Archive of Our Own

could be forever or we might break
that’s just the kind of risk that we take
my head is yelling that i could get hurt
but i’m gonna jump right in
baby, with my heart first
── heartfirst, kelsea ballerini

Minho knows exactly how to touch Jisung to make him fall apart. It’s the weeks of practice, he thinks, days and nights spent on mapping out his body with his hands and mouth, desperate to leave traces of himself on every inch of his skin.

But it’s more than that—it’s the years of friendship before they even fell into bed for the first time; it’s knowing that Jisung will laugh if his lips brush against the shell of his ear, that he bruises easily, especially on his legs. It’s knowing that he adores being called love and keeping eye-contact even though he’s always in no time fighting the sheer need to squeeze his eyes shut in equal parts pleasure and embarrassment. 

He always tries so hard to look right at Minho when they have sex, no matter which one of them is on top, and it’s really cute; how his eyes water and his mouth parts open, and—tonight—he wraps his arms around Minho’s shoulders to bring him closer.

Minho likes having his face buried in Jisung’s neck. He can bite into his shoulder, then; have Jisung whine and gasp right into his ear, feel the strength of his rapid pulse under his tongue.

Jisung is so incredibly hot, probably the hottest person Minho knows, and Jisung being well-aware of that fact, instead of rendering him and his cockiness less-appealing, makes him even more attractive. (Minho would usually hate that in a man, but Jisung . . . Jisung is kind of a different case.)

He pushes his hips up to meet Minho’s thrusts, breathing heavily, and it feels so good that Minho has to sink his teeth into the side of Jisung’s neck just so that he doesn’t make any noise.

He’s beaten by the sound of an incoming phone-call. It cuts through the air suddenly and breaks their quiet pleasure. Shit. 

Minho knows it’s his phone, because his ringtone is a tune made of a squeaky sound followed by meowing. He’d downloaded it off some site with the top ten most annoying ringtones known to the human-kind a few years back, and he never intends to change it.

It’s funny and Minho loves it, because it annoys his friends and makes people look around in confusion in the subway. But in that very moment, he finds himself loathing it completely. (And himself, too, because he really should have just put his phone on silent.)

When Minho slows down, Jisung throws his head back onto the pillows with an annoyed groan and rolls his eyes. It’s a shame he’s pissed, but something about that is weirdly attractive. Minho kind of wants to eat him up, but then again—it’s not like he doesn’t want to do that on a regular day.

He pushes himself up onto his knees to grab the device off the nightstand, but before he can do as much as reach out for it, Jisung digs his fingers into his bicep and, in the most sickly saccharine-voice, says, “I will cut your dick off if you take that call.”

The meowing fades back into squeaking, the caller clearly insistent on getting to him, but the stern look on Jisung’s face doesn’t falter. Minho is a little too dazed to think straight, too drunk on Jisung to care about the world existing outside of this bedroom.

“You’re hot when you’re threatening my life,” he says, grinning down at Jisung, inching his hand down along his outer thigh and hiking it up until Jisung’s knee is almost pressed to his chest.

“I should do that more often, then.”

The call disconnects then, the caller either giving up or being sent to the automatic voicemail. The silence is relieving only for a dozen seconds. Then, Minho’s phone starts blowing up with messages.

He really considers grabbing it in case it’s an emergency, but Jisung starts moaning like a madman to drown out the sound of incoming notifications. Minho bursts out laughing at his insistence to keep going, no matter that his neighbors are most likely going to give him disgusted looks and try to get him evicted. 

Jisung is obnoxious, but he’s also the only person who can make Minho laugh so hard it feels like he can skip abs workout the next day. 

Minho ignores the phone and fucks him in earnest, because it appears neither of them can hold out for much longer. (They really can’t. Jisung whines something about how good Minho makes him feel, and Minho is gone.)

When they’re both cleaned-up but still naked and waiting for the exhaustion to fade away so that they can take a shower and spend the rest of the day eating takeout on Minho’s couch, Minho rolls over to grab his phone off the bedside table.

“Who was it?” Jisung asks, still grumpy. “Who do I have to kill?” 

Minho can’t hold back his dumb grin. “I don’t think Seungmin is gonna let you get away with murdering his husband two weeks before the wedding.” 

Jisung groans. “What does he want that’s so urgent?”

Minho scrolls through the texts—all fifteen of them, of varying length and amount of exclamation marks—and says, “He’s asking if I’m sure I’m not bringing anyone to the wedding.” 

Last chance, he calls it. As if Minho has been interested in going out with someone (and, even worse—interested in introducing that person to his friends) in the last three years. 

