Archive of Our Own

Sunday nights are roommate movie nights. Frankly, Minho thinks the movies are a bit hard to watch because the TV they picked up at the nearby dumpster has issues syncing up the sound and the picture, but since Hyunjin was adamant about it, roommate movie nights became law.

Since his whims about movie night change quite often, it’s more like roommate movie nights are a stack of little laws dressed in a trench coat imitating a bigger law, but the point stands that it’s Minho’s pick tonight, and Hyunjin has been suspiciously quiet.

So, of course, when Minho glances over, he finds Hyunjin tapping on his phone, absorbed in whatever silent conversation he’s having. In a fake cheery voice, Minho singsongs: “What’s that I see over there?”

“Nothing,” says Hyunjin, not taking his eyes off his phone. He’s hunched over it like a shrimp, his face lit up by the bright screen only a mere few inches away. “Just give me a—Hey!”

Taking advantage of Hyunjin’s lack of awareness, Minho leans across the couch and plucks the phone from his grasp. Hyunjin lets out a yelp, finally snapping his attention to Minho. “Give that back! I said it was gonna be quick.”

“No,” Minho says, “you didn’t.”

“Well, I was going to before you interrupted me.” Hyunjin glares at him accusingly, as if that’ll change his mind.

“Doesn’t really matter. No phones during movie night.”

“The movie’s barely started!”

“We’re a quarter of the way through.”

“Can you just give it back for a second, then? I just gotta send one text!”

“No exceptions,” Minho says. The phone dangles from his fingertips, and he watches Hyunjin’s eyes focus hawkishly on it. Odd. “You’re the one who made the rule.”

Knowing that this is Minho’s form of revenge after Hyunjin’s snatched his phone a few too many times, it seems that Hyunjin is finally faced with the consequences of his actions. His mouth flattens from the pout he had put it in, and Minho gets about half a second of a warning before Hyunjin pounces on him.

It’s not much use trying to hold the phone away from Hyunjin, given the ungodly length of his arms, but he’s been to the gym fewer times than Minho can count on both hands in the past year, so it’s easy for Minho to shove him back with one hand.

“Hyuuung,” Hyunjin whines, his face squished against Minho’s palm. He bats at Minho’s arm, which is about as effective as a kitten trying to fight. Actually, it’s less effective, given how vicious Dori was as a kitten. “It’s my phone!”

“And it’s my movie pick,” Minho shoots back. From the TV, the peaceful strains of the Princess Mononoke soundtrack play. He ignores it in favor of narrowing his eyes at Hyunjin. “What the hell is so important that you’re trying to fight me over this?”

Suddenly, Hyunjin stills and the chiming of the alarm bells in Minho’s brain turns into clanging. It’s not his job—Hyunjin will go on about the shit his boss puts him through at the art gallery without any prompting—and it’s not his parents, since they usually only call.

“A guy?” Minho asks.

Hyunjin won’t meet his eyes, his gaze glued to Minho’s socks like they’ll tell him the secrets of the universe. Or at least the secret to how to get one over on Minho—which, the answer is simply to be anyone but Hwang Hyunjin.

“Fine,” Minho finally huffs. He taps the screen of Hyunjin’s phone and swipes over the password screen. “Guess I’ll have to see for myself if you won’t tell me.”

It’s this that gets through to Hyunjin, and he scrambles to his knees. “Wait, wait, wait!”

Pausing halfway through keying in the password, Minho raises a brow at Hyunjin. “So, it is a guy?”

“...yeah.” Hyunjin curls in a bit, as if trying to shrink in on himself. Oh, he’s reached this stage. Damage control time.

Minho pauses the movie. He doesn’t take his eyes off Hyunjin. “Who is it, Jinnie?” he asks softly.

“It…” Hyunjin takes in a gulping breath. They’re about a minute or two away from Hyunjin needing a bowl of ice cream or whatever snack he’s obsessed with this month. Maybe even a hug, which Minho isn’t quite equipped with right now. He should’ve just let Hyunjin keep his damn phone.

“It’s Changbin,” says Hyunjin.

Nevermind.

“Is it the same Changbin that I’m thinking of?”

“I don’t know any other Changbins.”

“So, Seo Changbin,” Minho says flatly. Neither a statement nor a question. “Your ex.”

Hyunjin sits up into a less prone position, out of kicking range, though the look on his face is not any less vulnerable than it was before. “Please don’t get mad, hyung.”

“I’m not mad.” It’s the truth: he’s not. More like a half-truth because it’s more complicated than that. A glass half full situation.

Minho’s not really trying to do anything with his expression, but whatever Hyunjin gleans is enough for him to relax. He finally settles into the couch, a touch closer to Minho than he was before. Seeking strength, but not sure if he’ll get it.

“He texted me by accident,” Hyunjin says. “It was funny, so I thought, ‘What the hell, I’ll respond.’”

“I thought you blocked him.”

“I just deleted his number.” Hyunjin looks sheepish as he admits this. “Wasn’t like I memorized it or anything.”

Minho sighs—the damage has been done regardless. “Go on.”

“There’s really not much else to say, hyung.” In Minho’s hand, the phone pings an unusual alert. He doesn’t need to see the flicker of excitement in Hyunjin’s eye to know who the text tone is set for. “We’re texting, okay? It’s not like we’re hooking up or anything. We’re not even flirting—we’re just friends. Changbin-hyung’s a good guy.”

“You called him the devil in Nike sweats just a couple of months ago,” Minho reminds him.

Hyunjin’s brow wrinkles. “Did I? I guess that does sound like me. And he still owns a lot of Nike.”

“How do you know that?” The phone pings again. Tired of the way Hyunjin seems locked onto the phone, Minho tosses it back to him.

He snatches it out of the air and holds it to his body with such fierce protectiveness that it makes Minho roll his eyes. “Pictures he sends me,” Hyunjin answers absentmindedly, swiping at the screen.

Minho takes a deep breath and looks at the ceiling, begging some higher power to give him strength. He thinks it works. His doctor will tell him at his next annual physical how much his blood pressure has gone up.

A gentle nudge of Hyunjin’s foot brings Minho back from his temporary break from atheism. “C’mon, hyung, let’s watch the movie. I gotta get up early for work tomorrow.”

Unable to help himself, Minho snorts. “So you’re getting up at eight-thirty instead of eight-forty-five.”

“Fuck off.” Hyunjin colors as he grabs the remote. “Where were we?”

“Just start from the beginning.”

There’s nothing else that needs to be said once Princess Mononoke starts playing again, and roommate movie night passes by without another hitch. Hyunjin keeps his phone dutifully face down on the coffee table, but Minho doesn’t miss how his eyes dip down to it every once in a while. Nor does he miss the soft smile on Hyunjin’s face after he wishes Minho good night, his eyes sparkling with more than just the light of his phone screen.

It’s not that Minho is shocked that Hyunjin is talking to Changbin again, but he certainly hasn’t given the possibility much thought. That’s honestly a trauma response, or maybe more like the denial stage of the grieving process.

What he’s trying to say is: it’s hard to catch Minho off guard.

But that doesn’t stop him from doing a double take when he receives a message request from one Han Jisung.

Minho doesn’t have anything against Jisung personally. He’s met Jisung more than a handful of times when he’s tagged along to events that Changbin was hosting, back when he and Hyunjin were still dating. Aside from knowing that he and Changbin were best friends and worked together, Minho’s impression was that Jisung was easy to get along with, and, if Minho thought that he was also easy on the eyes, then it was a thought that he kept to himself. But that doesn’t really matter.

Because what the fuck does Changbin’s best friend want with him?

Minho’s in his room right now, and he knows he doesn’t have to worry about Hyunjin randomly popping his head in because he can hear the faint strains of Hyunjin’s painting playlist through the wall. He shouldn’t be entertaining anything pertaining to Changbin, but against his better judgment, Minho allows himself to take a peek.

Han Jisung
did hyunjin tell you the news?

That’s vague, isn’t it? Not confrontational, at least, but not particularly friendly either. Well, two can play that game.

yeah he’s been angling for this promotion for a little now

Han Jisung
oh
not that
but good for him
I’m sure he worked hard for it

He can see Jisung typing for a minute, the bubble popping in and out as Jisung tries to come up with a segue. Not feeling threatened by the conversation, nor particularly invested, Minho swipes out of KakaoTalk to scroll through his TikTok—he gets only two videos deep before Jisung messages back.

Han Jisung
I mean him and changbin talking again

sure

he told me yesterday

Han Jisung
shit
changbin only told me today

hyunjin probably told him i knew

Han Jisung
wonder why they told us now
they’ve been doing this for two weeks now

?two weeks

Han Jisung
?
I thought you knew

i had to
force the information out of hyunjin

Han Jisung
OH LOL
well that changes things

?it does

Han Jisung
ofc it does
seo changbin you motherfucker
prob wasn’t gonna say shit to me
whatever happened to bros before hoes

don’t call hyunjin a ho

Han Jisung
my b
i’m sure he’s a very respectable gentleman
and no one else’s body count should be used as an indication of their worth as a human being
so like maybe ho can be reclaimed
not that the saying is reclaimable given the context
also saying us as humans have varying degrees of worth is a bit fucked up

calm down han jisung
no need to start writing me a dissertation
this convo stays between us
you’re right tho
hyunjin definitely wasn’t going to say anything to me either

Usually, Minho wouldn’t give this conversation very much power over him, but there’s something about the way Jisung texts that is so easy to get caught up in. Maybe that’s Minho’s own fault for even entertaining him in the first place. Still, he tells himself it’s because he still doesn’t know why Jisung is messaging him in the first place.

?so why did you message me

Han Jisung
right so
since you know they’re talking again
I wanted to see if you’d be willing to meet up
to talk about this

Minho pauses, finally the one to halt their conversation. His fingers hover over his phone screen as he tries to gauge what exactly Jisung wants from him.

?what do you mean by that

Han Jisung
okay yeah that’s weird and you’re totally within your rights to tell me to fuck off
so I can only speak about my end of things
it’s been a long couple of months
and I still have thoughts, yknow?
that I don’t want hyung to see

that’s what passcodes are for

Han Jisung
he knows them all
and it’s suspicious if I try to cover things up
I thought you’d be in a similar boat

Jisung’s right—this is weird. He’s also right, though, in gauging where Minho is at about this whole thing: it has been a long couple of months.

Minho shouldn’t be digging into Changbin’s business, and he certainly shouldn’t be giving out anything about Hyunjin to Jisung, but there are times when Minho’s brain latches onto something he shouldn’t. Like a moth to a flame. Or, in less deadly terms, like a child’s tongue to a frozen metal pole.

Still, he’s an adult, and Jisung doesn’t seem to be one to cause too much trouble, at least not if his best friend is involved. Minho’s not an optimist, but he knows what he can or cannot handle.

Worst case scenario: he just walks out on Jisung and deletes this conversation.

Best case scenario: frankly, he has no clue. But it’s a best-case scenario, so it’s not like he’ll have to do damage control for that. Again.

Also, he’s curious, okay? Sue him.

?when and where, han jisung

The cafe Jisung picks out for them is nothing special. It’s a few stops away by metro, in a neighborhood that’s not too frequented. Just by looking at it, Minho can tell it’s the definition of a cafe—oak furniture, white walls, lush greenery. All but a stock photo come to life.

This is why Jisung—dressed in all-black clothes, a dingy baseball cap, and the largest pair of sunglasses Minho has ever seen stay put on a person’s face—sticks out like a sore thumb.

When Jisung had asked Minho if the vibe was “lowkey,” Minho had just assumed maybe a loose pair of jeans and a simple sweatshirt would work.

Evidently, they had different interpretations.

There’s no doubt that Jisung’s trying to be incognito, but Minho recognizes the curve of his cheeks and the ashy blond of his hair that he’s seen in Jisung’s profile picture. He’s scrolling through his phone as Minho approaches, his leg bouncing up and down against the linoleum. There’s a glass of iced americano in front of him, barely sipped yet the straw has been chewed down. He’s quieter without Changbin in his presence, but Minho can’t miss him.

“Jisung.”

Jisung startles when Minho speaks, and his sunglasses clatter onto the table as he jerks his head up. Without them, he cannot hide the surprise in his large eyes, reminiscent of a startled deer. “How did you know it was me?” he asks.

“Because you’re dressed like the Wikipedia definition of ‘suspicious,’” Minho answers, still in disbelief. He takes a seat across from Jisung and eyes him up and down deliberately. “The only thing you’re missing is a newspaper with eye holes cut out.”

Jisung scowls as he tucks the sunglasses into the pocket of his jacket, and he narrows his eyes at Minho. Shit, Minho must be coming off as rude—he has no idea where it came from. Then, Jisung pouts, “I’m not… hiding. I just didn’t want anyone to recognize me.”

“You’re a producer, not an idol,” Minho points out. “You’re more likely to get kicked out for looking like a cartoon robber than getting chased out by fans.” As if to prove his point, the baristas look over in their direction, huddled up and whispering.

Jisung either doesn’t see them or is good at pretending not to see them. “Yo, my beats are sick, though.”

“They’re alright.”

“Yeah?” Jisung says, all swagger. “You’ve listened?”

An errant impulse of flicking the brim of Jisung’s hat just to see how he’d react itches Minho’s hand. He ignores it and shrugs. “Hyunjin’s showed me some of you and Changbin’s stuff when they were dating.”

“Right, that.” Jisung sighs. “You should’ve listened to the stuff Changbin-hyung was writing during the past few months.”

“I haven’t because I deleted anyone you guys have ever worked with from my playlists,” Minho retorts. “Can’t listen to half my music anymore.”

Jisung raises a brow. “In solidarity with Hyunjin?”

“I fucking wish. It was a fight to get him to delete them from his playlists.” The amount of research Minho had to put in when he was doing that was ridiculous—it was a point of pride for Hyunjin how much Changbin contributed to South Korea’s music scene when they were still dating, but after the breakup, it seemed like every song would send Hyunjin into a spiral. And even then, he kept listening like the masochistic bastard he was.

“At least you got him to stop doing something,” says Jisung, with an indignation that only comes from reminiscing upon past misery—Minho’s familiar with that feeling. “We got complaints from people because hyung’s music was too depressing and also too specific, ‘cause he’d write about Hyunjin’s face or laugh or whatever. Chan-hyung tried to change the beat so they’d have a sexy, sad vibe, but it didn’t work. It was just sad.”

Almost against his will, Minho lets out a snort. “Stopping him from listening to his music was the only thing I stopped Hyunjin from doing. He was painting all the time. I barely saw him. If he wasn’t at work, then he was stuck in his room. And when he did leave, he’d track paint all over the apartment. We have carpet.”

Jisung winces. “Did you get a look at what he was painting?”

“Some of it. The rest he took a knife to before he even finished.” Minho makes a face, remembering the near-panic he had when he’d seen the fervor at which Hyunjin ripped into the paintings, followed by the tiredness from the amount of work he’d had to do to clear away the canvas and wooden frames strewn around the house. “It was a nightmare to clean up.”

“You’re a saint for dealing with that,” Jisung says. He takes off the hat and runs his hands through his hair. It’s a bit long, probably due for a cut, but the blond looks good against his tanned skin. He’s as handsome as Minho remembers, now that nothing is covering his face, but as soon as the thought appears, Minho stuffs it down. “Changbin-hyung was either at the studio or in the gym. I tried to keep up with him, but I couldn’t. It’s like his sadness photosynthesized into adrenaline or pre. I could barely move the days after.”

“Figures that’s what he’d be up to.”

Huffing through his nose, Jisung lifts the glass to his lips and takes another sip. “The music, the working out, the designer ferret shopping—”

“The what?”

Jisung waves a dismissive hand, continuing to his point. “—that, I could deal with. But he was so miserable for so long, and I had to see him through all of it—he’s my best friend, y’know? Hyunjin did a number on him.”

There’s no hint of an ulterior motive behind Jisung’s actions, but his offhand comment makes Minho both mentally and physically pull back. Frowning, Minho crosses his arms. “I could say the same about Changbin. Hyunjin was a mess after.”

Jisung tilts his head. “Wasn’t he the one that broke up with hyung?”

“He was,” affirms Minho, “but he never told me the details. I figured it was maybe the amount he works.”

“He never reached out to Changbin-hyung to tell him why, though.”

“Changbin didn’t reach out, either.”

“Until now,” says Jisung.

“Until now,” Minho repeats. “Just as Hyunjin is pulling himself back together.”

“It was an accident,” Jisung insists, though he doesn’t sound too convinced. “Changbin-hyung was just starting to get over him, too. Hyunjin didn’t have to answer.”

Though he cares about his friend, Minho makes a noise of agreement. “He really didn’t have to text back.”

“But he did, and what’s done is done.” Jisung finishes his coffee and sits back. A sigh leaves his lips, and almost like he’s speaking to himself, he mutters, “They’re gonna try and get back together.”

Minho keeps his eyes on Jisung. “They wouldn’t.”

He doesn’t seem to realize that he’s voiced something Minho has not dared to think about. “They’re already halfway there. Can’t you see how they look at their phones?”

“They’d be insane to,” Minho argues, “after how bad that breakup was.”

Jisung shrugs. “They’re blindsided by their feelings, so they’ve forgotten about it all. But us—” He gestures to himself and Minho. “We’ve been through it all. We know how bad it was then. We know how bad it will be now.”

He’s being absurd. Minho likes it. “We deserve a say,” he throws back in the same tone, “after all that shit we had to put up with from them.”

“Right? It’s like they haven’t thought about us at all.”

“What’s the point of a relationship if your friends aren’t a part of it?”

“Fucking shame.” The grin Jisung shoots at him is toothy and bright, enough to make Minho blink twice, but then, there’s a pause before he continues, “Unless…”

Curious. “Unless?”

“Look.” Jisung pushes his glass away and brings himself closer, angling himself across the table so Minho can hear the low rumble of his voice over the jazz playing from the cafe speakers. “We both agree that Changbin-hyung and Hyunjin getting back together isn’t great, yeah?”

Minho snorts, allowing his lips to quirk. “That’s been the gist of this conversation, hasn’t it? I think the consensus is that it’s definitely not ideal.”

Jisung scrunches his nose—it should be childish for a grown man to do that, but he makes it look charming. “That’s like calling a broken neck a sprain.”

“Dramatic, Jisung.”

“I don’t hear you disagreeing.”

“I don’t,” Minho says, “but what’s the alternative to talking to them? Forcing them apart?”

Jisung is quiet for a beat too long again. He’s still close enough that Minho can see the shadow of his stubble, and he cannot miss the gleam Jisung’s eyes take on. He may not know Jisung very well, but even he can see that the idea he’s cooked up will be questionable.

“I wouldn’t say… forcing.” With the way Jisung is drawing his words out, slow and purposeful, Minho realizes that he was wrong—Jisung had come with a goal in mind. “Something more subtle than that. Y’know, sometimes, the circumstances just won’t allow it.”

Despite the sudden sharp edge Jisung’s expression has taken on, Minho keeps his voice light. “And the circumstances meaning us?”

“Not that they have to know.” How Jisung looks at him is too serious for what he says.

“Sounds like it’ll be a lot of work.”

“I think we’re both more than capable.”

If Minho was anyone else, he would’ve walked away right then and there. Even he has a wariness when it comes to intruding on his friends’ lives, and Hyunjin, the oversharer he may be at times, is deserving of privacy. After all, that’s their friends’ happiness that they’re playing with right now. Not only is it too much to meddle with, but it’s also just wrong.

Yet, Minho is still sitting here. He shouldn’t trust Jisung at his word, but… he does.

He’s not sure he knows why.

Jisung continues to watch him, seemingly searching for some cue. Minho knows that he’s pulling his best poker face right now, but something about Jisung makes him feel jarringly transparent like he’s a fish looking out from inside the tank.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally says.

That seriousness in Jisung’s face softens, and he almost seems to brighten up at Minho’s noncommittal answer. He was expecting to get turned down, Minho realizes.

Again, anyone else would’ve immediately turned their nose at such an absurd idea.

Again, Minho is not anyone else. And neither is Jisung, apparently.

“Just keep me updated, okay?” Jisung says, unaware of the minor turmoil going on in Minho’s mind, and stands up. The time it takes for him to return the glass to the counter is enough for Minho to shake all the questions out of his mind. He watches as Jisung grabs his bag and zips his coat. “I know I talked a lot of shit about them, but Changbin-hyung is a good guy, and I do think Hyunjin is, too. I don’t want either of them to get hurt again. I want you to believe me, but I get it if you don’t.”

“I believe you,” says Minho simply.

It’s Jisung’s turn to blink twice, and he stumbles over his words. “Th-thanks.” He flashes Minho a shy but nonetheless vibrant smile. It’s contradictory, but Jisung makes it work. “I gotta get going now. It was good seeing you again, Minho.”

His grin is contagious, and Minho can’t help but smile back. “Good seeing you, too.”

Though Jisung ducks his head, Minho thinks he spots a tinge of color to his round cheeks, pink and glowing. A feeling of satisfaction comes over him as his eyes follow Jisung out of the cafe.

He sighs and goes to order himself a croissant.

Jisung doesn’t message Minho in the next few days, smart enough to realize that pushing him will not help. A part of him also suspects that Jisung, as assertive as he was when first contacting him and bringing up the topic, may be more reticent than he seems, but, overall, Minho’s glad for the space.

He carries through the week like he usually does: work, eat, sleep. Repeat. There’s very little room to think about Jisung’s offer when he’s busy bustling around the kitchen at the restaurant he works at, and, frankly, since Hyunjin has returned to some semblance of normalcy, maybe there’s no reason to think about Jisung’s offer.

Then, on Thursday, he comes home from work to find the entire apartment ransacked.

The living room is an absolute wreck, the cushions displaced from the couch, and the coffee table askew. Every door and cabinet has been flung open, and the contents inside overturned. The TV’s still here though, which further serves as evidence that they need to get a better TV.

“What the fuck,” he says before he can help himself. He’s gonna die and Hyunjin’s still not gonna use his life insurance money to buy a new TV.

“Minho-hyung?” Down the hall, Hyunjin’s voice echoes. There’s a shaky tone to it that sets Minho on edge, and when Hyunjin appears, his eyes are red-rimmed and his hair is disheveled. He doesn’t blink twice at how the living room seems shaken around like a child with a snow globe.

A Spin the Wheel of emotion turns inside of Minho: worry, alarm, confusion, annoyance. The spinner lands somewhere between worry and annoyance.

“What’s going on? Why does the living room look like the inside of your room?” Minho asks.

Hyunjin doesn’t take the bait. He shifts on his feet restlessly, finally taking in the state of the apartment. “I’ve been looking for something.”

“Was it so important that you couldn’t spare at least one of the pillows?”

Hyunjin winces. “I didn’t destroy anything.” He pauses. “Anything that belongs to you, at least.”

He seems like he’s holding back, trying to keep together in front of Minho. In their relationship, they don’t need to… ask. Hyunjin just gives, and Minho just patiently listens.

So, Minho waits. One second passes by, then two.

“That necklace, have you seen it?”

Hyunjin doesn’t need to say more for Minho to get it.

While they were together, Changbin had never been shy about the gifts he lavished upon Hyunjin, and Hyunjin had loved them all. Even if he complained about Changbin’s overt shows of affection, he would dry the bouquets and savor the chocolates. But obviously, Hyunjin’s feelings changed once they broke up.

He had a difficult time getting rid of most things, but with enough coaxing from Felix and tough love from Minho, he’d donated the clothes and trinkets. However, despite that, there was one thing that he refused to let go of.

