Archive of Our Own

It’s late. So late. Way too late for the kind of life-defining decision Minho is about to make. But in the dark of night, with only the faint glow of whatever stupid show Jisung talked him into still playing on the laptop, things tend to feel a little less serious. Minho feels safe, even as his heart races with the proximity.

Jisung is adorably focused on the show. He swore he hadn’t seen it before, but Minho bites his lip to hold back his giggle as he watches him mouth his favorite lines, fingers running along the stickers around the keyboard. It would be so easy to reach out and lace their hands together to soothe the anxiety electrifying the younger, ever unpredictable as it hits him even in moments like this, when nothing of importance is happening.

Instead, Minho looks back to the screen, trying very hard to immerse himself in the cheesy storyline. He’s pretty sure zombies are actively trying to get at the two characters currently locked in a broom closet, but he can’t be sure of anything.

And then, as if no one could see it coming, the guy on the screen grabs the girl by the cheeks, pulling her in for a kiss – way too heated for a first one by Minho’s standards, but the zombies did start breaking down the door, so there’s that. Or are they vampires?

Minho scoffs at first. But the kiss goes on, no end in sight as hints of dancing tongues appear. Minho feels hot. Wet noises fill the quiet darkness of the room, and Jisung is so absorbed, and Minho can’t quite breathe. It’s too easy to imagine doing the same thing. Too easy to imagine himself locked in a closet, minutes away from certain death, and deciding he doesn’t want to go with regrets.

“They’re really going at it,” Jisung eventually chuckles, blinking as he readjusts the pillow behind his back.

“Yeah,” Minho breathes out, shaky.

“Fuck,” Jisung groans when the guy reaches for her ass, squeezing hard as he swallows her surprised moan. “That’s what’s up,” he nods.

“What?” Minho laughs.

“Is it embarrassing that this is turning me on a little?” Jisung asks, no hint of shame.

“How old are you?” Minho asks, swallowing hard. He won’t look down. He won’t.

“I just need my dick sucked man, it’s been way too long,” Jisung laughs, casually shuffling as he readjusts his pants.

Minho blinks. Jisung’s already back to watching intently as the loud, horrifying sounds of people being eaten alive replace the kissing – zombies then. But Minho can’t move on. Not when he’s considering what he’s considering. Not when his own fingers start to shake as he opens and closes his mouth about fifteen times, choking on the words.

Choking. Ha.

“I could do it,” he finally says, thanking the heavens above when his voice sounds almost as confident and detached as he was going for. Not quite, but it’s okay. Jisung’s not paying enough attention to notice, he’s sure.

“What?” Jisung asks, frowning. He’s moved on from the comment already, Minho can tell.

“Suck your dick,” Minho shrugs, carrying on the act as he looks back to the screen. “I could do it, no big deal.”

"I’m not gay,” Jisung laughs, shoving his shoulder against his.

“Yeah, I know,” Minho chuckles lightly, wincing as his heart hurts. “But head is head, right? Just thought I’d offer.”

“Why?” Jisung asks, almost mocking.

“Um… Cause I miss it too, I guess,” Minho shrugs again. Maybe he’s overdoing it. How do you act cool anyway? “It’s nice.”

“Blowing someone is nice?” Jisung asks, incredulous.

“Yeah? Don’t you miss… whatever it is you do for girls?” Minho asks, genuinely curious now.

"Fuck no, dude,” Jisung nearly gags. “That’s for them, not for me. A curtesy, if you will,” he says, shivering at the memory.

“Um, okay?” Minho says, unsure. What the fuck? Isn’t straight sex, like, also fun? Changbin sure describes it that way… “Well,” he carries on, blinking blankly, “I like it, and I miss it, so yeah… No need to dwell on it,” he adds, already regretting having said anything in the first place.

And they go back to watching the show, as if nothing had happened. As if Minho’s not praying for the blankets to swallow him whole, for the shame to finally burn hot enough in his cheeks to melt his face off.

The episode finishes in a blood bath ten minutes later, no surprises there. Minho won’t miss the characters. They nearly blew his cover, so they can fuck off.

Minho watches as Jisung closes the tab and shuts his laptop, throwing it carelessly to the end of the bed. He’s expecting him to get up now, to go back to his room since it’s like, four in the morning. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out his phone, fingers still shaking, and Minho assumes he needs another minute. Jisung doesn’t do loneliness well when he’s this anxious. Or at least, that’s what he thinks this is. But…

“So… About that offer,” Jisung finally speaks up.

“Yeah?” Minho says a bit too quickly, embarrassed by how he perks up.

“It’s not… It wouldn’t… I mean,” Jisung struggles.

“Just head,” Minho provides, easy. “Nothing more.”

“I’m not gay,” Jisung repeats, fingers aggressively pulling at the edges of his sweater.

“A mouth’s a mouth, Jisung,” Minho chuckles bitterly. “You’re overthinking this.”

He’s silent for a moment as he considers. It’s the darkness, and the late hour, it has to be. Minho can feel it too as he waits with baited breath, trying to pretend like he doesn’t care either way when his heart is about ready to jump out of his chest.

“Then okay, yeah,” Jisung nods, confidence so faked Minho can hear it as it shakes. There’s no laptop screen to illuminate them anymore. It’s only voices, and even then, he can tell how unsure Jisung is.

Maybe Minho is a terrible person for going through with it. He should ask again, he should tell him that they don’t have to do anything now, that they can wait the next day to give Jisung time to think about it.

But Minho hears Jisung pulling at his own belt, the metallic noise sending heat to the pit of his stomach, and maybe Minho isn’t a good person. Maybe he’s never been. 

So, he slides off from the bed, landing on his knees not so gracefully before reaching out to wrap firm hands around Jisung’s arm and leg. He pulls him to the edge of the bed, smirking at the surprised gasp. It takes a bit of shuffling, but soon Minho’s between Jisung’s thighs, the ones he’s never dreamt of suffocating between, and there’s only one, sickly perverse thought on his mind. Maybe this is how we happen.

Jisung gasps again when Minho swats his hands away, deciding that if he’s only going to be granted this once, he’ll be the one to take his goddamn belt off. He does so a little too fast for him own taste, but his fingers are shaking with the anticipation, and Jisung’s already done most of the work anyway.

Minho feels Jisung flinch when he whips the belt out of the loops, carelessly discarding it to the side. But he’s already unbuttoning his pants, and he can’t help the satisfaction flooding his veins when Jisung’s thighs fall open around him. He can’t help tugging on his pants to pull his hips forward, sickly addicted to the way Jisung just goes along with it, leaning back on his hands.

“Can you…?” Minho murmurs, pulling on the pants to try to get them off. Jisung lifts his hips pliantly, just long enough for Minho to drag them down. Mid-thigh will do, he decides, as he starts feeling annoyingly impatient. Maybe it really has been too long.

Minho frees Jisung from his boxers as well, hands dragging down Jisung’s exposed skin a little slower this time, a bit more intently, as he revels in the shiver it earns him. Jisung’s breathing is uneven, Minho realizes. There’s palpable tension in the muscles of his thighs, and Minho wishes he could soothe him. He wishes he could run soft fingers along the soft flesh, shushing him and gently kissing his stomach and hips. He wishes he could whisper to him, between the kisses he can't give him, that everything is okay, that none of this makes him a bad person, or any kind of person at all except one that just happens to enjoy sex.