“Are you?” Jisung asks, straining his neck to look at him. “Bringing someone.”

Minho quirks an eyebrow. “Who would I bring?”

“I don’t know.” Jisung shrugs. “You could probably get anyone to come with you.” Minho opens his mouth to tease him, but Jisung carries on, “It’s a fully-paid weekend at a fancy beach resort, after all.”

Minho is pretty sure that’s not what he meant, but it’s fine. He’s going to let him off the hook this once. 

“I don’t want to bring anyone, though. And it’s supposed to be an intimate gathering, anyway. I don’t know why he’s so insistent.”

To be annoying, Minho copies the link to Changbin’s song Lonely St. off YouTube Music and sends it in the text message as response. He thinks he’s really funny.

“Hm. If you’re not bringing anyone, and I’m not either, and we’re both already going . . .” Jisung starts, slowly trailing off into quietude. “Maybe we could . . . go together.”

Minho smirks, tossing his phone aside. Ha, he thinks. He could get anyone to come with him to that damned wedding, isn’t that what Jisung said? Apparently that includes Han Jisung.

“You want to be my date?” he asks.

Jisung scoffs. “No. I’m offering it out of the goodness of my heart. So that you don’t look like a complete—”

Despite the protest of his aching muscles, Minho pushes himself up, swinging one leg over Jisung’s hips, and pins his wrists down on the mattress next to his head. Jisung’s breath hitches, his eyes going wide, and the rest of his words die down, but Minho cocks an eyebrow with curiosity, wanting to hear them, anyway. 

Jisung remains silent, but his face turns a telling shade of red.

So Minho asks again. “You want to be my date?” Jisung shakes his head, stubborn and difficult and so annoying. Minho doesn’t intend to back down. “Oh, are you sure? Sure you don’t want to wear matching ties and have me hanging off your arm and dance with me all night and then share my room and have me all for yourself?” 

Jisung swallows harshly, and Minho tears his gaze away from his eyes to watch his Adam’s apple bob. 

“Hyung—”

“It’s a simple question,” Minho says, caressing the inner side of Jisung’s wrist with his thumb. “Yes or no?”

Jisung’s eyes are sparkling when he says, “Let go off my hands.”

Minho does so without hesitation, watching Jisung’s expression attentively, but it still takes him by surprise when Jisung winds an arm around his neck and pulls him down, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss. 

“Yes,” he says into Minho’s mouth, although Minho already knew when he’d first asked. “Yes, yes, yes.”

💒

“Don’t you think it’s crazy that they’re getting married?”

Minho glances away from the highway just for a second, to catch a glimpse of Jisung—head tipped back, round sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, face golden under the summer sun. 

They’re on one of the last stretches of Route 7, soon to arrive at the beautiful beach resort in Samcheok for their friends’ wedding. Everyone is already there (as per the grooms’ insistent check-up messages), and the two of them were supposed to be, too. They were supposed to drive down a day earlier, have the time to roam around the city and enjoy themselves, but they got too caught up in each other.

This morning, too. They only got into the car before noon, after having lunch and getting coffee to-go at their favorite place. Well. 

Jisung was behind the wheel when they left Seoul, but he doesn’t like driving for extended periods of time, so when they got off the expressway to stretch their legs and eat ice-cream, Minho took over. 

Now, he ponders Jisung’s question and says, “Not really. They’ve been dating for so long, at that point it was either break up or get hitched.”

He can see the corners of Jisung’s mouth turn up in a smile. Neither of them doubt that Changbin and Seungmin are a forever kind of thing. 

“Not that,” Jisung says. “I mean, we introduced them. Isn’t that kind of strange?”

Minho remembers that. 

In university, he and Jisung were frequent participants of Trivia Night at their favorite bar, but this time around they needed a bigger team, so they both dragged their unsuspecting friends into the game. Neither of them thought that the night would end with the two exchanging numbers and giddy smiles, and that the next time they saw them, it would be by accidentally witnessing their date. 

“I guess,” he agrees. It sure is strange to think they might have never gotten together if it weren’t for Minho, Jisung, and silly Trivia Night in Star Lost. “They should be thanking us for bringing them together.” 

“And what would’ve been if you didn’t work at the record store?” Jisung asks. “Or—or what if I actually remembered to buy Channie hyung a birthday gift before it went out of stock? What if I found that vinyl at a different shop and we never—”

Minho frowns and says, “Jisung-ah.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, even though he knows that Minho didn’t interrupt him to get him to apologize for rambling. “I just—I’ve been thinking about stuff like that lately. Coincidences and accidents and—and fate.”

Oh.