It was a necklace, simple but elegant, made of gold and some type of white and green jade that Hyunjin had identified for him multiple times over, but the name had never stuck in Minho’s mind. Custom made. Hyunjin had worn it everywhere.

Afterward, he hid it away in a box, but Minho suspected he would open it now and then in a fit of masochism. More than a couple of months in, he’d caught Hyunjin in the act, curled up on the floor of his room, staring blankly at the necklace like he was expecting it to do something.

Minho had felt a surge of something then—inspiration, insanity, whatever you could call it. He’d snatched the box up. “That’s enough,” he said, then grabbed Hyunjin’s arm.

Hyunjin had enough fight in him to complain, but he still followed Minho out, all the way to Dongho Bridge. Minho had handed him the box; he thinks he might have also said something vaguely inspirational, but he doesn’t remember. All he remembers is Hyunjin taking the box and throwing it over the bridge, eyes dry. And they had stayed that way.

“Hyunjin,” Minho says now, “it’s at the bottom of the Han River.”

Hyunjin’s chin wobbles, and he flops down onto the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes. “Fuck,” he mumbles.

Minho stands there awkwardly, feeling… less than helpful. As dramatic as Hyunjin can be, this is too quiet.

His silence isn't calculated, but still, Hyunjin gives him an answer. "Changbin-hyung wants to meet up."

"Is he asking for it back?" Minho asks.

Head still flung back against the lumpy couch cushions, Hyunjin gives it a shake. "We're just getting coffee. He wanted to see how I've been doing." His words choke up, cutting off in the back of his throat. "He's gonna notice I'm not wearing it and then he's gonna know."

Minho's brows wrinkle. "He's gonna know what?"

"That he's too good for me,” says Hyunjin, exasperated as if Minho’s the one who isn’t making any sense.

“How’s he even going to notice? He doesn’t know the difference between a Rembrandt and Degas.”

“You don’t even know the difference.”

“Yeah, but I’m hot.”

“That’s not the point,” Hyunjin argues. “It’s not the end of the world if he can’t tell them apart.”

“Okay,” Minho starts slowly, taking off his jacket and hooking it on the coat rack, “but it’s also not the end of the world if you don’t have the necklace anymore.”

Finally, Hyunjin lifts his arm, peering up at him. “What?”

“It’s been over a year since you guys broke up,” Minho says. He leans against the side of one of their armchairs. “You’ve both moved on; you don’t owe each other anything.”

Hyunjin frowns. “But we were together for nearly two years. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “The point of being single is that you don’t have to take someone else’s feelings into account for every decision you make. It’s just coffee, Hyunjin.”

The frown that Hyunjin is sporting softens into a flat line, and he lets his arm flop to his side. He takes in a deep breath and sighs again, this time longer, enough so the tension uncoils from his limbs.

Minho pushes away from the chair, but before he can head to his room, Hyunjin speaks again. “You’re right, hyung,” he says. “It’s just a coffee, isn’t it?”

Though Hyunjin’s words are reassuring, Minho can still see a restlessness in his body and the beginnings of something hopeful in his voice. His heart gives a pang.

He may not know why Hyunjin broke up with Changbin, but that is nothing in comparison to the devastation that Hyunjin went through afterward.

He thinks about the necklace—how the gold turned Hyunjin’s face wan and how it looked like chains in Hyunjin’s hand when he had held it. He thinks about how it sunk into the Han River, an untethered anchor too heavy for the ship.

He thinks about the resolute edge to Hyunjin’s expression that day on the bridge.

Fucking hell.

Once he’s retreated to his room, the first thing he does is pull out his phone. It takes him a moment to scroll down to find the right contact in KaKaoTalk, but the chat is still there. He doesn’t need to think about this anymore; with a few swipes on the keyboard, a new message is sent to Jisung.

i’m in

Minho sees Jisung the moment he walks into the cafe. It takes Jisung a second longer to spot him, but once his eyes meet Minho’s, he’s immediately speed-walking towards him.

Jisung’s expression is hard to read even though he’s not wearing a hat this time, and when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out for a good couple of seconds. “Minho,” he says, “what are you wearing?”

“Oh, this?” Minho’s voice is muffled through his mask. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but it’s not as obtrusive as the fake glasses, nose, and mustache set he’s wearing over it. “Thought you wanted to go incognito.”

“The barista keeps looking at you. In a bad way.”

“Not like they weren’t doing the same with you last time.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“And if I was?”

Jisung stares at him for a beat longer. His mouth twitches. Minho doesn’t break eye contact. Jisung’s mouth twitches again, and he bursts into a fit of giggles.

“You should’ve told me what you were wearing, then,” Jisung says between breaths. He sinks into the chair across the table. “We could’ve coordinated.”

Minho can’t help himself from smiling at the sound of Jisung’s laugh, how it seems to force its way out of him. “We can do that next time.”

“Oh,” Jisung grins, “there’s gonna be a next time?”

Minho shrugs, trying his best to ignore the cute tilt of Jisung’s head. “Depends on how well things go.”

“Right.” Jisung nods slowly, and he settles his arms onto the table. “What convinced you?”

“You wouldn’t believe it if I said you were really persuasive?”

“Nope,” says Jisung automatically.

It makes Minho snort. “Fine. Hyunjin told me that he and Changbin are meeting up.”

Jisung mouth drops open, and he swears loudly. “That son of a bitch.”

“I take that he did not tell you.”

“No, he didn’t,” Jisung spits out. He doesn’t say more after that, but his attention is still stuck on Minho

“What?” he asks, feeling weirdly self-conscious.

“I know I’m supposed to be mad ‘cause he’s not telling me important things,” Jisung says, “but it’s hard to take anything seriously when you’ve got a fake mustache on.”

Minho sniffs; all he inhales is the unpleasant burn of cheap plastic. “I spent good money on this.”

“Can you even breathe in that?”

He’s not sure how Jisung’s read his mind, but Minho’s not particularly keen on being tickled by the itchy hairs for the entirety of this conversation, so he plucks the glasses off his face and tugs down his mask. He places them both on the table. Jisung’s gaze snaps to the glasses, the corner of his lip quirking up, before he brings them back up to Minho’s face. They freeze for a moment, then snap back down again.

Without the glasses and mask, the atmosphere between them seems to change. Minho feels—for a lack of better words—more exposed now; he knows Jisung must feel it, too.

Minho clears his throat. “So,” he says, “it’s happening next Sunday.”

His words seem to drag Jisung’s attention back, and he crinkles his brow. “Today’s Tuesday. That’s in less than two weeks.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we have to think of something now.”

Minho blinks at the urgency in his voice. “What? Now?”

Jisung nods, his fingers drumming animatedly on the table. “I don’t trust them to be around each other. Better to nip it in the bud.” He looks pointedly at Minho. “Anything that could make Hyunjin cancel those plans?”

“Why does Hyunjin have to be the one to cancel?” asks Minho, eyes narrowed.

Jisung winces and a small part of Minho feels bad. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Jisung says, sounding sincere. Minho nods and lets him continue. “But Changbin-hyung’s the one who suggested it, and since he’s stubborn as hell, he’s definitely not going to cancel unless Hyunjin shows doubts. And obviously, I don’t know Hyunjin well enough to know what could convince him.”

“Mhm,” Minho hums. He leans back and closes his eyes, thinking. It takes about a minute before he opens them again. When he does, he unexpectedly finds Jisung looking at him. Jisung’s surprised, too, because he startles; deciding to spare Jisung’s pride for today, Minho ignores it and says, “Hyunjin’s superstitious as hell.”

“Okay.” Bobbing his head thoughtfully, Jisung’s voice is soft. “I can work with that.”

Minho raises a brow. “You can?”

At Minho’s questioning, a sparkle of mischief appears in Jisung’s eye. He straightens up, squaring his shoulders and meeting Minho head-on. “Yeah,” he says, “we can.”

On Wednesday, after Hyunjin’s left for work, Minho sneaks into his room with a speaker. Normally, he’d rather not enter the disaster zone that is Hyunjin’s living space, but he kind of needs to dig through the avalanche of Hyunjin’s clothes if he’s trying to hide the speaker somewhere. Minho’s doing this for the sake of his future sanity, as well as Hyunjin’s, he reminds himself. He emerges with an appreciation for minimalism.

It’s an easier task during the next couple of days as he uses the speaker to play the sound of a crow cawing every morning as Hyunjin wakes up, but it doesn’t make him feel any less insane. And it certainly doesn’t help that it’s all under the instruction of some guy whose apparent greatest fear is to be perceived in a coffee shop. Maybe it’s a bit too much effort—if Hyunjin walked away once, it can’t be that hard to make him walk away again, right?

His labors bear fruit a couple of mornings later.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin says, blearily stumbling into the kitchen after having heard Mother Crow Returns to Nest and Feeds Babies, “have you been hearing the bird noises when you get up?”

Minho takes a sip of his coffee. “The crow?”

Hyunjin blinks at him past their fridge door. “So you, too?”

The noise Minho makes is noncommittal. Very normal. “Just sometimes. Closer to your room than mine.”

“Good for you,” Hyunjin says, head buried in the fridge. “I swear it’s in my walls or something.”

“If it was in your walls,” Minho says offhandedly, “you wouldn’t be able to hear it for long.”

“Oh my god. Don’t say that—that’s so morbid.”

Minhi shrugs, even though he’s well aware Hyunjin can’t see him. “What, you finally gonna write your will? Make your favorite hyung your beneficiary?”

Hyunjin snorts and emerges from the fridge, a banana milk in hand. “You know I don’t have enough savings to hire a lawyer for that. Even if I could, you’re not getting a single won.”

“I heard the crow this morning. It’s not too late for you to reconsider, Hwang Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes but takes a small step away from Minho. “Fine. Five hundred thousand won, max.”

“One million.”

“You can also keep my paintings.”

“What’s the point of that?”

“The value goes up if the artist is dead,” Hyunjin says, scowling. “Happened to Rembrandt.”

The look Minho gives him is unimpressed. “You think you’re the next Rembrandt.”

“I could be.” Hyunjin crosses his arms, petulant. “But I won’t, because I’m not going to die. The crow just freaked out a little bit when I first heard it.”

Minho raises a brow. “Only a little bit.”

“I thought about calling a shaman, but, like, I only got as far as looking one up on Naver—open availability but terrible reviews. So I thought worst case scenario: I get fired or something,” Hyunjin continues as if he hadn’t heard Minho, “but everything’s actually been going really well. Convinced my boss to take a chance on some up-and-coming artists, and we’ve sold a few pieces already.”

“Oh.” Minho bites the side of his cheek—this is not going how he expected it to. “Congrats, Jinnie.”

“Thanks, hyung.” Hyunjin takes a sip of his milk and hums a little too cheerfully. “Yeah, so I think the crow is just a coincidence.”

“You don’t believe in coincidences,” Minho points out.

“Just because I have a couple of crystals doesn’t mean I don’t believe in coincidences,” Hyunjin scoffs. Minho bites his tongue to stop himself from pointing out how the last time he heard Hyunjin cleaning in his room, he’d knocked one over and the resulting racket after sounded like a stack of dominoes falling. “I just think the universe would do more if it wanted me to tell me something.”

“The universe has to be more obvious?”

“I’m not trying to play mind games with the universe—maybe I’ve decided I like some things more straightforward.”

He blushes as he speaks, and Minho knows for a fact he’s not talking about the universe. Ugh. “Ugh.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I know; too much for your cold, little heart.” He finishes the rest of his milk and sets it on the counter. Minho side-eyes him. He picks it up again and places it in the recycling. “Anyways, when you got time, wanna help me look outside? Changbin-hyung thinks maybe it's a baby crow calling for its mom, so if there’s a nest of them or something, I am not dealing with bird shit.”

he thinks the universe needs to be more obvious

Han Jisung
more obvious????? okay I’ll give him more obvious

On Monday, Hyunjin receives a letter from the federal government. Hwang Hyunjin, it says, due to a misfiling of your income the previous year, you have an outstanding balance of 44,444 won. Written in big, bold, red letters.

Minho’s been expecting something like this, but seeing Hyunjin’s name in red still makes him freeze up.

“Does…” Hyunjin says, staring at the letter, “does the government think I’m dead? Are they threatening me? Did they just legally declare me dead without my permission?”

“I mean.” It’s so fucking ridiculous that Minho has to pause for a moment, lest he burst into laughter. “The usual case is that no one asks for permission before killing you.”

Hyunjin shakes his head and squints at the letter, apparently too cowed to just bring it closer to his face. “If they think I’m dead, then why do they still want my money?”

“Um.” Minho doesn’t remember if he and Jisung discussed what he’s supposed to do after the letter comes in. “I feel like this should be a sign or something.”

“A sign of what,” Hyunjin snorts, “that the government of South Korea is wasting my tax money and wants to keep doing it?” He takes another look over at the paper, then pauses. “Huh.”

Minho isn’t sure how he feels about that tone. “Huh?”

“‘National Tax Service’ is spelled wrong.”

“Everyone has off days.”

“...I’m gonna give them a call.”

Han Jisung
so???

nope

Han Jisung
fuck

hyunjin’s trying to get the government to look into this for fraud

Han Jisung
FUCK

What Minho had thought would be a simple series of tasks turns out to be more futile than he thought they would. After the first few attempts fail, he and Jisung expand their repertoire of superstitions and turn this domestic affair into an international one.

In other words: Jisung sends him a listicle named “Love Superstitions from Around the World.”

No matter how many times Minho sweeps a broom over Hyunjin’s feet, how many umbrellas he opens indoors, and how much salt he spills, Hyunjin’s optimism remains. He complains and moans and at one point, breaks out both incense and white sage; still, the thought of canceling his meeting with Changbin never seems to cross his mind. He’s always been a romantic at heart, but the kind that yearns, not the kind that hopes.

There’s something about Changbin that has always made Hyunjin a fool, Minho thinks. A stubborn one, at that. So, by Thursday night the next week, he’s still exactly where he started.

Han Jisung
they’re going on that date, aren’t they?

hyunjin just finished picking out what he’ll be wearing

Han Jisung
emergency meeting tomorrow

Minho beats Jisung to the cafe yet again, but this time Jisung spots him right away.

Jisung speed-walks over to him with more urgency than Minho anticipated. “Minho.”

Minho looks up at him innocently, batting his lashes. It’s coquettish in a way that’s maybe a tad too familiar, but it’s the only thing Jisung can see because the rest of his face is obscured by the newspaper. Only his eyes are visible; through holes cut out of it. “Yes?”

Wordlessly, Jisung reaches into the satchel he’s carrying with him and pulls out a newspaper. When he opens it up, there are eyeholes, perfectly matched with Minho’s.

A moment of awed silence stretches between the two of them, and then, laughter bursts out of Minho like the fizz of a shaken soda. It’s dumb—god, it’s so fucking dumb—but to Minho, it’s the funniest thing he’s seen in a while. He’s dizzy with the feeling, and he’d be embarrassed by how loud he’s laughing if Jisung were not beside himself as well, the table quaking with the combined force of their laughter.

“So,” Jisung says once they’ve managed to sit down. His voice has gone raspy from their laughing and his cheeks are rosy, and looking at him doesn’t make Minho’s lightheadedness go away. Their newspapers are folded on the table—they’d tried to hold a conversation with the papers up, but that and the way they kept snickering earned them sharp glances from the staff. “Rough start to Mission: Break Up, huh?”

Minho frowns. “I feel like that name’s too obvious.”

Crossing his arms, Jisung tilts his head up defiantly. “You’re questioning the writer?”

“Yes, actually, I am.”

Though Minho keeps his tone flat and unimpressed, Jisung tilts his head back and barks out a laugh. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s consider it a work in progress. It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

“You could say that.” Minho tips his head in acknowledgment. “Hyunjin’s more stubborn than I thought he was. Changbin’s rubbed off on him.”

“Please, they wouldn’t have been together for so long if he didn’t have it in him already,” Jisung interjects. “I just didn’t think they would be the types to go for second chances.”

There is a slightly bewildered tone to Jisung’s words—Minho relates. He shakes his head. “Me neither. Hyunjin hasn’t given any of his other exes the time of day.”

“Ugh.” Jisung slouches in his chair. He lets out a sigh, his chest deflating from its earlier puffed bravado. “More work than I thought this would be.”

“All you did was send a letter,” Minho reminds him.

“Yeah, but I’m risking going to jail.” Minho throws him a doubtful look, and he pouts. “I looked it up: impersonating a government official—prison and a fine! What did you risk, hypertension?”

“If my next physical comes out messed up,” Minho huffs, “I’m sending you the bill.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jisung says, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re like the pinnacle of perfect health. I bet you’re Darwin’s wet dream.”

“Oooh, sexy,” Minho coos and bats his eyelashes. He thinks he sees Jisung’s cheeks flush harder—he wants to push harder, see where it goes, so his next words come out as a purr. “Always wanted to call the father of evolution Daddy.”

As if on cue, Jisung’s cheeks completely color, and he drops his gaze. “How did we even get here?” He mutters.

Minho doesn’t know if he’s talking to Minho or himself, but he answers anyway. “The fact you’re not putting enough work into getting Hyunjin and Changbin to break up?”

“Yah,” Jisung protests, head popping back up, “it’s a joint effort.”

“Whatever you say.” His voice lilts as he watches Jisung puff back up with indignation.

“What I was actually trying to say is,” Jisung says with much more conviction now. He straightens up and gives Minho a challenging look. “If they’re this serious about it, then we have to match up to them. Like really put work into it. Not just fucking around.”

Minho would be the first to admit that he hadn’t put one hundred percent into it—in his head, not aloud, of course. It had been entertaining at first like it always was pushing Hyunjin’s buttons, but he’s smart enough to see a train wreck in the making. Jisung’s competent enough, he supposes, but what he might lack at times, he makes up for with more than enough enthusiasm. And Minho can work with that.

So, he meets Jisung where he is and maybe a little bit further. “You’re right—do or die trying.”

Jisung makes a face. “Dying is a bit much.”

“Jisung,” Minho says, expression sober, tone teasing, “if you’re not prepared to die for what you believe in, then do you really believe in it?”

Jisung’s cheek twitches and his doubtful expression cracks into a grin. It suits him well. “Alright, then,” he says. “We’ll die like men.”

“We’ll die like men,” echoes Minho, feeling a smile pull at his lips. He raises a hand in the air, and Jisung grins even wider, rising to meet his palm in an overly enthusiastic high-five. The sound echoes through the cafe.

Jisung winces. “We can’t come back here.”

The judgemental stare of the cafe workers burns into the back of Minho’s head. He sighs. “No, we can’t.”

If Minho had thought before that planting a speaker in Hyunjin’s room was out of his way, then the new plan has him routing to a completely different country. He and Jisung had determined that it was too late to stop Hyunjin and Changbin from meeting up again, so they moved on to the next stage: ruining the date.

“Not a date,” Hyunjin had reminded Minho as he had stepped out of his room, hair styled and smelling of some sort of expensive perfume.

Minho squinted at his perfectly pressed, loose, white shirt. “Is that Gucci?”

“That’s vintage Armani, you philistine.”

Ruining the whatever meant Minho had to pull a few favors, but he hadn’t been saving them up for anything in particular, so that’s how he and Jisung find themselves in the back office of the cafe Hyunjin and Changbin are meeting up. The live security footage runs on the monitors in front of them, Jisung holding a remote, Minho’s hands on the keyboard, and the two of them sharing a set of earphones.

It’s cramped, with barely enough room for the scratched-up desk and mess of filing cabinets, and he and Jisung almost have to press up against each other. They’re not quite touching, but Minho can still feel the warmth of his body seeping through their clothes.

He doesn’t have time to do anything about it, though, because Jisung is pointing at the screen now, two familiar figures having walked through the cafe’s swinging, automatic door. “They’re here.”

Minho swallows, his throat suddenly have gone dry. “Game time.”

He can’t hear what they’re talking about as they line up to order their coffee, but Minho knows that the way Hyunjin is clutching his hands together is a giveaway of his nervousness. Still, he’s nodding along to whatever Changbin is talking about, attention seemingly rapt.

Thankfully, after they’ve ordered their coffee, they seat themselves at the only available table, the one near the entrance, Hyunjin’s seat right next to the door. The audio crackles to life in their earphones, and both Minho and Jisung perk up.

“—holding a reception soon,” Hyunjin is saying. “I thought we were being ambitious with the invites, but we’ve got some really important people coming.”

“Wow,” Changbin answers, his voice starstruck, “sounds like a big deal. You nervous, Jinnie?”

Beside Minho, Jisung groans disapprovingly at Changbin’s fond use of Hyunjin’s nickname, but he doesn’t do anything just yet.

“A bit,” Hyunjin admits, “I put a lot of work into it, and I really don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“It won’t,” says Changbin automatically.

Hyunjin’s fingers drum nervously on the table. “How can you say that?”

“‘Cause if they don’t like the art, they can just look at you.” Changbin shoots Hyunjin a cheeky wink, and adds, “You’re worth more.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jisung mutters, and he hits the button on his remote.

In the cafe, Changbin jolts. Hyunjin gives him a look of alarm. “You okay, hyung?”

“Yeah,” Changbin says, easily shaking himself out of it. “I think my sweater is just staticky, so I’ve been getting randomly shocked all day. Maybe it’s the weather?”

Minho shoots Jisung an unimpressed look, and Jisung just shrugs. “I had to test out if the shocker worked. It’s less suspicious if it’s been going on all day.”

“You didn’t think he’d just change out of the sweater?” Minho asks.

“Nah,” Jisung says smugly, “I gassed him up like crazy. Flattery gets you everywhere these days.”

Minho scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything else, turning his attention back to the monitors. Hyunjin is still fretting over Changbin, coquettish as he always has with Changbin.

“Aw, Jinnie, don’t worry about little ol’ me,” Changbin says. “I’m pretty tough.” He flexes his arm, and Minho can feel Jisung’s urge to shock him again.

Hyunjin giggles, and Minho has to fight his eyes from rolling at it. He keeps his finger light on the keyboard. “You’re ridiculous, hyung. Do you want me to go back to worrying about work again?”

“Of course not. I don’t think you need to worry about anything.” From the lilt in Changbin’s voice, another pickup line is coming up. He hears Jisung’s nail lightly scrape against the button, just itching to press down again.

They’re not the only ones who think so. “Why?” Hyunjin asks, performatively bored. “Is it because I’m too pretty for things like this?”

“Obviously, yeah,” Changbin admits. “But honestly, I think you’ve got this covered. You’ve always been amazing at your job—everyone can see that.”

For a good moment, Hyunjin struggles to even open his mouth, and through the grainy quality of the camera footage, Minho can see that he’s blushing. The lull in their conversation morphs into something else, and the smile Changbin is sporting this time is more genuine. Hyunjin can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

Well, that can’t be happening.

Minho jabs his finger on the keyboard, and the automatic doors swing open, slamming into the back of Hyunjin’s chair.

He lurches forward, barely catching himself on the edge of the table. “What the fuck.”

Moment effectively ruined, Hyunjin and Changbin turn to stare at the offending door, seemingly unprovoked to them. but if they say something, Minho can’t hear them above Jisung’s cackling. “The look on Hyunjin’s face,” Jisung wheezes. “And hyung—holy shit, I thought he was gonna have a heart attack.”