But he can’t. Because this a blowjob and nothing more. He promised. So, he takes a deep breath, wrapping confident fingers around Jisung’s length, and he gets to work.

He almost laughs when Jisung violently jolts with the first kiss that Minho places, hopefully not too delicately, on the head of his cock. His thighs try to close on him, catching his ribs a little roughly.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Minho can’t help but tease. If he can’t be tender, he’ll be his best friend. That should be allowed.

“Yes, fuck off,” Jisung grunts, fisting the sheets.

Minho’s delighted to note his eyes are adjusting to the dark. He can distinguish the lines of Jisung’s body now, though only faintly. But he knows what Jisung looks like, for the most part. He can guess where the abs end and where the hipbone pulls his golden skin taught, where his v-line only began appearing a few weeks ago after months of hard work, because he’s seen it all before, in broad daylight. And yet he can’t help running his thumbs along it, mapping out the goosebumps with his touch for the first time.

He remembers what he’s supposed to do when Jisung swallows a whine, hips wiggling impatiently. He takes pity on him with a smirk, finally wrapping his lips around him for the first time. And maybe his soul has left his body, maybe he stopped being himself when he threw that belt away, because he doesn’t stop to think of what he’s doing.

Instead, he sinks on Jisung slowly, though without hesitation, breathing through the intrusion with practiced ease. Jisung’s breaths seem to stop for a second, but Minho’s not worried when a hand lands in his hair, not quite pushing down, but heavy.

When Minho’s nose grazes against Jisung’s lower abs, he hollows his cheeks, tongue flattening under Jisung’s length. He chuckles when Jisung gasps, satisfied.

“Fuck…” Jisung sighs shakily when Minho starts bobbing his head steadily, tongue swirling and teeth carefully covered under his lips. He pops his lips as he comes off for a second, dipping his tongue in Jisung’s slit teasingly before sinking back down.

And maybe they both get a little lost in the rhythm of it. Jisung’s fingers tangle in his hair tightly, accompanying him rather than imposing movement, and Minho’s hands dig into his thighs. Jisung’s moans, less and less restrained, mix with the telltale slurping, wet noises and Minho’s own grunts. He can’t help softly running his teeth along his length every once in a while, enjoying the way that the hold in his hair tightens every time as Jisung hisses, endearingly sensitive.

But Minho’s jaw grows sore eventually, and he grows tired of the teasing. His own jeans are tight now, uncomfortable, and he has a feeling he’ll need to be alone to take care of it, so he decides he wants to speed things up.

With a firm hand, Minho pushes Jisung’s chest back until he’s lying down on the bed, before grabbing his thigh and pulling it over his shoulder. Jisung’s moans fall from his lips more loudly now that his throat is stretched back, sending more and more tension through Minho’s body.

He can’t help but wrap his hand around his length, stroking him firmly as he takes the time to bite his hipbone, unfairly tempting and surprisingly delicate.

“I’m close,” Jisung chokes out, back arching off the mattress when Minho tightens his hold on him.

Minho nods, humming seductively, before wrapping his lips back around the head of his now throbbing cock. He keeps stroking him, focusing on his sensitive tip as Jisung stops controlling his voice entirely. And Minho could come like this, hearing his desperate, breathy moans, knowing he’s the cause of every single one.

Minho is delighted to find that Jisung nearly sobs when he’s on the brink of orgasm, both hands wrapped oddly softly around Minho’s head as his thighs tense up around him, at his ribs and on his shoulder.

And then Minho takes pity on him, pressing down on his lower stomach as he hollows his cheeks one last time around him, humming vibrating moans of his own and tightening his hold. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t focus on engraving every gasp and sob of Jisung’s orgasm in his mind, swallowing him down and stroking him through it, throbbing length and tightening stomach both.

He lets Jisung catch his breath as he focuses on catching his own, licking his lips nervously as he can’t help but stroke the thigh still draped over his shoulder. He swallows the kiss he wants to place right there, on the soft, pale flesh he should have bitten when it would have been acceptable to do so. Too late…

“You good?” he asks cockily instead, gently pulling his leg back down.

“Oh, shut up,” Jisung chuckles brokenly, throwing an arm over his eyes to hide in the crook of his elbow. Minho smiles, patting his hip, before climbing back on the bed. He looks away as Jisung finally pulls his pants and underwear back up, reaching for his belt soon after.

It’s awkward. Minho had expected it to be, if he’s being honest. It would have been crazy to hope for Jisung to spend the night, or to hope for him to thank him, or to hope for anything at all.

Still, it hurts a little when Jisung awkwardly stands up, ruffling his hair to let it fall in front of his eyes. “Um, I’m gonna go,” he mumbles, and he’s gone before Minho can say anything.

The dull thump of his head against the headboard resonates in the quiet, empty room. Minho sighs, pained beyond words.

What the fuck were you thinking?

It’s fascinating to Minho, really, how easily Jisung pretends that nothing ever happened.

Minho had expected for breakfast to be hell. He’d spent the night preparing himself for fleeing glances and nervous avoidance at all costs. He thought maybe he’d fucked it all up, and there would be no going back. No forgiveness possible for the inexplicable greed that had overcome him in the dead of night.

And yet Jisung is the picture-perfect image of normality at breakfast. He’s already sat in his usual seat when Minho gathers the courage to join everyone, looking annoyingly rested. He couldn’t have gotten more than a couple hours of sleep, Minho would know. How is he so cheery?

Minho watches suspiciously as Jisung messes around with Hyunjin and Changbin, and his stomach all but drops when Jisung makes him his usual cup of coffee, as he’s done every day for the past two years. Three shots, add hot water, one and a half teaspoons of sugar. The same every morning. Jisung has all seven of their hot-drink schedules memorized by heart, and he makes a point of making every single cup himself. Minho counted once. He makes forty-three drinks every day. Nine of which go to Seungmin, surprisingly.

“Boiling water is his love language,” or whatever bullshit Felix once wisely hummed, nose all but disappearing in the steam of his usual seven am jasmine tea.

Minho was ready to make his coffee himself this morning, and nearly drops the cup when Jisung casually shoves it in his hands. Minho chokes on the wink Jisung sends his way, and he’s pretty sure it’s coffee burning his nose as he struggles to catch his breath. All he can hear is Jisung’s laughter, beautifully clear as Changbin pats his back through the cough.

And life goes on. They go through the motions, from dance practice to interview to hair dresser appointment. And they don’t find themselves alone together again until exactly nine days later – not that anyone’s counting.

Jisung doesn’t even knock on Minho’s door. He just barges in a little after midnight, unfairly hot in his oversized hoodie and grey sweatpants. His face is bare, and his hair is still damp from the shower he just took, and Minho gulps.

He climbs into bed with him without a word, pulling the laptop from his hands and typing along on the keyboard a few times before adjusting the luminosity. And just like that, as Minho struggles to remember which way is up, Jisung has launched the next episode of his stupid zombie show, and they’re back to their usual binge-watching at ungodly hours of the night.

