Archive of Our Own

The afternoon is bright and early when they finally arrive at the lake house, the gravel crunching under the wheels of Jeongin’s car as he pulls it into a halt in the shade of tall, majestic trees. Jisung’s mouth is sticky with the mango popsicle he ate to battle the heat, and he’s longing to stretch his legs again, so he’s the first to climb out of the backseat, arms high above his head. 

There are two cars parked on the property already—one belonging to Jeongin’s parents, and the other to his older brother—but there’s no one outside, and the atmosphere is blanketed in the kind of peaceful silence that smells like pine, earth, and the peak of summer. 

Jisung is so fortunate to have been invited here. When Jeongin, his flatmate and best friend at university, extended an invitation for a two-week-long stay in his family’s lake house with him, his family, and his girlfriend, he didn’t even think twice before saying yes. 

He turns back to the car just as Jeongin pops the trunk open, and moves to start unloading their stuff. There’s a lot of everything, enough to last them two weeks, and although there are three of them, Jisung is pretty sure one walk to the house won’t be enough to carry it all. 

“You get the snacks, and I’ll take our bags,” he tells Minju, already slinging hers over his shoulder. He grabs his own by the smaller handle and moves out of the way, heading in the direction of the house, up the stone slabs making the steps that lead to the front door.

He doesn’t even get to reach out for the handle before the door swings open and he comes face to face with possibly the most beautiful man he has ever laid his eyes on.

His black hair is slightly wavy and parted in the middle, left to frame his unreasonably attractive face, with the perfect slope of his nose and his dark, glimmering eyes and his lips—god, his lips—pink, with a slight sheen, as if he has just applied chapstick. 

Jisung is a frequent guest at Jeongin’s house—he knows his parents well. His mom always packs food for him to take home whenever he’s over, and his dad lends him old-school vinyls of rock bands that aren’t sold anywhere anymore so that he can listen. But no matter how many times he visits, it never so happens that Jeongin’s brother is also present. All Jisung knows about him is that his name is Minho, and he’s a hotshot dancer and choreographer for celebrities all over the world. He’s seen pictures of him around the house, sure, but they have mostly been of him as a child—so they have done nothing to prepare him for how insanely good-looking Minho is. 

He’s so good-looking that Jisung just stands there, his mouth parted but with no words coming out, pinned under Minho’s stare, only slightly less blatant than his own. The spell of stun only breaks when Jeongin pats him on the back and moves past him to greet Minho with a high-five. 

Jisung hurriedly gathers his jaw off the floor. He fixes the strap of the bag on his shoulder, drops the other one onto the ground for the time being, and steps closer, extending his hand in Minho’s direction.

“Hi, uh, I’m Jisung.”

Minho shakes his hand and smiles a peculiar smile where it’s only the corners of his mouth rising up. He looks a bit like a cat, and a lot like the cutest guy under the sun.

“Minho. Jeongin’s brother,” he introduces himself. His touch burns long after he lets go of Jisung’s hand. “Do you need help with that?” 

He nods in the direction of the bags. 

“Uh, no, but—there are still drinks in the trunk, if you’d like to help,” Jisung tells him.

Minho says, “Sure,” and then, with another feline smile, he’s off, jogging down the steps to greet Minju with a sweet, “Hey there, princess,” and a hug rendered clumsy by the shopping bags she’s carrying. 

Jisung smiles under his breath and finally walks inside. What’s waiting for him is a cozy, spacious interior that makes him feel like he’s in a snowed-in resort in the mountains, and Jeongin’s mom, who immediately gathers him in her arms, happy to see him. He high-fives Jeongin’s dad, and then Minju and Minho come in, carrying bags of food and drinks into the kitchen, the decibels rising with their easy chatter.

With no interest in their familial catch-up, Jisung looks around and takes the space in. All the windows and doors inside the house are flung open to let in the summer air and get rid of the staleness produced by months of disuse. The interior is modern, but that doesn’t take away from the cabin’s homely feel. There’s a fireplace in the living room, a couch with a blanket thrown over the back and a big armchair to match facing it. A TV is mounted above it, a promising sight for stormy nights. A dining table stands next to the exit to the patio, allowing everyone the pleasure of staring at the lake while they eat. An island is what divides the room from the kitchen. There, too, are windows overlooking the shore. 