Heat rises to Minho’s cheeks as he wonders: does he mean Jisung has been thinking whether their friendship has been written in the stars? He shouldn’t be surprised. Jisung is a romantic at heart, after all. A songwriter who slips away into imaginary worlds and finds beauty in every piece of the universe.

It’s just cute.

He has never told Jisung about it before, and he doesn’t plan to do it unless he’s on his deathbed, but before a distressed Han Jisung ventured into Broken Record at the end of his shift all those years ago, Minho had already known of his existence. 

Every other Thursday, when Minho was making his way to his dance class, he saw this cute guy sitting on the windowsill in front of the studios, always with headphones on and gazing out through the window. Always looking like he was waiting for someone. 

He was pretty, and Minho kind of wanted to get to know him, but he had never quite mastered the art of casually strolling up to someone and asking for their name. And then Jisung walked into the record store on the last day of September, and they’ve been best friends ever since.

“Well,” Minho starts, “I think we would’ve met sooner or later. Maybe even during Trivia Night. You look pretty smart. If I didn’t have anyone to pair up with, I’d definitely choose you.”

It must be the right thing to say, because that bright spark comes back to Jisung’s expression and he shakes his head against the headrest. He probably understands what Minho means. It was fate the first time around, so it would’ve worked in a different scenario, too. Sooner or later, their paths would have crossed. 

They arrive in Samcheok two hours before the wedding, around four o’clock in the afternoon. Only the family and closest friends are staying at the resort, and since it’s rented-out for the occasion, there’s no one around to ask questions when they tell the receptionist that they only need one key because Jisung won’t be using his assigned room. 

They make their way upstairs, Jisung carrying their ironed shirts and pants while Minho takes care of their bags, but the moment those are safely hung in the closet and discarded on the floor, Jisung is throwing himself onto the king-sized bed and pulling Minho along to join him. 

Minho lands on his chest with a huff, and pushes himself up so that their faces are on the same level. Smiles, because it’s hard not to when he’s got Han Jisung right in front of him. He dips down to peck him on the mouth, stealing a kiss that’s short and sweet and just enough. 

“I want to nap so bad,” Jisung mumbles into his mouth, eyes already half-closed. 

“You know you can’t,” Minho reminds him, although he’d really like that, too. To doze off with the sea breeze softly caressing them through the balcony door, in Jisung’s arms, in the middle of a pretty day. But— “You will either refuse to get out of bed later or turn into a groggy gremlin.”

Jisung sighs. “I hate that you know me so well.” 

“Mhm.” Minho smiles, nudging the tip of his nose with his own. “I totally believe you.”

Jisung scoffs, but he doesn’t refute, tightening his hold around Minho’s waist instead. He rubs circles into his back, and Minho, with his face tucked into Jisung’s neck, almost gives in and agrees to that damned nap. He just feels so comfortable—so at peace. 

But they’re both going to be miserable during the wedding if they do that, even if they doze off for fifteen minutes. Minho knows it from experience and the memory of way too many company parties they’ve skipped for that exact reason.

“We should probably start getting ready,” he says, slowly detaching himself from Jisung and the addictive heat of his body, and rolls onto the mattress next to him. “The guests are gonna start flocking in soon.”

Jisung lets out a pained groan, but—to Minho’s surprise—he drags himself off the bed to stand. “Calling dibs on the shower.”

Minho pouts like a child, pushing himself up onto his elbow and staring after Jisung, quite offended. “I thought we’d shower together and save time.” 

“Oh, no. There’s no showering with you in there with me, we both know that. I actually want to wash up.”  

“You’re no fun.”

Jisung makes a cute deal with it kind of face and shrugs, backing up in the direction of the ensuite. Minho watches him until he disappears inside, and when the door clicks shut, he rolls onto his back with a sigh.

There’s not much he can do except for idly scrolling through his phone while he waits for Jisung to come out, so he uses this time to send Changbin a text. We’re here. Are you shitting your pants from nerves already? He adds a laughing sticker of a hamster for good measure.

He gets a selfie in return—Changbin is sitting in front of a vanity, and his sister is in the frame, standing behind him with her fingers blurred as she seems to be in the middle of making his hair look presentable. I wanted to style it myself and she told me it looked like shit and Seungmin would run away when he saw me. 

Minho starts cackling. She was probably right. Wait until all the papers are signed and stamped before you try out a new look. Just to be safe. 

Changbin leaves him on read after that, but Jisung opens the bathroom door a few moments later, so Minho abandons his phone, anyway. He’s got nothing on but a towel wrapped around his hips, and Minho has never before wanted to give this wedding a middle finger before, but all he’s dreaming of now is dragging Jisung to bed and having his way with him.