Except that he can feel the tension building in Jisung’s body, radiating off of him. He hasn’t said a word since he walked in, but his fingers are tensed on the keyboard, and not in their usual way. Minho’s hyper aware of Jisung’s breathing, of how unnaturally even and perfectly spaced out it is, even as another blood bath fills the silence.

And maybe they’re two hours into their binge when Minho can’t ignore it anymore. He can’t pretend that he doesn’t see Jisung’s hips straining to keep from wiggling, clearly uncomfortably still. When the screen blacks out after the third episode, and Jisung doesn’t click on the next one, Minho finds his gaze.

Truly, for the first time in days, they look at each other. Minho prays that the hunger he sees there isn’t wishful thinking. He prays that when, without a word still, the reaches for the waistband of Jisung’s sweatpants, when he pulls them down to find that he isn’t wearing underwear and he’s already painfully strained, when he gets to work on him, mouth soon too full for words, that he isn’t reading into anything. That Jisung’s moans are real, that he’s not forcing him into it just by virtue of, like, existing.

It becomes a habit too easily. The days blend together and Minho lost count. He could laugh, truly, at the idea that blowing the man he loves has become so usual that he can’t even remember every single occurrence.

But he can’t. He doesn’t even blink anymore when Jisung sneaks into his room in the late hours of the night. Each time, he comes in playing a different bullshit show in his ever-ridiculous attempt at pretending that he doesn’t plan to end the night coming down Minho’s throat, and fleeing from him only minutes later, cheeks permanently flushed.

And each time, Minho pretends it doesn’t hurt to hide how tight his pants are, to count to seventy just to make sure Jisung is well and truly gone before he can take care of himself. It never takes more than a few tight, dry strokes to finish himself off, pathetic as his best friend’s name dies on lips, never quite materializing even in the dark of night.

Minho doesn’t mind, really. He wasn’t lying when he said he loved it. It does enough for him that he’s never left hanging for very long, not that Jisung would offer to help either way. He never expected anything from him when he first offered, and he still doesn’t.

But he wishes he could talk about it, with literally anyone. He goes through his days watching Jisung’s confidence increase noticeably. It’s almost laughable, really, how disgustingly cocky he is now. He’s positively glowing, Minho can tell, and he wants to tell everyone he’s the reason. He wants them all to know there are bitemarks under Jisung’s pants, where his skin is white with the lack of sun, and that he was the one to leave them there. That he’s still the one that sucks and licks those marks night after night because he figured out Jisung likes to be teased in the beginning.

But he can’t. It’s not his secret to tell, and there isn’t really anything to talk about anyway since Jisung does a damn good job at pretending nothing’s actually happening. For all he knows, Minho might be imagining the whole thing. Maybe that’s why he finds himself biting his lips when he sneaks in an extra coffee from the Starbuck’s around the corner, one that Jisung would kill him for. Every time the barista hands him the cup, he makes eye contact for half a second, and he wants to blurt it out, just to make it real. I have my best friend’s cock in my mouth every night, and it feels like flying. He’d probably get permanently banned, and he’d miss the extra cup, but then that would be proof he’s not imagining it.

Except that really, he knows he isn’t, because despite Jisung’s act, there are changes. Maybe they’re too small for anyone who isn’t Minho to notice, but they’re there, and they’re all he sees at times. He spots Jisung looking at the time during dance practice when he used to get so lost in the music that Minho would be free to stare at him all day long if he wished. The skin around his nails is healing, no longer bitten red and bloody at all times. The circles under his eyes, on the other hand, are significantly darker. He messes up on their drinks, when he used to get them perfect every time. And sometimes, just sometimes, he leaves the door to his room open, when they all know he had a lock installed his first night in the new dorms. And maybe it’s only wishful thinking, but Minho could swear it takes Changbin way less nagging to drag Jisung to the gym than it used to.

It’s a weird routine, it really is. But Minho falls into it regardless. And it doesn’t feel like lying when he doesn’t tell his best friends about it, even the ones that know of his crush. It doesn’t feel like lying when he lets Jisung climb into his bed night after night and he doesn’t tell him what it does to his heart. And it certainly doesn’t feel like lying every time he looks himself in the mirror, and he pretends this won’t end in a disaster of epic proportions.

“How about her? She’s cute, and she’s been looking at you for like an hour,” Felix nudges his ribs, silly smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m not really in the mood,” Jisung shrugged, not even looking at her.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Felix sighs, pushing his drink away from himself.

“What do you mean?” Jisung asks, confused.

“You haven’t been ‘in the mood’ in like a month. You’re hiding something,” Felix accused, annoyingly correct.

“I’m not,” Jisung scoffs, feeling his stomach drop to his heels.

“You are, too. Who is she?” Felix asks, ignoring him.

“I’m not hiding anyone.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I am,” Jisung nods defeated.

“You are,” Felix smiles, delighted. He’s practically squealing in his seat, scooching closer to hear all about it.

“What’s her name?”

“Yeah, about that…” Jisung winces, shrinking in on himself.

“Is it a bad name?”

“Um…?”

“Oh my God,” Felix gasps, covering his mouth in mock horror. Jisung hates the shake in his fingers as he waits for him to figure it out. “You don’t remember her name. Jisung that’s terrible.”

“It’s Minho,” Jisung chokes out before he can come back on his decision.

“Her name’s Minho?” Felix laughs, surprised. “Dude, that’s so fucked.”

“No. It’s actually Minho,” Jisung shakes his head, avoiding Felix’s gaze as he waits for him to catch up.

“Minho Minho? Our Minho?” Felix asks.

“Do you know another Minho?” Jisung replies. The name loses a little more of its meaning with every time they say it, and he’s ready to laugh with how absurd it starts to sound.

“Dude, that’s so fucked,” Felix finally chuckles again after a pause. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung lies. “A couple weeks? Maybe two months?”

“Two months?” Felix gasps, not laughing anymore.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jisung winces, scared he’ll be overheard despite the loud music and the completely foreign crowd surrounding them.

“How could you hide this from me for two months?”

“I’m not hiding anything. Nothing’s happening.”

“I thought you weren’t gay,” Felix frowns.

“I’m not,” Jisung nods, downing his drink.

“I’m not following,” Felix admits.

“Head is head,” Jisung shrugs, repeating Minho’s words exactly. Not that he’s been desperately holding onto them for the past weeks like a lifeline or anything.

“Dude,” Felix laughs. “Blowing a guy isn’t straight.”

“I’m not blowing him,” Jisung shakes his head.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s blowing me,” Jisung whispers, pushing his empty glass towards the bartender for a much-needed refill.

“Okay… So, what do you do for him?” Felix asks, careful.

“I don’t-” Jisung shakes his head, nervously hiccupping.

“Jisung,” Felix exasperatedly says, closing his eyes. “Please tell me you’re doing something.”

“Uh…”

“Please, please, tell me you haven’t been letting Minho blow you for the past two months without doing anything in return.”

“I’m such an asshole,” Jisung easily admits, hitting his head against the bar.

