is babble out a string of incoherencies as his hips rock back against him.

Jisung’s cock drools so much pre-cum he doesn’t have to look to know it must be a dark shade of red, balls tight and begging for release.

“Shit,” he whines because it’s all he seems to be able to do. “Shitshitshitshit—”

Minho pulls out too quickly and Jisung protests with a noise of displeasure that lodges itself in the back of his throat, angry that he would pull him off the edge just like that. Minho hushes him with a messy kiss, blindly fumbling around the mattress until his hand lands on the seemingly forgotten lube.

Jisung knows mostly by the sound of it that he’s attempting to coat his fingers with enough of the sticky substance while not getting his mouth off him. Any other time Jisung would have been reasonable and pulled away so he could focus on the task – quite literally – at hand, but right now he’s impatient and he’s selfish.

Minho doesn’t seem to mind it.

When he pushes into him again, his free hand is on his lower back as three of his thick fingers stretch him further open. Jisung’s thighs shake with the effort it takes to keep his lower body as propped up as possible when all he wants is to collapse into Minho.

The burn of the extra stretch is delicious. He is barely able to contain the anticipation within him of having Minho’s cock in his ass sooner rather than later, their kisses now barely even kisses anymore. Minho mostly slides their lips together to quieten Jisung’s whining, to swallow down every little noise he makes the deeper he pushes into him and his bony knuckles work him open.

Minho must know he’s ready by now, that his walls have relaxed around his fingers enough so that any fucking of his fingers won’t stretch him any further, but he still keeps going just to be safe – and maybe to torture Jisung just a little bit.

When he pulls away, the wet squelch it makes lodges itself deep in his groin and sets his nerves alight.

Jisung doesn’t have to beg.

Hand still firmly on his lower back, Minho starts pushing himself up into a sitting position. Jisung makes to move, maybe climb off his lap and wait for Minho to tell him how he wants him – how he wants this, but Minho only presses him closer and kisses the curve of his jaw sweetly.

“Like this,” Minho mumbles into his skin, nosing under his ear. The hairs on the back of Jisung’s neck stand on end with arousal. “Want you like this.”

And all Jisung can do is croak out a broken, “Okay.”

Minho lets him move slightly back, then, just to put enough space between their bodies for his hands to work on rolling a condom on his cock. Jisung salivates embarrassingly at the sight of Minho’s veiny hands and arms, of his equally veiny and deliciously thick cock and the snug fit of latex over it.

He lathers himself with an overly generous amount of lube, fists his cock a couple times and places a hand on Jisung’s hip again.

His eyes are gentle but so, so full of need.

Jisung gets back up on his knees, heart pounding in his chest as he positions himself over Minho’s lap. He places both hands on Minho’s shoulders and takes a deep, steadying breath when the fingers on his hip grabs him tighter.

He’s looking Minho in the eyes when he starts sinking, face flush and thighs shaking, and he doesn’t look away for even a second. Leaning forward, Minho presses a light kiss to his shoulder, aligning himself with his entrance.

Jisung chokes on a moan and takes another deep breath.

The breach of Minho’s cock past his rim has Jisung feeling like he can’t breathe. Minho was thorough with his prepping, but his fingers don’t come even close to comparing how full his cock makes him feel.

“Oh fuck,” Minho breathes against his shoulder, voice watery like a cry. It makes warmth pool in his chest. “Fuck, Sung, you’re so tight.”

Jisung moans lowly – at the words, at being filled up, at the feeling of being stretched impossibly further as he sinks down on Minho’s cock. The slow pace he’s set makes him feel everything tenfold, and it’s all both too much and not enough.

“Mmm, shit,” he curses, the coiling in his groin getting tighter the fuller he feels. He brings one of his hands up to the back of Minho’s head to grip him by the hair and tilt it back so they can kiss. Minho’s lips sear hot against his own. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The confession falls easily into Minho’s open mouth and spreads warmth all over his body. There is no shame in admitting this now that he knows the feeling is mutual – now that he knows Minho has wanted him for just as long. Maybe not as carnally and lust-driven, but wanted nonetheless.

“Yeah?” Minho asks, and Jisung knows there is no way he doesn’t know that by now. With both hands on his waist, he presses Jisung down on him until he bottoms out, ripping a loud moan from the both of them. “Would you think about me often?”