He’s shaking with laughter, his shoulder jostling into Minho’s. There is space for Minho to move out of the way despite the cramped office set-up, yet he finds that he can’t bring himself to do anything to dampen Jisung’s joy. It’s even harder when he takes a peek at Jisung through his periphery and sees how he lets every emotion shine through in his expression.

Through the shitty quality of the microphones, Minho hears the beginning strains of a new song the cafe has put on, completely unfamiliar to him, but the sound of it sets Jisung off again.

“What’s so funny?” Minho asks.

“Oh my god,” Jisung gasps out. He points to the monitor, where Changbin has suddenly gone tense. “It’s one of the songs he wrote. Probably worst one out of the bunch.”

Minho has to admit that it’s a good song, that it has a distinct feeling of a Changbin-written song, and it’s that combined with how sincerely the singer croons the lyrics is what makes it so much worse. Hyunjin sits there, confused, as Changbin tries to strike up a conversation again, and he can sense the discomfort. He opens his mouth to say something but pauses as a too-specific line in the song catches his attention, and he finally puts two and two together.

He and Changbin both take a sip of their coffee, refusing to make eye contact.

“You were right,” Minho says, unable to hide the faint admiration in his voice. “This was too much.”

His words make Jisung giggle even more. “You should’ve listened to it before the edits Channie-hyung made. Changbin-hyung made us swear to never talk about this song again after it got picked up, but the evidence is still on Channie-hyung’s laptop.”

Of course, it isn’t enough to completely derail the meeting, and Jisung soon bunkers down again. Perhaps it’s considered an “invasion of privacy” to do this to their friends, but it’s hard not to be a little bit entertained when any attempt at flirting is being slapped down by a mere press of a button. Maybe even deserved because of how brazen the attempts are.

At some point, Changbin tries to get Hyunjin to switch seats with him, but Hyunjin refuses, claiming that it doesn’t bother him that much. It’s an obvious lie that Minho can hear through the tinny sound of the microphone, and he sees that Changbin hears it, too, his enthusiasm dimming for a bit after.

“Can you do anything about the door?” he asks a cafe worker as she brushes by them on the way to sweep the entrance.

She shakes her head. “It just does that sometimes. We’ve been trying to get the door fixed for a while now, but there’s nothing we can do about it.” Reaching inside her apron, she pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to Changbin. “Here’s a coupon for next time to make up for your troubles.” What a fucking pro. Minho makes a mental note to find out what her name is and mention her to Seungkwan.

It goes on like this for another twenty minutes, which is about fifteen minutes too long for Minho to bear, but also ten minutes too short for them to go on for before something eventually goes wrong.

The something that goes wrong starts with this: Hyunjin is talking about a movie that he’s watched recently. Some French tragedy they’d watched for roommate movie night that Minho doesn’t remember much aside from Hyunjin sniffling from his side of the couch. So, to no one’s surprise, he starts looking a little glassy-eyed.

He’s talking about the themes of self-sabotage or ennui or je ne sais quoi when it becomes too much for him, and he has to pause to take a sip of his coffee. Minho has no idea what any of that means, but it’s apparently something French and angsty that makes Changbin’s face soften.

“Hyunjin-ah,” he says in a quiet voice, almost too subtle to be picked up by the microphone.

What isn’t too subtle is his reaching a hand over the table toward Hyunjin.

The something that goes wrong is caused by this: Minho presses the damn key because this absolutely cannot happen. At the same time, Jisung slams on his remote because he is also not a fool. Debatably.

The something that goes wrong is this: Hyunjin pitches forward as the door yet again smacks into his chair. As the cup loosens in Hyunjin’s grip, Changbin jerks from the shock, and his arm spasms. Already on the trajectory, his hand makes contact with the cup. It hits Hyunjin directly on the face and completely empties its contents, spilling iced americano all over his face, his hair, and his vintage Armani shirt.

A shocked silence follows, both in the cafe and in the office. Minho gapes at the screen in front of them, and he thinks Jisung has stopped breathing. Coffee drips from Hyunjin’s face as he and Changbin stare at one another, until a cafe worker hurries over, a stack of napkins in hand and a mop in the other.

Her panic spurs Hyunjin into action, and he stands up from the table, the force of it nearly knocking the chair over. “I’m gonna go,” he says, face blank and voice impassive.

“W-wait! Shit, Hyunjin, I’m so fucking sorry.” Stumbling over his words, Changbin reaches for him hurriedly, but between the cafe worker apologizing up a storm and Hyunjin’s long legs carrying him far when he needs them to, he’s gone by the time a proper sentence comes out.

A battle plays out on Changbin’s face, likely whether he should chase Hyunjin or give him more space. The choice of letting Hyunjin be wins out, and his shoulders slump as he sits back down, his face buried in his hands. A few minutes pass before he even makes a noise—it’s the quietest Minho has ever heard him be. It’s incredible.

By the time Changbin leaves the cafe, neither Minho nor Jisung have said anything. Minho is still trying to process what exactly happened, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Jisung was doing the same.

Slowly, Minho turns his head to Jisung; he’s staring at the screens. Sensing Minho’s movement, Jisung glances over as well.

Minho doesn’t know what he meant to say or if he meant to say anything at all, but as soon as their eyes meet, any composure they may have had disappears, laughter completely overtaking them. The staff outside can definitely hear them cackling like a pair of hyenas, but Minho is too busy thinking about how much his ribs hurt from the force of his laughter. His lungs are basically screaming at him to get some air, but whenever he tries to calm down, he hears Jisung’s hiccuping laugh beside him, and then, he’s off again.

“I didn’t know you were gonna push your damn button,” Minho gasps out, a stitch wearing out the muscles of his sides. “Should’ve given me a warning.”

“It was an emergency!” Heaving for breath, Jisung reaches over and punches him on the shoulder. It’s meant as a light swat, but Jisung is so overcome with his giggles that it comes out as barely a graze.

Still, Minho clutches his shoulder, dramatically slumping back. “Yah, don’t attack me for your own mistake!”

“You’re the one who distracted Hyunjin! What were you trying to accomplish?”

“I was doing my best!”

“So was I!”

Between their empty protesting and childish sniping, the two of them wind down. The raucous atmosphere fades away, but Minho finds himself smiling still, a lightness buoying him when he sees that Jisung is also sporting a grin, warmer and sweeter than the hot chocolate the cafe serves.

It must be the rush of victory that makes everything seem possible; like Minho can take on the whole world. He wants to take this feeling and bottle it up.

Emboldened, Minho reaches out a hand. “Congratulations on a successful mission, Jisung.”

Jisung takes his hand; firm and confident. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Minho.”

“Hyung,” says Minho before he can help himself.

Jisung blinks at him. “Huh?”

“Call me hyung,” he repeats.

The smile Jisung gives him this time is slow, but it reminds Minho of the winter sun, steadily melting away snow. “Okay,” he says, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Minho-hyung.”

Minho finds Hyunjin back at home later, changed into his ratty, paint-covered sweatshirt, watching something dramatic on their TV. He can’t quite get a read on Hyunjin—his eyes are wet and his nose is red, but the movie seems to be sad enough to warrant that. He thinks. A character’s grandmother is in the hospital, maybe.

So, Minho settles onto the chair across from Hyunjin, gaze fixed on his face, and doesn’t say a word.

Hyunjin manages to hold his composure for a good few minutes, apparently entranced by what’s on the TV, but once a lull in the plot happens, his eyes begin darting over to Minho. He counts five times that Hyunjin looks over to him.

On the sixth, Hyunjin presses pause. “Just ask me the question.”

Minho tilts his head innocently. “Ask what, Hyunjin?”

He sighs. “How my meeting with Changbin-hyung went.”

“I mean,” Minho drawls, “if you insist.” He pauses for another few seconds, waiting until Hyunjin starts shifting uncomfortably before asking, “How did your meeting with Changbin go?”

“It was weird.” The way that Hyunjin answers automatically, words leaping off his tongue, makes it obvious that he’s been wanting to talk about it just as much as Minho has been wanting to hear about it. “Not because things were weird between us. The opposite actually, which, to me, is weirder? Like, even though it’s been a year and his hair is different, being with him was so easy.”

“His hair is different?” Minho certainly hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah. Curlier. I tried to get him to do that while we were—“ Hyunjin stops himself from apparently continuing on that train of thought. “Minus the hair, it was like old times, I mean.”

Minho doesn’t need to have been there to know that there’s more. “But?”

“But it was like the universe had something against us,” Hyunjin finishes. “The cafe door kept opening randomly and hitting my chair, and Changbin-hyung’s sweater was, like? Shocking him? I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Huh,” Minho, the universe (in this circumstance), says. “Wild.”

“Yeah.” Hyunjin nods emphatically. “And because of all of that, hyung spilled coffee all over my shirt.” He pauses for emphasis. “My vintage Armani shirt.”

Minho gasps a second too late. “No.”

“Don’t do that. It sounds so fake when you try to act like you care about it.”

“I tried my best.”

“You did not.” Rolling his eyes, Hyunjin continues. Minho lets him because he’s feeling generous. For now. “Honestly, it was too much, so I just left. Didn’t even say goodbye to him. Walked to the dry cleaner on auto-pilot.”

Of course. Minho doesn’t say that though. Instead, he asks, “Is that it then? You’re done talking?”

“I should, shouldn’t I? The universe has made itself clear.” That phrasing doesn’t sound quite right; that’s not the words of someone who thinks that the universe (again, Minho) is right. He feels himself tense, but Hyunjin doesn’t notice, clearly caught in his thoughts. “But am I stupid if I still want to see where this goes?”

This should be a blow to his pride, after all the work he and Jisung have put in—and on a level, he does feel it—yet Hyunjin’s admission doesn’t bring him down at all. Maybe it’s Hyunjin’s mix of caution and hardheadedness. Maybe it’s the high of the win from earlier that softens the blow, but Minho’s confidence remains: they can get through this.

“Yes, you are stupid,” he says, “but that’s just you regardless of Changbin or not.”

“Fuck off,” grumbles Hyunjin. He flinches as Minho makes a show of getting out of his chair. “I mean, you’re right. Thanks for the input, hyung.”

“Damn right.”

Hyunjin, little shit, rolls his eyes again. Before Minho can call him out on his blatant disrespect, his attitude softens, and he looks at Minho again. It’s as if he’s seeing something in Minho that Minho doesn’t know about because he says, “I’ll be careful, okay, hyung? I promise. I’m not doing this just because I’m lonely.”

His words are honest, straight from the heart, but he’s not saying it for the benefit of himself. In the face of such openness, Minho is at a loss for words. Something inside of him twinges.

Later that night, as Minho nestles himself into his sheets, he gets a text from Jisung.

Han Jisung
I never asked
but how did we get in the office?

Minho should probably plug his phone in to charge and turn in for the night, but bolstered by the camaraderie he’d felt earlier, he can’t help tapping on the notification and answering it. Just a quick conversation before bed.

?you’re just asking that now

Jisung’s response comes just as quickly as Minho’s.

Han Jisung
well you know I was occupied
so I just wanted to know if you have a double life or something

yeah
i’m a spy for the KGB

Han Jisung
shit that’s kinda hot

?you think so
?government-sanctioned espionage really do something for you

Han Jisung
wait until you learn how I feel about non-government sanctioned espionage
but fr
how did you swing that?
are you secretly a chaebol
bc if you are I demand a ride in your maserati

god i wish
i just know the owner
he and i used to work together

Han Jisung
oh
huh I never asked what you do for a living

i’m a chef

Han Jisung
yo wtf
I take back what I said about the spy thing
this is even hotter

?yeah
?something about mise en place really do something for you

Han Jisung
oh baby talk dirty to me

bouquet garni

Han Jisung
oh yeah

al dente

Han Jisung
oh shit we’re bringing out the italian now

Turning onto his side, Minho snorts. It’s their first conversation outside of the topic of Changbin and Hyunjin, and he’s learning that Jisung’s got a flirtatious side; maybe it’s payback for how Minho’s been pushing him. He should’ve known to expect that the moment he saw that mischievous gleam in Jisung’s eyes.

The next couple of hours pass in a blur. Even without the guise of their shared goal, talking to Jisung is easy. Whatever wavelength they’re on also translates to their texting—all it takes is one comment, and the conversation takes another new turn.

Eventually, though, Minho’s morning bird body can’t stand it anymore, stifling more yawns than necessary.

i should probably go to sleep
have to get up early tomorrow

Han Jisung
right the chef life
oh shit it is late
sorry for keeping you up

it’s no big deal
i liked talking to you

Han Jisung
oh
i liked talking to you too
shame we had to meet like this

yeah
its a shame

Han Jisung
:)
good night hyung

good night jisung

Jisung texts him the next day, asking if he was late for work. He texts the next day, too. And the next. Minho answers every time.

It isn’t long before they’re talking every day. Jisung is much more confident over text, Minho finds. They discover a couple of shared interests: anime, cats, and an appreciation for the smaller things in life. He likes to make jokes, some of them lame, others clever; all of them serving to make Minho chuckle just a little. He loves music; lives and breathes it.

Jisung’s job is flexible with its hours and affords him the time to talk whenever he wants, for the most part. Minho’s job has less freedom in this regard, but he finds himself pulling out his phone more than he did before, always checking to see if there’s a new notification on his KaKaoTalk. There usually is.

Felix catches him during lunch one day, fawning over a cat photo that Jisung had sent him.

“You’re on your phone a lot these days,“ he says. He huddles in a bit closer and sets his chin on Minho’s shoulder; Minho lets him because he’s never going to deny allegations that he has favorites.

“Hyunjin texted me to get more of those chips.” It’s not technically a lie. He did get that text this morning. Part of him wonders what it would be like if he could easily just say he and Jisung are friends.

“You guys can’t be running out of snacks that quickly. Hyunjinnie’s been busy with work, too. You’ve been making sure he’s eating properly, right?”

“Of course, I have,” Minho answers automatically. “Wait, why is that my job?”

“‘Cause you live with him,” Felix says as if that makes any more sense. “And you’re the only person he’s okay with looking out for him.”

Minho frowns. “Where’s this coming from? Is there something I need to know about?”

“Not really,“ Felix answers guilelessly. “Just noticed something is different—that’s all.“

Han Jisung
Hyunjin invited Changbin to the art thing

the opening reception?

Han Jisung
idk but I’m going apparently
he told me there’d be free food

you have to pay for the ticket so technically the food isn’t free

Han Jisung
…
all this man does is lie to me

maybe you’re just gullible
do you think root beer has alcohol in it

Han Jisung
listen
I thought that when I was a kid bc my dad told me so
but what matters is I know NOW

if you say so

Han Jisung
I DO say so
ANYWAYS
it’s perfect timing
you down for a brainstorm sesh?

?yeah where

Han Jisung
um
let me get back to you on that

Jisung lives in a nice-looking complex in a quiet part of the city, not too far away from the cafe they’ve bet at before. It’s nothing compared to the luxurious apartment that Changbin lives in, but it’s certainly nicer than the semi-rat-infested apartment that Minho is splitting with Hyunjin.

Minho’s more nervous than he should be as he approaches the door of their apartment, double-checking his phone to make sure it’s the right number on the door. It is, so he reaches over and confidently presses on the doorbell. The door swings open and—

That’s not Jisung.

“Hi?” says Not-Jisung. He’s slightly taller than Minho, with a lean frame and black-rimmed glasses that he’s looking at Minho curiously through.

“Hi,” says Minho because he wasn’t raised by a pack of wolves. “Is Han Jisung here?”

In the apartment, there’s the sound of a door opening and footsteps hurriedly stumbling towards them. Not-Jisung doesn’t turn around. “Yes, he’s here,” he says matter-of-factly.

As if on cue, Jisung appears behind Not-Jisung, making space by the door frame and nudging him away. “I told you not to answer the door,” Jisung mutters to Not-Jisung. To Minho: “Hey, hyung. Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Minho says, half paying attention to his own words. Jisung’s not wearing a sweatshirt this time—just a T-shirt. It emphasizes the lines of his chest and sculpts his arms and shoulders; Minho notices because he is definitely not staring as Jisung’s forearms flex to help Minho take off his jacket.

Jisung grins and steps aside, pushing Not-Jisung even further away to let Minho into the apartment. Not-Jisung steps away willingly and raises a brow. “Hyung? I didn’t realize you had friends other than Chan-hyung and Changbin-hyung.”

Jisung, in the middle of hanging up Minho’s jacket, yelps, and drops it. “That’s not true! I know Jeongin.”

“Through me.”

“And you’re my friend, so it’s the transitive property.”

“If relationships worked via the transitive property, then your parents would be my parents,” Not-Jisung explains. As Jisung frowns over his logic, Not-Jisung turns over and reaches out a hand to Minho, who’s been watching on the side with amusement. “I’m Kim Seungmin, by the way.”

“Lee Minho,” he says. He grabs Seungmin’s hand in a firm handshake. “I didn’t realize Jisung had a roommate.”

Seungmin shrugs. “I didn’t realize Jisung knew how to clean up after himself.”

“Hey,” Jisung chimes in, having been struggling to hang up Minho’s jacket. It’s folded on the back of a chair now; neat, so as not to cause wrinkles. It’s sweet. Minho doesn't know how to tell him that it doesn’t even come with ironing instructions. “I clean. I’m a regular house husband.”

“You asked me how to use the vacuum cleaner an hour ago.”

“Because it was confusing!” Jisung protests. Seungmin opens his mouth—likely to argue back—but Jisung shoves a jacket into his arms and pushes him towards the door. “Anyways, Seungmin was just on his way out.”

“Yes, I was,” Seungmin says monotonously, one hand on the door handle, the other one peeling Jisung away from himself. “I just wanted to see who it was that could make Han Jisung go out and buy an air freshener.”

“Seungmin.” Jisung hisses. He aims a kick at Seungmin’s shins, but Seungmin avoids it easily, already one foot out the door.

“Nice meeting you, Minho-ssi,” he says.

“Likewise.”

The door clicks shut behind Seungmin, and then it’s just Jisung and Minho. Jisung takes a breath and turns around to face Minho, remnants of his annoyance towards Seungmin still on his face, but quickly disappearing as he meets Minho’s eyes. What’s more noticeable is the slight flush on his cheeks, and the sight of it makes Minho want to smile, for some absurd reason.

Jisung clears his throat. “Is there anything I can get you? Some water?”

“I’m good.” He probably should have given Jisung some sort of excuse out—he’s shifting from one foot to another, like a child guilty of pulling his sister’s hair. “Nice place, by the way.”

Jisung blinks and looks over to the assortment of leather chairs and matching oak furniture in his living room. “Yes,” he says. “It’s always like this.”

Minho nods. “I’m sure it is.” He gestures over to the coffee table. “You need to take the seal off the air freshener first for it to work.”

The red Jisung turns should be alarming, but Minho can’t stifle his amusement as he buries his face in his hands. “Hyung.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Looking for someone?”

“What? No.” Hyunjin swivels his head back towards Minho, too sudden for such an innocent question.

Of course, Minho knows it’s a lie. Even if he hadn’t had intel from Jisung, he has been to enough receptions at Hyunjin’s art gallery to know when Hyunjin’s got most everything squared away. The halls of the gallery are pristine, and the music and lighting set the perfect atmosphere. Media and patrons mingle about, grabbing drinks and hor d’oeuvres from the catering staff, taking in the artwork, and chatting with one another. Hyunjin should be with one of them, but, instead, he’s still standing here with Minho, his attention rapt on the entrance.

Minho lets his doubt show through for a good moment. “Right,” he says, “because I didn’t just see Changbin walk in.”

“What,” Hyunjin all but shrieks. His head snaps to the entrance, and lo and behold, in waltzes Seo Changbin. He’s dressed well: pressed shirt and nice slacks, slicked back hair with a few stray tendrils hanging off his forehead, and cleanly shaven face. He looks like he belongs, but there’s a nervousness to the way his eyes dart around that says he’s not quite as at ease as the image he’s trying to project.

Then, there’s Jisung, who, as soon as he wanders in, gets accosted by Hyunjin’s boss.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin says as Minho tries to stifle his laughter, “do I have anything in my teeth?”

It takes more effort than it reasonably should to tear his eyes away from Jisung trying to convince Hyunjin’s boss that yes, he is in the right place. He gives Hyunjin’s teeth a quick lookover. “No. Why would you? You haven’t eaten anything since you’ve gotten here.”

“Okay, good.” Hyunjin runs a hand over his head for stray hairs and flicks out non-existent dust from his silky shirt. “Do you think he’s seen me yet? Should we pretend we didn’t see anything?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “You can do that, Jinnie. I gotta go deal with something first.”

Hyunjin makes a sound of protest as Minho takes a step in Changbin and Jisung’s direction, but he doesn’t follow. That’s fine—he can play whatever game he’s trying to play. On his way over, Minho grabs a glass of champagne.

They don’t see him approaching—Changbin is too busy looking about the room and Jisung is distracted by a very insistent gallery director in his face.

Minho taps on her shoulder. “Sunmi-ssi,” he says politely. “He’s with me.”

She turns around, her concern melting away when she sees him. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. He hands her the champagne, and she instantly brightens up. “I’m sure you’ve got more important things to deal with tonight.”

Sunmi takes a sip, shoulders relaxing just a hair. She takes a look from Minho to Jisung, then back again, and laughs good-naturedly. “You’re a sweet one, Minho-ssi. I’ll leave you two be.”

With a wave of a manicured hand, she’s gone. Now free, Jisung sags in relief and faces Minho. “Thanks, hyung. I’m like a magnet for people like her.”

Minho’s beginning to see that. It should be at odds with the initial impression he’s had of Jisung, but somehow it makes sense. He wants to bump his shoulder against Jisung’s, as they had in the office of the cafe, but he resists. Instead, he asks, “Need a drink?”

Jisung shakes his head. “Ah, no. I’m a bit of a lightweight.”

“That’s fine,” says Minho. “Try the bruschetta, though—it’s good. Also, if Hyunjin doesn’t see more people eating the catering, he’ll start shoving them into people’s mouths.”

Jisung snorts before grabbing one from a nearby waiter. “I’ll trust the chef’s instincts.” He takes a dainty bite, much more careful than Minho has seen him handle food before, but his cheek still bulges from how he chews. Minho wants to poke it. “Where’s the man of the hour?”

“Technically, the man of the hour is the artist.”

“Fine,” Jisung mumbles, rolling his eyes, mouth still somewhat full. “Where’s the man of our hour?”

“There.” Minho juts his chin where he’d left Hyunjin standing a few minutes ago, then pauses when he spots who he’s with. “Talking to the other man of our hour.”

“Shit.” Jisung stuffs the rest of the crostini into his mouth and wipes his hands. “You ready to party?”

Minho hands him a napkin. “Always.”

Hyunjin and Changbin are too deep in conversation to see them coming, but Jisung calls Changbin’s name, they seem to realize there are other people around them, and Hyunjin takes a not-so-subtle step away. They hadn’t even been too that close to begin with, Minho notes.

“You backstabber,” Jisung says, rounding on Changbin, “you drag me out here and then leave me to die?”

Changbin huffs. “Excuse me for thinking you could be left without supervision for at least a minute.”

“It was more than a minute, and you know that!” Jisung argues back before realizing what he’d just said. He all but bristles when Changbin starts snickering. “Also: I don’t need supervision!”

Hyunjin does a much better job hiding his amusement as Jisung and Changbin bicker, his nervousness dissipating as he hides his laughter behind his champagne glass. Minho would be pleased to keep it this way much rather than just leaving the two of them alone, but he’s got bigger fish to fry.