“Come on upstairs,” Jeongin says, nudging him out of his amazed stupor, and marches up to the enclosed staircase next to the entrance of the house. Minju is one step behind him; Jisung follows suit. 

Upstairs is made of another common area, but with fewer windows: there’s a brown, L-shaped couch with a carpet disappearing underneath, a tall bookcase up against the wooden wall, and a coffee table littered with tons of candles.

Jisung notices the black duffle bag sitting on the floor next to it.

Jeongin catches his gaze and tells him, “Hyung will sleep here.”

As it turns out, the two bedrooms get distributed between Jeongin and Minju and Jeongin’s parents since they’re big enough to host two people, and it’s logical that the couples get to share a bed. Jisung takes the room in the attic, up another few stairs—smaller, but it’s a queen-sized bed that’s taking away most of the space, so he’s pretty alright with that. He’s also not planning to spend a lot of time holed-up inside the house, but that’s another thing.

He leaves his bag on the floor next to the dresser and moves to the window that graces him with the breath-taking sight of the woods and mountains stretching ahead. He pulls out his phone, takes a few pictures, and sends them to his mom to let her know they arrived safe and sound. 

⊹

The house sits at the foot of the mountains, surrounded by tall pines, massive oaks, and rocky outcroppings. Wooden stairs lead from the deck, down the gentle hillside, to the water, where the lake is enormous, framed by rocks of all shapes and sizes. 

The afternoon they arrive weighs hot and heavy. They change into their swimsuits and dash out of the house like a bunch of teenagers. Jeongin chases Minju down the dock and then just before she escapes him, he manages to wrap his arms around her waist. Together, they fall into the lake, laughter turning into shrieks. 

Jisung shakes his head at their antics, too lazy to run in this weather, when just standing outside is making the back of his neck damp with sweat. He drops his towel onto the dock, and lowers himself down into the lake slowly, not too confident in his swimming abilities. 

He dives under the surface for a moment but swiftly kicks himself back out, wet hair sticking to his face and heart rate spiking. Not knowing how deep the lake is kind of freaks him out, but the water is cool against his skin and his friends are having fun splashing each other in the faces right next to him, so he manages to make his body relax. 

Jisung stays close to the shore, swimming around in circles until his arms get tired. Then, he tips his body back to float parallel to the surface, just enjoying the hot weather. Water rustles in his ears, muffling the rest of the world, and the sun turns his vision red when he closes his eyes. 

When he opens them again, he’s back to treading water, and Minho is sitting on the dock, leaning back against his arms, with his head angled towards the sun and his legs dangling off the side, feet just barely grazing the surface of the lake.

With forethought casualty, pretending he’s just passing by, Jisung swims up to him and smiles. He steals a moment of silence, admiring him shamelessly while Minho’s eyes are still closed, staring at the flex of his arms so attentively he’s starting to wish he took anatomy class. Maybe then he would be able to name every muscle and tendon and trace them along Minho’s skin.

Can anyone blame him? Minho is hot. 

Jisung pushes hair out of his face and finally asks, “You’re not coming in?”

Minho slowly opens his eyes, adjusting to the brightness of the summer day with a series of rapid blinks—something Jisung probably shouldn’t find as cute as he does. Before he can even begin to respond, though —

“He’s water-repulsed,” Jeongin bites from behind Jisung. “Like a cat.”

Minho explains, “I can’t swim,” and he doesn’t seem to take any offense in being likened to a feline that hates water. He wears it with a smile.

“I can swim, but not too much,” Jisung admits after Jeongin deems the teasing sufficient and swims away, leaving the two of them alone. “The depth of places kind of freaks me out. I like being in the water, though.”

“There are probably floaties somewhere in the closet, if you’d feel more secure,” Minho proposes. And although from anyone else the remark would feel like he’s being made fun of—a kid that needs a floatie to feel comfortable in a lake, ha, what a loser!—Minho says it, and he sounds kind. Maybe because he gets it. “I could go get them for you.”