“Yes, you are,” Felix nods, slapping him on the head. Jisung doesn’t even protest.

“I deserve that.”

“I raised you better than this,” Felix scolds him.

“I’m older than you.”

“By a day, shut the fuck up. How could you do this to him?”

“He offered,” Jisung winces, aware of how bad it sounds. How bad it is, really.

“So what? He blows you and then what happens?”

“I leave?” Jisung replies pitifully.

“God…” Felix groans, downing his drink and ordering a new one wordlessly.

“What am I supposed to do?” Jisung asks, annoyed that he’s even let things go this far.

“You blow him back, that’s what you do. You get down on your pretty little knees, and you suck the soul out of him. He deserves that much. Two months? God, his dick must be black by now,” Felix shakes his head, downing the new drink just as fast.

“I’m not gay,” Jisung protests, ignoring the tension in his stomach. Must be the alcohol.

“I don’t care, Jisung. If his mouth doesn’t make you gay, neither will his cock. Besides, are you really so selfish that you don’t want him to enjoy himself even a little bit?”

“That’s not-” he starts, biting his lip.

“You don’t have to do it, it’s not a crime or anything. But you’ve been having fun, right? Enough to swear off women apparently,” Felix says, a little more serious, a little more gentle.

“I haven’t sworn off women,” Jisung frowns.

“When was the last time you fucked a girl, Jisung?” When the older (by a day) doesn’t respond, Felix nods. “Yeah. So, you’ve been having fun.”

“I have,” Jisung admits through gritted teeth. Because he has, honestly. Minho was learning to please him a little too well, a little too efficiently, and it was addictive. Every time, he swears to himself in the afterglow that he won’t go back to him. And every time, the pull is irresistible.

“Don’t you want him to have fun, too?” Felix asks, not quite judgmental anymore.

“I…” Jisung stops to think about it. Images, fantasies really, of Minho falling apart under his touch flood his brain, breathy moans and fingers in his hair, and he feels so hot he might be dizzy.

“Pleasure is so much better when shared, Jisung,” Felix smiles softly when he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not…”

“I know,” Felix smiles. “Do you know how often I sleep with women?” he chuckles.

“Wait, what?” Jisung blinks.

“I’m not saying all gay men do. But I definitely enjoy it, and it doesn’t mean anything about who I am,” Felix shrugs. “Sex is sex, Jisung. If he can make straight you cum, straight you can do it for him, too.”

“I wouldn’t know how,” Jisung admits, small.

“Yeah, I suspect as much,” Felix laughs. “Let Daddy teach you.”

“Get the fuck away from me. You disgust me,” Jisung pushes him away, scrunching his nose as he fake gags. “Daddy… What the fuck is wrong with you.”

“One day, Jisung. One day you’ll call me that for real,” Felix laughs, eyes crinkling.

“Why are we friends?”

“Because you clearly need a spiritual guide, otherwise you’ll make Minho’s dick fall off with your incompetence.”

“If you mention this to anyone…” Jisung emptily threatens.

“Yeah, yeah, my lips are sealed. Yours, on the other hand…” Felix smirks.

“I will leave.”

“Yes, you will,” Felix nods. “And here’s what you’re gonna do…”

Jisung doesn’t make it to Minho’s room until three nights later. Minho started worrying. Maybe Jisung had reached his limit. Maybe he’d finally come to his senses and remembered who he was, or maybe he’d changed his mind about being okay with any of it and got sick of pretending that Minho wasn’t taking advantage of him.

Minho nearly worries himself sick with Jisung’s absence, night after night. He goes through an unhealthy amount of webtoons trying to fight off sleep, hoping to be awake if his best friend finally makes his way back to him. He goes to sleep sorely disappointed and increasingly afraid each night.

Until finally, when Minho is in the middle of some stupid romance about a vampire and a rich CEO who’s way too oblivious for his own good, he hears a soft knock on his door. He checks the time – a little past midnight – and his heart jumps out of his chest. The door opens so quietly, so slowly, as if the intrusion might go unnoticed.

Jisung slips in like a thief in the night, wordless as ever as he climbs in bed gingerly and makes his way under the covers. Minho’s heart skips several beats when his best friend actually cuddles up to him for the first time in weeks. He gets a hold of the laptop, as usual, and he doesn’t comment on the webtoon before switching to a show. Minho’s fairly sure they’re a few episodes in.

Minho desperately tries to get his breathing under control as the plot unfolds on the screen, utterly incomprehensible because it’s been months since he’s actually been able to focus on any of the shit Jisung makes them watch. But this time, his warm body is snuggly stuck to his side, his arm lazily thrown over his stomach, and maybe this really is only a binge party. Maybe Jisung isn’t interested in anything else. Maybe not tonight, maybe not anymore at all.

So, Minho tries to relax into the show, into Jisung’s steady presence and warmth. This is nice, after all. This is how he fell in love in the first place. It’s missing Jisung’s usual commentary, no dumbass dubbing of annoyingly cliché characters to make Minho laugh his way down the rabbit hole that is falling for Han Jisung. But he’s here, and he’s in his arms, kind of, and Minho feels alive again.

3 am rolls around before Minho can see it coming, and as usual, the screen blacks out without either of them moving. And for the first time in weeks, Minho isn’t sure what to do. He’s not sure why Jisung is still here. He’s not sure why Jisung’s hand is slowly fisting the material of his sweater right by his hip, sending shivers down Minho’s spine every time his fingers graze his skin. He’s not sure why his breath hitches once, before he sits up, determined.

“I’m going to need you to be very quiet, because Changbin definitely knows I’m in here, but if I don’t do this now, I don’t think I ever will,” Jisung murmurs in the dark, hands settling on Minho’s hips.

“What are you talking about?” Minho frowns, too confused to register that his best friend has started pulling his jeans down.

“Please,” Jisung says softly, more serious than he ever is. “Let me do this.”

Minho is a little stunned by the suddenly heavy mood. He chokes on his gasp when Jisung finally tugs on his pants frankly enough to take them off. His brain fogs up, struggling to catch up on this strange reality where Jisung is hovering over him, fucking adorable in his oversized hoodie and fluffy caramel hair, staring at his increasingly tight boxers, and no ounce of panic shades his eyes.

“What are you-?” Minho croaks out, squirming already.

“I told you to be quiet,” Jisung shushes him, fingers purposeful as they hook in the elastic band of his underwear and tug them down as well, freeing Minho before he can protest.

“What the fuck…” he whispers when his head hits the pillow, overwhelmed.

“Fair’s fair,” Jisung only says before shuffling to straddle Minho’s thighs, hands planted on his lower stomach for balance. Minho groans with the weight, though it grounds him enough to pull him back to the moment, ready to panic when Jisung’s hand purposefully wraps around his cock, not leaving himself time to hesitate. “Um, yeah, let me know if something’s wrong, I guess,” Jisung whispers more softly before bending down.