He scans the gallery, eyes skipping over faces until he comes across a group that he recognizes. Their clothes have a DIY feel to them, but Minho knows that each piece costs more than his couch. Just the people he was looking for. It’s his stroke of luck that they’re walking to a sculpture near them, so Minho nudges Hyunjin and points in their direction. “Looks like some of your other friends showed, too.”

Hyunjin lights up when he sees them and excitedly waves them over. Minho and Jisung make room for the group to squeeze in, while Hyunjin grabs Changbin’s arm. Minho would be more troubled if they were in any other scenario, but it’s exactly what he needs.

“Such a great exhibition you’ve organized,” the woman dressed in tatters of gray says after air-kissing Hyunjin’s cheeks. “Is this your Sistine Chapel?”

A light blush sits high on his cheeks. “I’d say this is more like my Battle of Cascina.”

Around him, the art nerds titter, reassuring him, and Hyunjin blushes even harder. Minho has the social awareness to laugh along, but he doesn’t miss the slight hesitation in Changbin’s smile.

A few more compliments towards Hyunjin’s organizing skills, and the conversation moves towards the artwork itself. Minho catches a few words he knows here and there, but this is an environment that Hyunjin is more than comfortable in, and he flourishes as they delve deeper and deeper into the art. On the other hand, Changbin struggles to maintain his composure as unfamiliar terms are tossed about.

“It’s as if he’s got the sensibilities of Magritte with the aesthetics of O’Keeffe,” says the man with pants made up of at least twenty different types of fabrics—Minho’s been keeping tab of each different one as the man shifts around animatedly. “Disruption of the modern world through natural forms. A touch more automatism in the process than Magritte, of course.

Minho thinks he sees Changbin’s brain leak out of his ears, and he’s not the only one who notices. Sensing blood, Jisung moves in. “Changbin-hyung,” he says, bright and innocuous, “you usually have something to say about American modernism. What are your thoughts about the artist’s blending of that with surrealism?”

Changbin’s brows knit together as he tries to piece together what’s been going on around him for the past couple of minutes. He’s probably still in processing mode when Hyunjin squeezes his arm. His jaw has tightened when he asks, “Hyung?”

“Um,” Changbin says. He looks about, trying to get a sense of what Jisung is asking him, but Jisung’s somehow managed to slip away. “I think that he probably didn’t mean to do that?”

Hyunjin frowns at that answer, and his friends make similar expressions. Unable to find his footing, Changbin throws out: “I’m seeing something more Picasso?”

This causes more confusion, and Hyunjin’s frown only deepens. One of his friends asks a question Minho also doesn’t understand, and while they’re likely just curious, Changbin is beginning to resemble a poor, injured animal circled by hungry sharks.

Minho takes that as his cue to leave as well.

He has no idea where Jisung has gone, so he wanders about the exhibit until he spots a familiar silhouette by the spread of finger foods. He should’ve guessed. He says so as he approaches. Jisung looks over his shoulder when he notices a shadow behind him, but the territorial look in his wide eyes morphs into relief when he sees it’s just Minho.

“‘m just getting my money’s worth,” Jisung says after swallowing the mouthful he’s wolfed down. “It’s good, but I’m gonna need a chef’s opinion before I decide fully.”

“Didn’t realize you valued my opinion that much,” Minho says teasingly.

“Who said it was yours that mattered,” Jisung shoots back. “Maybe any other chef would do.”

He holds out a canape to Minho, hand steady and gaze confident. Minho wants to wipe that cocky look right off his face.

So, he leans forward, eyes never leaving Jisung’s, and takes a bite. Jisung’s eyes widen imperceptibly as Minho’s lips brush against the tips of his fingers, and Minho feels him tremble. But he doesn’t move away. Instead, Minho is the one who pulls back. He makes a show of chewing. “It is good,” he agrees.

There is a tense pause as they look at each other, and then, Jisung steps closer and brings his hand back up to Minho’s lips. Unthinking, Minho lets him place the rest of it into his mouth. Jisung grins—it’s razor sharp. “Guess I’ll have to come to these a bit more, then.”

Minho’s face feels too hot. He and Jisung, they’ve flirted a bit over text, because Minho just does that, okay? He’s not a rookie at this. They’ve been talking a lot; it shouldn’t throw him for a loop that Jisung’s figured out how to keep up.

This is not the place for Minho to discover a possible penchant for overthinking, so, in a surprisingly steady voice, he asks, “You into art? You seemed to know what you were talking about back there.”

“A bit,” Jisung admits just as nonchalantly. “I took an interest in high school. That, and also the fact I was a scholarship kid meant I had to do well in the art history classes.”

This is normal. They can be normal. “That’s how you and Changbin met, right?”

“Yep.” Jisung pops another canape into his mouth. “He didn’t give a shit about the art classes, but we both cared about music. Classic story of a rich kid and the kid from the wrong side of the tracks bonding over our love of music.”

“Wrong side of the tracks?”

“More like the pretty okay side of the upper-middle class. Too mouthy for a tagline, though.” His eyes sparkle when Minho lets out a chuckle. “What about you, hyung? How did you and Hyunjin meet?”

“Even less marketable than that,” Minho says, feeling safer now that they’re obviously out of the woods. “I put out an ad for a roommate, and he was probably the only guy who showed up who looked like he showered.”

“Low bar, but important trait for a roommate.”

Minho rolls his eyes and snorts. “He’s a good guy—maybe his art friends can be a bit pretentious, but they’re good people, too. Just not my scene.”

“Not mine, either,” Jisung agrees. Minho looks him up and down: touched-up roots, a bit darker than the rest for a more mature look; dark sweater that hugs his biceps and pecs just right; simple jewelry that brings out the tanned glow of his skin. “What?”

“Couldn’t tell,” Minho says truthfully. If he hadn’t witnessed Sunmi approach him earlier, he would have assumed Jisung was just any other art lover.

When he glances back up at Jisung’s face, the tips of his ears have turned pink. Despite that, Jisung cocks a brow. “Is this you telling me I look nice?“

“Maybe I’m just saying you fit in; that’s all.“ In truth, Minho doesn’t know what he meant, but that’s none of Jisung’s business.

Jisung looks at him for a moment longer. Minho doesn’t back down, and, finally, Jisung just shrugs. “It’s different when I have people I’m comfortable with.”

There’s something warm in his voice that Minho can’t quite read into.

Before his internal monologue can start questioning everything again, Jisung spots something over his shoulder, his eyes widening and his mouth forming a small “o.” Minho turns around just in time to sidestep a very small—but very angry—mountain of muscle.

“You little Judas,” Changbin hisses, completely ignoring Minho in favor of pointing angrily at Jisung. “You just left me for dead.”

Though his initial reaction is shock, Jisung recovers quickly, aware that Changbin can’t threaten physical punishment out in public like this. “Whoa, look at you—that’s a Last Supper reference.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Changbin’s doing a remarkable job of keeping his voice low given how pissed he looks. Minho estimates the circle of people listening in on them as less than ten—a show, not a scene. “What did you even ask me?”

“I think I asked you about your thoughts about the artist blending American Modernism with surrealism.”

“What made you think I’d know what that meant?”

Jisung holds up his hands defensively. He’s remarkably good at lying. “I thought you’d know! Weren’t you watching all those art documentaries to get ready for this? You wanted me to wingman, so that’s what I did.”

“I asked for some support, not for you to throw me in the deep end!” He lets out a groan, and his thick shoulders sag. “They probably think I’m an idiot now. I should’ve asked for Chan-hyung’s help.”

Carefully, Jisung pats Changbin’s shoulder, not unlike how one would approach a feral dog. He hums. “Yeah, you probably should’ve.”

“You’re a terrible advocate. For me, and for yourself.”

“I know my limits,” Jisung says cheerfully. He continues patting Changbin’s shoulder. “What’re you doing here, though? You could’ve bitched me out at work tomorrow.”

Changbin doesn’t move away. “Don’t think I’m not gonna do that,” he mumbles. “Just needed some space.”

“The art nerds?”

“Yeah,” Changbin admits. “Think I was stressing Jinnie out by being there. Can’t stand to see him like that.”

Suddenly, Minho is all too aware of how he’s probably intruding. Changbin’s calmed down considerably, and any other spectators who might’ve been attracted to this quiet drama have gone back to minding their own business. He quietly takes a step back, catching Jisung’s eye. Neither of them says anything, but an understanding passes through them—Jisung’s got this handled.

Minho does another round of the gallery before he goes to find Hyunjin. It’s getting late by the time he spots Hyunjin, the crowd thinning, the food gone cold. Hyunjin’s occupied with the gallery director and the artist, and while he’s smiling and nodding along attentively to whatever they’re talking about, Minho recognizes the tight clench of his jaw.

He’ll be here for another couple of hours at least, taking care of whatever business he’s been left to deal with—he’s got more than enough on his plate right now to care about whatever else has happened tonight. Still, something uncomfortable curls at the base of Minho’s stomach. He texts Hyunjin goodbye and goes home alone.

Han Jisung
I think you looked nice too

?fishing for compliments isn’t a very attractive trait, Han Jisung

Han Jisung
damn
man’s gotta try, at least

Minho doesn’t press Jisung for the conversation that he had with Changbin that night—from what he can gather from Hyunjin, Changbin and Jisung had said a goodbye to Hyunjin a bit after Minho left, and the exchange had been tense. It’s a good sign, Minho tentatively thinks, especially if there haven’t been any more updates on Jisung’s end.

So, maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that the next real update is when he comes home early one day to find Hyunjin and Changbin defiling their poor couch.

Minho’s fucking mentally exhausted because a couple of the fridges just decided to stop working the night before. Anything that needed to be prepped in advance had been spoiled, and they’d had to cancel dinner service that night. He’s not the one in charge of dealing with replacing the fridges or with people who had their reservations canceled, but it’s always frustrating to have his work ruined by what he hopes isn’t a mouse chewing through some wires. Again, that’s an issue for someone else. He gets to go home and watch a mind-numbing amount of Instagram reels to recover.

Unfortunately, any hopes of that are dashed because he’s currently looking at more of Changbin than he has ever wished to. He can’t say the same about Hyunjin because, well, the apartment only has one bathroom.

Minho snaps his eyes shut, but flashes of bare flesh still haunt him as he blindly makes his way to the kitchen. “I’m gonna make myself some ramyeon,“ he says. “You guys better be dressed by the time I’m done or else I’ll make sure you’re both circumcised.“

The threat still looms over the living room when Minho returns, steaming bowl and chopsticks balanced in one hand. With the other, he drags one of their other chairs over in front of the couch, on the other side of the coffee table. He sits down, and finally, takes a good look at them.

Their clothes and hair are still rumpled, probably hastily thrown on in the first minutes of Minho boiling the water, and there is now definitely room for Jesus between the two of them sitting stiffly on the couch. The back of Hyunjin’s hair sticks out funnily, and Minho spots a smudge of gloss over Changbin’s lips. Silently, he reaches over to the coffee table, pulls out a tissue, and hands it to Changbin.

He has the shame to flush even harder. Not enough shame to get Minho to look at that couch the same ever again, though.

Minho takes a long slurp of his noodles. It’s too loud in the eerily quiet living room and Hyunjin flinches. “So,“ says Minho, “what’s going on here?“

Another moment passes by them, more awkward by the second, until Hyunjin speaks up. “Um,“ he starts, throat clicking. “We’ve been hanging out.“

“Hanging out.“ Minho gives him a flat look, and Hyunjin’s eyes shoot back down. “Is that what the kids are calling that these days?“

“Fine,“ Hyunjin says to their carpet. “We’re seeing each other again.“

It’s not as if Minho didn’t already know given the—well, you know. But it doesn’t prevent frustration from building up inside of him when he gets the actual confirmation. He doesn’t let it show, though, as he continues to stare them down. “How long has this been going on?“

“A couple of weeks now,“ Hyunjin admits.

Minho blinks. They’ve been able to hide it for so long? He needs to go back to minding other people’s business.

Hyunjin, the damned empath, takes Minho’s surprised silence for what it is, and continues, “We’ve been trying to take it slow.“

“That’s not what you were just telling Changbin—“

“Hyung,“ Hyunjin wails. He folds in on himself, feet on the cushions, face buried in his knees. “I know, I know. I’ll make sure the couch is clean.“

“I can pay for it to get it taken care of,“ Changbin pipes up. Minho does not know if he means getting it sent to a cleaner or getting it to a secondary location like the victim of an unfortunate and horny crime.

“You better.“ Minho sniffs haughtily, then regrets it immediately when he’s hit with the vestiges of sex intermingling with the spicy seasoning of his ramen to create an ungodly concoction. He’s going to need to open the windows and air this place out for a week at least.

Quietly, but confidently, Changbin reaches across the couch and sets a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. He gently runs his thumb back and forth along Hyunjin’s arm. When he looks over and sees Minho still watching them, he doesn’t cower.

Instead, he says, “Hyunjin’s right—we are trying to take it slow. We talked about it, and we don’t want to make the same mistakes as before.” Minho doesn’t bother hiding the doubt in his expression. Changbin sighs and shrugs. “Couldn’t help ourselves this time.“

“Moscato,“ Hyunjin mutters. “It’s always the fucking Moscato.“

An amused smile plays on Changbin’s lips, but his expression is otherwise serious as he leans forward, imploring Minho. “Look. I just want Hyunjin to be happy. I know we fucked up last time, and there’s a million things I wish I hadn’t done, but there’s no use looking in the past. So, all I know now is that he deserves the world.” He swallows thickly, and adds, almost shyly, “And I think I can give that to him.”

Hyunjin lifts his head out of his lap and stares at Changbin with wide eyes. “Changbin… you…“

Changbin blushes. “It’s true, Jinnie.“

It’s disgusting. It’s also… sincere. That weird feeling settles back into Minho’s stomach, but he pushes it down, letting himself remain impassive.

“Okay,“ he says, slamming down his chopsticks loudly on the table and standing up before he has to witness them eyefucking, which, in his book, is just as bad as what he had just experienced earlier. They both look at him again as if they have forgotten he was even in the room. Again, disgusting. “That’s great to hear. You’re both adults, so it’s not like you need my permission to do your thing. Just don’t do it in the common areas.“

They both cringe at the reminder. “Fine, I promise we won’t,“ Hyunjin says. He holds out a pinky for a pinky promise but then thinks differently when Minho glares at the likely unwashed finger. “Sorry.“

“I’m sorry, hyung. We won’t do it again,“ Changbin echoes. “Don’t worry.”

“Good.” Minho picks up his half-finished bowl of ramyeon—it’s gone lukewarm and mushy now. He’ll probably have to order in once his appetite comes back. He has to make another call first, though. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got other business to take care of.“

“On the couch?”

“Yep, the couch.”

Jisung makes a face. “Seo Changbin, you dog.”

They’re wedged together in Jisung’s living room, a bag of chips bag slightly squished between them so the crumbs don’t get on the surprisingly immaculate cushions—Seungmin’s doing, Jisung had begrudgingly admitted a couple of weeks back. Minho’s been here more than a few times now, the two of them managing to find some time every week between Minho’s hectic schedule and Jisung’s nocturnal one. As far as Hyunjin’s aware, Minho has taken up Pilates with a grim determination that no one should question.

Minho shrugs and grabs a chip from the bag. “We’re getting the couch professionally cleaned, so it’s not the worst.” There’s a stain from an incident involving ketchup and wine that Minho’s been trying to ignore for ages that will hopefully be wiped from existence.

“But you won’t have a couch for a week,” Jisung points out. He stuffs a chip in his mouth, and his tongue pokes out to lick the crumbs from his fingertips.

Minho blinks. Hard. He tries not to think about what they had felt like on his lips. “Not that there’s much use for it. Hyunjin’s been gone for most of the week.”

“Where’s he been?” Jisung’s brow wrinkles, then smooths. “Oooh.”

“Yep.”

“Why didn’t they do that in the first place? Instead of doing it in your living room.”

“Beats me,” Minho says. “They were like this the first time around, too.”

“You know.” Jisung talks with his mouth semi-full, food pushed to the side of his cheek. “I thought Hyunjin would be more reserved when I first met him. But then I hear about this.”

Minho shrugs. “He likes to play hard to get.”

“God, that’s like catnip to Changbin. Man loves the chase. Alpha male type shit.”

“Isn’t that a kink or something?”

“It is,” Jisung says absentmindedly. “Everyone’s got a thing, I suppose.”

Because he feels like a little shit, Minho stares at him. “And yours is?”

“I—” Jisung blinks at him. Color rushes to his face. “Does that matter? Aren’t we supposed to be talking about something else?”

Minho does a poor job of hiding the amused smile on his lips, and Jisung yelps in offense to being played so easily. He swings at Minho with a pillow. “Hyung! Don’t do that to me!”

He manages to land one hit on Minho before he rolls out of the way for the second, taking the chips with him before they can get knocked over. When Jisung readjusts his aim, Minho catches the pillow in his hands, the two of them now engaged in a tug of war. “Watch your mouth, then,” Minho laughs.

“Oh, just you find out what this mouth does.” Jisung snaps his mouth shut as soon he speaks, and Minho laughs even harder.

“See? You make it too easy.”

“That’s—” The scrunch of Jisung’s brows signals the offense he takes to Minho’s words, but the twitching at the corner of his mouth betrays him. “That’s so mean! How could a hyung take advantage of his dongsaeng like that?”

“At least try to sound like you mean it!”

“I do mean that!”

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?”

A challenge glitters in his eyes. Jisung shoves the pillow up, meeting Minho face on. Minho’s mouth dries. “I’m—”

“—gonna mind the neighbors?” Seungmin says. Minho snaps his head in the direction of his voice; he’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen. A pair of headphones hang around his neck, and what seems like a freshly poured glass of water is in his hand.

“Sh—” Dropping the pillow, Jisung scrambles up. “Seungmin. I didn’t know you were listening.”

“It’d be impossible not to,” Seungmin says flatly, “with the noise you two are making.” His eyes zero in on the chips lying forgotten in Minho’s lap. “I swear if I see any crumbs on the couch.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Minho says, attention split between Seungmin and Jisung, who seems to be refusing to look at him.

“Yeah, don’t worry, Seungminnie,” Jisung echoes. “We’ll be quieter.”

Seungmin nods, mollified by Jisung’s sincere tone. “Thanks.”

The atmosphere is noticeably different even when Seungmin disappears back into his room; there is an arm’s length of distance between him and Jisung. Around them, the city moves forward.

Minho opens up the bag again and holds out a chip; a peace offering. “Back to business?” he asks.

Smiling, Jisung takes the chip and crunches down on it. “Back to business.”

Surprisingly, it’s not too difficult to get it in Felix’s head that going to a haunted house as a group will be a great bonding experience. Felix might be the most skittish person Minho knows, but he’s also the most committed when it comes to seasonal festivities. So, all Minho has to bring up is how we finally have Halloween off for the first time in years, and wouldn’t it be fun to do something for that? Something festive? And Felix gets that glint in his eyes like he did when he declared that he was going to make a croquembouche for Christmas last year.

After getting Felix on board, everything else falls into place. Hyunjin’s a complete sucker for Felix’s sparkly eyes—which, in Hyunjin’s defense, could be categorized as a weapon of mass destruction if Felix had any inkling of using them as such—so he crumples like tissue paper, and so too does Changbin to Hyunjin’s will.

“Changbin-hyung’s steady,” Hyunjin says to Minho as his finger’s been hovering over the pay button for his ticket for the past ten minutes. “It’s gonna be okay if he’s there, right?”

To Changbin’s credit, he manages to hold it together for about three minutes before a ghost wielding an axe pops out from behind a hidden door and he starts screaming just as loud—if not even louder—than Hyunjin has been.

In any other world, Minho would have pulled out his phone and started recording the whole thing, but currently, his arm is occupied by Jisung, who had grasped onto it like a leech the moment that ghost had turned towards them. Minho’s passive response had been enough to bore the actor into chasing back after Changbin, but Jisung’s still clinging on.

“Um.” Minho’s voice is suddenly gone.

“I might’ve forgotten to mention,” Jisung mumbles, “that I’m also not a big fan of haunted houses.”

“What.”

“I thought maybe Changbin-hyung and Hyunjin could distract me from everything, but it’s—” Another scream sounds out in front of them, and Jisung presses closer. His voice quivers. “Uh, I don’t think it’s working.”

Jisung is huddled against Minho, his body half hidden by Minho’s back, pressed up tightly against it. His chin is resting on Minho’s shoulder. He’s trying to make himself smaller, despite how he and Minho are about the same size, and the attempt is nothing short of adorable.

A teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, Minho turns his head towards Jisung. It is probably the biggest mistake he could’ve made: he’s met with Jisung’s wide eyes and flushed lips, barely any distance between them. If Minho leans in any closer, their noses would be brushing. Jisung’s not looking at Minho, but Minho still blushes as he jerks his gaze away. It’s a miracle if Jisung can’t hear his heart trying to fight its way out of his chest.

Nowhere else to look, Minho glances about the room they’re slowly walking through and finds that they are alone. Changbin likely took off when the ghost with the axe started running towards him, either dragging a sobbing Hyunjin with him or leaving him for dead. They’d already lost Felix a while back; he had sunk to the ground with shaky legs as soon as they passed by some strobe lights, furiously clinging onto a faintly amused Seungmin.

Minho should be annoyed that they’ve lost focus on their task, but it’s hard to feel that way when Jisung’s breath brushes against his exposed neck, and he’s so close that Minho can smell his cologne over the musty scent of their surroundings. He slaps himself mentally—Jisung is scared, and all Minho can think about is how to control himself.

“It’s fine, Jisung-ah,” Minho says. He can feel Jisung shaking like a leaf, so ignoring his trepidation, he slips his hand out of his pocket and takes Jisung’s hand in his own. “It’ll play out by itself—we just need to get through this.”

Jisung’s eyes dart all over the room, almost as if he’s afraid of what he might find if his attention lands on anything. “Jisung,” Minho says more firmly. Jisung manages to focus on him, and there’s no hiding the fear in them. He gives Jisung’s hand a squeeze; the trembling subsides just a bit.

“It’s fucking embarrassing,” Jisung admits. “Last time I went to one of these, Changbin-hyung took off, too. Chan-hyung had to guide me around like a child. I don’t wanna be a bother to you, too, hyung.”

Minho shakes his head. “You’re not a bother,” he says; he means it. He squeezes Jisung’s hand again. “Do you trust me?”

Jisung’s response is automatic. “I do.” Minho can see himself reflected in those eyes of his, more pupil than iris.

In his chest, his heart flutters. Softer, this time. Warmer.

“Close your eyes; I’ll guide us through.”

Jisung nods, and his eyes shut. His hand remains in Minho’s, and when Minho tugs, Jisung goes along with him. From behind them, they can hear others yelling, so Minho takes this as his cue to pick up his pace; they’ve still got most of the haunted house to walk through.

For the most part, it’s bearable, but Jisung’s every small reaction is heightened by Minho’s suddenly preternatural senses, and he can’t help but notice how his pulse rabbits continuously throughout the attraction, no matter how much he’s calmed down after each scare.

While Minho tries his best to anticipate the scares, whispering to Jisung to prepare him, he is by no means perfect, and a few pass by him. It’s not a big deal, the most reaction he gets is the tightening of Jisung’s hand in his—which is by no means gentle despite Jisung still not being able to quite keep up with Changbin at the gym—but, of course, it’s when they’re close to the end that Minho forgets that there is always a finale.