Jisung feels his cheeks burn. It’s clear that Minho is doing this to feed his own ego, but he can’t stop his mouth from talking when he says, “Yeah, all the time.”

Minho growls deep within his chest, a low rumble that shakes Jisung to his core. He can feel Minho’s cock throb inside him, surely drooling pre-cum into the condom, and for one split, insane moment, Jisung wishes there was no layer of latex between them.

Jisung rises on his knees just enough to feel the glide of Minho’s slick cock against his walls, breath shaking on a sigh as he lowers himself back down to the hilt. Minho’s fingers tighten on his waist but he doesn’t move – his mouth moves to Jisung’s throat to press an open-mouthed kiss to his skin, tongue on his Adam’s apple when he swallows thickly.

Minho lets him work at his own pace, lets him adjust to the size of his dick as slowly as he wants to, and it drives Jisung a bit insane— just a little bit.

With every rise and fall of his hips on Minho’s lap, Minho’s cockhead presses snugly against his sweet spot, sending shockwaves of unbridled pleasure down his spine. Though he could take so much more, Jisung almost wants to come just from this – the low effort and Minho holding him close.

Minho is patient until he isn’t all that much.

He wraps his arms around Jisung’s torso to hold him still, mouth pressed to the curve of his jaw when he rolls his hips almost shyly, like he’s testing the waters. The movement makes it so much better that all Jisung can do is moan in encouragement and dig his nails where he holds onto his shoulders.

Jisung is overwhelmed. His moans curl into sobs with every little snap of Minho’s hips against his ass, every glide against his walls, every squeeze of his arms around his middle, and every press of his lips to his skin. Minho kisses him so sweetly and fucks him so tenderly Jisung feels his nerves fraying at the edges, his fingertips buzzing with desire and the need to let go.

But even more so than that, Jisung feels loved.

He feels loved in the way Minho holds him, in the way he whispers sweet nothings into his ear in between the string of filth that comes out of his mouth every time Jisung clenches around him. He feels loved in the way Minho licks into his mouth and steals his breath away, and also the way he fits a hand between their bodies to wrap a hand around his cock without Jisung having to say a thing about it.

Clearly growing dissatisfied with the pace of things, Minho holds onto him tightly and lifts him at the same time he folds his legs under his ass. Jisung whines – mostly because Minho’s cock almost slips out of him and that’s not something he wants, but Minho is quick to keep on moving and put him down on the mattress, caging him with his own body.

Not for the first time, Jisung feels small.

Minho places a kiss on the corner of his lips before making him wrap his legs around his waist, hands strong as he holds onto his thigh and his hip, adjusting himself until he’s found the perfect angle.

And then he’s pistoning into him at an almost brutal pace, a stark contrast to how he was before. Jisung’s vision spots white, the lower half of his body growing impossibly tighter with the buildup of his impending orgasm. The pace jostles him further down the bed, until his head is nearly hanging off the mattress and blood is rushing to his head for more reasons than just arousal.

Minho’s hands are strong as he pushes him back and gentle as he wraps fingers around his throat. Jisung’s head spins, but Minho doesn’t press any harder than that. It’s almost like he just needs to have a place to hold on to when he dips down and kisses him filthy, running his tongue over his teeth and his gums, shoving it so far down his throat Jisung wonders how he doesn’t choke on it.

Jisung is the one to grab a hold of his cock this time, but Minho follows soon after with his fingers over Jisung’s, adding pressure to the hold when he starts jerking himself off to the rhythm of his messy thrusts.

“Jisungie,” Minho breathes against his lips, his hips faltering. “My Jisungie, so good for me. So pretty. My Jisungie.”

Jisung’s orgasm hits him like a dam breaking. He’s pretty sure he sobs what’s supposed to be Minho’s name, though he can’t exactly tell over the ringing in his ears. All his muscles feel pulled taut when he comes over both of their fingers, thick spurts of white that splatter up his chest with every pound of Minho’s hip to his ass.

His ankles dig into Minho’s lower back on instinct, burying him so deep in his ass it almost feels like he can feel him in his guts. He moans with every whisper of Minho’s, every my Jisungie that falls off his lips and settles at the base of his spine and makes his entire body shudder.

His heart squeezes in his chest hard enough for it to physically hurt.