He wraps his lips around the head of his cock, and Minho loses his goddamn mind. His hand flies to his mouth of its own accord, pressing down to muffle the throaty moan he can’t hold back. And it stays there, firm, as Jisung slowly finds his rhythm. Minho can feel it all in absurd detail, as hyper focused on Jisung as he’s ever been. The pressure of his fingers, the taut lips over timid teeth, his tongue…

Fuck, his goddamn tongue will be the death of him. Jisung has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, Minho can tell. It’s too methodical, too purposeful, too perfectly paced. He’s focused on the hold of his fingers and how much he’s hollowing his cheeks and how he’s bobbing his head, which is all wonderful because utterly unexpected. But his tongue is left to its own accord, free and shyly exploring, and Minho is driving himself mad trying to predict which inch of skin it will meet next.

Minho’s losing his footing too fast. He’s fisting the sheets under his hip and keeping himself quiet with his other hand, but it’s all so much. He’s trying to enjoy every second of it and to pull himself out of his shock at the same time, and yet the pressure builds in his veins despite himself. He’s dizzy with it, forgetting to properly breathe through his nose as the wet sounds of Jisung’s mouth fill the quiet room.

For a strange second, all Minho can think about is Jisung’s free hand, still softly settled on Minho’s lower stomach. It’s the most genuine part of it all, the most familiar, too, and Minho feels his already frenzied heart skip a painful beat when he looks down and finds the delicate fingers and painted nails just resting there.

And then Jisung gets too greedy. He sinks down on Minho too far, too fast, and his throat seizes up around his head, tears filling his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. And Minho knows he is a terrible person for how violently turned on he is by the desperate look in Jisung’s eyes. The goddamn show his best friend is putting on without even knowing it…

It should be a little funny, really, how surprised Jisung is when it only takes a few minutes total – and infinity if you ask Minho – for him to start shaking under his inexperienced touch. He barely has time to pull off of him before Minho’s spilling all over his hands, panting and lost with the violence of the edge he just toppled over.

“Fuck,” Jisung nearly giggles, staring at his soiled hands with amused interest. “Are you sure you’ve done this before?” he asks, an echo of their first night together. But Minho isn’t laughing.

“I think you should go,” he chokes out, holding back the tears he will be damned if he lets spill in front of Jisung.

“Minho…” Jisung frowns, taken aback.

“Please,” he whispers, lying utterly limp.

“Was I that bad?” Jisung asks, eyes annoyingly wide and irresistible.

“No…” Minho breathes, enraged at how weak the word is. “I just…” The explanation doesn't make it past his numb lips. There's nothing he can say that wouldn't betray all of him.

“I’ll go,” Jisung smiles comfortingly before Minho could find the words to explain any of what just happened and what he’s feeling. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door closes quietly, and Minho can still hear the soft sounds of Jisung’s footsteps down the hall as he rolls around in his bed, burying his face in his pillow to muffle his sobs. He brings his legs and arms to his chests, hoping that he might shrink enough to disappear.

It washes over him so violently, the suffocating pain of loving him. The hopeless despair of knowing he’s just grazed the sun with the tips of his fingers, and that the burn was so sweet he’ll spend the rest of his life chasing after it. There’s no way out, he realizes as he feels himself come down from his high. This is as good as it gets, and he’s so stuck in Jisung, he doesn’t even have the strength to resent him for anything.

So, he cries, only stopping when he’s exhausted enough to fall asleep, utterly spent and loathe to know with certitude that the morning will come, unforgiving of his despair.

“So?” Felix asks with a knowing chuckle when Jisung slams his door closed, eyes wide with frantic panic.

“I did it,” he chokes out, strangely pale.

“You did what?” Felix teases, closing his laptop and patting the spot next to him on the bed. But Jisung doesn’t make his way to him. He slams his head against the door instead, sinking down until he’s sat on the floor.

“I don’t even know what happened,” he admitted.

“When was it?” Felix asks, patient.

“Like, now,” Jisung says, looking at his right hand with comical focus.

“Ew, did you come straight from his room?” Felix says. Jisung only nods. “Please tell me you brushed your teeth. Or washed your hands, at the very least.”

“What did I just do?”

“I am happy to talk you through your existential crisis, I really am,” Felix says, closing his eyes briefly to collect himself. “But for the love of God, go clean up. And like, take care of yourself maybe,” he adds, nodding at Jisung’s obviously tented pants.

Jisung nearly sobs as he looks down. He gets up in a hurry, disappearing in Felix’s bathroom before the younger has the time to tell him it’s alright. Felix can only bite his lip, preparing all the ways in which he can talk his friend out of his impending panic attack.

It takes twenty minutes for him to come back out, adorably flushed. Felix doesn’t comment.

“I’ll get you a new toothbrush,” Jisung mumbles, guilty.

“Gross,” Felix chuckles, gently patting the bed once more. This time, Jisung cuddles up to him without further coaxing. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, careful.

“I think so,” Jisung nods.

“Okay,” Felix smiles. He’d expected silence. “How was it? Did you do what we talked about?”

“Yeah,” Jisung murmurs distantly, eyes blurry. “It was so fast…” he adds after a pause, clearly lost in the memory of it.

“You did that good?” Felix laughs, nudging him proudly. “I always knew you’d be a natural,” he adds, hoping the teasing will give him a sense of normalcy.

“I don’t think so,” Jisung shakes his head. “He kicked me out.”

“Wait, what?”

“He asked me to leave. I thought… I don’t understand,” Jisung whispers, small.

“Was he okay with it when you started?”

“I think so… I didn’t really ask but…”

“Okay, yeah, that’s not great,” Felix winces. “But did he come?”

“Fuck, yeah. That was…”

“What about before? Like when you were kissing and stuff, was he normal?”

Jisung only frowns, quiet. Felix gives him time to think it through, only softly chuckling when confusion adorably pulls at his features, scrunching his brows and pouting his lips.

“Did you like it?” Felix dares to ask eventually, careful.

“I didn’t mind it, I guess,” Jisung mumbles, hiding his face in Felix’s shoulder.

“You spent twenty minutes in the bathroom, Jisung,” Felix laughs.

“I did,” he nods, voice on the verge of breaking.

“Hey, that’s okay. Sex is hot. Making people come is hot. Your body’s bound to react, it’s normal. No need to panic,” Felix reassures him, rubbing his back soothingly.

“I made him come,” Jisung repeats, eyes so wide Felix worries they might pop out of his head.

“You did, good job,” Felix chuckles, pressing a kiss to his temple. “How did that feel?”

“Fair, I guess,” Jisung says, pausing. “I don’t know…” he admits, nearly too quiet to hear.

“That’s okay.”

They don’t talk for a while, only waiting for Jisung’s breathing to even out. Felix nearly asks the gruesome questions he’s dying to ask, just so he can make fun of Minho later on for finally fulfilling his lifelong and very poorly hidden fantasy of being touched by Han Jisung. He wants to know what he sounded like, how he reacted, what his face looked like when it happened. But this isn’t a regular gossiping session. Jisung is shaking against him, unexpectedly accepting of what happened but still thoroughly shaken.

“Is it weird if…?” Jisung starts out of nowhere, biting his lip.

“If what?” Felix encourages him.