They’re so close to the exit that Minho thinks he can see the light, so he heads straight for it, for both the sake of his heart and Jisung’s. Then, just a few feet away from the exit, drops down a screaming puppet.

It’s so close that Minho can make out every detail of its grotesque face, and the cloak that it’s wearing brushes against Minho’s face. A surge of fear goes through him, but all he can think of is Jisung. He takes a step back, shoving Jisung behind him on instinct before he can see it. But it’s too late—Jisung buries his face in Minho’s neck and whimpers.

“Hyung,” is what Minho thinks he makes out. He’s heard Jisung call him that so many times, but this time, the sound of it zips up Minho’s spine, tangles with Minho’s heightened emotions, and etches itself into his brain.

He just needs to get through this.

Ignoring the blood pulsing in his ears, Minho tugs on Jisung’s hand, pulling him away from the puppet and towards the exit. They are greeted by a cacophony of sensations, overwhelming after they’d just been wandering around in the dark, but each is more welcome than the last.

“Minho-hyung,” Jisung says. His voice is small, unsure, and Minho realizes that he’s still holding onto Jisung's hand.

He lets go of it but doesn’t look up. If he does, he won’t know what he’ll be expecting—from both Jisung and himself. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

Jisung is smart enough to not call after Minho. Even if he did, Minho probably wouldn’t even be able to hear him over the pounding of his own heart.

On his way out, he passes by Hyunjin and Changbin; they’re sitting on a bench, away from the crowds. Close together, twined together like vines on a branch.

For the first time, Minho can’t bring himself to care.

Han Jisung
hey hyung
I’m really sorry about yesterday
I shouldn’t have put you in a position like that

its fine
just warn a man next time
can’t feel my arm anymore

Han Jisung
cmon
I wasn’t that bad

i have proof
IMG_325.HEIC

Han Jisung
WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?????

they had hidden cameras
you’re like that in all of them

Han Jisung
and you paid money for that????
for what reason????

~to humble you
?wanna see the other ones
i got some with changbin and hyunjin

Han Jisung
absolutely
I’m printing them out and putting them all over the studio

Look, Minho’s been around attractive people before. For fuck’s sake, he lives with Hwang Hyunjin, who’d once had a man run through traffic just to ask for his number. And Hyunjin had barely blinked at that—which is worrying for a variety of different reasons—but that’s not really the point here.

It’s not distracting when Hyunjin smiles at him, and his laughter doesn’t feel like bursts of sunshine in Minho’s heart. His heart doesn’t stutter when Hyunjin texts, the anticipation of reading it never dying down despite having other things to do. He doesn’t replay every brush of skin, every small noise he has heard, so much that if it were a tape, it would have long since been rendered unusable.

Though it’s hard to believe, Minho does possess the capacity to feel shame; it’s just that he’s also well-adjusted enough to get over it quickly. But even a few weeks past the haunted house incident, the just mere thought of it makes heat creep into his ears. It’s as if he’s staring at himself through Jisung’s eyes again, and he can’t help but wonder what Jisung saw.

He’ll never find that out, though; he’s pretty sure it’s something Jisung absolutely does not want to talk about, and Minho will be just as happy to allow him that. So, they don’t talk about it.

Minho is having a shit day.

It’s bound to happen, no matter how lax Minho keeps his attitude, but it’s just one of those days. He wakes up late, and has to wait for Hyunjin to finish using the bathroom, which results in him being even later to work. Even though he’s not chewed out by the executive chef, there’s this out-of-sync feeling that haunts Minho throughout the day. He’s off his game, not as quick as he usually is with orders.

Taking pity on him, Felix sneaks him a bit of the mousse he’s been working on during staff meal. It’s good, as good as any of Felix’s desserts are, but even that isn’t enough to perk him up enough for the rest of the night. He’s barely in the mind to check his phone, trudging through his duties, and it’s only as he’s stepping outside does he see the notification that the metro is delayed to straight hell.

He’s supposed to go to Jisung’s tonight. Maybe it’s a sign he shouldn’t, no matter how much of him had been looking forward to it.

trains are running behind
not sure i’ll be able to make it to tonight

He’s just managed to swipe out of KaKaoTalk to look at bus routes when Jisung messages him back. Typically, now would be Jisung’s most productive, him gaining a rush of adrenaline as the sunlight fades. Not the greatest for his circadian rhythm, but Minho’s weird hours aren’t ideal either, so he’s got no leg to stand on.

Han Jisung
behind you

Cryptic. Trying to be subtle, Minho cranes his neck to check out his back. He finds nothing.

Suddenly, a car flashes its lights in front of him, blindly bright. Minho nearly jumps out of his skin; the only reason he doesn’t is that his fight or flight is so tired from today that it doesn’t even activate.

Thankfully, the car isn’t moving, so Minho just stands there and squints at it in confusion. It flashes its lights again, and, for probably the third time in his life, Minho wonders if he should have picked up Morse code at one point.

A head pokes out from the passenger window of the car. “Hyung!”

He recognizes that voice in an instant. “Jisung? What’re you doing here?”

His head pops back in the car, leaving Minho’s question unanswered. But then, the car door opens, and Jisung runs out, lit from behind by the car’s lights like some wingless angel taking Minho to his exceptionally mediocre paradise.

Minho blinks. Yeah, he’s definitely seeing things.

Oblivious to whatever Minho’s going through, Jisung tugs on his jacket. “Don’t just stand there, hyung! You’ll get cold.”

Which is ironic, because Jisung is the one only wearing a sweatshirt. His nose is turning red already. The sight of it makes Minho’s brain feel like it’s melting more than it already has been.

He lets Jisung guide him into the car, settling into the heated cushion of the back seats. Unthinking, he shuffles all the way to the other side. Jisung blinks at him for a moment before sliding in.

“Oh, you’re not coming back up?” asks a voice in the front seat.

The voice is vaguely familiar, and so is the face of the man that greets him: kind eyes, strong nose, impeccable jawline. A face that’s hard to forget, indeed.

“Nah,” Jisung says, “I think I’ll stay back here. You know the way back to my place, anyways.” Ignoring the man’s fond scoff, Jisung turns back to Minho. “Minho-hyung, meet Chan-hyung.”

Chan reaches out for a handshake. It’s an awkward angle, but he makes it work. “We’ve met before. One of Changbin’s parties.”

Ah, that makes sense. “Right. You all work together?”

“Yep,” Chan says. “Normally, I stay a bit later, but Jisung convinced me to leave a bit earlier as a favor. Pretty insistent about it.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Hyung!” Jisung protests. Minho can’t see him perfectly in the shadows of the car, but he’d bet money that Jisung’s blushing right now.

Chan smiles, cheeky. “It’s alright, Jisungie,” he says as he ruffles Jisung’s hair. “Hyung understands why.”

Though Jisung ducks out of the way, his hair is still a mess as he slumps into his seat. “Just drive, Channie-hyung.” His pout is evident in his voice.

Minho is too fried from work to carry on a full conversation, so Jisung ends up carrying the conversation, bridging between Minho and Chan. As expected, Jisung and Chan are comfortable with each other, and between that and Chan’s easygoing nature, Jisung’s chattiness has a relaxed nature to it.

His voice is nice when it’s like this—deep, calm, with just enough liveliness to keep Minho hanging on to each word. He doesn’t think he could ever get tired of hearing Jisung talk, regardless of what he’s saying.

Before Minho knows it, Chan is pulling up in front of Jisung’s complex. Jisung unbuckles his belt and leans against the back of Chan’s seat. “Can you pull up to the other side? I need to get my mail.”

“It’s just a few minutes extra walk, Jisung-ah,” complains Chan, though he doesn’t sound like he means it as he brings the car out of parking.

“Thanks, hyung,” Jisung says brightly. He slips back into his seat and gives Minho an eyebrow waggle as if he’s pulled off a successful con instead of merely being in the good graces of an indulgent hyung. Still, Minho can’t help but smile.

Jisung exits the car as soon as Chan has parked at the other entrance and promises to be back as soon as possible, leaving just Minho and Chan in the car now. Minho would be happy to just sit in a semi-comfortable silence, but judging by the look Chan is giving him through the rearview mirror, Minho prepares himself for another conversation.

He doesn’t expect Chan to say this: “Thanks for taking care of Jisung.”

Minho blinks, completely caught off guard. “I’m sorry?”

“At the haunted house,” Chan clarifies. “I saw the pictures he put around the studio.”

“Oh.” Jisung had sent him a video of Changbin’s reaction upon seeing the photos, but even though Minho’s aware that he and Jisung are in some of the pictures, he didn’t realize that someone else would see them. “I was just there. I’m sure Jisung would’ve been fine on his own.”

“Maybe,” Chan says. “But it’s good to see him make friends other than me and Changbin; really come out of his shell. I can see why he put his trust in you.”

Minho’s pretty sure Chan’s only a year older than him, yet there’s something paternal about the way he talks about Jisung; not overbearing, but steady and caring. “I’m lucky to be his friend,” Minho says.

Chan’s eyes sparkle at that, and Minho’s mouth goes dry as his own words sink in—he’d meant to say something neutral, not… whatever this is. Too much to say to anyone, much less someone he’s only met a handful of times.

He clears his throat. “I heard from Jisung that you’ve been working on the debut track for JYP’s new girl group. How’s that going?”

It’s a flimsy subject change, but Chan’s smart enough to know that Minho needs to an out. He’s still talking about the recording process with the members when Jisung pops back into the car, a stack of envelopes in hand. Chan cuts himself off to start the car again.

“Weren’t talking about me, were you?” Jisung asks, eyes dancing playfully between Chan and Minho.

Minho’s ears warm, but he keeps his tone flat. “Why would we? The world doesn’t revolve around you, Jisungie.”

Jisung hums, smiling like he knows something Minho doesn’t. “It’s a shame it doesn’t, huh, hyung?”

Chan drops them off at the other entrance, and while Minho can’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes, he still wishes them a good night before driving off. Minho’s gotten used to the walk up to Jisung’s place now he thinks he could do it with his eyes closed, but Jisung leads him, fingers tugging on his sleeve. Minho lets him.

Seungmin’s in his room—playing a video game by the sounds of the furious mouse clicking and keyboard mashing—so it’s just the two of them once they’ve settled down in the living room. They’ve been trying to get Changbin to associate Hyunjin’s art with sneezing because Jisung read something about classic conditioning a couple of weeks ago; the idea’s been scrapped after an unfortunate incident involving cat hair and a terrifying amount of cough syrup. Back to the drawing board, it is.

Maybe Minho would have thought it was a bit of a stretch goal a couple of months ago, but he’s long since stopped being surprised by the strength of Jisung’s will; how it pulls Minho along, too. He’s usually down to throw stuff at the wall until it sticks, yet his tiredness sticks to him like tar, turning his brain to molasses.

“Is there something on my face?” asks Jisung. They’re supposed to be looking online for something, but Minho has obviously zoned out.

Minho doesn’t say anything and lets his eyes continue to roam Jisung’s confused face. He’s wearing sweats like he usually is when Minho comes over, his hair barely styled. His silver glasses cast shadows across his cheeks, his button nose. Despite Minho having felt the strength hiding beneath the layers of clothing, Jisung looks soft like this. Boyishly handsome. Within Minho’s reach.

Sometimes, Minho wonders when it got so hard to say no to Jisung. That hesitation the first time they’d met up—was that Minho’s brain warning him about what was to come?

What has come to fruition, anyway? They’re friends, right?

Will they be friends if they succeed in breaking Hyunjin and Changbin up?

“Hyung?” Jisung asks again. His brow creases in concern. Minho wants to reach over and smooth it out.

“Sorry, Jisung-ah—just tired.” As if to drive the point home, a yawn fights its way out of Minho. His jaw cracks from how wide the yawn is. “I don’t think I’ll be any good today. I should probably go.”

Jisung frowns, and the creases deepen. “The train is still stuck.”

Minho rolls his neck; feels his joints pop. “There’s always the bus.”

“That’s an extra half an hour,” Jisung argues. When Minho moves to stand up, he reaches over and grabs his wrist. “Stay for a bit longer, hyung. We can do something else—this can wait.”

Jisung’s grip is loose, gentle against the bone of Minho’s wrist. Despite his insistent tone, Minho could pull and he would just let go. However, just one glance at Jisung’s face—downturned lips, honest eyes—and Minho’s resolve crumbles.

He sighs and sits back down. “What happened to do or die trying?”

“Pretty sure those were your words, not mine.” Jisung smiles, relieved. “Besides, waiting isn’t forever. I’d prefer you not to die.”

“Aw, Jisungie,” Minho simpers. “Couldn’t do this without me?”

“Of course not.” Jisung says it as easily as the first time he did, and it feels the same as it did before.

Co-conspirators, not anything else. Minhos’s heart is a bird flapping its wings against his ribcage; he ignores it. “Good that you’ve realized that. So, you win this time.” He gestures to the TV remote. “What was that YouTube channel you were telling me about?”

Jisung gives a little whoop at his victory and grabs the remote, excited to show Minho more of the clips he’s been sending him throughout the week. As he prattles on about the history of the channel, it occurs to Minho that he could easily think that this is normal; something he can get used to. Two normal friends, enjoying each other’s company. No ulterior motives behind why they’re here. Not something with an expiration date.

Minho has never been one for wishful thinking—always a realist, never quite a pessimist—but something about Han Jisung makes him want to keep pretending.

It’s just one of those days, after all—he can cut himself some slack.

home
i should be free sunday morning for some brainstorming

Han Jisung
good!!
sunday works for me

also jisung

Han Jisung
yeah?

i had fun hanging out today
thank you

Han Jisung
oh

?oh

Han Jisung
I thought you were gonna like
roast me or something

wow
after everything we’ve been thru
?thats how you see me

Han Jisung
no like

?like

Han Jisung
like
ughngg
hyungie is very nice
I’m glad to know hyung

~thank you jisung-ah

Han Jisung
woof i really dodged a bullet there

~watch your words han jisung

Han Jisung
okok
I had fun too
lemme know if you ever need a ride or anything
I’d be glad to help out again

does chan know you’re offering his services as a chauffeur

Han Jisung
what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him

“Hyung, how sure are you that this is legal?”

“Not very,” Minho says as he strides past Jisung crouched behind the dumpster. He fishes around in his pocket for Hyunjin’s keys, then squints at them in the dim light of the streetlamps, trying to figure out which key goes with the back entrance of the gallery. It’d been an easy task for him to slip them from Hyunjin’s keyring, worn and stretched out, probably as old as the gallery itself. Realizing he knows nothing about keys, he just chooses a random one and jiggles it in. It does not work. He frowns. “But I feel like you maybe you should’ve known that when I told you about this.”

He can feel Jisung’s eyes on him as he tries the next key—he nearly drops the key, but he attributes that to how faulty the clasp of the keyring is. “I thought this was gonna be like the cafe thing,” Jisung argues. “Like you knew an art gallery guy.”

“I do know an art gallery guy—his name is Hwang Hyunjin and I have his keys. Whether or not he knows is a different matter.” The key slides in easily this time and the door swings open. Minho gestures to it. “After you, Jisungie.”

Slowly, Jisung takes a step in. “If we get caught,” he says, “I’m telling Changbin-hyung only to bail me out.”

“Would that be before or after you try to explain to him what we’re trying to do?”

Jisung scoffs; his eye roll is almost just as audible. “With our luck, we won’t even get to that point.”

Minho can’t really argue with him because Jisung isn’t exactly wrong. It’s been a rough few weeks as far as relationship sabotage goes. The haunted house debacle was just the beginning of a string of failures.

But they aren’t their fault, more logistical oversights than anything else. The mint essential oil Jisung rubs Changbin’s coat down with ends up fading quicker than he expected when Hyunjin brings him to see Kkami, who had behaved himself, which Minho would have believed was impossible if he had not seen pictures of the demon dog peacefully cradled like a baby in Changbin’s arms. The weekend trip that Changbin planned for all of them turns into a romantic couple’s getaway because Minho and Jisung had gotten stuck in traffic after rushing around the city to look for an oddly specific set of fake bugs. Even the most simple plan goes wrong: the Coupang delivery gets delayed by bad weather, and now Minho has a Doraemon costume sitting in the back of his closet that stares at him accusingly every time he reaches for a pair of shoes.

Some of them, however, may or may not have to do with human error—mainly, Minho’s error. He finds himself increasingly distracted when he’s with Jisung, his ability to focus on other things deteriorating to a worrying point that makes him wonder if he needs to call his doctor. One time in particular, he knocks over one of Hyunjin’s still-drying paintings when he and Jisung are trying to find Hyunjin’s old paintings of Changbin, and they have to spend the rest of the time cleaning oil paint from their clothes; Jisung thinks that it had happened because the easel had been unstable, and Minho would sooner bite off his arm than admit that he’d been preoccupied with staring at Jisung’s ass when he was bending over to rifle through a sketchbook.

Even when Jisung’s not there, Minho finds himself thinking of Jisung, whether it’s because a weird sign outside of a shop reminded him of an inside joke they have, or because Jisung said flirtatious and Minho’s brain just won’t let it go, no matter how much he tries to. He’d even redownloaded Tinder, only to find himself texting Jisung back more than any of the guys he’d matched with.

It’s embarrassing, but it shouldn’t be: why wouldn’t Minho be attracted to someone who is hot and who he’s been spending so much time with? It also happens that it wouldn’t even matter if Jisung was interested; this thing they have, it’s temporary, regardless of Minho’s desires.

Anyways, this all brings them back to why they’re sneaking into the art gallery in the middle of the night—the dregs of Minho’s brain deciding that maybe it’d be worth it to mess with the chair in Hyunjin’s office that he suspects that Changbin and Hyunjin have been having quickies in. To be fair, it also counts as revenge for his poor, poor couch, but Minho would be lying if he said the couch had not seen worse before.

No alarms go off and no traps are triggered as they slink into Hyunjin’s office, and Jisung relaxes once they’ve shut the door. As Minho takes a screwdriver to the chair, he can feel Jisung’s eyes on him, but it’s not like Jisung can help it, given the cramped quarters. Although getting the screws loose only takes a few minutes—less than ten minutes, really—the moment still stretches on for a bit.

Finally satisfied with his work, Minho straightens up from the position he’s been crouched in. “Should be good now.”

“Are you sure?” Tentatively, Jisung nudges the chair with his foot.

Minho looks up at him and absolutely does not notice how the shadows across Jisung’s face darken his gaze as he sits on the desk. He throws him what he hopes is a confident smirk. “They’re going to do more than just gently bumping against it, Jisung-ah. But if you’re questioning my handyman skills, then you’re welcome to test it out yourself.” He waggles his brows to drive in the point.

Jisung snorts loud enough that it surprises even himself, his eyes widening, and his hands fly up to cover his mouth. After a few seconds of nothing, he relaxes and sticks a foot out to tap against Minho’s thigh. “Don’t make me laugh. You’ll get us in trouble.”

“Don’t doubt me, then,” Minho argues back. Jisung kicks out his foot again, and this time, Minho catches him by the ankle. His thumb brushes against the bare skin, and he unwittingly presses down on the soft, smooth skin of Jisung’s calf as he grabs hold.

They both freeze up, but Minho doesn’t loosen his grip. He watches as Jisung’s tongue flicks out to wet his lip. “Hyung,” Jisung says lowly. The rasp of it sends tingles down Minho’s back.

Minho swallows. He lets go. Avoiding Jisung’s eyes, he pockets his screwdriver and stands up. “We should go.”

“Right.” There’s a rustling as Jisung hops off the desk.

Even though his back is turned towards Jisung, Minho is all too aware of how close he is. They need to get out of here before someone—Minho—does something stupid.

He reaches for the doorknob, expecting the door to twist open, and he’s met with resistance. Frowning, Minho tries again. The handle does not move.

“Is something wrong?” Jisung asks. He sounds like he’s peeking over Minho’s shoulder.

“I think the door locks itself,” Minho says. He rifles through his pockets for Hyunjin’s keys and pulls out a startingly bare keychain. He pauses.

Ignoring the concern very much emanating from Jisung, Minho sweeps his gaze across the floors of the office and comes up empty. He drops to the ground, and squints through the bottom crack of the office door; sure enough, he spots a glint of silver a bit away.

“Hyung?”

Minho sits up and scrubs his face with his hand. It’s more of an instinctual reaction to the shame flooding through him rather than a need to get the dirt off his face. Never mind the possibility of doing something stupid when it’s already happened.

“Minho-hyung?” Jisung asks again.

Minho slumps against the door. “We’re trapped.”

Pocketing his phone, Jisung turns back to Minho. “Okay, Seungmin’s coming in an hour.”

Since Jisung is still standing, Minho would have to crane his head up to look at him. He uses that as an excuse to not look at him at all. “Faster than I was expecting.”

“He’s actually closer,” Jisung huffs. “But he told me he’s not paying for a taxi to get here, so we’re just gonna have to stew in our shame while he finishes dinner and waits for the bus.”

Minho shoots a look of disbelief at Jisung’s sneakers. “He said all of that?”

“It was implied.”

Even with his limited contact with Seungmin, Minho isn’t too surprised. He sighs. “Beggers can’t be choosers, I guess.”

Jisung makes a noise of agreement. For a beat, he doesn’t say anything, shifting around uncomfortably, and Minho realizes that there’s no space for Jisung to sit down. The only place for him to get to stretch his legs is beside Minho, and he’s certainly not selfish enough to deny him of that. He sighs again. “Come over here, Jisung-ah. I won’t bite.”

Jisung’s feet pause their shuffling. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Minho tries his best to act casually as Jisung settles down beside him, but there’s a gap between them that he just can’t ignore. In actuality, it isn’t too far of a distance, given how small the office is and how much smaller still the floor space. Yet, he knows it is more than deliberate.

Time crawls painfully slowly as Minho scrolls through his phone. He’s never been much of a social media guy, preferring to get his fixes through friends or curated accounts, and it doesn’t take long for him to run those wells dry. The articles on Naver don’t catch his attention, and the ones he does open up, he just seems completely unable to process, words sliding out of his brain like a well-oiled pan.

His battery was already less than half empty when he’d met up with Jisung, so as he browses through whatever he can think of, the battery drains even more. By the half-hour mark, his phone is running low.

Maybe Minho wasn’t responsible enough to leave his apartment with a fully charged phone, but he’s certainly not irresponsible enough to use up the rest of his battery. He sticks his phone back into his pocket; he supposes now wouldn’t be a bad time to pick up meditation.

He gets maybe five breaths in and out before his mind starts wandering again. It’s quiet in the room, the only sounds their breathing and the occasional car from the nearby streets, and it’s too easy for Minho to zero in on Jisung; how his breath puffs out when he sees something funny; the little noises he makes when he finds something cute or exciting.

Minho doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he finds himself smiling along. He thumps his head against the door in frustration; maybe it’s better if he just knocks himself out.

“You okay?”

Feeling maybe a bit more prepared, Minho cracks open an eye to see Jisung looking at him curiously; he’d felt the bump against the door. “I’m fine. My phone’s just running low.”

He expects Jisung to just acknowledge that and get back to his own phone so Minho can go suffer in his thoughts, but instead, Jisung sets his phone down in his lap. He blinks sheepishly at Minho. “I should do that, too—I’m running at 5%.”

“Living life on the edge.”

“Ah, you say that as a joke,” Jisung says, “but it’s probably the riskiest thing I do. I’ve lived a very safe life.” He pauses and glances at Minho. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t try to refute the doubtful expression on his face. “I don’t think a guy with a safe life would have ended up where we are now.”