“’m yours,” he says with a nod, running his open mouth on the line of Minho’s jaw. “All yours, Minho.”

I think I love you.

Minho’s moans become high-pitched when he comes, this tiny little thing that comes out in puffs from his lips as his cock pulses warm in his ass. Jisung can feel it all – the way he throbs and fills the condom, every little thrust of his as he milks himself through his orgasm, the scrape of his teeth against his shoulder and neck.

Jisung wishes they didn’t have a condom between them just so he could feel Minho filling him up like this.

Minho’s flush goes from the very tips of his ears down to his torso, skin a bright shade of red as he comes down from his high. He’s gorgeous, Jisung thinks for probably the millionth time that night as he reaches up to bring the man down for a kiss, chests heaving as they struggle to catch their breaths.

“Mm,” Minho hums, pleased, nosing at the shell of his ear as he tries not to crush Jisung with his weight. “I like you so much, you know.”

Jisung chuckles, sounding distant to his own ears, still feeling like his soul is detached from his body. But the words don’t fail in making him feel warm – the pleasant, soft kind of warm, the one where he knows he will be taken care of, that he matters.

“Me too,” he murmurs back, running his fingers through Minho’s hair. “And I’m not just saying this because I still have your dick in my ass, you know.”

Minho scoffs, biting down on his earlobe hard enough for it to sting.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Minho says lightly, and Jisung knows he is just playing around. This is the most perfect Jisung has felt in a really, really long while. “M’just trying to make sure my legs won’t feel like jelly when I get up.”

“You can stay a bit longer.” And just to get his point across, he presses a palm between his shoulders until Minho is fully lowering himself on him, chest now pressed against Jisung’s. “I don’t mind.”

Minho scrunches his nose, and it’s the cutest thing Jisung has ever seen.

“But we’re gross,” he weakly argues.

Jisung’s lips blossom into a smile. He softly shakes his head, cupping Minho’s jaw with the hand that isn’t covered in congealing cum. Minho leans into the touch so easily his heart skips a beat or two.

“No,” he says, and places a soft kiss on the corner of Minho’s lips just like he had done to him moments prior. “We’re perfect.”

Jisung wakes up in the early hours of the morning to an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. It’s not unpleasant by any means – even through the thick layer of sleep coating his brain, he knows to bask in it while he still can.

He rolls on his side, groaning quietly when a dull ache shoots up his spine as a reminder of where he is and who he’s with. A soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips, a hand reaching out to be gently placed over Minho’s. Jisung can feel warmth blooming in his cheeks as he watches him sleep, his pouty lips softly parted.

The quiet rise and fall of his chest easily puts Jisung at ease, and though he would love nothing more than to stay in bed with Minho, Jisung still feels like he needs to get up and kick his body into gear.

So he grabs his phone from where it sits on the bedside table and quietly hops off the bed, careful to not wake Minho up as he makes his way out of the room. The sun still isn’t out that it would hurt his eyes to step into the soft daylight, but it’s just enough that he wouldn’t have to turn the lights on to guide him through the apartment.

Dressed in Minho’s boxers and one of Minho’s t-shirts, Jisung tiptoes to the kitchen with his heart beating minutely in his chest. His thighs burn with every step he takes, the ache in his ass uncomfortable but not unbearable.

He fusses about until he’s successfully made himself a steaming mug of coffee, the warmth on his fingers as he wraps them around the ceramic mug matching the one on his cheeks and on the back of his neck.

If one were to tell him a couple months ago that he would be standing in Minho’s kitchen right now, elbows resting on his kitchen island for support as he forgoes sitting on a stool because his ass feels sore from the night of incredible sex they had, he’s sure he would have laughed at their face so hard it’d feel like he’s popped a vein.

Right now, however, Jisung isn’t laughing. His heart is doing this funny thing again where it attempts to shrink to the size of a rice grain from feeling too much and he doesn’t exactly know how to deal with it. He’s happy, that much he is aware of, but he’s also still so, so scared.

Minho had told him, plain and simple, that he likes him. That he wants Jisung to be a part of his life, that he wants to try, and that should be more than enough for him, shouldn’t it?

So, how does he tell his brain that this is okay? That feeling this kind of bliss is okay, that he is under no imminent threat of having the rug pulled out from under his feet?