He hates that by forcing him to tag along to the gym, he has become one of the reasons why Jisung is so ripped now. He hates that he’s self-destructive enough to want to drag him there even more often.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Jisung asks, but his mouth is already curved in an annoyingly attractive smirk. 

“Don’t test me,” is all Minho says, a kind of warning that falls flat for both of them. But, of course, Jisung is the devil incarnate. He lives to make Minho’s life miserable. 

He turns around, sinking into a crouch to grab a pair of clean boxers out of his bag, and when he comes back up again, he drops the damned towel to the floor. It pools at his feet as he takes his sweet time putting the underwear on, clearly out to get Minho and his fragile heart.

Minho clenches his jaw.

Two can play this game, he thinks, hauling himself off the bed. If Jisung wants to be an asshole when he knows they can’t have any funny business before the wedding, Minho can be one, too. 

“Fuck you, Han Jisung,” he spits out, stomping past him like an angry kid. “Fuck you.”

Jisung’s laugh reverberates through their suite and—although Minho absolutely loathes it—puts a stupid smile on his face. He kicks the bathroom door shut before Jisung can see it. 

The shower makes the haze of arousal fade, but he still parades around their room naked, even though Jisung yells at him for sitting on the expensive-looking sheets with his bare ass. Minho thinks he’s being ridiculous considering what they will most definitely be doing to those sheets after the wedding, but he doesn’t question it lest Jisung finds a way to convince him that staying here and defiling the duvet now is worth Changbin and Seungmin’s wrath. 

The rest of their getting ready comes without temptation, though Minho can’t quite deny himself a kiss when he’s helping Jisung with his tie. He runs his hands down the front of his loose, black short-sleeve shirt, and says, “You clean up nice.”

“You too,” Jisung says cheekily, although Minho’s pastel yellow shirt only hangs off his shoulders, his chest exposed. It’s not hard to guess that it’s exactly why Jisung likes it so much. 

Minho rolls his eyes and moves to stand in front of the mirror to take care of his own attire—button the shirt up half-way and tuck it into his black chino pants. In the reflection, he sees Jisung follow. He stands behind Minho, wrapping his arms around his waist, and rests his chin on his shoulder. 

Their eyes lock in the mirror, and they both break into smiles. There’s commotion outside the door, steps hurrying down the hallway, but for that short moment, they’re suspended in their own quiet little world. 

“We look so good I’m afraid we might take the spotlight off our grooms,” Jisung says, cheeky. 

“No, Jisung-ah,” Minho starts, barely able to contain his own silly smile, “we’re not skipping the wedding to spare them the humiliation.” 

“Hm? No. Now that I’m dressed, I’m definitely not skipping. People need to see me in this outfit.” 

Minho shakes his head and detaches himself from him to finish dressing up. He only has to put on his favorite perfume, silver earrings, and a bunch of matching rings, and he’s ready to go. 

They make sure the balcony door is closed before they leave their room and make their way to the lobby, where they come across a bunch of guests. Neither of them know anyone, though, so they head down to the beach—or rather to the giant gardens in the back of the building, with wooden stairs opening onto the sand and the sea, with the sun just short of beginning to set.

There’s a lit-up path weaving through the garden, one that leads to the altar under a white canopy and an arrangement of pink flowers wound around two of its legs. The tables for guests have been set-up in front of it, decorated with fake candles and plants. The dance floor seems to be under a giant tent further in the back. Everything is bathed in the golden lights of lanterns using scarce trees as support and hanging over the area. That, paired with the setting sun, makes the place look cozily atmospheric. Minho has never seen a wedding set-up like that. It looks like something straight out of a fairytale. 

“Wow, it looks beautiful,” Jisung says, looking around in wonder with the golden lights sparkling in the reflection of his eyes. Minho watches him, walking two steps behind him as Jisung twirls around to take everything in. He looks enchanted by the view. 

It’s kind of adorable. 

Before they can attempt to look for their table, Felix’s hand shoots up into the air to draw their attention, and he waves, a bright smile on his freckled face. Everyone is already there. Jeongin is taking pictures of Minju against the backdrop of the setting sun, Chan is talking on the phone just a few steps away, and Hyunjin is lowering his sunglasses, dramatically sizing them up as they approach the group. 

“Hello there. We were starting to think you weren’t gonna show up with how late you got here,” he says as the two of them take their seats on the opposite side of the table. 

“The less time I spend with you people, the healthier and more peaceful my mind is,” Minho counters with a sickly-sweet smile. “I’m trying to teach Jisungie to do the same.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, but a smile passes over his mouth as he goes back to looking around the gardens—maybe in search of familiar faces this time. A bunch of friends from the industry are coming, Minho knows. 