“Ah, you don’t have to bother, hyung! It’s fine!” 

“I was going to get one for myself, that’s why I’m asking,” he says, as if it hasn’t just been implied that he was basically planning on steering clear of the water in favor of chilling on the dock.  “But if you don’t want—”

“No, please, get me one!”

Minho rolls his eyes at that, but a smile passes over his lips. Jisung beams up at him from the water while he pushes himself up into a standing position with an exaggerated sigh.

Jisung calls out, “Thank you!” after him, but what he really thinks is, God, if you’re so nice all the time, you’re going to ruin my life. If he stares at Minho’s butt while he retreats, it’s only between him and god. 

(When Minho comes back, it’s a long moment later, carrying two circular floats under his arms. He lets Jisung choose between a donut and a watermelon, and when he takes the donut, he steps into the watermelon, holds it securely around his waist, and jumps into the lake, splashing water all over Jisung’s face.)

⊹

Uncle pulls a barbecue grill out of the shed that evening. He sets it up on the patio, where the rest of them are sitting around a table, cracking open bottles of beer and shifting side dishes around to make space. They’re all tired after spending the entire afternoon in the water, their skin wrinkly and dry, faces red from the sun despite the layers of SPF. Jisung’s hair is still damp and a complete mess, but Jeongin looks like birds have made a nest on his head, so he doesn’t really have it in him to care about his appearance. 

They don’t have the energy that a full-fledged conversation requires, but no one is able to deny Auntie the pleasure of asking them questions about university and work. Jisung tells her all about music and lets Jeongin talk about their shared education courses, while Minju tells her about this new book she read that she thinks Auntie will love, too.

“My current assignment is a secret,” is what Minho tells them when his mom asks about his work, his lips pursed like he’s trying to hold back a smile. 

Jeongin rolls his eyes and turns to Jisung as he says, “That just means he doesn’t want to talk. Both because he’s lazy and because he wants us to die out of curiosity.”

Jisung props his chin up in his hand, looking over at Minho. “Not even if I asked nicely?” 

“No,” Minho says, taking a swig out of his beer bottle to expertly hide his grin. Too bad Jisung is quick enough to catch it. Too bad he’s watching him so attentively he would notice if a single hair fell off his head.

Trying his luck just for fun, he asks, “And if I said please?”  

“I might be convinced,” Minho says. “If you promise to keep it a secret.”

Jeongin looks between them with furrowed brows. “What kind of conversation is this?” 

Jisung blinks as both Minju and Auntie burst into laughter. He and Minho regard each other for a moment, but it’s him who looks away first, the back of his neck feeling inexplicably warm. 

Thankfully, the attention is diverted by the first round of grilled meat distributed to their plates by Uncle, cooked to perfection and smelling like heaven. Jisung stuffs his stomach full, the food keeps on coming, and Auntie keeps on telling him to taste this and that and just one more of everything. 

“You go sit and I’ll finish up,” Minho tells his father after he’s done eating, not wanting to leave him standing at the barbecue doing all the work for the rest of the evening. A diligent son, that’s what he is. 

Jisung is a bit smitten, and it’s not a feeling he can shake off easily when Minho is around all the time, when just his existence is enough to make Jisung swoon and sigh with longing.

They all share a bathroom, and he goes to take a shower after Minho is done using it. The whole room smells like his shower gel—like a fruit that Jisung can’t put a name to—and it drives him insane.

He dozes off with Minho on his mind, with the feeling of his bright, knowing eyes locked with his own haunting him in his dreams. For the first time in weeks, Jisung sleeps like a baby.

⊹

Jisung wakes up to the sweet smell of caramel in the air. It lures him out of the attic easily. He changes out of his sleeping T-shirt and tugs on a pair of shorts. The steps creak softly under his feet as he makes his way to the living room on the top floor, slow and careful in case Minho is still asleep on the pull-out sofa. But he’s not.

When he tries the bathroom door, he finds it empty, too. With six people in the house, it’s nothing short of a miracle, so he fights the urge to immediately see what kinds of delicacies are being made downstairs and washes up. Once he looks less like he has just been sweetly unconscious for over ten hours, he goes downstairs. 