He opens Hyunjin’s message chat with no hesitation.

hell spawn hyun

07:23

im at minho’s

i think i love him

im,, scared

i deserve to be loved

right?

His phone falls on the counter with a loud clank when he feels a warm hand on his hip, a scream lodged in the back of his throat as his heartbeat goes over the hundreds in a split second.

“Good morning,” Minho murmurs, voice still rough with sleep, lips pressed to the back of his neck. Jisung’s shoulders immediately relax, but the rapid beating of his heart doesn’t slow down. “Why’re you up so early?”

Warmth blasts Jisung in the face.

“Dunno,” he says, and it’s only a half-lie. “Couldn’t go back to sleep. Why are you awake?”

Minho presses himself closer until his chest is flush against his back, crotch pressed against his ass. Through the thin layers of their underwear, Jisung can feel his morning wood pressed firmly on the cleft of his ass, and though he’s still sore from the night before, it takes every ounce of willpower in him not to grind against it.

Minho trails his kisses from his neck to the curve of his shoulder, circling his arms around his waist.

“Woke up and you weren’t in bed,” the admission comes so easily that Jisung’s heart hiccups on a beat and spreads fuzziness in his chest. “I thought you had left.”

With a sigh, Jisung places his hands over Minho’s forearms, doing his best to hug him back in the position they’re in. Minho nuzzles at his hair, pulling him closer, and though he must know his dick rubs against Jisung with every little movement he makes, he doesn’t make a move to act on it.

“Sorry.” He cranes his neck back until he can land a kiss on Minho’s cheek, only to have his heart wrench in his ribcage upon seeing his face still puffy from sleep, hair sticking up in places, eyes half-lidded from apparent tiredness. Jisung kisses him tenderly. “I just get very restless when I can’t sleep, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Minho hums, hands reaching dangerously low on his hips, pulling him impossibly closer. There is just no way he isn’t aware of what he’s doing right now. Tentatively, he rubs his ass against him – minutely, barely noticeable, and yet still effective in pulling a soft groan from Minho’s lips.

The hands on his hips move to his cheeks, grabbing two handfuls and squeezing hard, pulling them apart. Jisung’s breath shudders with a sigh, head falling back on Minho’s shoulder.

“Is this okay?” Minho murmurs the words against his neck, right over his pulse point.

Jisung nods, pushing the steaming mug of coffee he’s poured for himself out of reach when Minho pushes him against the island.

It’s all Minho really needs to grind against him with slow movements of his hips, his cock filling to full mast in his boxers. He’s got the work cut in half for him, really, but it makes Jisung’s nerve endings buzz with anticipation regardless.

Fingers slip past the waistband of his boxers to tug it down and Jisung moans lowly in the back of his throat, gripping at the edge of the island for support the harder Minho presses his chest to his back. Without the garment on the way, he can perfectly feel the shape of Minho’s still-clothed dick slotted between his cheeks, soft cotton rubbing against his skin with every stroke of his hips.

Minho doesn’t push his underwear past his mid-thigh, traps his legs in a barely open stance and his body against the furniture. Jisung’s heart beats so hard in his chest that he can feel it in his throat, the faint buzzing in his ears getting louder as blood rushes down south to his cock.

“Keep your thighs closed tight for me, baby?”

Jisung, pliant under Minho’s hands, complies far too easily. He locks his ankles and clenches the muscles of his thighs, anticipation simmering hot under his skin.

Though he can’t see from his position, he feels it when a hand leaves his body and Minho unglues himself from his back for just a split second. He can hear him softly sigh before he spits – whether on his hand or his cock Jisung isn’t exactly sure, but the slick noise his fist makes as it glides over thin skin is unmistakable.

His cockhead is moist when he runs it down the cleft of his ass, and it’s easy to rip a moan off of him when he feels a fat glob of spit land on his right cheek. Minho rubs over it, runs his spit-slick cock down his ass, pressing just enough that it threatens to breach his dry rim.

“Nngh—Minho—” Jisung groans, chest heaving with the soreness that flares on the lower half of his body at the teasing

“I know, baby,” Minho soothes him with a kiss to the shell of his ear, trailing his cock further down. “I got you, don’t worry.”