“I kind of, um…” Jisung pauses again, focused on a nail he’s been picking at all day. “I think I could do better,” he finally spits out, and it takes everything that Felix has not to laugh at how adorable he is.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I did that great… I think maybe… I mean, I don’t…”

“Do you want to try again?” Felix guesses.

“I just… He didn’t…”

“Did something feel off?”

“He kind of just… laid there,” Jisung frowns. “I don’t think he enjoyed it that much.”

“Oh, honey…” Felix bites his lip. Only Jisung can miss the glaringly obvious fact that there was no chance in the world Minho actually cares about skills when it comes to him. But it’s not his place to point it out to him.

“He didn’t touch me at all. He’s always petting me and shit when he’s blowing me. He didn’t even touch my hair or anything. I thought he might…” Jisung frowns.

“Did you want him to touch your hair?” Felix prompts, resisting the urge to tuck the stray strands behind his ear.

“Maybe? I don’t know. He just didn’t do anything. And then he kicked me out, and…”

“Maybe he was just overwhelmed?” Felix suggests. “How long were you guys, like, kissing and stuff before you got to it? Was he in the mood already?”

“We don’t do that,” Jisung shakes his head.

“Pardon?” Felix says, confused.

“We don’t really, you know, get in the mood or whatever. We just watch shows and then we get to it I guess.”

“Um…?” Felix winces. “Do you think that’s maybe a little weird?”

“What do you mean? It’s just head, isn’t it? What’s the point?”

“Okay, Jisung, I love you, but I need you to be honest with me,” Felix says.

“What?”

“Are you a virgin?” Felix asks seriously.

“What? No, fuck off,” Jisung pushes him away, frowning.

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” Felix snaps, whacking him across the head with a pillow.

“Ow, what was that for?” Jisung whines.

“We get to it? Are you animals?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Jisung protests.

“Oh my God,” Felix groans. “So, what? You were watching a show, and you just took his pants off, and you sucked his dick without even asking his opinion about it?”

“Yes? What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“It’s so hard not to strangle you sometimes. Do you think maybe that could have been a bit of a shock to him? Do you see how he might have been surprised?” Felix asks, exasperated.

“I did what you said!” Jisung protests.

“I assumed you knew the bare minimum about your best friend!” Felix shrieks, not quite sure how this became his fault.

“Which is?”

“Dude, everyone and their mother knows Minho is a slut for kissing. Rumor has it he can’t get there at all without some heavy making out.”

“But I got him there,” Jisung frowns, pouty.

“Yeah, makes you wonder,” Felix rolls his eyes. How difficult it was not to slap him again, just to make him realize what he was saying.

“Wait, how do you know this?” Jisung asks, suspicious.

“People talk,” Felix shrugs.

“Who?”

“Why? Do you care?” Felix smirks.

“No,” Jisung shakes his head quickly. “Just verifying your sources is all…” he mumbles.

“Why don’t you just ask him if you want to know for sure? Can’t do better than that.”

Jisung bites his lip, shaking his head once more. Felix smiles softly. It’s sweet to see him like this, so unapologetically open. It doesn’t matter how frustratingly oblivious he is, in the end. He’s trying, and it’s more than Felix had expected. Maybe there is hope for Minho’s stupidly, melodramatically romantic ideals after all.

“Kiss him next time, see where it takes you,” Felix eventually says, pulling Jisung in for a hug. “I’m proud of you,” he adds.

“For what? Sucking a dick?” Jisung scoffs, snuggling up to him nonetheless.

“Sure,” he nods, because that’s easier than telling him he’s happy to finally see him being himself for once. “I’ll get you a banner. We can hang it in the kitchen.”

“If you don’t mind getting your dick cut off, then by all means. Do that,” Jisung mumbles.

“Feisty. I’ll tell Minho to be careful,” Felix laughs.

“Do that, and I’ll take your balls as well.”

How Jisung ever found the courage to make it to Minho’s room again a few days later, he has absolutely no idea. He’s not too sure what finally possessed him, after long nights hiding in Felix’s room, to bite the bullet and knock on the increasingly imposing door. He can’t even say why he’s actually knocking, since it’s usually easier to just waltz in without giving Minho the chance to protest.

The soft “come in,” murmured through the door, is why. It’s permission. It’s Minho’s approval, actual proof that he’s okay with him being here despite the recent, inexplicable developments in their friendship. It’s the beat of his heart starting up again, when it had stopped pumping blood through his veins the moment he made up his mind about coming here tonight.

Jisung tries to come in as quietly as possible. He’s too aware that Changbin is right next door and a notoriously light sleeper. And maybe, just maybe, he can convince himself that things don’t mean quite as much if there’s no proof that they happen. In the dark and quiet, maybe everything can be okay.

“Hey,” Minho whispers when Jisung can’t find him right away, a little disoriented as he blindingly makes his way through the room and doesn’t reach the bed that should most definitely be there.

“Where the fuck are you?” Jisung groans, nearly tripping over what seems to be a chair.

“I’m here,” Minho chuckles, his hand finding Jisung’s in the dark. He wordlessly wraps his fingers around his wrist, pulling him on the bed and over him. Jisung hopes he can’t feel his heartbeat. He lands between Minho and the wall, snug. It’s a little weird, completely unexpected since the bed used to be in the center of the room, no wall on either side.

“What happened,” he asks quietly.

“Needed a change,” Minho mumbles. “Changbin helped.”

“Oh,” Jisung nods. “I like it,” he says.

“You haven’t seen it,” Minho chuckles.

“I know…” Jisung mumbles. He can’t really say out loud that he likes how it feels though. It’s like the world has shrunk to their little bubble. Between Minho and the wall, Jisung’s drowning in his best friend’s cologne, and he feels so comfortingly tiny. It’s perfect. It’s the isolation his heart needs. His head needs. His head, not his heart. What the…?

Jisung quickly reaches for the laptop, the only reflex he can rely on in here. The only thing that hasn’t changed in the past months apparently.

“Do you really want to watch a show right now?” Minho asks, hand landing on his on the laptop.

“I…”

“We can if you want,” Minho says softly. “If that’s what you really want.”

“Not really…” Jisung whispers, too caught off to remember to lie.

“Then what do you want to do?” he asks, voice barely more than murmur. It’s unusually warm, soothing Jisung’s choked breathing.

How did he end up here in the space of a few seconds? He was just outside, in the hallway, and everything was just fine. Now here he is, suffocating with how close Minho is, how unimposing and all-encompassing at the same time.

“Maybe we should watch the show…” he whispers, because that’s all he knows. That’s all he can say when he can only feel Minho’s eyes on him, and not see what’s in them.

“Okay,” Minho says after a pause.

Jisung mechanically launches the episode, clearing his throat as he makes it a point not to look over at Minho now that he could actually see him. Instead, he tries to focus on the characters, on the bullshit storyline he doesn’t actually care about. He can’t remember why he even chose this one in the first place. Not when he can feel Minho’s breath on his shoulder.

As the episode plays on, Jisung’s skin grows uncomfortable tight. And yet it’s not quite the newly usual anticipation of what come after the customary three episodes. Tonight, he doesn’t know what will happen. All he knows is Felix’s words, echoing in his mind incessantly.

Kiss him next time.