But before he, too, can sweep his gaze over the guests slowly occupying their seats, Jeongin nods at the two of them, and—as the fashionista that he is—points out their matching tops: Jisung’s tie and Minho’s shirt. The table erupts with oohs and aahs while everyone pokes fun at the accident, because it happens to them all the time. And although it’s funny to watch them fumble around in the dark, Minho derives immense pleasure from seeing the realization dawn on their faces as Jisung blinks slowly and says, “It was on purpose.”

A slow smile touches Minju’s face. “So you’re here together as a . . . date?” she asks.

Minho turns to the left, sharing a long gaze with Jisung, and suppresses the natural reaction to wink at him whenever their eyes lock. 

“Can’t a guy take his best friend to a wedding and flaunt him around like an eye candy?” he says in the end, earning himself a shove from Jisung, who laughs, because of course he does. He thinks Minho is the funniest person in the world—Minho knows that for certain.

Hyunjin groans like he feels personally offended by that answer, but that’s all there is to it—that’s just how Minho and Jisung are, after all, so everyone moves on. 

They would be in shambles, Minho imagines, if only they knew how their friendship has transformed, what it has become over the course of months following Hyunjin’s birthday. He remembers that day well, contrary to most of the other times he’d gotten drunk. After all, it feels like it would be hard to forget giving Jisung a lap dance when he’d complained about the party being lame since there were no strippers.

Their friends cheered and whistled, but after he’d left Jisung alone, a flushed mess, Minho couldn’t quite come back to his senses. Meaning, he couldn’t quite shake off his own burning desire. No matter how many more drinks he’d had or how many times he’d splashed his face with ice-cold water. Jisung, thankfully, felt the same. He’d found Minho in the bathroom of the club, and . . . Well, one look was enough.

They ended up escaping to his apartment and having sex that night, but when they woke up, neither of them felt regretful. And then it happened again, but that one Minho regrets—simply because he can’t look at the leather couch in the practice room of the company building without conjuring up the memory of that day anymore. 

It doesn’t happen often, though, and they never really plan it. It just happens and there’s nothing more to it.

Honestly, Minho isn’t too surprised at the fact that they’re also compatible in bed when they match in perhaps every other aspect of their lives. It’s convenient, because—with his busy life as a choreographer—Minho doesn’t have much time and willingness to seek hook-ups. What he does with Jisung every now and then is much more than enough.

Back at the wedding, Minho catches Jisung’s eye as he tries to sneakily see if the champagne bottle on their table has been closed with a reusable cork, and thinks their friendship hasn’t changed much because of sex. For the better, if anything. Minho doesn’t remember if he has ever felt this comfortable around another human being before.

Most likely never. 

💒

The ceremony is short and sweet. 

Everyone tears up. Minho will insist his eye just was itchy if anyone asks, but even he felt a bit emotional seeing his friends up there at the altar, vowing to love each other forever. Jisung must notice, even if his eyes are trained on Changbin and Seungmin, because he reaches over and takes Minho’s hand into his. He’s giving him a look like he’s daring Minho to pull away, so Minho squeezes and leaves it there in his lap.

At some point, Felix gets so emotional that he starts full-on crying, so Jisung, sitting beside him, pulls him into his shoulder and lets him use his shirt as a tissue, holding him with one arm, while his other hand stays intertwined with Minho’s.

The tears are lost when Jeongin and Chan get up to the front and sing for the newlyweds, getting everyone to sing along to one of the most popular love songs Changbin wrote for ITZY. (The song screams Seungmin so much, Minho feels a little sick.)

Then, the giant cake is cut and distributed among the tables, and while some eat, others form a line to give Changbin and Seungmin their best wishes and gifts. Naturally, as dates, Minho and Jisung go together. After leaving their envelopes on the gift table, Jisung tells him all about this new movie he saw at the cinema last week as they wait for their turn. 

Minho isn’t the best at talking about his feelings, so he feels awkward when he’s finally standing face to face with his friends and finds that he doesn’t quite know what to say.

The funny thing is, Changbin cuts them off before either of them can open their mouths. “Oh, I knew this was gonna happen,” he says the moment he sees them, shaking his head with apparent amusement. 

“Excuse me?” Minho lifts his eyebrows. 

“When you said you weren’t bringing anyone,” Seungmin starts, “Changbin hyung said that you were definitely gonna end up with Jisung.”

Minho scoffs. “He was the one who asked me,” he says, to Jisung’s dismay. He starts protesting, but Minho successfully interrupts him. “And what is that even supposed to mean?”