The drag of his cockhead under his balls has Jisung’s sight spotting white and a hiss escaping his gritted teeth. The coiling in his stomach feels so familiar he can almost taste it on his tongue, and when Minho thrusts between his closed thighs, pleasure overrides all of his senses.

Minho’s hands move yet again, one holding him by the hip and the other pressing flat between his shoulder blades, pushing him down until he bends over the counter. The countertop feels cold against his warm cheek.

Bent over like this, he can see Minho’s face as he thrusts shallowly into the tight heat of his thighs, can see the way his hair curtains his sleepy face, eyes trained where their bodies connect, the way his lips part in silent huffs of moans with every rub of his cock against his balls.

The corners of Minho’s lips quirk up into a smile when his eyes flit up and he catches Jisung staring at him. Jisung can’t tear his eyes away, the mess of feelings in his chest growing tenfold when Minho picks up the pace just a little, his cock drooling pre-cum between his thighs.

He can’t tell the exact moment that tears start welling up in his eyes, nor can he tell the reason why it happens. He is quick to turn his face away and hide it in the crook of an elbow, his lower lip quivering every time Minho’s hipbones collide with his ass.

He feels overwhelmed, that much he can tell, and he knows it isn’t just from his building orgasm. It’s also the way Minho whispers his name and calls him baby in between strokes of his hips, and the way his strong hands on his body make Jisung feel wanted and safe, making him feel like he belongs.

Minho slows down the pace of his hips in favor of threading his fingers through Jisung’s hair, and all it really does is make him break into sobs.

“It’s okay, Jisungie,” Minho whispers right at the shell of his ear, pulling his hair back just enough so that he can make Jisung look at him. There’s a gentle smile on his lips that Jisung can barely see through the spilling tears but can definitely feel when he leans in and kisses him. “I’m here, I got you.”

Jisung’s orgasm ripples through him like crashing waves, whining against Minho’s lips as he comes untouched, cock trapped between his stomach and the island. Minho comes not long after, a lot quieter than Jisung had been, body stilling as he spills spunk over his balls and adds to the mess between his legs.

His chest is still heaving when Minho briefly unsticks himself from his body just to pull their underwear back up, uncaring of the mess between them and the damage it’s going to do to his clothes. He twists Jisung around and takes his lips in his, hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs rubbing soothingly over his wet cheekbones.

“Stay the weekend?” Minho asks with a kiss to the tip of his nose, then another to his temple.

Jisung nods, sniffling. “Yeah,” he softly says, hating how wet his voice sounds. He tries not to feel shame in it, but it’s hard to control the way his skin burns under Minho’s touch. “I’ll stay however long you want.”

Minho’s smile is crooked when he pulls back to look him in the eyes. “However long I want?”

Jisung’s brows draw into a light furrow, but he nods.

Minho hums pensively. “What if I want you to stay forever, though?”

Jisung’s heart slows to an almost stop so fast it leaves him feeling like he can’t breathe. Fresh tears well up in his eyes, but this time he does his best to stop them from spilling. With a wobbling smile and trembling fingers, he reaches up to brush Minho’s hair away from his face.

He gives him a curt nod, pecking his lips ever so tenderly.

“Then I guess I’ll have no choice but to stay.”

»

The hot summer weather feels unbearable as they ready themselves to leave the house. There is sweat beading at his hairline and making his hair stick to his forehead, dampening his shirt, and trickling down his back. Jisung is uncomfortable to say the very least, but he bears it through.

“Have we gotten everything?” Minho asks for what feels like the millionth time in the last half-hour, hauling the cooler up to the kitchen island.

Jisung sighs, dabbing at the sweat on his hairline with the collar of his cotton shirt.

“We’ve got water, snacks, towels, umbrella’s right by the door, spare clothes, hand s—”

Minho cuts him off with a quick peck to his lips, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with the force of his smile. Jisung sputters, feeling the tips of his ears flame red at the sudden gesture of affection.

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m just—” he knows Minho is trying to be placating, but Jisung has learned to read him well enough by now that he knows what this is about. “Just a bit nervous, I guess.”

“Hey, being nervous is my job,” he softly says, reaching to take Minho’s hand in his. “It’s going to be fine, yeah? This is just like any other weekend.”

Minho sighs, and despite his soothing words, he knows Minho has more than enough reason to be nervous. There are only two possible outcomes for how their day is going to go, and even though they are fairly certain of which of the two options it’s going to be by the end of it, the possibility of it going wrong still gnaws at their nerves.