This is next time. He’s here. He brushed his teeth three times, and he showered, and he’s wearing his favorite hoodie, the one that shows his collarbones because of how wide it is, and he’s here. And he can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can’t hear the characters, he can’t feel his toes, he can’t fucking breathe. He can’t do this. Minho’s a man, he’s his best friend, he’s the best person he’s ever known, he’s all he could possibly want, and he’s a man, and Jisung can’t do this.

He can’t take the stillness. He wants to understand. He wants to know why Minho never asks for anything, why he always lets Jisung do exactly what he wants, nothing more, nothing else. He wants to hear Minho’s thoughts, for once in his fucking life. He wants to be told what goes on in that ever-quiet head of his.

And he wants to kiss him. He wants to break the ice. He wants Minho to be. He wants him to stop acting life a fucking saint and take what he wants for once, instead of always putting others first.

Jisung’s suffocating with how much he wants and wants and wants. And Minho’s a man, and he can’t. Until he can. Until Minho shuffles one too many times next to him, and he smells too fucking good. He’s too fucking patient, and Jisung can’t take it anymore. He stops thinking long enough to snap the laptop shut. He’s sick of pretending like he cares about it anyways. Instead, he reaches out in the dark, hand soon landing on Minho’s cheek.

“What are you doing?” Minho whispers, so infuriatingly calm and collected.

“Kiss me back,” Jisung whispers before leaning in, finding Minho’s lips like he’d been guided to them.

Minho doesn’t, in fact, kiss him back. Not right away. For the longest moment of his entire life, Jisung thinks he has finally fucked up too badly to be saved. His mouth is pressed to his best friend’s, he’s kissing him as slowly and softly as he can, barely a whisper. But nothing happens. He’s ready to run away, to book a flight to a different country and disappear entirely, when Minho finally comes alive.

It’s so subtle at first, plush lips barely falling apart against his, a gasped breath tickling his nose. It’s too hesitant. Jisung thinks maybe Felix was fucking with him. This can’t be the reaction of someone who depends on kissing for pleasure. Or maybe it’s just that Minho isn’t particularly into this to begin with, despite whatever rumors say.

And then it’s so violent Jisung loses all sense of up and down. Minho snakes an arm around his waist, hand slipping under his hoodie easily to find his skin, and he’s pulled on top of him like he’s nothing. Minho sits up, lips chasing after Jisung’s as his hand wraps around the nape of his neck. Jisung can’t help the moan that slips past his lips as his legs fall apart around Minho’s hips, and he’s entirely at his mercy.

“Tell me you want this,” Minho murmurs against his lips between increasingly hungry kisses. “Tell me this is okay.”

“I want you,” Jisung whispers. It’s not quite what Minho was asking, but it so deeply feels like it is. Minho’s kisses burn too hot not to be pieces of him, so eagerly offered. And Jisung is getting hungry.

He mistakes Minho’s whine for simple pleasure. He thinks this is what Felix was talking about, the frenzied need for exactly this. He’s too easily drunk off of Minho’s strong arms wrapped around him, too focused on the hurricane in his own heart to notice the stutter in Minho’s rhythm against his lips. He can’t understand the desperation in Minho’s voice, can’t recognize the pained relief his words offer him. He can’t even realize how true they are.

Soon, their lips open against each other, their tongues meet, and Jisung’s brain stops functioning entirely. He’s reduced to heated want and something a little deeper, a little sweeter, like a distant singing in his heart that grows louder, tighter, when Minho reaches up under his hoodie, spreading his hand between his shoulder blades to press him down a little closer.

Jisung’s own hands land on Minho’s cheeks of their own accord, thumbs stroking the cheekbones he thought he’d been jealous of since the first day they met. The jealousy ends right then and there, when Minho kisses his cheeks, when his lips run along his jaw and reach up to his eyes, before finding his mouth again. Minho’s cheekbones might be divine, but it’s Jisung’s that Minho kisses in the dark. It’s Jisung’s that feel the burning touch echoing long after it’s gone.

Jisung’s not sure how it happens. He loses track of everything. One moment they’re devouring each other, starved after weeks of ridiculously clinical blowjobs and relieved to finally be allowing themselves more. The next, they’re all pouty lips and slow, messy tongues, sloppy and deep and perfect. And then teeth catch lips - Minho’s or Jisung’s, he can’t tell the difference anymore - and they’re back to kissing like tomorrow won’t come unless they can somehow swallow each other up, too eager to even breathe properly.

And Jisung forgets, in the middle of the back and forth, that this wasn’t the end goal. He forgets he ever wanted anything more than this. He kisses Minho, he drinks in all of the breathy moans and pleased groans, and he lets go of his plan. There’s nothing else in his mind, no more brain power to allocate to anything other than the hands settling on his thigh and waist, just shy of his ass.

“I…” Minho breathes out, choked, but Jisung interrupts.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he promises.

“Okay,” Minho nods, flipping them over.

Jisung lands on the pillow too gently. He can’t see Minho, can only feel every inch of his body firmly pressing him down in the mattress and locking him in. He has no choice but to hold on, to accept the kiss he was already missing, and feel the tears start spilling from his eyes.

Tomorrow will come, and he’ll have to explain that this isn’t want. Maybe it was just that an hour ago, when he was still his stupid, oblivious self. But it’s not anymore.

Minho keeps kissing him, brushes away the tears with soft lips and soothingly nibbles on his earlobe before inevitably finding his lips again. And Jisung can’t keep running from it. His heart is beating too hard in his chest. He’s too happy to stay right here for the rest of his life, softly shaking with Minho’s tenderness.

No. Jisung lied. This isn’t want. He doesn’t want Minho. He loves him, and he’s too perfectly stuck under him to run away when the realization hits. All he can do is let it wash over him and settle in his heart, softening his kisses and guiding his fingers to Minho’s hair. All he can do is moan helplessly in Minho’s mouth, and hope the burning in his chest somehow won’t be the end of him.

When Jisung wakes up, it doesn’t take very long for him to remember where he is, or what happened the night before. He only takes a moment of hesitation, before he decides that he is ready to face reality. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking several times when the morning sun blinds him. Minho’s window used to mostly illuminate his desk, but now that he’s changed the layout, the light hits the pillows, warming the sheets.

When his eyes finally adjust, Jisung is only a little surprised to find Minho already looking at him. Jisung doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen next. He looks down at Minho’s lips ever so briefly, just because they’re right there and he can’t help it, and he remembers what it felt like to disappear in their kiss. He remembers how he had felt in Minho’s arms, what he had thought. He’s half-tempted to kiss Minho again, just to see if the feeling is still there.

“Hi,” Minho murmurs instead, so soft. 

“Hi,” Jisung breathes out. How is Minho so calm?

They don’t say anything as they let the sun warm their cheeks, turning the brown of Minho’s eyes caramel as Jisung drowns in them. They’re under the covers still, not quite touching but not nearly far apart enough for Jisung to escape the erratic beat of his own heart. He starts to seriously wonder if Minho’s perfume might be laced with anything. It was lying so close to him that got him in trouble yesterday, and he’s in the exact same place this morning somehow. He never went back to his room, only slowly fell asleep between one lazy kiss and the next.