“That you two are attached at the hip,” Changbin says. Minho misses the meaning of his pointed look, but it makes the back of his neck feel hot. “Should’ve just said you were coming together at the beginning and save us all—”

“We’re very happy for you two! We wish you a long and happy marriage!” Jisung calls out, grabbing Minho’s wrist and dragging him away. Minho can hear both Changbin and Seungmin giggling behind their backs, and when he meets Jisung’s eye, he bursts into a fit of laughter, too. Jisung huffs, and grumbles, “They’re annoying as hell. I’m taking back my gift and eating all of their cake.” 

He makes good on his promise, devouring two slices of the chocolate cake and finishing Minho’s when Minho’s stomach starts lacking holding space. The dinner is served after a round of champagne, and once their plates are cleared, their whole table needs a long while to come back to their senses. 

Minho opts for a short walk along the premises, not at all surprised when Jisung decides to tag along, clinging to his arm with his head on Minho’s shoulders as they walk, the least comfortable position known to mankind. 

“That was some goodass food,” he mumbles. He probably wants to sleep like he usually does after a meal, which Minho doesn’t blame him for, but they’re barely two hours into the wedding. There’s a whole party ahead of them—which, by the sound of it, is slowly unfolding under the giant tent as the sky turns a dark shade of blue.

“I can tell you enjoyed it,” Minho teases, reaching his free hand to rub circles into Jisung’s stomach.

“I want to run off to our room now, have a nap, and come back when I’ve digested everything.”

Minho spares him yet another lecture about naps and what he’s like after them, because he kind of wants to slip away, too. But this—walking around the empty parts of the gardens, weaving between the trees as the sea glimmers and glistens in the distance—is nice, too. 

They find their way back to their friends, finding everyone slightly more alive than when they’d left. Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Minju have disappeared, but it turns out they’ve already run off to dance. The wedding is in full swing, and Minho is having more and more fun with every passing minute. 

Drinks just keep appearing seemingly out of nowhere, either passing by on a tray or being handed to him by Jisung and Felix, and by the time they sit down again after dancing a few songs away, Minho has to down a glass of water just to recover a bit.

He dances with many people: his friends, Changbin’s sister, and even some aunties that rave about how handsome he is, how well he moves—who giggle when he tells them that he really is a professional dancer. It’s pretty amusing, though he has to admit that Jisung is his favorite partner.

Minho especially likes how they find their way back to each other every few songs, twirling around and wrapping their hands around each other until some acquaintances pull them apart, eager for some time alone with either of them. 

Now, they’re several hours, a slow dance, and too many colorful shots that taste of cherries and something spicy into the wedding, and finally, they’ve found themselves at the edge of the dance floor, in a more secluded corner of the tent. 

Jisung has his head on Minho’s shoulder, and they’re swaying to the beat of the song that Jisung is muttering the lyrics to quietly. Satisfied with the fact that no one else will hear his thoughts, Minho allows himself a bit of self-indulgence to admit that it’s a perfect night. Even better than that one time they flew to Tokyo on a whim just to see a musical based on one of their favorite anime.

And then, Jisung looks up at Minho and says, “Marry me.”

In the blink of an eye, when the words register in his brain, Minho feels his stuttering heart drift up towards his throat, lodging itself up there and making it hard for him to speak. 

He says, “That would be enough drinks for you, mister,” and prays to chase away the strange tightness in his chest. Why is his body reacting like that?

Jisung lifts his head off Minho’s shoulder and pulls away at an arm’s length. Looks Minho in the eye with a look on his face so determined that Minho feels untethered. Like he’s going to suddenly float away if Jisung lifts his hand off his arm. If he lets go.

“I’m not drunk,” he says. “I’m being serious.”

Minho blinks. “What do you mean you’re being serious?” 

The words of Look who you’re talking to wither away at the back of his tongue. Jisung appears like he knows exactly who he’s facing, and despite his best efforts, Minho can’t quite hold back the shiver that runs down his spine at the thought of it.

“I mean that I want us to get married,” Jisung shrugs, his thumb stroking Minho’s biceps where his fingers are curled around his upper arm. “That I want us to live together and be together and be happy.”

Minho swallows hard. He doesn’t trust himself to ponder all that right now, and instead asks, “Where is this coming from, Jisung-ah?”

Jisung shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about it. About how people often get married because of passion and explosive romantic feelings, and those fizzle out, and they fight and they break and they get divorced, and they never speak to each other again,” he says, sounding a little too sober for the amount of drinks he’s had. “But I think that we could be different. Because marriage doesn’t have to be based on an explosive romance, right? Who’s to say I can’t marry you because I feel comfortable around you and you’re one of the few people who understand me? Because I love you?” he whispers, meeting Minho’s confusion with his deadly doe eyes. And then— “Because I know I’m going to fall in love with you if only I let myself?”