“Right,” Minho breathes, and as a grounding gesture, pecks Jisung on the lips again. “You’re right. Shall we go?”

Jisung does his best to give him his best smile, all teeth and gums. “After you, my love.”

»

Jisung doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen Minho so on edge in the presence of his daughter. She usually does a superb job of putting him at ease and making him forget about all his worries, but today is different.

Today she is the very reason why he is this nervous, even though he hates to admit it.

Spending the day at the beach together was Jisung’s idea, a perfect family outing of sorts now that summer has hit them full blast. Telling Byeol about their relationship while at the beach had been Minho’s idea, and now Jisung wonders if he regrets even thinking that to begin with.

It’s not like they are keeping their relationship a secret, at least not intentionally. It’s just that things can be very complicated when you’re starting out something new and a child is involved in the process in any sort of way – and even if Jisung isn’t anywhere new in her life at this point, he hadn’t exactly been a permanent fixture for her to understand what is going on without being directly told about it.

So, while Jisung is nervous over how she is going to react to the news – despite her somewhat positive reaction that one time Minho asked her about it in his car –, Minho is faring just about ten times worse than him.

Jisung is holding Byeol by the hand, sand uncomfortable between his toes and the rubber material of his slippers, as they watch Minho stick the sun umbrella into the sand with a bit more force than it would have been necessary. Jisung doesn’t comment on it, knowing that Minho might break under the mental turmoil of it all.

Once he’s done providing them with some shade, Jisung is quick to pull out the picnic blanket and fill its pockets with sand, successfully weighing it down where he wants it. Byeol hops into it in no time, rummaging through her own – significantly smaller – beach bag in search of the sunscreen Haneul had insisted on making her bring despite Minho’s insistence that they had more than enough in their own bag.

“Daddy!” she demands his attention, waving the small bottle of kid’s sunscreen around when she finally finds it. Her strawberry bucket hat – which matches her swimwear! – almost slides right off her head when she looks up at Minho. “Can you put it on me?”

“Of course, princess.” Minho squats down to her eye level, fixing her hat for her in the process. “Come here.”

Jisung busies himself with getting some of the food and beverage out of the cooler while Minho works the most ridiculous face paints on his daughter with sunscreen. She giggles all the way through, insisting that he paints cat whiskers on her face but only if he lets her do the same with him. And because Minho is a weak man for his daughter, he easily agrees with the deal.

Jisung snaps several pictures of the mildly hideous job with his phone, fondness growing in his chest so impossibly large he doesn’t know how it still fits within him. He immediately texts the onslaught of pictures to Minho’s contact, eager to put the device away so he can enjoy the day under the sun with the two of them.

Between building sandcastles and having Byeol drag them into the water every twenty minutes, the day goes by like a dream. Jisung knows he’s got to be at least two shades darker than he originally was by now, Minho’s skin clearly sunburnt where he did a poor job of applying sunscreen.

But, most importantly, the day has seemingly put Minho in a better mood than he had been when they left his apartment only hours ago.

Byeol is having her way with a strawberry popsicle between Minho’s spread legs on the picnic blanket when he decides that has got to be the most appropriate and opportune moment to pester his daughter with personal stuff. Jisung feels nervous as fuck, but he tries not to let it show.

“Angel,” he starts, combing his fingers through her salt-hardened hair. She makes no noise of acknowledgment to let them know that she is listening, but he continues talking regardless. “Would it still be okay if I were to date someone?”

Byeol hums, strawberry juice dripping down on her thighs. She glances down at her legs, looking just about two seconds away from running her dirty fingers over the skin and putting them in her mouth. Jisung moves as fast as lightning to clean her with a towel instead.

Her head snaps up at Jisung and she gives him a warm smile.

“S’okay, daddy,” she looks back at Minho then, nodding at him. “But I’m still your number one girl, right?”

Minho’s face softens as he brings a hand up to pinch her sun-rosy cheeks. “Told you, you’ll always be my number one.”

He exchanges a mildly nervous look with Jisung, swallowing thickly. Jisung slowly breathes out through his nose, trying to ground himself. This is it.

“Then would it be okay if—if Jisungie were to date me?”