It turns out that Minho is making waffles for breakfast.

He’s the first person to notice Jisung walk in. His eyes smile even though his mouth doesn’t as he says, “Hi.” He manages just that before the waffle maker exhales a cloud of steam and steals his attention, that cruel thing. 

“I was just about to go wake you up,” Minju says to Jisung when he sits down at the table.

Everyone except for Jeongin is already there in the dining room slash kitchen, but he comes down when Jisung is half-way through his first waffle. (Minho put the plate in front of him personally, told him, Eat well, Jisung-ah, in a way that made the food sweeter than any caramel sauce or whipped cream ever could.) His hand travels to the crown of Minju’s head as he sits down beside her in a display of familiar affection, just a gentle caress of her hair. She smiles at him, and Jisung forces himself to look away instead of teasing them like he usually would.

The breakfast is quiet—they all enjoy the surge of sugar in their veins paired up with freshly brewed coffee, both things meant to wake them up, while Jisung only feels more and more somnolent. 

He sneaks glances at Minho, who doesn’t sit down with the rest of them to eat as he attends to the waffle maker. He’s holding his half-eaten breakfast folded in his hand, his phone in the other as he scrolls through. He’s got a bit of whipped cream on his upper lip, and Jisung can’t tear his eyes away, careless in the way he unabashedly watches Minho swipe his tongue across his mouth to get it.

He has to physically shake himself out of it. Jeongin helps him divert his attention away from Minho and his sweet, enticing mouth when he speaks.

“I wanna go swimming,” he says, sighing and looking out the patio door in the direction of the lake, longing. 

“The water isn’t warm enough yet,” his mom tells him. “You could go to town with us and then come back and have it all warmed-up, though.”

Jeongin raises an eyebrow at her. “No offense, mom, but being stuck in the car and then out in the open without a lake I can throw myself into when it gets too hot sounds like a nightmare.”

Jisung agrees with a hum. The morning isn’t hot yet, it’s too early, but the sun promises a scorching heat later on. The rays slipping in through the giant windows are painting the hardwood floor golden—they bathe Jisung’s socked feet with warmth so pleasant he doesn’t really want to get up, even if his system is begging for a glass of water to wash the food down.

He pushes his chair back, though, and makes his way over to the kitchen, where Minho is eating a plain waffle at the counter. He finds a glass in the first cupboard he opens, but as he spins on his heel, he slips on something wet. A gasp escapes his mouth as his foot slides forward on the tiles, but Minho’s hand lands on his hip easily and keeps him steady. 

Jisung grips the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turn white. 

“Careful,” Minho says, pulling his hand away.

Jisung nods absentmindedly. His legs feel weak, and he thinks, Hold me. Keep holding me, like a damned loser. His side burns in the aftermath of Minho’s touch. He pours himself ice-cold water from the jug, but it does nothing to make him feel less like he’s on fire. 

Back at the table, Auntie is still trying to convince them to tag along for their trip into the town, and Jeongin is obviously running out of ideas on how to nicely tell her they would all rather die than do that. Minho comes to his rescue a moment later, just as Auntie catches Jisung’s eye, looking ready to now switch her front and start grilling him. 

Minho is about to deposit a waffle on his dad’s plate when Uncle says, “Oh, no, thank you, but I don’t think I can handle anything else.” He leans back in his chair and rubs circles into his stomach. “I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Minho shrugs, folds the waffle in half, and takes a bite out of it. 

“I have batter for two more, I think,” he says around a mouthful. “Who wants them? Jisung-ah? Minju-yah?”

Jisung shakes his head, but he feels warm all over at the notion of Minho thinking of him first. He’s the guest, just like Minju, of course, so he would logically come before Jeongin out of courtesy, but—still.

“I’m full,” he says.

Minju tells Minho she can take one. But when Minho transports it over to her plate a few minutes later, she neatly cuts it in half with her fork and puts one half of it on Jeongin’s plate. He smiles at her through a mouthful of whipped cream. She rolls her eyes, but she looks smitten anyway.

Minho serves the other waffle to his mom, earning himself a pat on the head in return. It makes him preen, so visibly satisfied. Silly mama’s boy, Jisung thinks, but he’s infinitely endeared.