“Could you…” Jisung starts, speechless when he notices the fleck of gold in Minho’s right iris. Could he what? Stop looking at him? Kick him out again? Remind him of who he is so he can finally snap out of it and go back to reality, where Minho is the best friend he needs to breathe when it’s all just too much to bear, and nothing more? Does that world even exist anymore? Or did it disappear the night he let himself have Minho in ways he maybe shouldn’t have?

“Jisung?” Minho prompts after a pause.

“Could you hold me?” Jisung asks, lulled by the honey of Minho’s voice.

Minho blinks, frowning only slightly before his arm snakes around Jisung’s waist. Jisung could swoon with how firmly he’s pulled into Minho’s chest, face quickly buried in his neck. Minho pulls the blanket to wrap them up tightly, hiding both of them and blocking out the sun. Jisung smiles sadly when he feels the kiss pressed to his brow, light as a butterfly.

“Better?” Minho asks when they’re back in the dark. Jisung nods, his nose grazing Minho’s jaw. “It’s just us here, nothing to be afraid of.”

“You’re wrong,” Jisung breathes out again his skin, too aware of the shiver running down Minho’s spine. He almost loses his focus when Minho’s hand starts running along his ribs, soon slipping under his sweater to graze his skin gently. Jisung can’t help it, his leg wraps around Minho’s waist of its own accord, pulling him closer when Minho’s thigh slips between his own. 

“Jisung…” Minho whispers in his hair, desperate for something he won’t let himself name quite yet.

“You’re wrong,” Jisung repeats. “You scare me the most,” he nearly sobs in his neck, blinking back tears. He closes his eyes instead, sneaking his arm around to bury his fingers in Minho’s hair. Maybe if he can hold him close enough…

“You scare me, too,” Minho confesses, pulling him closer somehow. “So much I can hardly breathe if I think about it too much.”

“Stop…” Jisung whispers out of reflex, though his leg tightens around him.

“You said tomorrow,” Minho says.

“I don’t know if I can hear you say it,” Jisung admits, pulling away to find Minho’s eyes in the dark. He runs a finger down the slope of Minho’s nose, traces his jaw and the outline of his lips. He brushes his brows back into place carefully. “I don’t know how to say the words back.”

“I don’t expect you to, not if you don’t mean them,” Minho frowns, bringing his own hand to Jisung’s cheek. His thumb grazes his lashes, so softly Jisung doesn’t even blink.

“But I mean them,” Jisung says, tears burning his eyes. “I always mean them when we’re like this. When you’re close to me and it’s just the two of us. I was stupid to think this was ever anything else,” he cries as he presses a thumb to Minho’s lower lip. 

“You’re afraid,” Minho corrects gently, wrapping his fingers around Jisung’s forearms to kiss the inside of his wrist softly. 

“Why?” Jisung asks, tears finally spilling on his cheeks. “Why am I afraid, when you make it so easy to love you?”

“I don’t,” Minho chuckles bitterly, lacing their fingers between them. “I push you so much.”

“You thrill me, Minho,” Jisung frowns.

“I scare you, you just said so yourself,” he murmurs, focusing on where his thumb runs along the ridges of Jisung’s knuckles. 

“I’m not scared of you,” he shakes his head, because he needs to fix this. He can’t take the pained look on Minho's face. “You’re the safest place in the world for me. I always run to you, you should know that by now.”

“Then why…”

“I’m not afraid of you. I am terrified of what I feel when I’m with you. I’m scared it’ll never go away, and I’m even more scared that I will never get to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Minho asks, breathless. It’s so heavy between them, the words Jisung needs to say if they’re ever to get past this point. It burns his tongue and lights up Minho’s eyes with heartbreaking hope he might never be able to live up to.

“I don’t-”

“I’ll catch you,” Minho says, suddenly so intense as he pulls Jisung back in, close enough for their foreheads to meet under the covers, noses bumping against cheeks. His lips brush against Jisung’s when he speaks next. “If you decide to let go, if you jump, I’ll catch you. Always,” he murmurs. Jisung closes his eyes, fingers gripping the collar of Minho’s sweater. 

“Promise me,” he gasps. 

“I promise,” Minho says easily. “You have me.”

“I want to have you,” Jisung confesses, practically kissing Minho with how close they are. He can feel his heart beating against his own, he can feel the weight of Minho’s promise in the tight grip on his waist.

But something’s not quite right. This isn’t how it should happen. It shouldn’t be like this, a secret kept in the dark. Jisung’s chest burns too much to keep hiding.

“Wait,” Jisung whispers, placing a butterfly kiss on Minho’s lips before wiggling out of his hold.

“What are you doing?” Minho blinks, confused. Jisung only smiles, pulling the blanket off them like you rip a bandaid, quick and easy, no warning. He sits up, pulling Minho along by the hand. 

“If we’re doing this, I don’t want to hide anymore,” Jisung says. He laughs when Minho grabs his waist, pulling him so close he has to straddle his lap. “I’m not running away,” he chuckles when Minho tightens his grip, nosing at his neck.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Minho mumbles in his neck, quickly kissing his pulsepoint. Jisung smiles, grabbing his jaw to pull him away just enough to meet his gaze. When their eyes meet, in the sun once more, he’s not afraid anymore. This is too easy, too comfortable. He can’t imagine leaving this behind.

“Hi,” he whispers, a redo of ten minutes ago, when he wasn’t sure of anything.

“Hi,” Minho says, soft eyes caramel again.

“I’m going to say it now,” Jisung warns. “You can’t run away once I do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Minho smiles, cheeks adorably squished between Jisung’s hands.

“Good,” Jisung nods, breathing in deeply before finally letting go. “I love you,” he murmurs against Minho’s lips, feeling them spread in a smile.

He breaks out in a surprised laugh when after a short, delighted pause, Minho tips them over without warning, landing on top of him. Jisung tightens his hold on his face, wrapping his legs snuggly around his waist to keep him right there, where he’s his and his only.

“I love you,” Minho whispers back, before kissing him. Jisung feels his arms caging him in, resting on either side of his head, and he feels him lean down more heavily, and it feels like heaven. He lets himself be pinned down, allows himself to wrap around Minho tighter than ever, and he disappears in the kiss. 

They don’t make it out of bed that day. Or well, Minho does, once, after Jisung’s stomach loudly interrupts their slow, blissful discovery of each other. He comes back too quickly for Jisung to rationally miss him - he does miss him, but he can’t really say that when he was only gone for five minutes. Minho makes it back to bed with his arms full of ridiculously mismatched snacks, like he clearly blindingly emptied one of the shelves in their cupboards in a hurry to make it back to Jisung.

They spend the day so tightly cuddled together under the sheets that it’s difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. Their legs seem permanently tangled, and Minho whines when Jisung tries to take his fingers out of his hair to reach for the food. But he’s too fond to actually complain when Minho grabs it instead, intending on hand feeding him himself. 

And as the sun rises and declines in the sky, bathing the room in bright and warm colors, witnessing the first hours of what Jisung intends to be the rest of his life, he can’t for the sake of him remember what he was ever so scared of.