“That’s true,” Jisung acknowledges, “but before this, I’d never have thought to take a risk.”

Minho snorts. “Are you calling me a bad influence?”

“I’m not not saying that.” Jisung yelps when Minho glares at him. “Kidding, hyung. I’m just saying that you’ve made my life way more exciting. And that’s not a bad thing.”

Heat flares up in Minho’s ears, but he doesn’t completely lose his nerve this time. “Don’t try to push this all onto me, Han Jisung. I’m not the one that’s wanted by the government.”

“Nah, you can’t bring that up with me anymore if you’re the one that could get us arrested for breaking and entering.” Jisung sticks his tongue out at Minho.

“That’s only if we get caught,” Minho says, “or if you rat us out.”

“No rats here.” Jisung grins. “You know I’m fully devoted to the cause. Not even God himself could get this out of me.”

Minho raises a brow. “What about Chan?”

“Not even him.” Jisung shakes his head, a smile still playing on his lips. “I gotta protect you, hyung.”

Ears still burning, Minho croons back, “My handsome knight in shining armor.”

Jisung’s eyes widen, and he stumbles over his next words. “O-of course.” He puffs up his chest, trying to make himself taller than Minho. It’s silly, but nevertheless, Minho’s heart skips a beat. “Give me a couple of months, and I’ll fight a bear for you.”

Delight dances in Jisung’s eyes when Minho tips his head back to laugh. “That’s so romantic,” Minho teases.

“What, is that so hard to believe?” Jisung cocks his head.

“That you could fight a bear?”

“No, that I’m a romantic.”

Minho eyes him; despite the smirk on Jisung’s lips, it’s a genuine question, it seems. “Maybe a bit hard. It’s one thing to enjoy your books and movies, and then it’s another to actually believe in all of that.”

“I mean, I guess?” Jisung starts. He breaks his gaze from Minho and stares up at the office, at the tiny window next to the desk. “Even if it’s not as easy as the movies make it out to be, I do think that there’s someone out there for everyone. Someone that you can spend time with, someone you can trust, someone who will love you for everything you are. It’s something that makes life worth living.” He hums and bumps Minho’s shoulder with his own. “I know you think there’s much more to life than all of that, but, hey, I’m a romantic after all.”

Jisung’s voice is soft and sweet, cotton candy and caramel and pudding. It turns Minho’s insides into syrup. “That sounds… like it would be amazing to have.”

“Really?” Jisung jerks his head to meet Minho’s gaze.

Minho rolls his eyes and nudges him back. “I’m not heartless, Jisung-ah.”

“I know,” Jisung says. He doesn’t add to it; just asks: “So, then, what do you think love should be?”

“Easy question to answer.”

“C’mon.” Jisung comes closer, pouting. “You can’t expect me to say all of that and not expect anything in return.”

Jisung’s not wearing cologne today, but Minho recognizes the scent of his shampoo, which is a very terrible thing to have apparently memorized. He looks away and sighs, trying to sound beleaguered. “Well, I don’t have a way with words like you do.”

“You can try.”

“I mean.” Minho chews his lip. “I don’t think you’re wrong, that love has to be all of that. But, there’s more to it, right?” In his peripheral vision, Jisung tilts his head, questioning. “Or else we wouldn’t be going this far.”

“I think you’re right. What do you think I’m missing?”

“Hmm.” Minho stares at the chair in front of him. “I think it’s the cost.”

“The cost?” asks Jisung.

“All the pain and trouble people cause each other,” Minho clarifies, words finally springing forth. “Love—it shouldn’t be hard. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time.”

“Love should be easy,” Jisung says. The way he says it makes it sound a million times more meaningful than when Minho said it.

Minho dares to look back at Jisung. He’s where Minho expects him to be, pressed against his shoulder, head turned towards him. This position they’re in, it’s more intimate than Minho should be comfortable with, but he doesn’t want to move.

In the moonlight, Jisung’s eyes shine like stars. Not as cold or as distant as stars, Minho’s delirious mind corrects him. But… the sun is a star, isn’t it? Bright and bold and burning in the summer, yet shy and sweet and serene in the winter. Wonderful, through and through.

“Yeah,” Minho murmurs. He’s dizzy, like a comet drawn into Jisung’s orbit. “Kind of like destiny; things should just fall into place. Natural, like it’s always meant to be.”

At this, Jisung sucks in a breath and Minho sees his eyes dilate. Heart racing, Minho’s gaze drops down to Jisung’s lips. The dim light cuts a deep shadow across his cupid’s bow, highlighting the swell of his lips. They’re pink and shiny, maybe from Jisung biting and licking over them when he was in thought.

Minho wants to know how they would feel against his own.

Jisung doesn’t move away; neither of them breathes as Minho leans in and—

The door swings open, the world does a complete one-eighty, and his back lands against the cold, hard concrete floor.

“What the fuck—” he hears Jisung splutter.

Minho’s inclined to agree, head spinning from more than just the nerves of what might have happened, and he’s about to say so when Seungmin’s amused face appears in their view.

“Oops,” Seungmin says flatly. “Guess I should’ve knocked.”

“You—” Jisung begins hotly, then seems to remember that Seungmin has indeed come to their rescue. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, like I said I would be,” Seungmin says as Minho and Jisung scramble to their feet. “Why are you acting like it’s a bad thing?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Seungmin’s eyes ping pong between them. “Right,” he drawls. “Do I wanna know what was going on?”

He must be talking about their plan, not… Minho shrugs. “Is it any of your business?”

“Fairy enough,” Seungmin says. “Can we get out of here now? If we stay here any longer, you’re paying for my parking.”

“Fine, fine,” Jisung groans. He starts down the hall and then pauses. “Wait, I thought you said you were taking the bus.”

Jisung sits at the front of the car this time, leaving Minho to stare at the back of his head as Seungmin drives them back to his and Jisung’s apartment. It probably would’ve been a wiser idea for Minho to just head back himself, but Jisung had given him one look, and Minho had swallowed down his goodbyes.

Despite that, Jisung doesn’t say anything to Minho during the whole drive. Seungmin definitely senses the weird tension between them because he doesn’t step into the apartment once they get the door unlocked. “I’m gonna go over to Jeongin’s,” he says to Jisung. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“What?”

“We’re getting brunch tomorrow, anyways,” is all Seungmin says before he shuts the door.

Jisung blinks at the door and turns to Minho. “You need to charge your phone, right?”

“Yeah,” Minho says with more hesitation than is warranted for such a simple question.

“I’ll—” Jisung gestures down the hall. “I’m gonna go grab it—”

Minho doesn’t feel any less on edge once Jisung disappears into his room. Even though he’s as familiar with Jisung’s living room as he is with his own, he feels out of place. Frankly, Minho’s not sure if he’d feel proper anywhere he goes at this moment, but being here is not helping.

Because, really, what is Minho doing here? He’d just followed Jisung up without anyone saying anything, and without Seungmin, he’s not intruding any more than he usually is. For fuck’s sake, Jisung isn’t even here for Minho to project his feelings or emotions or whatever all over. Yet, every second passes feels more excruciating than the last.

He needs to just settle. He needs space to calm down, wipe away these thoughts, and come back with an empty slate. He needs to get out of here.

Decision made, Minho stands up and goes to Jisung’s room to say goodbye. Those damn eyes may strike again, but he’s prepared this time. He can get through this, and then he’s free.

What he’s not prepared for is Jisung stepping out of his room as Minho turns the corner in. Mind focused on one thing only, Minho doesn’t realize until it’s too late, and because Jisung’s apparently moving at the same velocity as a small freight train, he completely stumbles into Minho.

Though Minho’s not at his best, he manages to catch Jisung before they both tip over, one hand on his arm, the other on his waist. Jisung gets his bearings just in time to stop his head from colliding with Minho’s, but there is still no missing the shock in his eyes when they’re pressed so close Minho can feel the breath knocked out of him.

And there’s no missing when that surprise morphs into something else, and his eyes flick to Minho’s lips.

Before Minho can say or do anything, Jisung springs back, pushing out Minho’s grasp. The charger he was holding drops to the ground as he tries to balance himself, but Minho is so far from caring about that, his brain still replaying what had just happened over and over again, trying to catch each microexpression.

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” he registers Jisung saying, “I didn’t mean for that to happen again.”

Minho blinks as Jisung’s words dawn on him. Is he saying—? “For what to happen again?”

Jisung’s mouth drops open, and his cheeks redden more as he stammers out, “Trying to k—” He chokes on the word, but Minho knows exactly what he’s talking about. His pulse quickens.

“Jisung—“

“I don’t want to—I mean since you—”

“Jisung.”

Minho takes a step forward. Jisung doesn’t move away. Instead, he shakes his head and swallows on air. “If you don’t want…” he trails off. He’s not looking at Minho anymore. Minho doesn’t want that; he can’t have that. “Fuck, let’s not talk about this.”

“Okay,” Minho says softly. Jisung blinks at him as he takes another step. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

So, instead of talking, he reaches over and kisses Jisung.

Minho’s been in Jisung’s room before—either because Seungmin had someone over and they were in the living room, or because there was something Jisung wanted to show him. He knows what it’s like to see Jisung at his desk tapping on his laptop or by his bookshelf rooting through his vinyl records.

But what he doesn’t know is what it’s like to press Jisung down on his bed, lips on his, hands sliding underneath his shirt.

Minho licks into Jisung’s mouth; he tastes sweet, sweeter than Minho could have ever imagined, and he thinks he could become addicted to it. Jisung’s a good kisser—skilled and eager, meeting Minho’s fervor with his own, the two of them spurring each other on. Underneath him, Jisung groans, parting his legs to let Minho crowd in closer. The sound of it rumbles through Minho, sinks into his stomach, and wakes up the desire that he’s kept so tightly wound inside.

He knows he’s not the only one: he can feel the telltale sign of Jisung’s arousal pressing against his. As if that isn’t enough proof, Jisung tugs on his shirt. “Hyung,” he whispers. Fuck, he sounds wrecked already. “Off.”

Minho doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls the shirt off in one smooth motion, then gets to his pants while Jisung takes care of his own clothes. They’re back on each other once they’re just in their underwear, a need in Minho’s blood that demands to be sated. He moves down Jisung’s neck, mouthing at the skin, tasting the salt of it. He aches to bite down harder, to leave a mark, but there’s something delicate in this all, and Minho tamps down the urge, dragging his lips down to wrap around Jisung’s nipple.

As he does so, Jisung’s hips kick. The bud hardens inside Minho’s mouth at just that little bit. “Fuck,” Jisung swears.

“Sensitive?” Minho asks, already suspecting the answer.

“Obviously,” Jisung huffs. He brings his knee to bump against Minho’s side playfully, and Minho smiles, bringing his mouth back down.

By the time Minho pops off his nipple and reaches for his underwear, Jisung’s breath is ragged, face pink and lips bitten red. His chest rises and falls with every breath. Minho pauses. “Are you doing alright?” he asks.

“Great,” Jisung pants, “fantastic, never been better.” As if to drive the point home, he gives Minho a thumbs up.

This is the man that’s been on Minho’s mind day and night—and he finds he doesn’t mind it at all. He laughs, burying his face into Jisung’s stomach. He gives into his need to nip at the skin there for a moment, then comes up again to look at Jisung again.

He’s grinning down at Minho, smile goofy but eyes soft. Something glittering in his chest, Minho hefts himself back up again and kisses Jisung. He thumbs his hipbones and delights when Jisung shudders under his touch. “Tell me if you don’t want to go any further.”

“I do,” Jisung says automatically. He blushes at his forwardness, and Minho wants to… well, what he’s done to him already. “I just really—Fuck—” He shivers again as Minho moves his thumb in circles on his hips, and throws an arm over his eyes. His next words come out quietly. “I want you.”

Minho’s heart leaps, then clenches. Jisung—he doesn’t mean it in that way. Not that it should matter to Minho. He swallows, throat suddenly dry. “You can have me.”

There’s much less talking once Minho starts opening Jisung up. Though he complains here and there, he’s good at taking instructions, and he relaxes quickly, easily taking three of Minho’s fingers.

Despite the urgency Minho had felt when they’d first kissed, it’s turned into a slow simmer, replaced with a need to see just how Jisung ticks. He can feel Jisung getting impatient already now that he’s loosened up, hips wriggling as he tries to get Minho to do something.

“Hyung,” he starts insistently.

Minho knows exactly what he wants, and because he is a weak man, he gives in. Angling his hand just so, he curls his fingers, and Jisung’s leg kicks out as Minho brushes against the right spot. He bites his lip to keep from making noise, pink turning to white. Minho presses a kiss to Jisung’s thigh and feels his pulse flutter against his lips. “Hyung’s got you.”

A sound comes from the back of Jisung’s throat as Minho takes him into his mouth. He watches from beneath his lashes as he bobs his head, eyes focused on the swell of Jisung’s lip as he tries to keep quiet.

It’s not too long before Minho figures out the perfect rhythm for Jisung, fingers pressing into his spot as his tongue swirls over the head of his cock. As it turns out, Jisung’s seeming insistence to keep himself quiet isn’t entirely unwarranted: once he can no longer keep his lip caught between his teeth, Jisung is loud.

Not that Minho is complaining. He revels in the noises he pulls out of Jisung, listening with rapt attention as gasps turn into moans into whimpers into cries. They are undeniably some of the hottest sounds Minho has ever heard, and it’s almost disappointing when he has to stop touching Jisung to shove off his underwear and slick himself up.

It’s all worth it, though, when he pushes inside, and the two of them groan in unison. Jisung’s eyelids flutter as Minho bottoms out, and he clenches just so that Minho has to take a moment. Despite everything Minho has done to open him up, he’s still tight around Minho’s cock, so perfect around him that it makes Minho’s cock twitch.

“Shit,” Jisung says, “your cock—I feel so full.”

Minho drops his face into Jisung’s neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and detergent and Jisung. It’s truly dizzying.

“Jisung-ah,” he whispers, “you’re so—” He stops when Jisung squeezes around him again. “Fuck.”

Jisung giggles, breath hiccuping out of him. Minho wants to write it down, record it—just do anything to keep it with him forever. “Yeah. Good plan.”

“Brat, after all I did for you.”

“You told me you got me, right?” Jisung loops his arms around Minho and brushes his lips against Minho’s temple. “You’ve got expectations to meet.”

Minho gives himself a moment to chuckle before he hikes Jisung’s legs up around his waist, and makes good on his promise.

Having figured out some of Jisung’s preferences already, Minho sets a steady pace and is rewarded by the immediate whines he fucks out of Jisung. They’re stuttery, sounds breaking with each kick of Minho’s hips. That, combined with the headboard hitting the wall, turns the room into an absolutely filthy cacophony that Minho’s thankful that Seungmin is not home for.

“Jesus Christ.” Jisung’s arms loosen from Minho’s neck and reach up. Minho rises onto his elbows to give Jisung more room, eyes tracing the strong lines of his biceps as he grasps onto his headboard, apparently trying to steady it.

“Need me to go slower?”

“Absolutely not. Fuck the neighbors; keep going.”

Minho rolls his hips and watches Jisung mouth a curse. “Don’t blame me if you get a letter.”

“I can take care of that,” Jisung insists, voice raspy and breathless. “Just fuck me. Or I swear to God—”

Despite his stated lack of neighborly etiquette, Jisung keeps holding onto his headboard, his muscles straining with effort every time Minho fucks in a little harder. Neither of them is against it though, not when Minho can feel Jisung squeeze around him with each roll of his hips.

It’s less overwhelming now that he’s not completely surrounded by Jisung’s heat, but it’s not any less forgiving how he can see Jisung as he bounces on his cock. Jisung’s a beautiful pink all over, from his ears to his cheeks to his chest, and the pink only stands to bring out the shine of his eyes, bright with unshed tears. He’s a sight to behold.

Minho’s heart is ready to burst, for better or for worse.

Ignoring his steadily fading voice of reason, Minho leans in to kiss Jisung. Though it’s obvious how unfocused he is, he still tries to kiss Minho back. It’s slow but sloppy, breath and tongue and teeth, but Minho still feels that something more there.

“Jisung—” he gasps; he doesn’t know what he wants to say. “You—You’re—”

“I know, I know,” Jisung murmurs.

Does he?

Jisung lets out a small whimper when Minho pulls away from the kiss, but that turns into a cry when Minho readjusts the angle, tugging him onto his cock so he’s hitting that spot again. On the headboard, Jisung grips down hard enough that his knuckles turn white, and the sight of it burns itself into Minho’s mind.

Core burning, he slams harder into Jisung, and he keens. “Fuck, yes.” His legs tighten around Minho’s waist. “Like that, yeah. L-like that, hyung.”

Jisung’s heels dig into Minho’s back, forcing him deeper like he can’t bear the thought of not having Minho inside of him. It’s a crazy thought to have, Minho thinks, but would he be so selfish if he wanted Jisung to remember this like he’s going to remember it?

Desire is a fire that burns through Minho, threatening to turn him to ash. He feels undone with Jisung beneath him, around him, moaning and crying as if it means something more. He fucks into Jisung, again and again and again; hard enough that though he cannot leave a mark on Jisung, his body will not forget, even just for a little bit.

“Hyunghyunghyung,” Jisung chants. “I’m close. So close, s-so close.”

Between them, his cock drools a puddle of precum onto his stomach. The sight of it tightens the coil in Minho’s core. He takes Jisung in hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Jisung all but wails with the added stimulation.

When Jisung comes, his words are a jumble, nearly incoherent; yet Minho swears he hears his name. He shivers as Minho keeps thrusting into him as he chases his own orgasm, whining as Minho’s hands slide over his cock, covering it in his cum, but he doesn’t tell Minho to stop.

Just takes and takes until Minho follows him over the edge. Minho doesn’t know if he keeps himself from saying Jisung’s name.

They don’t talk about it.

Minho wakes up at his usual time that next morning, everything settled in the moment he opens his eyes. Jisung barely stirs as he quietly rolls out of bed and gets dressed, but he hears the rustling of sheets just as he opens the bedroom door. He freezes as if he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to.

Jisung is the one who breaks the silence. “You’re up early.”

His voice is rough—a reminder of the previous night. Minho’s hand flexes at his side. “I need to get back before Hyunjin’s up,” he says. “Gotta get the keys back.”

“Right,” Jisung says after a pause, “you should.”

“Yeah,” Minho says, more space to fill the silence than anything else. “I’ll get going now.”

He leaves before Jisung can even say bye.

They go back to acting like they were before. He texts Jisung that he made it home safely and managed to slip the keys back into Hyunjin’s bag. Jisung sends him back a sticker giving him a thumbs up. Minho tells Jisung about the bruise on Hyunjin’s ass from the office chair. Jisung complains to him about Changbin’s foul mood. When they meet up, Jisung still likes to wear those glasses that make Minho stare, and Minho still teases him over the smallest of things.

But Minho feels a palpable difference when they press up against that line of joking and flirting, of pushing buttons and boundaries. He hesitates when they’re texting, rereads Jisung’s, and deletes his own. He’s too aware of the space between them, and every room is both too large and too small when he and Jisung are in it.

Minho was under no impression that all of his issues would be solved if he and Jisung slept together; honestly, he hadn’t been thinking much at all when he’d kissed Jisung. Still, Jisung haunts his mind, whether he’s there or not. He’s not sure if it’s the same for Jisung; he seems to be doing just fine.

At the end of it all, though, Minho’s not the kind of person who tends to regret his decisions, no matter how much they might fuck things up. This won’t last forever, he tells himself.

Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, he doesn’t know.

Usually, Minho’s the one who brings up the talk about re-signing the lease when that time of the year rolls around, so he’s practically ambushed Sunday roommate movie night when Hyunjin brings it up off-handedly.

“What are your living plans for next year?” he asks as the opening credits to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind start playing.

Minho stares at him, wondering what alternate universe he’s stumbled into. “Same as it’s been the past four years. Why?”

“Um, so, hyung.” Hyunjin shifts uncomfortably on the cushions. “Changbin-hyung and I were talking.”

“About?”

“About our relationship.”

It’s like pulling teeth. Minho narrows his eyes as Hyunjin bites his lip. “And what does that have to do with my living plans?”

He sucks in a breath. “Changbin-hyung asked me to move in with him.”

…What? “What?”

“When our lease is up, of course,” Hyunjin adds.

“Yeah, I got that,” Minho says. “That’s… soon.”

Hyunjin’s eyebrows leap in concern. “Is it? I thought this would be enough of a heads-up for you to get everything together.”

It’s because Minho can see how nervous Hyunjin is that he knows he’s not saying this because he thinks Minho is dense. He tries to explain himself better. “I mean about the time you and Changbin have been seeing each other. It’s only been five months, Hyunjin-ah.”

“We were together for nearly two years before,” Hyunjin says. “That time counts.”

He’s not wrong. Still, Minho frowns. “It’s just…”

Leaning over the coffee table, Hyunjin grabs the remote and pauses the movie. “What, hyung?”

The right words seem to escape Minho; it’s like he’s grasping for straws. He grabs for the first one he can get hold of. “Aren’t you worried you’ll be lonely?”

“Lonely?” Hyunjin asks slowly. “In what way?”

Sure, Minho just blurted the first thing he could think of, but oddly enough, he thinks of roommate movie night, of Hyunjin originally setting it up so they could get to know each other, now a gauge for Hyunjin’s moods. He thinks of Hyunjin, who needs help killing spiders, who sometimes forgets to eat when he’s in the zone with his painting. Who sometimes comes home exhausted from talking to people all day at the gallery and just needs quiet assurance. A heaviness slithers into his stomach, and he swallows.

“Changbin works a lot,” he says. “I don’t know if he’ll be around that much. Won’t that bother you?”

How Hyunjin looks at him is akin to how he looks at puzzles. “You work a lot, too, hyung. And you’re gone a lot these days.” That pit in his stomach: it’s worry and guilt, Minho recognizes now. The realization makes him feel even worse. “The idea of moving in together is that we’ll be able to spend more time together, even if he has to work late sometimes.”

“I just…” It sounds right, yeah, but it doesn’t feel so. “Don’t know about you being in that apartment of his, all by yourself.”

Like lightning striking, realization flashes in Hyunjin’s eyes. “If you have something to say,” he says, not unkindly. He’s always been soft—too soft, maybe. “Just say it.”

Soft, yes, but not an idiot. Perhaps Minho is truly the fool here. So, he lets the question he’s been wondering the whole time drop. “Isn’t that why you guys broke up in the first place? Because he didn’t have time for you?”

Hyunjin blinks. “That’s why you think we broke up?”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked me.”

“Do you think it would’ve been a good idea to ask you at the time? You were…”

“... pretty fucked up?”

Surprised at Hyunjin’s frankness, Minho snorts. “... not doing well was what I was gonna say.”

Hyunjin grabs a cushion and curls up around it, his head resting gently at the top. “I know I wasn’t a good roommate or a friend then. You don’t have to try to talk around it to save my feelings.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I mean, it was definitely hard on the relationship that he was working so much. And you’re right, I don’t like to be alone. But the reason we broke up was me.”

“You?” Minho’s eyes widen, and he leans in away. “Oh, my god, you weren’t cheating on him, were you?”

“Great vote of confidence, hyung.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “I think having side dick would’ve helped me a lot more during the breakup.”

“Good logic. You may continue.”

He digs his chin deeper into the cushion. “I just… wasn’t ready to commit at the time. Like, seriously commit.”