⊹

After Jeongin’s parents leave to spend their day in town, the rest of them seek solace on the lakeshore. While Jeongin is drifting around on a watermelon float, Jisung spreads a blanket over the wooden dock, and he’s sharing it with Minju now, though she’s closer to the edge, letting her legs dangle off the side. 

Jisung glances at Minho, who’s sitting just beside him, a book in his lap, waiting for him to abandon his phone and start reading. A sly plan comes alive in Jisung’s head.

“Hyung, could you help me put on some sunscreen?” he asks. “I can’t reach my back.”

Minju, ever so helpful, pushes her sunglasses up to her hair and says, “Come here, I’ll do it.”

Stop cockblocking me! he wants to tell her telepathically. Instead, what he says is, “No, honey, you keep enjoying the sun. Minho hyung will help.” He turns back to Minho. “Right, hyung?” 

“Of course, Jisung-ah,” Minho says, putting his book and phone aside. There’s a smile playing on his mouth, like he can see right through Jisung’s antics and they amuse him. But he kneels beside him, anyway, and tells Jisung to lie down on his stomach.

Jisung watches him out of the corner of his eye, unable to deny himself this little treat. He shivers when Minho squeezes the sunscreen out onto his bare back.

“Cold?” 

He lets out a hum in response just as Minho’s hand comes in contact with his skin. The touch is electrifying in a way Jisung has never felt before, starting in his lower back, just above the waistband of his shorts. Minho is delicate as he moves upwards, slow, the way he works along Jisung’s spine. 

All he has to do is spread the cream well enough to help Jisung from getting burnt like a tomato while he naps in the sun. But instead, Minho massages his back almost expertly, and does it in a way that makes warmth rise to Jisung’s cheeks. 

“You’re all tense,” he points out quietly. 

He works his thumbs against a particularly hard knot, and Jisung has to bite his own arm to avoid gasping. It’s humiliating. Jisung knows he did this to himself, but good god. Is Minho trying to kill him?

It goes on for another few minutes—which feel like fifteen years, if Jisung has to be honest—and then Minho moves away to sit back against his calves. He’s still sporting a smile as he rubs the remainder of sunscreen into his own arms, it’s just that now, it definitely has that smug edge to it, like he has done it all and tortured Jisung on purpose. 

Of course he has. But he’s so sweet and innocent when he says, “All good now.”

Jisung is so into him, it physically hurts. 

“Thank you, hyung,” he says, resting his cheek on his arms again, head turned left to watch Minho as he sits down on the dock again and starts reading. 

Although it’s fascinating to study Minho’s expressions as he reads, how his eyebrows rise or how his mouth parts in silent surprise, the day is so pleasantly lazy that Jisung dozes off for a serene moment. He feels like a cat that seeks the sun to nap in, his skin tingling with warmth.

When he stirs awake, though, Minho isn’t immersed in his book anymore. Instead, he’s lying back on his elbows, sunscreen-clad face tilted up towards the sun, a lazy smile on his mouth, and blue, heart-shaped glasses on the bridge of his nose. His arms are there for Jisung to ogle, exposed in Minho’s black tank-top, muscles flexed in the effort to hold him upright. 

Keeping his eyes away is difficult.

He tries not to be too obvious with his staring in case Minho grows tired of indulging him and starts thinking he’s a creep, but Minho is genuinely so captivating—Jisung has never felt this way about a crush before, and he’s had plenty of them. And that’s what Minho is to him, anyway.

But then again—he has never been stuck with his crushes in one place for an extended period of time, with laziness-inducing heat and slow hands and tantalizing grins. Maybe it’s all just a matter of a perfect summer charm.

Eventually, when the sun gets too bothersome and the way his cheek sticks to his arm with sweat becomes uncomfortable, Jisung decides to put an end to sunbathing and pining after gorgeous men, and joins his friends in the water. 

He dives under the surface and comes out gasping, hair clinging to his face. As he pushes it back, he catches the sight of Minho lowering his head away from the sun, almost as if he’s looking at him. It puts a smile on his face, even if it’s just in his own head.