Minho can see it.

Can see himself falling head over heels for Jisung, because he’s somewhere half-way there. Can see Jisung occupying one half of his closet, his favorite chocolate-scented shower gel in the bathroom, the mug he’d made in the pottery class in high-school on the shelf in the kitchen. Can see lazy mornings and cozy evenings, hugging Jisung from the back while he makes coffee, and giving him a piece of a carrot over his shoulder because he can’t wait for dinner to be ready. He can see sending Jisung off to work—a silent good luck enclosed in a cheek kiss, a homemade lunch tucked safely into his bag. Can see first gray hairs and frantic hands trying to book a visit to the hairdresser’s and telling Jisung he’s never been more beautiful.

Minho wants to see it. 

Jisung fits into his life like an old teddy bear—someone who knows his every secret and has seen him through mind-numbing heartache and bad decisions, yet welcomes him back into his arms every single time. The weight of his body against Minho’s is familiar and necessary in his life, his touch filled with not-quite-romantic-love, but close.

Jisung doesn’t let him answer. He continues, “I like spending time with you, and I like how you’re the only person who doesn’t tire me out. I like it when we go out, and when we stay in, and when we’re doing completely different things but in the same room.” 

As if Minho needs any more convincing.

“I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same way about it,” Jisung says, his voice taking on a softer edge. Of course he’ll understand. His heart is too good for this world. “If you want the butterflies and the explosion of feelings and first dates and all that.”

How could Minho even begin to explain that he doesn’t think he could ever be able to find this kind of emotional contentment he feels when he’s around Jisung with anyone else even if he tried? 

“You know me,” he tries. “You know that I’ve never been the whirlwind romance kinda guy.”

Jisung is cautious. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t want to experience it one day.”

Hand ghosting over Jisung’s back, Minho finally presses his palm against his spine and pulls him forward, until Jisung has no choice but to loop his arms around his neck, their faces barely inches away. Minho has lost count of the amount of times they’ve been in this exact position, caught-up in the moments just before kissing, but tonight is different in many aspects. 

“I think—” Minho starts, resuming to sway to the music as the sound of a song fading into the next one brings him back to reality. “I think you could give me that.”

The way Jisung searches his face for an answer throws his heartbeat off rhythm.

“What are you—What are you saying?”

“I think you could give me that,” Minho repeats, this time firmer. “The butterflies and the giddiness and a million first dates and everything. But even if you couldn’t—” He smiles, and it’s like he’s drunk on happiness. He can’t believe he’s saying it. “I still want to marry you.” 

Jisung’s whole face lights up.

“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not like actively searching for someone to spend the rest of my life with is at the top of my priority list. I don’t want to go through the periods of getting to know each other and filling each other in on jokes and meeting friends and family just for everything to fall apart because it just always does—” He chokes up, out of breath, laughing when Jisung, all teary-eyed and soft, reminds him to breathe. “And that’s not going to change. I can’t see myself meeting someone new and dedicating all this effort to make them a part of my life because that’s what everyone says I should do. But you—”

He lets out a soft sigh.

“Yes,” Jisung says quietly. “I know what you mean.”

Jisung is already a big part of his life. His best friend. His other half. Minho can’t imagine himself without him—and if Jisung feels the same way, why wouldn’t they just seal the deal and get married?

Minho rests his forehead against Jisung’s and lets his eyelids slip shut. His heart thunders at the notion of what he wants to say, but although it makes him feel stripped bare and pulled apart at the seams, he doesn’t let himself fear it.

“If there’s anyone in the world I’d like to have in my life forever,” he says, “it’s you.”

“Minho,” Jisung whispers. “Hyung.”

A smile spreads across Minho’s lips, so wide and foolishly happy that it feels like it might rip the muscles in his face. 

“Come on,” he urges on, taking Jisung by the wrist and sliding their hands together, fingers interlocked as he pulls. He skitters away from the fantasy of spending the rest of his life with this man, the guy that gets his heart going and makes him feel like the happiest person in the entire universe. Because it’s going to be reality. As soon as they’re allowed to, Minho imagines. He wants to steal this wedding’s officiant and have her marry the two of them now. 

Sneaking out of the tent and past the wedding guests, they end up at the beach, sitting on the sand without much care for their clothes, bathing in the moonlight with a bottle of champagne stolen off the bar counter.