Minho is… learning a lot. He’s still processing Hyunjin’s self-awareness over his behavior after the breakup. “You weren’t? I thought you were serious. Why do we watch all these movies if you don’t believe in them?”

“Movies are one thing, but I just wasn’t prepared for how intense the feelings could go. And in some ways, yeah, it was serious,” Hyunjin confesses. “I mean, I didn’t let him pick me up from work, couldn’t stay at his place more than two nights in a row, and basically refused to meet his parents. Just couldn’t let him into my life as much as he wanted me to. And I felt so guilty about it—because I knew he wanted me to, and l didn’t want him to find out that I wasn’t all that—that I just cut it off before I got too deep.”

“Shit, Jinnie. I really thought you loved him,” Minho says softly. He places a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder.

Hyunjin doesn’t flinch. “I did love him—and I still love him now. It scared me at the time. Being away from him put everything in perspective. And being with him again’s taught me how dumb I was.”

“How dumb you were?”

Hyunjin gives him a flat look, obviously tired of this overplayed joke. “I’m being serious, hyung.” In a softer voice, he adds, “It’s different now. I’m different now. We’re ready to take this step.”

He gives Minho a shaky smile; though the smile wavers, his eyes are confident. He truly believes everything he’s saying.

Minho wants to believe him badly. He wants to believe that Hyunjin has learned from his mistakes, that he sees this all with clarity. That it will all be smooth sailing from here on out.

But Minho still can’t shake the memories of Hyunjin by the river with that necklace, his hands shaking, his eyes red-rimmed.

How much harder would Hyunjin fall this time?

Han Jisung
are you sure about this?

we don’t have another choice

According to Jisung, every year, the Bang family likes to host a charity gala. The main event is raising money for a carefully selected cause, but there’s no doubt that there’s a side event of these rich families they’ve invited all trying to one-up each other.

It’s not the first time Minho has been to an event like this, but he has always been part of the catering crew, not a guest. He’s distinctly out of place like he’s stepped into an alternate universe, not even able to feel comfortable in the suit he’s borrowed from Chan. Though it’s been tailored to fit his frame, there’s still something that doesn’t settle in.

Even Hyunjin, who’s dressed in designer clothes from his own wardrobe and used to conversing with rich patrons, has a tinge of nervousness to him. There’s no way he knows what’s about to happen, but he seems to sense something off.

Which means Changbin is on edge, too. “Is there something wrong with the food?” he asks, pointing to the untouched hor d'oeuvres sitting on the table they’re at.

“Huh?” Hyunjin snaps out of whatever fugue state he’s been in. “Oh, I’m just not hungry.”

“You sure? You don’t need to hold off just because we’re having dinner soon.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “It’s not that, hyung. You can have it if you want.”

“Alright.” Changbin squeezes Hyunjin’s hand before reaching over for the mackerel tartare. “Do any of you guys wanna check on Jisung? He said he was going to the bathroom.”

Minho shrugs, nonchalance like a mask on his face. “I’m sure he’ll be fine—he’s an adult.”

“I just don’t want him to get lost when they get us seated. I have no idea what the arrangements are.” Changbin takes a bite and pulls out his phone. “I’m gonna text him.”

“The line is probably just long,” Hyunjin says, fingers drumming the table in an erratic rhythm. His eyes dart across the room, but Minho isn’t sure what exactly he’s searching for. “We should go—” His eyes grow large and his words seem to have become trapped in his mouth.

Heart pounding, Minho takes a glance in the direction he’s looking in and immediately locks eyes with Jisung. Beside Hyunjin, it takes Changbin a moment to realize the conversation has come to a halt, but he too clams up when he sees the two other people Jisung is accompanied by, all heading their way.

In a blink, Jisung is at the table. He beams. “Look who made it!”

His lively smile is in stark contrast to how both Hyunjin and Changbin have turned pale. Hyunjin has stopped drumming on the table, his hands tucked at his sides as if to hide them, while Changbin holds the tartare suspended in mid-air.

Thankfully, Changbin recovers first. “Eomma, appa,” he says, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

His mother reaches over to him for a hug; she’s even smaller than he is but possesses a poise that makes her seem taller. “It was a last-minute decision, but it’s been a while since we’ve seen the Bangs, so your father and I made the time.” The smile she gives Changbin is adoring in a way only a mother can manage. Minho has no idea what Jisung did to get them to come, but it seems that they won’t be implicated in this. Still, his palms sweat.

But one person is worse off than the rest of them.

If Hyunjin were not wearing blush and lipgloss, Minho would’ve thought he was a corpse with how still he is. Even in motion, his eyes dart back and forth as he watches Changbin interact with his parents, and his shoulders threaten to shrink in on themselves as if trying to make himself smaller.

“You should’ve told me,” Changbin says to his parents. “We could’ve planned something.”

“Oh, Binnie, when have you planned anything?” His mother laughs, squeezing his arm warmly. Hyunjin lets out a weak chuckle, and her eyes finally flick over to him. “You must be Hyunjin-ssi,” she says, friendly. “I’m glad we’ve finally got the chance to meet.”

Hyunjin bows as deep as he can, head nearly hitting the table. Inside, Minho winces. “It’s nice to meet you, eomeonim, abeonim,” Hyunjin says politely. “Hyung’s told me so much about you.”

Changbin’s mother’s smile doesn’t change. “And the same with you—our Changbinnie is a talker. You’re just as handsome as the pictures.”

“Thank you, eomeonim.” Hyunjin flushes and ducks his head. “I wish I’d brought something; I’m so sorry, I’ll remember next time.”

Changbin frowns and nudges Hyunjin gently. The touch doesn't seem to do much for him. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Hyunjin-ah. Appa and eomma didn’t give us a warning.”

“A warning?” His father lifts a brow. “We’re your parents, not enemy troops.”

Not as far as they’re aware; Minho and Jisung look at each other again, but look away just as quickly. A low laughter runs through the group as if just to fill space.

Reprieve comes when Chan drops by, greeting them enthusiastically. Changbin’s parents move away to meet with his parents, and Hyunjin visibly relaxes once they are out of earshot, though he doesn’t fully unwind. The easy back and forth between Changbin, Chan, and Jisung is enough to make everything seem normal again, but seeing Jisung interact so casually in front just further makes Minho’s unease grow. He’s just so comfortable around them; much more open and lively than Minho feels that he’s been of late.

Of course, that’s not all that is in store for them: when they’re ushered to their table, Changbin’s parents are there already. Minho watches as tension gathers on Hyunjin’s shoulders, and he drops Changbin’s hand, but he loses track when he realizes that his place card is right next to Jisung’s. He tries not to look at Jisung as he sits down beside him.

“The Bangs are so sweet,” says Changbin’s mother. “They rearranged the seating last minute so we could sit together.”

Hyunjin gathers himself much quicker this time, sending her a smile that only reads as tight to those who know him. “That’s so kind of them.”

The conversation ebbs and flows throughout dinner, the food acting as a good distraction. Changbin carries most of it with his parents as Hyunjin tries his best to converse naturally with Jisung and Minho while also keeping an ear on the conversation with Changbin and his parents. It’s not particularly successful, with him only half listening to both.

But it certainly is not helped by the stilted conversation between Minho and Jisung. They’re in this surrealist territory wherein there are multiple layers of pretend: Jisung asking about Minho’s job, looking like he’s biting back a cheeky comment the whole time; Minho laughing along to a story he’s heard Jisung tell before, trying his best not to stare at his lips. Not acknowledging how good Jisung looks in his suit and not thinking about that he knows how Jisung looks without it. Acting like they could maybe be friends.

Being aware of Hyunjin’s unease only increases Minho’s, and even though they have just gotten to the third course, it feels like a lifetime has passed when Changbin’s father looks over to Hyunjin and asks, “So, Hyunjin-ah, Changbin tells us you’re an artist?”

Hyunjin swallows the bite of the croaker he had just taken; loud enough that Minho can hear him. “Not for a living. Right now, I work at an art gallery.”

Changbin’s father inclines his head. “Do you see yourself being able to make a living off of art?”

Hyunjin has probably been asked the question a million times, and his answer is more confident. “That’s just about every artist’s dream, right?” he says, “But I like my job at the gallery because it fulfills a different purpose. I enjoy seeing new talent and I enjoy connecting people to art. There’s a type of satisfaction you get from nurturing these relationships you don’t get from just making art.”

Changbin smiles and lays his on Hyunjin’s, resting on top of the table. “Hyunjin’s got a knack for finding new artists and getting them to the right audience,” he says proudly. “It’s really admirable the amount of work he puts into every aspect of art.”

His father chuckles, and Hyunjin visibly relaxes. “Changbin’s never been an art person. Then he met you, and now he’s seeing everything in a whole new light.”

“Hyung tried to get out of the mandatory art classes in school,” Jisung snorts, “but they wouldn’t let him. Thank god there was an art history class because he definitely would’ve failed if he had to actually draw something.”

“That was high school! Is it impossible to believe that I’ve learned to appreciate that stuff?”

“I literally just saw you looking up the difference between Cubism and Expressionism the other day.”

The whole table laughs at the exchange happening in front of them. The mischievous sparkle in Jisung’s eye makes Minho’s chest ache. Meanwhile, Changbin’s mother’s giggle dies as she says, “So imagine my surprise when Changbin started asking about his grandmother’s jewelry. I doubt he even noticed what she wore when she was alive.”

“Eomma!” Changbin complains.

“Oh, I’m just teasing,” his mother says. “I thought it was sweet.”

Hyunjin pauses, his fork in mid-air. His voice is odd when he asks, “What was hyung asking about?”

She smiles fondly. “He asked me if there was anything we could do with one of her binyeo so that it wouldn’t just be sitting there. Beautiful things, but Changbin’s always been more practical, so he wanted something that could be worn without being so eye-catching.”

Hyunjin puts his fork down with a faint tremble. He’s gone stiff again, the color draining from his hands as one of them clutches the napkin in his lap. Minho watches Changbin reach over to try to hold it, but Hyunjin moves his hand before Changbin can even touch him.

Across the table, Changbin’s mother can’t see what’s going on, so she takes the quiet as her cue to continue. “It was his idea to turn it into a necklace,” she says. “There wasn’t enough gold to make an entire necklace out of it, so of course he got a chain from the family jeweler, but they were able to make a pendant from that and the jade.” She sighs. “Moss in snow, if I remember correctly.”

The name sounds familiar. “Moss in snow?” Minho asks.

“The type of jade—green and white, like green moss on snow-covered ground,” she says. “Hard to get your hands on, even if you know the right people. We got lucky that it’s been passed down the family for generations.”

She looks over to Hyunjin again, that gentle smile still on her face. “My mother didn’t get many chances to wear the binyeo, and neither did I. I’m so happy that Binnie found a way for us to see it again. I look forward to seeing you wear it—I’m sure it suits you well.”

It clicks into place for Minho then: Hyunjin’s questions; his decline into silence; a gold necklace with green and white speckled jade, now sitting at the bottom of Han River. His stomach swoops as Hyunjin suddenly stands up. He isn’t looking at anyone in particular when he announces: “I have to make a call for work.”

Changbin’s parents don’t look twice at the crumpled napkin that Hyunjin leaves next to his plate, but Minho, after knowing Hyunjin for so long, knows exactly what it means. Though he’s lost his appetite now, he can’t bring himself to go after Hyunjin yet either. It’s exactly what he and Jisung were hoping to achieve, but it doesn’t feel right; nothing feels right. He only feels worse as he watches the table carry on as if nothing had happened, the only indication that any others might know is the slight wrinkle in Changbin’s forehead. Jisung raises a brow at Minho’s half-finished plate, but he doesn’t say anything.

Hyunjin hasn’t returned by the time the dessert has been served. Changbin’s parents ask after him, but both Minho and Changbin cover by talking about how demanding Hyunjin’s job can be; they both know it’s a lie. Minho only manages a few polite bites before the nausea creeps up on him, and he pushes it away, mumbling an excuse to use the bathroom. He pretends he can’t feel Jisung’s eyes on his back as he retreats.

Hyunjin isn’t in the bathroom. He’s not in the reception hall either. Nor is he outside. In this state of mind, he certainly won’t be checking his phone, so Minho’s about to give up and return to the dining hall when he makes the wrong turn and hears familiar voices whispering in one of the rooms that’s not in use by the event.

“—you here? Did I do something wrong? I promise you I didn’t know my parents were coming.”

Sliding along the wall, Minho takes a peek in just to get confirmation: it’s indeed Changbin and Hyunjin in the room, Hyunjin standing a careful distance away from Changbin. He must’ve left pretty soon after Minho did.

“I know. Your parents are lovely,” he hears Hyunjin say. “ It’s not you, hyung—it’s never you.”

“Oh,” is Changbin’s even more confused response. “Then what’s wrong, Jinnie?”

Silence. Hyunjin’s probably looking everywhere but Changbin, while Changbin is desperately trying to get his attention. Their usual game, but it’s much more serious now.

Changbin speaks again; much quieter, softer, gentler. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I can’t tell you this. You’ll hate me.”

“I could never hate you.”

“You can,” Hyunjin insists.

“Impossible,” Changbin argues back.

“It’s the necklace.”

A pause. “What about the necklace?” asks Changbin.

Minho hears the sharp inhale of Hyunjin’s breath. “I don’t have it anymore.”

“Did you lose it?” Changbin’s words, as few as they are, are measured.

Hyunjin’s voice is a whisper, barely audible to Minho. “I threw it into the river.” When Changbin doesn’t say anything, Hyunjin keeps going, seemingly unable to stop himself from speaking. “I just couldn’t take it anymore, having it with me. Minho-hyung was the one who suggested I get rid of it, but I was the one who made the decision to throw it in. I’m so sorry, hyung. I didn’t know it was your grandmother’s. I had no idea it meant so much to you. I really am sorry. I’ll—”

“I really hurt you, huh?”

Changbin cuts off Hyunjin’s ramble, shockingly kind despite what Hyunjin has just confessed. He’s probably looking at Hyunjin with those honest eyes of his the way he always has; Minho almost can’t imagine what it’s like to be at the receiving end of such a look. His heart hurts.

“You’re being too kind to me,” Hyunjin says, voice breaking, “I don’t deserve it.”

There’s the sound of his footsteps heading towards the exit, but before Minho can plot his escape, the footsteps stop, the rustle of clothing suggesting that Changbin has caught his hand. Hyunjin’s breath hitches.

“Where are you going?” Changbin pleads.

“I’m going to Han River,” Hyunjin says, a hysterical edge to his words. “I need to find the necklace.”

“Then wait for me. I need to get us scuba gear.”

“Why would you do that? I’m the one that threw it in.”

“But it meant something to you, didn’t it?” Changbin says as if it all makes sense. “Then I’ll do whatever.”

Hyunjin laughs, a little bitter. But a little sweet. His fight drained out of him. “That’s so dumb, hyung.”

“I know.” Changbin’s smile comes through easily.

Hyunjin sniffs. It’s wet, the sound of tears overflowing his eyes. He’s always been quick to cry. Quick to love, too. Changbin’s one of the few who could keep pace with him, Minho thinks now. He’s tired, all of a sudden.

“I love you,” Hyunjin says.

“I love you, too.” The intimacy in Changbin’s voice. The muffled sigh. The slow embrace the two of them must have drawn each other into.

Minho doesn’t need to hear more to know that he’s overstayed his welcome. He has no clue how long it will take for them to return to the table, but that’s not his business anymore. His stomach churns now again; this time, however, it’s in anticipation of something else.

Head feeling like it’s been stuffed with cotton, he almost runs into someone, only barely managing to stop himself from colliding. It’s been happening too much recently; he should get used to it. Despite this, his heart stops when he sees who it is.

“Hey,” Jisung says. Of course, it’s him. “I was just looking for you.”

“Oh,” Minho says intelligently.

Jisung tilts his head, concern obvious in his eyes. “Is something wrong, hyung?”

Those goddamn eyes—always so easy to read, even if Jisung himself isn’t. If Jisung just looked at him just so, Minho would do whatever. He could do anything he wanted, as long as Jisung was watching. He could stare at those eyes forever; count each emotion that flits across them like the stars in the sky. God, he wants to.

“We shouldn’t do this anymore,” he blurts.

Confusion and hurt, plain as day. “What?”

“Changbin and Hyunjin’s relationship,” Minho says. “We shouldn’t interfere anymore.”

Jisung takes a step back, the space between them now like the length of the sea. “Wait, what happened? What made you change your mind?”

“We—” Minho struggles to find the right words for how he’s feeling. “We’re hurting them more than we’re helping. They’re good for each other.”

“I thought the idea was to stop them before they got hurt even worse,” Jisung points out.

“I know,” Minho says, still mentally grasping. It’s as if he’s grappling an opponent blindly, no idea how to face them. “But why do we think it’ll be just pain for them? Who are we to judge the end of their relationship before they even get to it?”

Jisung just stares at him. “I don’t get it,” he says softly. “Why change your mind now, after all we’ve done?”

Minho bites his lip. It’s so fucking hard to meet Jisung’s eyes. “I just… It doesn’t feel right anymore, so I can’t do it.”

“Doesn’t feel right?”

“I’m not good at explaining these things, you know that, Jisung-ah.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything, letting silence take over. Minho has never been uncomfortable with silence, especially not with Jisung, but, now, it unnerves him in a way he’s never felt before. Not even after that night.

“Look,” he says “just think about how this means we won’t have to waste our time anymore.”

“This was a waste of time?” Something in Jisung’s voice changes.

Minho glances over again, only to be met with a flintiness that sends a shock through his system. Was what he said really that bad? “It is if nothing changes at the end of it,” he justifies.

Nothing in Jisung’s demeanor gives way. “You don’t think anything has changed?”

There’s a manic edge to Minho’s thoughts, whirling around like he’s having a bunch of different conversations at once. He can’t keep up with any of them. This feels like it’s spiraling out of control, but Minho doesn’t even know how it started. His throat has gone dry. “Not really,” he says. “We were just messing around, in the grand scheme of things.”

A fire lights in Jisung’s eyes, all-consuming, yet his expression remains unbearably cold. For the first time in a while, Minho cannot read him. Maybe he’s gearing up to argue more, the two of them trading blows until one tires the other out. If that’s what Jisung wants, then Minho can give it to him.

But instead, Jisung blinks, and all of that fire disappears. He sets his jaw and nods. “If that’s what you think, then I won’t change your mind.” He turns around before Minho can process what he’s just said. “I guess I’ll see you around, Minho.”

When did Jisung’s back begin to look like a wall? Minho watches as he disappears down the hall, unable to take his eyes off of him. The hallways are emptier and much, much colder than they did before.

Though Jisung had been the one to do it, it’s a clean break; a mutual agreement; no more loose ends to tie up. Minho’s life can go back to the way it was before. It’ll be much easier, to pretend not to know Jisung at all, if they’re not planning anything anymore. No gains, no losses. Net nothing.

Yet, Minho cannot shake the feeling that that’s not quite true.

Minho’s life does indeed go back to what it was. Eat, sleep, work. Go out with Felix when they both have their day off. Watch movies with Hyunjin on their not-stained couch. Browse through his Naver, Twitter, and YouTube feeds. Look around for a new place to live once the lease runs out.

Well, there is one relatively new development: try not to think about Jisung.

Even without the events and without them following each other on social media, he still pops up in Minho’s mind at the most inconvenient of times. Felix makes coffee ice cream, and the smell of it is reminiscent of the coffee shop where he and Jisung first met up. Hyunjin scrolls through Netflix, and Minho spots Castlevania, which Jisung had once recommended to him. Every other cat video he sees, he has to stifle the urge to send it to Jisung. Even while he’s apartment hunting, he cannot escape: he spots an ad for a roommate in Jisung’s building.

It was going to happen sooner or later, he knows. And, truthfully, it’s better this way. At least Hyunjin is happy, so in some parts, Minho should be happy as well.

“So, like,” Hyunjin starts a couple of weeks later as he strolls into the kitchen, “you’d tell me if you were still upset about the moving thing, right?”

Minho keeps chopping as speaks. “Where’s this coming from?”

“You’ve been weird since I told you. I asked Lix if things were off at work, but he said it’s been about the same. I’m just using my powers of deduction.”

“Are you saying I don’t have much going on aside from you and work?”

“I’m not not saying that. But we live together,” Hyunjin says. “Unless you’ve got a secret boyfriend that you never told us about.”

Minho’s knife only stills for half a second before he goes back to chopping his potatoes, but it’s enough of a pause for Hyunjin to catch. “You do?” he exclaims, nearly dropping the bag of chips he’d come to retrieve.

Minho breathes through his nose. “I don’t.”

Hyunjin all but ignores him. “Holy shit, who is he?”

“I just said I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Is it someone we know?”

“Hyunjin, are you deaf?”

“It is, isn’t it?” Oh, Hyunjin’s on a roll now. “Is it that chef friend of yours? The tall one? Who works at the cafe with the other guy?”

“That could literally be anyone,” Minho points out. Then, to cover his bases, he adds: “None of whom I am dating.”

Hyunjin pauses as if pulling from the depths of his pea-brain. “Wait, Felix said you’d been on your phone a lot for months now, and you never text me unless we need to get groceries so—” He gasps. “You broke up? Fuck, I’m so sorry, hyung.”

Minho takes another deep breath and exhales through his nose. Goddamn Hwang Hyunjin. He puts down the knife before he accidentally chops a finger off. Which would not be a terrible alternative at this moment. “There was nothing to break up,” he says, finally entirely truthful.

“I can’t believe I’ve been wrapped up in my shit that I never noticed,” Hyunjin frets. His voice goes horribly soft, as if talking to a wounded animal. If Minho was one, he’d be gnawing a leg off. “Want me to order something, hyung? There’s that gopchang place you like that still should be open.”

“I’m making dinner right now.”

“Okay, what about that dessert place? I know you liked their tarts when I had them cater for an event.”

“Hyunjin-ah…”

“It’s no big deal, hyung,” continues Hyunjin. “You were there for me during my break-up with Changbin-hyung, so it’s the least I can do. Whoever the guy was, he didn’t deserve you.”

He’s being kind again; much kinder than Minho deserves after all that he’s put Hyunjin through. He can’t take it anymore. Finally, he turns around to face Hyunjin, who startles and shuts up. “Hyunjin, sit down,” he says. “I need to tell you something.”

“Um, okay.” Hyunjin blinks but does what he’s told, walking over with Minho to the dining room and plopping into the chair.

Minho digs the palms of his hands into his eyes. His stomach is heavy and his gut fucking hurts. “I didn’t have a boyfriend, secret or otherwise.” He hears Hyunjin open his mouth. “Fine, there was a guy. We slept together once and there were feelings involved, okay? It’s a long story.”

“I can listen,” Hyunjin says earnestly.

There’s no place to start; he has not a single clue where to even begin. He has never had a lie planned because he hadn’t planned on getting caught, much less confessing to it himself. But he’s tired of pretending, so he blurts it out: “Jisung and I were trying to break you and Changbin up.”

Hyunjin’s brows shoot up. “What?” he asks, more exclamation than an actual question. “Han Jisung? You guys barely spoke to each other last time I checked.”

Well, points to Minho for some good acting. “He texted me,” he says haltingly; it feels so long ago, “when we found out you and Changbin started talking again. It was just supposed to be us venting because of how bad your breakup was, but then we just… got carried away.”

“Got carried away? What did you guys do?