Jisung stays in the water, mostly, swimming around the lake but never venturing too far away from the shore. At some point, Jeongin abandons his watermelon floatie to race Minju from one shore to the other, so Jisung takes it, scrambling onto it with no apparent grace.

The gentle ripples in the surface of the lake lead him to the dock, where Minho has stolen his blanket and is now sprawled on it, holding his book up in the air, reading and simultaneously using it as a shield from the sun. 

When he gets up with a loud groan minutes later, book and phone in his hands, Jisung calls out his name. He turns back around and looks down at him with a question written all over his face.

“Are you gonna come back here?” Jisung asks.

Minho tilts his head to the side, confused. “I’m going to grab something to drink.”

“Could you please, please, please bring me something too?”

Jisung makes use of his naturally cute face and magnifies the effect by jutting his bottom lip out and mustering the puppiest of puppy eyes this world has ever seen. He looks at Minho, begging, and watches him crumble inside.

“You have perfectly healthy legs and hands. You can go yourself,” Minho says, which by now Jisung knows means he will do it. 

He smiles, saccharine sweet, and watches Minho walk away. And when he comes back, it’s with two ice-cold bottles of Sprite in his hands. He shakes his head when Jisung grins up at him, extending his hand as far as it would go.

“I’m gonna toss this into the lake,” Minho threatens instead of handing the bottle over like a normal person. “If you want it, go on a dive.”

Jisung laughs. He’s so into Minho, it’s crazy. Even if he plays with him childishly—even if he pretends to hand him the bottle and then snatches it away, and pretends to hand it over and snatches it away again. He’s such a fool, and Jisung is completely enamored. 

“You’re the best, hyung,” he says when he finally manages to catch the bottle, take it out of Minho’s hands, and avoid getting tricked again. He grins at Minho, victorious—and grateful. He’s a really good guy. Nicer than most.

Minho lies back down on the blanket with a sigh, but he’s smiling. “Ah, aren’t I?” 

Jisung thinks, Yes, you are. You are. You are. 

He pushes himself up onto the dock later, arms flexing and water dripping down his skin, and Minho is still staring, now he’s definitely staring. He has a metal straw in the corner of his mouth as he sips his Sprite, and he’s completely forgetting that his heart-shaped glasses aren’t dimmed. Jisung can see the movement of his eyes while they rake down his body. 

Jisung feels both pleased and shy under his gaze, a dangerous mixture of emotions that makes him want to do something stupid, like take a step forward and tell Minho to also do something stupid. To him. 

Not now.

Not just yet.

⊹

Jeongin’s parents come back with bags full of groceries for the remainder of the week. Auntie cooks delicious roasted fish for dinner, something straight out of culinary dreams where you wake up drooling onto your pillow. At the table, she tells them all about how lovely the town is, says that they should be sorry about not tagging along for the trip. But Jisung remembers Minho’s eyes on him, remembers the hands on his back, and he can’t find it in himself to even begin to regret.

“We’ll make sure to go another time, Auntie,” Minju says to appease her. Auntie puts another serving of blanched vegetables on her plate, pleased, and tells her to eat up. 

The heat doesn’t let up much even in the evening, but by the time the sun is setting, the thick warmth in the air becomes much more pleasant. After dinner, Jeongin’s parents go to rest in the living room, while Minju and Jeongin head upstairs to nap. Jisung, on the other hand, accepts the silent invitation enclosed in one look, and follows Minho out onto the dock. 

He sits down, legs hanging off the wooden edge, feet just short of grazing the surface of the lake. Minho is beside him, cross-legged, one of his knees resting against Jisung’s thigh despite all the space they have around them. 

Although they’re practically strangers, Jisung doesn’t feel the relentless need to fill the silence when it comes to Minho, one that usually nags at him when he meets new people. He talks, and babbles, and ends up saying something stupid that makes things awkward. But with Minho, they’re sitting on the dock, watching the sun glimmer across the surface of the lake like spilled paint, and the quiet is serene. 

He feels comfortable with Minho. It doesn’t matter if they’re joking, flirting, talking, or sitting in silence—being around him feels easy. 