Jisung’s heart stops beating in his chest. He holds his breath, watching the way Byeol’s hand with the popsicle stops halfway to her mouth and her tiny brows draw into a light furrow. She turns to look at Jisung then, lips pursed as she assesses him like she’s never seen him a day in her life. Her head cocks to the side.

“Him?” she asks then, pointing right at his face with her free hand. “This Jisungie?”

“Uhm, yes,” he answers, fiddling with her hair some more. “This Jisungie.”

“Oh,” she drops her accusing finger and looks at Jisung again. Jisung can feel his heart lodged in his throat, and he can’t seem to swallow past it. “Do I have to stop calling you Uncle, then?”

Jisung’s face blooms with uncontrolled fondness as more popsicle juice drips over her.

“You can call me whatever you want.” He dabs her skin clean again, stealing another quick glance at Minho. The man has clearly relaxed exponentially upon her question. “Is that okay with you?”

She nods, nonchalant in the way she brings the popsicle to her mouth again. “Yes, I mean, I quite like you, Uncle.” She frowns at herself and shakes her head violently. “No, wait! Sorry!”

Minho laughs at her fondly, giving up on untangling her hair for now. That’s going to have to be a battle for the shower she will take once they’re back home.

Home.

“It’s okay,” Jisung says with a smile, pinching her cheek just like Minho did moments prior. “You’ll get used to it.”

»

Jisung has never been in Chan’s office before, and he had hoped he could keep it that way for as long as he lived. That, however, is no longer the case.

He’s sitting before Chan’s desk and he can’t stop the nervous bouncing of his leg for the life of him. Chan doesn’t look mad – at least Jisung wouldn’t call it mad, but he can’t exactly read him right now, either. His hands are folded over the desk, and his face definitely looks stern, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to give them the lecturing of their lives.

Minho tries to place a placating hand on his thigh, and while that works on normal days to get him to calm down, now all it does is fuel the bouncing even further. He gnaws at the inside of his bottom lip, wishing a lightning bolt would strike him and take him out at once.

Chan’s eyes flit to Minho’s hand on Jisung’s thigh. It’s only for a split second, but Jisung is watching him so closely that he sees it. He sees it all.

“So,” Chan begins after he lets the silence stretch on for too long, clearing his throat. “There was something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Minho squeezes Jisung’s thigh lightly. Comforting, grounding.

Jisung’s heart does a somersault in the confines of his ribcage.

“Yes,” Minho easily answers, voice so passive Jisung can’t help but be in awe of the way he so easily manages to keep his composure, while all Jisung can feel is that he is falling apart at the seams. It would be okay if he did, though – he knows Minho would be right there to put him back together. “I think you already know this without me having to tell you, but Jisung and I are dating.”

Chan is silent for a moment too long. Jisung feels like he is going to faint.

Minho continues talking, almost as if Jisung’s habit of nervous babbling is rubbing off on him. “If you think that’s going to be a problem, then— I have no problem in stepping away from the agency if he gets to keep his job.”

The way Chan’s face immediately turns sour must mirror Jisung’s. Jisung twists in his seat, appalled and ready to fire arguments his way because this is not something they’ve discussed before, but Chan beats him to it.

“Neither of you is going anywhere,” he sternly says, and Jisung is left with his lips parted around an argument that never leaves his mouth. His expression completely softens, then, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m very happy to hear that, actually.”

Jisung slumps back in his chair, completely taken by surprise. “You… are?”

Chan properly laughs, and Jisung doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“I am,” he confirms with a nod, unfolding his hands and assuming a far more relaxed posture. “It was painful to watch the both of you dance around each other like a set of idiots. No offense.”

With the way Minho’s fingers twitch on his thigh, Jisung knows there is blood rushing to his face and making his ears flare red. He isn’t faring much better, he supposes, heat pooling at the collar of his shirt, his cheeks warm.

“I’m glad to see someone has finally managed to crack this hard shell of yours, Minho.” Chan’s voice is a lot gentler now, and Jisung knows it is fondness that he sees in the man’s eyes. “Good for you.”

Minho clears his throat, clearly embarrassed. “Ugh, whatever. That was all I had to say, so I’m gonna get going.”

Chan chuckles but doesn’t stop him when his chair screeches back and he gets on his feet. Jisung, panicking and still unable to say a word to Chan, follows him not a second after, ready to trail after him and out of this stifling office.