Minho’s head is in Jisung’s lap, Jisung’s fingers slowly carding through his hair, and it’s a little bit cold with the breeze and late hour of the night, but Minho finds it hard to care about any of it. Not when his heart has grown three sizes too big for his body with an emotion he has never felt before.

It might not be an explosive feeling, this warmth in his chest, but it’s comfortable. It makes him feel safe. He didn’t think he’d feel it—or need it—but now that it’s here, he wants it to stay. Wants to do everything to make it stay. 

“Ask me,” he says. “Ask me again.” 

Jisung looks down on him, cradling the side of his face, and smiles that pretty smile Minho loves being the cause of. He’s blushing, like the embarrassment is settling in again, but he doesn’t shy away from the request.

“Lee Minho, will you do me this honor and be my husband?” he asks, thumb ghosting over Minho’s cheekbone. “Will you marry me?” 

Minho grins like he’s won the lottery. “Yes. Yes, my baby.” 

Jisung ducks his head bashfully, not used to hearing the petname come out of Minho’s mouth, directed at him, and not a part of some joke. He likes being addressed that way, because he’s a total sweetheart, so now that he’s allowed to, Minho isn’t going to miss a chance to do it. Put this pink dust across his cheeks, make him flustered.

“You may now kiss the groom,” he says, making the effort to push himself off Jisung’s lap and straining his neck to get closer. 

Jisung laughs. “I think that’s for the ceremo—”

Minho cuts him off with a kiss. It tastes like expensive champagne, but it’s too short for his liking, so when his muscles start giving up, he wraps an arm around Jisung’s neck and tugs him down until he’s falling against him and the sand.

Jisung starts groaning and complaining about broken bones, but the smile he breaks into and the laughter he can’t seem to hold back betray him. Minho climbs into his lap to straddle him. He doesn’t care that Jisung is getting sand all over him when he moves his hands to his hips, or that he’s going to spend the night getting it out of their sheets. What matters is that Jisung kisses him fervently when Minho leans down, and that he smiles into his mouth like he can barely contain himself. 

Minho presses himself flat to Jisung’s chest, tangles his fingers in his hair and messes it all up, feels his pulse, strong and rapid when he moves a hand to his neck. Jisung brings his own palm up to cover Minho’s fingers, and it’s a striking need to stop his fingers from being so bare, so unmarked by Minho’s name and the promise to stay with him for as long as he lives. 

He’s already planning on finding them both matching bands, with a gorgeous jewel to match the glimmer in Jisung’s eyes, but he still asks, “Are you gonna buy me a pretty ring?”

Jisung tells him, “I’ll buy you anything.”

And maybe it’s completely foolish of them. But when Minho allows himself to think about it, he sees that Jisung is basically the man of his dreams. He makes Minho laugh and shares his strange sense of humor, understanding him easily when no one else makes the effort to try. He’s the guy who goes along with all his ideas, even if they include a kidnapping to the Namsan Tower when they’re both terrified of heights or a trip to the museum when neither of them know shit about art. Jisung is madly talented in literally every aspect of life, and the most hard-working person Minho knows, even if finding him hunched over his laptop in the company building late at night tends to piss him off sometimes. He’s handsome and well-dressed and he takes care of himself thoroughly, be it hitting the gym or investing in an expensive skin care routine. 

He’s Minho’s best friend since his university days, a constant in his life even through the rocky roads of his career, a confidant of his darkest worries Minho would never dare to utter around someone else. 

He’s the man that feels like has always meant to be Minho’s, from the very first moment their eyes met in Broken Record, and even before that, when Minho still hadn’t known his name. 

And, well, he also likes cats, which, in Minho’s dictionary, is probably the most important trait for a man to have. Minho needs to remind him of that and demand that they adopt one together, as a condition for their marriage.

Together.

How pretty the word suddenly sounds in his mind, how it fills him with happiness from head to toe. His whole body is alive with the feeling. 

He cups the side of Jisung’s face and smiles down at him, whispering, “I’m excited.” 

Jisung mirrors his expression, though he seems a little more dazed, and says, “Me too. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Minho’s heart stutters pathetically in his chest, that traitorous fool, in disbelief that he’s hearing words like that; that tomorrow he’ll wake up with the knowledge that he has someone who’s vowing to be with him until the end of time; that there’s someone who sees him as he is and wants him all the same. 

He certainly didn’t expect to come out of this wedding engaged, and he knows Changbin will never let him live it down, but as he takes Jisung’s hand into his own and grabs the half-empty bottle of champagne with the other, slowly beginning to walk back to the resort with the promise of a warm body in the bed beside him forever, he finds that he wouldn’t have it any other way.