What did they not do? “You know that cafe date you and Changbin went on before you got back together?” It’s the most memorable; Hyunjin makes a face and nods. “Jisung was the one who kept shocking Changbin. And I was the one who kept making the door malfunction.”

His mouth drops open. “What?”

“The chair in your office, that was us,” Minho continues, unable to stop himself. It hurts to admit it all, but there’s some part of him who’s relieved, too. “And Changbin’s parents showing up—that was us, too. We didn’t want you guys to get too deep again, and end up worse off than the first time. We thought that if things got bad enough, you guys would eventually realize that being together wasn’t a good idea. Give you guys a clean break because it seemed natural.”

For a moment, it’s just the sound of them breathing. There’s much, much more for Minho to confess to, but the damage has been done. At least Hyunjin is moving out soon.

Then, Hyunjin cocks his head. “You can control the automatic doors?”

Minho stares at him. “That’s your only question?” he asks, disbelief in every word. “Aren’t you supposed to be pissed?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda—do you know how much the dry cleaning for my shirt was? I’m definitely sending you the bill. I’d make you pay for my chair, too, but I wanted a new one anyways, so that’s kinda moot.” Hyunjin waves a flippant hand. “But on the other hand, I’m…” He trails off, biting his lip. His eyes glisten. “Shit, you’d go that far for me?”

Did Minho hit his head somewhere along the way to the dining room? Did he cut a finger off and this is a hallucination conjured up by his dying brain? He speaks slowly. “I tried to sabotage your relationship, Hyunjin-ah.”

Hyunjin stares back at him, clear-eyed despite what his lackluster reaction would imply. “Because you didn’t want me to go through what I went through the first time.” He talks as if Minho is the crazy one—which, actually, neither of them is completely sane, but there’s a scale, Minho would like to think. “I wouldn’t have listened to reason, no matter what you told me, so you did what you could.”

“They were dumb things that I did.”

“Love makes you dumb, hyung.” He says it with a completely straight face.

“That’s not a glowing view of love, is it?” Minho retorts.

Hyunjin shrugs. “It’s the truth. Love is like the most beautiful sunrise you could ever witness, like the most heartfelt painting you’ve ever seen.” Reverence becomes a flat statement. “But it’s also just fucking stupid and makes you stupid. It makes you do dumb stuff together and for each other. Love made me give Changbin another chance despite all my fears,” he says, counting on each finger. “Love made Changbin come back even though I was the one who hurt him. Love made you want to protect me from myself; drove you to do things you wouldn’t have done before. It’s idiotic, but it’s love.”

It’s not too different from those monologues in the sappy movies that Hyunjin likes to watch, yet something about it strikes a chord within Minho. He doesn’t know if it’s because it’s not in French or English; if it’s Hyunjin saying it; or if it rings true to Minho’s experiences, but for the first time, he believes it.

Of course, he can believe it; he’s got proof. Waiting for a text and answering it right away. Nights staying up late just to talk about nothing important. Throwing ideas around, no matter how feasible, just to see what happens. Flirting with someone, seeing their smile, and telling yourself it doesn’t mean something.

Maybe not love—not quite yet—but it could be.

Minho’s been too quiet for too long now, and he sees a sly grin on Hyunjin’s lips. That can’t be. He huffs. “So, is this saying you forgive me?”

“Not all the way.” He doesn’t quite sound sure of himself, so Hyunjin has to think briefly before adding, “I will if you tell me what went down with Jisung.”

“You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Never said I was. So, spill.”

“Hm,” Minho hums. He turns away, reaching for the ties of his apron. “Maybe another day.”

There’s a clattering as Hyunjin pushes the chair back. “Oh, shit. Did my speech actually work? Are you gonna run out and tell Jisung how you feel?”

“No,” Minho says and rolls his eyes. He turns back to see Hyunjin righting the chair, looking very put out while doing so. He smiles. “The speech was good, Hyunjinnie. I just need to finish dinner first.”

Because Minho is neither the lead of some coming-of-age movie nor a serial killer, he texts Jisung before heading out.

The messages go through, meaning Jisung hasn’t blocked him. Which is a good sign. But Minho still can’t bring himself to see if Jisung has checked his message.

Though Minho has never been a speech guy, he still runs through the bullet points on the bus ride over. He supposes in some way, it’s to calm himself down; his pulse is still rabbiting by the time he reaches Jisung’s apartment. But he forgets everything when the door opens.

“Hey,” he starts instead.

“Hey,” Jisung answers just as hesitantly. He looks freshly showered, his hair damp and his skin dewy. He’s probably just come home from work. Or he jumped in when Minho texted. The thought of that sends a shiver of hope through him.

He’s staring, he realizes. Jisung clears his throat. “Do you want to come in?”

Nothing in Jisung’s living room has changed—why would it? It’s only been a couple of weeks. Not long enough something substantial, but long enough to be felt. Minho sits on the couch. Feels the tension looming over them, heavier than it had been the night he and Jisung had slept together.

The silence afterward had been almost deafening, he remembers.

Minho had wanted to say something—do something—after they’d cleaned themselves and he’d thrown out the condom. But there he was, lingering in Jisung’s room with just his boxer briefs on, watching as Jisung fumbled around his closet for clean sheets.

“Jisung-ah—” he said when Jisung emerged.

Jisung had looked at him with pleading eyes, and that made Minho shut up. “Can you help me with the sheets, hyung?” he asked.

Minho’s question had hung around after they’d stripped the bed and thrown the used sheets into the laundry basket, albeit with an extra layer of exhaustion as the night began to sink in. He really shouldn’t stay. They hadn’t made any agreements, any promises. It would’ve been selfish.

Yet, when Jisung looked at Minho, and then the bed, Minho had no choice but to follow.

The memory surfaces now because the glimmer in Jisung’s eyes is the same as they were before. Like he wants something, but doesn’t know how to say it because he’s afraid. Minho hadn’t known what it was before, but he does now.

“I was wrong,” he says.

Jisung makes a soft noise of confusion, and Minho continues. “Do you remember? That night, when we snuck into the art gallery. What we talked about?”

“Yeah.” Jisung swallows and shifts on the couch across from Minho. His voice is quiet. “I do.”

He takes a breath. “You asked me what I thought about love and I thought I knew the answer. But I was wrong,” he repeats, “there’s no such thing as a love that’s easy.”

Jisung stares at him. “That’s depressing, hyung.”

“I’m—” Minho makes a frustration noise and folds his hands in his lap as if that’ll keep them from shaking. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I’m saying, yeah, it’s going to be hard, but the point of love is to work through it together; come out the other side stronger.”

“So,” Jisung says slowly, “that’s why you wanted to stop? Did you come all the way to say that?”

He gives Jisung a plaintive look—this must be his karma for teasing Jisung all the time. “I’m getting to it. You know I’m not good at explaining myself, but I’m fucking trying, okay?”

“Fine, fine.” Amusement curls in Jisung’s words like he can’t help himself.

The sound of it lightens something in Minho. Jisung’s presence becomes a pillar he can lean on, and the words come out naturally. “Love is hard because we do stupid things for it,” he says, “and we know that they’re stupid, yet we keep doing them. It doesn’t make any sense to get back together with your ex, but it doesn’t make any more sense to start plotting to break them up. It’s stupid faking government papers, going to a haunted house when you know you’re scared, or breaking into places you’re not supposed to be.”

A smile tugs at Jisung’s lips. Minho finds himself mirroring it. “It’s stupid to keep trying, even if we keep failing. And it was stupid to have that night with you and not want to talk about it.”

“Why?” Jisung’s question is quiet.

“It’s true that one of the reasons why I wanted to stop was because it just didn’t make sense anymore.” Minho bites his lip. “But the other reason was you.”

Jisung’s eyes widen. “Me? What did I do?”

It can’t be Minho imagining the breathless quality of Jisung’s voice. The softness of his brow. The brightness of his eyes. “I thought that one night was enough. It wasn’t, Jisung—it never was going to be. This thing between us, it could never be a waste of time.”

He takes a breath, and finally, finally admits: “I’m in love with you, Jisung-ah.”

After the confession is silence, but instead of the tense sort of silence he’s become accustomed to, something different shifts in the air. It shimmers between them, growing and growing. He watches as a flush spreads across Jisung’s skin, pinker than sunset, prettier than a rose. Disbelief colors Jisung’s voice as he buries his face in his hands. “God, I’m an idiot,” he squeaks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Minho blinks, taken aback. “You literally said you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Because I thought you didn’t want to talk about it! You didn’t say anything and I just wanted to be around you, so of course I didn’t!” Jisung argues. He lifts his head and gestures wildly in the air. “I just say shit, sometimes! Why did you have to take me so seriously? You never take me seriously!”

It’s a crazy accusation, and Minho very much takes offense to it. “What do you mean I don’t take you seriously!” he exclaims, just as heated. “We got into this whole thing because I took everything at face value!”

“I was being serious then! I’m talking about the other times!”

“What other times? You’re the one who doesn’t take me seriously!”

“I do take you seriously! You called this a waste of time!”

“I wouldn’t have meant it like that if I’d known you weren’t telling the truth!”

Jisung pauses. “Wait,” he says, “the truth about what?”

Minho stops too, then squints at him. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

At Minho’s narrowed eyes, Jisung starts again, fiercely argumentative, “I’m trying—”

He barely gets the words out before laughter erupts in his chest, overtaking whatever he was trying to say.

Whatever he meant to say, it probably doesn’t matter at the end of the day. Because Minho knows what Jisung is telling him, and he is just happy to be here, listening to the rich sound of Jisung’s laugh, tracing the soft curves of his eyes. Fondness warms his chest; a bubbly affection that sets the butterflies in his stomach free. He’s never seen anyone more vibrant, more wonderful, more worth every dumb decision he has ever made.

Jisung’s laugh peters out, but the fondness remains. He reaches over and takes Minho’s hand, grinning at him with that smile, looking at him with those eyes. “I’m in love with you, too, hyung. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Despite Minho knowing how Jisung felt before his confession—he’d be deaf and blind and dead to not notice, wouldn’t he?—it still renders him speechless, heat rising to his ears and face. Yet, he can’t take his eyes off of Jisung.

Under Minho’s gaze, Jisung flushes deeper. “Don’t just sit here and look at me!”

And who is he to deny Jisung? So, Minho, for the first time knowing with certainty what both of them want, pulls Jisung in for a kiss.

Han Jisung
so do you wanna tell them about the sabotage thing separately or together

…about that

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The hotel room is dark when Minho opens the door. He half-expects there to be no response, but he’s pleasantly surprised when he’s pulled into a hug.

“Missed you,” Jisung whispers.

Minho laughs, patting Jisung’s head and letting himself take a whiff of his boyfriend’s cologne. “Missed you, too, jagi.”

“What took you so long?” Jisung coils his arms tighter around Minho. He buries his head deeper into the crook of Minho’s neck. “Been waiting for you forever.”

“Hyunjin’s heavier than he looks.”

“Changbin-hyung needed both Chan-hyung and me to keep him up.”

“That’s true, but I need to remind you that drunk Hyunjinnie is also a runner.”

“And drunk Changbin-hyung’s a clinger.” Minho very wisely does not say anything about Jisung’s koala-like tendencies at the present. “That’s what makes them so perfect together. At least tonight’s the last night we’ll have to deal with them like this.”

“Thank fucking god.” Minho lets his and Jisung’s combined weight pull him back against the door, running a soothing hand down Jisung’s back when he makes a noise of complaint at being jostled.

“What do you think the chances are of us finding them together in the morning?”

“Zero.” Minho flicks Jisung on the forehead. “Hyunjin’s too superstitious to break tradition. We got Yongbokkie and Chan-hyung on watch until they fall asleep, and I know you set up those tripwires in case they wake up and have any ideas. I am not planning on failing this time.”

“Mm.” Jisung lifts his head, apparently having his fill of inhaling Minho’s collarbone, and puckers his lips. “Tripwires are so smart. Aren’t I so sexy for that?”

Minho rolls his eyes, but he still indulges Jisung and presses a kiss to his lips. “Very sexy.”

Jisung makes a noise of glee as Minho’s lips brush against his, and though he’d only meant for it to be a peck, he can’t help going in for another kiss. He doesn’t know how many times he’s kissed Jisung, but every time is like the first time—it’s better because he knows how much this means to both of them.

Jisung must feel the same way: he reaches up to cup his hand around the back of Minho’s head, deepening the kiss. Sparks come to life behind Minho’s eyelids.

He came into the room tired, expecting to just crash after the long night they’ve had, but he pulls Jisung in closer, hands skimming along the luxe fabric, and is reminded just how good he looks in his suit, all tousled hair and trim waist. Minho had wanted to pull him away; even throw him onto the table in front of everyone if they couldn’t get away. Jisung’s own eyes had darkened in the flickering light of the candles when he’d seen Minho. Heat simmers in his belly as Jisung opens his mouth to let Minho in.

A low groan rumbles in Minho’s chest when Jisung sucks on his tongue, and he feels the corners of Jisung’s mouth curl up. He presses closer and rolls his hips, letting Minho know exactly what he’s been waiting up for.

“Was this the plan all along?” Minho asks between kisses. “Seduce me with your traps?”

“Of course,” Jisung murmurs, “I know you like me for both my mind and my body.” He trails his lips down Minho’s neck and sucks at a particularly sensitive point. Hyunjin’s gonna kill him if he’s marked up for the photos, but he’s sure Felix will let him borrow some concealer. “This is just another trap, baby. Multiplies the sexy factor.”

Minho laughs, his giggle coming out high and breathless as Jisung nips at his skin. Before he can say anything, Jisung pulls back and flops down on the bed. He gives Minho his best impression of come hither eyes and pats his lap with a smirk.

Minho raises a brow. “You want me to do all the work?”

“I’m tired, jagi,” Jisung says, tongue in cheek. “Being best man is hard.”

“You don’t think I’m tired, too, Han Jisung?”

Jisung pouts at him. “I saw how you were looking at me.”

There’s nothing shameful about being caught leering at your boyfriend, but the knowing smirk Jisung throws him still makes Minho’s ears go red. Even though they’ve been together for a while now, Jisung still likes to see what he can do. He’s the only person who can make Minho feel like this.

Jisung’s eyes flick to the side of the room, landing on the suitcase. He gives Minho a wink. “Check the first pocket. Might convince you more.”

“You’re making me do that, too?”

“You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I better,” Minho mutters. He unzips the bag. “Strawberry?”

“Bon appetit, baby.” Jisung ducks as the bottle of lube comes whizzing at his head.

Minho has learned when he should or shouldn’t take Jisung too seriously, his mouth often times moving faster than his brain. He’s fantastic at saying the most idiotic of things. And, unfortunately, he’s also a genius at using it for other things.

“Holy shit, keep going,” Minho gasps, his fingers tightening around the headboard of the bed. Beneath him, Jisung hums in agreement and continues lapping at his hole.

The noises are downright filthy, the hum of the air conditioning not even close to covering the sounds of Jisung’s sloppy licks and Minho’s breathy moans. It’s made even worse by the fact that Minho is completely naked, debauched, while Jisung is still clothed like it’s not affecting him at all. He’s taken his suit jacket off, and his sleeves are shoved to his elbows. Minho’s hips grind down for friction, and can feel Jisung’s arms flex as he tries to hold him still. The grip he has on his hips is firm, and the thought of the bruises he’ll behind is dizzying in Minho’s lust-soaked brain.

Jisung’s tongue presses inside, slick with spit and lube, and Minho throws his head back. His hips jolt and he has to bite his lip to keep from keening. He thinks he sees stars.

“Oh, god.”

And thank god Jisung’s been working out with Changbin and Chan in preparation for the photos—Minho’s losing his sense of bodily control as Jisung steadily fucks him with his tongue, his thighs trembling, his cock hard and dripping precum onto the sheets, and the only thing that is keeping upright now is Jisung’s hold.

“Fucking Christ.” His words come out in a throaty groan when Jisung fucks in deeper, hands tightening on Minho’s skin. His body’s on fire, about to completely combust any second. He doesn’t want to come—not like this. He flexes his legs, trying to squirm away, but Jisung only clings on tighter. Desperate, Minho grabs at Jisung’s hands, further destabilizing himself. “Jisung, stop, or you’re gonna make me come.”

Jisung lifts him and smiles. “Would that be so bad?” His mouth is red and puffy and wet, glistening in the low lights of the room. Minho burns.

“I want to feel you inside me.” He reaches down and runs a gentle hand over Jisung’s cheek.

His eyes glitter. “Okay.”

Minho’s unsteady as he clambers over Jisung’s body, the two of them biting back giggles as he fails twice at loosening Jisung’s belt. “Shitty belt,” he hisses.

“It’s cordovan leather.” Jisung helps Minho pull his pants and boxers down after shrugging out of his shirt. “Changbin-hyung gave it to me for my birthday last year.”

“Yeah, I know,” Minho scoffs. He takes Jisung in hand and bites back a grin as Jisung moans. The head of his cock is already wet from precum, evidence of his enjoyment in eating Minho out if Minho didn’t know how much he liked it already. “You like it when I use it on you.”

Jisung’s cock twitches. “As hot as that is, hyung,” he says, “I don’t think they’ll be happy if they see me wincing every time I sit down tomorrow.”

“Then what about me?”

“That’s why you’re on top.” Folding his arms so they rest behind his head, Jisung gives Minho a nod. “Feel free to do your worst, though, if you don’t care how the pictures turn out.”

“Brat,” Minho huffs. He lifts himself over Jisung’s cock, letting the head circle the slick entrance.

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Even though Minho is wet and loose from Jisung’s ministrations, the press of him inside is still a stretch. Minho savors it, lets himself slowly sink down, watching half-lidded as Jisung throws his head back when he bottoms out. His hands have come away from his head and hover at Minho’s side to catch him just in case.

Minho’s heart trembles, and he leans down to kiss Jisung. The taste of lube is sweet, but even sweeter is how Jisung opens up for him, kissing him back languidly like they have all the time in the world.

“Feel so good around me, hyung,” Jisung whispers. One hand has come up to rest on the base of Minho’s spine. His thumb strokes up and down, and the sensation sends shivers of arousal through Minho. The starry-eyed look Jisung gives him makes him speechless.

In lieu of a response, Minho presses another kiss to Jisung’s lips, allowing himself to smile against them. Knows that it’s enough.

Jisung doesn’t take his eyes off Minho as he begins undulating his hips. He lets Minho set the pace, hands now gentle on his sides. His cock is perfect, the curves of it dragging against Minho’s walls like they were made for each other. Minho is so sensitive that each grind sends spikes of arousal through his body.

Jisung likes to watch Minho ride his cock, he’s told him before, just as much as he likes Minho inside of him, teeth biting into Jisung’s shoulder. He doesn’t say it now, but it’s written all over his face as Minho speeds up.

Minho has always wondered what Jisung sees when he looks at Minho like that; wondered if he was projecting if he believed he could read Jisung’s thoughts. But he knows now what it is: trust in Minho; seeing him for everything he is; belief that having his love is worthy. Minho knows because he feels the same way.

Heat coils tighter in Minho’s belly as he fucks himself on Jisung’s cock, now bouncing up and down fast enough that the bed shakes. The headboard slams against the wall particularly loudly, and Minho laughs. “We’re terrible neighbors no matter where we go, huh?”

“Doesn’t really matter.” Jisung pats Minho’s thigh. “Haven’t gotten a letter yet.”

“I think Chan-hyung’s room is on that side.”

“Like he hasn’t heard Changbin-hyung and Hyunjin do worse.”

“You’re gonna regret so many things once post-nut clarity hits.”

“Like you’re not the same.”

“Nah,” Minho says. “There’s nothing I could regret if I’m with you.”

Jisung’s eyes widen, and his blush deepens. He sits up, stilling Minho. “Minho-hyung, you are a romantic, aren’t you?”

Minho scowls, squirming around, body aching for pleasure again. “You’ve rubbed off on me.”

“That’s not you denying it.” Jisung grins and leans over to kiss him.

Minho melts into it, but feeling a bit surly, he rubs a thumb over Jisung’s nipple. His cock twitches inside. Minho can’t believe Jisung’s still hard. He can’t believe he’s still hard, too. He really does indulge Jisung too much.

When Minho brushes over his nipple again, Jisung’s hips buck, and his cock nudges right into Minho’s sweet spot. Body shuddering, he clenches. Jisung groans softly into Minho’s mouth.

The two of them work out a rhythm, rocking against each other, pressed as closely as possible as if they’ll die without touching. Their skin is sticky from the sweat, but Minho doesn’t mind at all, burning up wherever Jisung brushes up against him. Electricity flies up Minho’s spine every time Jisung grinds into him just so, and he finds himself becoming desperate. He’s already been close to the edge once, and now that Jisung’s also controlling the pace, there’s not much longer he can hold on.

“I’m—,” Minho gasps into Jisung’s mouth. They’re more so just exchanging breaths rather than speaking or kissing, spit stringing between their lips. He breaks the kiss to get some air so he can think of something to say, but Jisung whines and takes advantage of the space to put his teeth to that sensitive place on Minho’s neck. A hand snakes down to stroke Minho’s cock, and his mind goes blank. His hands scrabble for purchase on Jisung’s back. “F-fuck, jagiya. Fuckfuckfuck.”

“It’s okay, I got you,” Jisung murmurs, his soft lips ghosting across his skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweat. Minho shudders, and his hips kick into the friction.

He doesn’t say anymore, but Jisung knows. He knows that Minho likes looking at him, listening to him as he gets closer, even if Minho doesn’t make that much noise himself. He knows that when Minho’s like this, he can forget his words, but he doesn’t forget Jisung’s. He knows that Minho trusts him with his entire being; would give Jisung whatever he wants. And Jisung would do the same.

“J-Jisung,” Minho whispers, body close to bursting, heart too full. “I—”

“I know, Minho,” says Jisung, “I know. I love you, too.”

Minho comes just like that, his nails digging into Jisung’s back, his release painting their stomachs. Hard enough that he nearly loses his vision. He thinks he hears Jisung swear as he clenches around him, but it’s hard to focus when he keeps fucking into Minho, extending his orgasm, cock ruthless against Minho’s pulsing walls. He’s nearing the point of oversensitivity when Jisung rocks into him once, twice, three times, and comes deep inside.

It takes a while for them to untangle from each other, finally aware of their sweat-slick skin. Jisung gets this look in his eyes when he sees his release drip from Minho’s hole as he pulls out, but it’s late, and if Jisung starts up again, Minho will have no choice but to go along. He wouldn’t be mad, per se—it’s just how it is—but they will likely have a disappointed Chan to contend with if they show up tired and mess something up.

Minho is boneless by the time they’re out of the shower, ready to fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow. But he still waits up when Jisung looks at him fondly and expectantly. Still draws him closer when Jisung wraps his arms around Minho’s waist. Still presses a kiss to his forehead as Jisung mutters sweet nothings.

Tomorrow they’re going to wake up, get ready, and go to the grooms’ rooms. Truthfully, there’s a nonzero chance that Jisung won’t be able to find Changbin, and Minho will know exactly where he is because, at the end of it, Hyunjin’s never been able to say no to Changbin for very long, even if their wedding is on the line.

Maybe Jisung has something rigged up for the reception. Maybe Minho finally found a use for the Doraemon costume that’s been sitting around for so long. Maybe things will go perfectly. Maybe things will fail. Maybe it’ll be harder to pull off than they thought it would be. Maybe it doesn’t really matter because none of it made any sense.

But that’s just how it’s supposed to be.