“Oh, just one more thing!” Chan calls from where he’s still sitting at his desk once they’ve reached the door.

Minho’s hand is already on the doorknob, but still he stops and looks over his shoulder at him. When Jisung looks back at him as well, there’s a shit-eating grin on his face he’s never seen before.

“No fucking in the office, yeah?”

Chan’s laughter pierces through his ears and he feels his entire body burn in shame. Minho looks so shell-shocked he can’t get anything more than a scoff out before he turns to leave. The red tint of his ears peeking through his hair is the only telling he might be as embarrassed as Jisung feels.

Neither comment on the way Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin pretty much fall at their feet the moment the door is yanked open.

There is only so much they can take.

» »

Jisung is about two seconds away from permanently smashing in the buttons of his Switch controller when he’s suddenly hit with a spiny shell and Shy Guy almost gets thrown off the Rainbow Road.

“Yah!” he yells, besides himself as he watches through rage-filled eyes as Princess Peach takes the lead. Byeol shrieks in excitement next to him on the couch, skillfully dodging him when he tries to shoulder at her. “That’s cheating!”

Minho chuckles from the general direction of the kitchen, sorting through the countless containers of food his mother had sent their way.

“That was totally fair,” Byeol stresses, kicking her feet on the couch, filled with glee.

Jisung knows it’s a lost cause – it is the last lap, and no matter how hard he presses his buttons, he will never be able to take the lead again. So he just slumps against the couch and watches as Byeol beats his ass for the fifth time in a row that evening alone, the pout on his lips a permanent fixture on his face at this point.

It hurts his ego to see her get the victory screen yet again, but he’s not going to say that out loud. That would hurt his ego even worse.

“Ha!” She screams, jumping off the couch to do a little victory dance. Fondness grows in his chest like vines as he watches her – and maybe this feeling is better than winning against her. Maybe. “Suck it!”

“Hey!” Minho calls out from the kitchen, somber. “Watch your language, miss!”

“Sorry!” She loudly apologizes, making sure her dad can hear it as well. With a cocky smile on her lips – that scarily resembles Minho’s –, she hops back on the couch and pops her gum once. “You’re so bad at it, dad. You should just give up trying.”

A knife clanks on the kitchen counter. Jisung hears the record in his brain scratch. The world, for a brief moment, stops spinning in its axis.

He blinks at Byeol, suddenly at a loss of words.

“What’d you just say?” he asks, heart suddenly beating too fast, too loud. His hands, still holding onto his controller, are starting to sweat.

Is he hyperventilating?

Byeol blinks at him like he’s grown an extra head.

“I said you should just giv—”

“No,” he shakes his head, finally setting the controller aside. He turns on his seat until he’s facing her. “What did you just call me?”

He can hear Minho’s bare feet paddling over to them, but he can’t turn to look. He can’t take his eyes off Byeol’s face – she’s grown so much since he met her. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that she’s ten now. He studies her face as her brows draw into a furrow and her expression slowly dances from confusion to realization.

Her brows shoot up into her bangs in surprise as he immediately goes red in the face.

“Oh, uhm—” she pauses. Opens and closes her mouth. Bites the insides of her cheeks. Suddenly shy, her hands fiddle with the hem of her shirt. “Dad?”

Yeah, call Jisung a crybaby for all he cares, but there is no stopping the tears that come to his eyes and overflow in an instant. The silver band on his left hand suddenly weighs a million pounds and Jisung doesn’t know what to do with himself.

So, he pulls her into his arms, and even though she grumbles through the process, she doesn’t pull away from the tight hug he gives her.

Minho places a hand on his shoulder, calling for his attention, and it’s only then that Jisung looks up at him. Minho’s eyes are just as watery, though he is clearly putting actual effort into stopping himself from crying.

A much stronger man than Jisung could ever be.

Minho bends at the waist and Jisung cranes his neck to meet him halfway in a kiss. It’s chaste and no more than a press of lips, but it’s successful in making warmth bloom in his chest and fill it with love.

“I love you, Byeollie,” he manages through his tears, rubbing a wet cheek to the top of her head.

“Ugh, dad, you’re gonna get snot on my hair!” she playfully claws at his chest but still doesn’t pull away. Quietly, she mumbles, “love you too.”