Jisung takes a sip of his ice-cold lemonade just as Minho decides to break the quiet with a question. 

“You’re studying Education like Jeonginnie, right?”

Jisung lets out a hum of confirmation. “It’s just my minor, though,” he explains. “I major in Music Production.”

Minho doesn’t hide his surprise. His eyes go almost comically wide. “Wow. Seriously? That sounds like a lot of work.”

“Yeah,” Jisung lets out a breathy chuckle. “It’s honestly hell sometimes.”

“Do you want to be a producer, then? Or a singer?”

Jisung scratches the back of his neck. “Neither. I don’t think I want to make music for anyone other than myself. I think turning a passion into work, at least in my case, with someone imposing how a song should sound or what the lyrics should be . . . It would burn me out and make me hate it,” he admits. “But I love it, and I think I’m good, so I want to teach others.”

“That’s awesome,” Minho says, and he genuinely sounds like he thinks so, not like he’s just saying it for the purpose of saying something. “Although I’m sure the industry would love another gem, you’re most likely going to shape so many more.”

Jisung ducks his head, inexplicably shy. It pulls at his heartstrings. Minho hasn’t even heard a song from him, but he sounds so certain that Jisung’s skills and knowledge are worth something.  

“I get the sentiment since I sort-of teach dance,” Minho tells him. “I’m a choreographer. I think it was implied in a conversation before, but I’d rather say.”

Jisung hums around the straw in his mouth and takes a sip of the lemonade. “Jeongin mentioned you were pretty famous.”

Minho laughs. “Have you ever seen Street Man Fighter?”

Jisung’s eyes bulge out in surprise. Some of his lemonade ends up in the wrong pipe, but he manages not to choke in front of Minho.

“Oh my god,” is all he can spit out.

Street Man Fighter has been on the tongues of the youth from the entire country and beyond, the dance competition pulling surprising viewership rates. Hyunjin and Felix have religiously watched every episode, most of the time crashing Jisung and Jeongin’s apartment because they have a bigger TV. Jisung never really watched it, always swarmed with work and his studies, but his friends were obsessed.

“My crew placed second, but it was still really cool,” Minho tells him. “Opened a few doors, too.” 

“To your current very secret assignment?” 

Minho laughs. Jisung likes his laughter so much he wants to bottle it up and listen to it the same way people press shells against their ears and long to hear the sea.

“No, that’s a different one,” he says. “I can tell you who I’m working with if you’re curious.”

Jisung blinks. “If you’re not going to get in trouble because of it . . .”

“Are you planning on revealing my secrets?” Minho asks, his voice just as teasing like the curl of one corner of his mouth. 

Jisung grins back at him.

“Never.” 

Minho regards him for a moment, but he doesn’t look like he’s gauging Jisung’s sincerity. He looks like he’s just taking him in. Watching him just as intently as Jisung watches him. Eventually, he leans in, cups Jisung’s ear with his hand, and whispers a name, but Jisung—too focused on the way Minho’s breath hits his skin and how close he is and the way his perfume smells and how his low voice is the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life—doesn’t even catch it. 

His breath hitches.

Minho pulls away with a grin. “Exciting, right?” he asks.

Jisung doesn’t know how to tell him that all he heard was the hammering of his own heart in his ears, so he nods and hopes Minho doesn’t notice just how dizzy he suddenly feels. He grins just to hide it, and it’s not hard, being excited for Minho to be working with some cool artist, because he’s generally excited for Minho. 

“I’ll make sure to tune in and see the choreography,” he promises, earnest. He will find a way.

Minho bumps their shoulders together and Jisung’s stomach swoops.

⊹

Jisung wakes up with the uncomfortable feeling of his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. The air in his room is stuffy despite the window he had cracked open before going to sleep, dry and stifling. It’s early—at least early for a summer day—but he can’t find a comfortable position to lie in and he can’t fall asleep again when he feels so hot all over, so he just gets up to wash up and shave. 

The house is quiet. Minho is missing from the couch he sleeps on, but there’s also no one downstairs. Jisung directs his footsteps to the kitchen, where he finds no evidence of anyone having been here yet. They must still be asleep. 

He pours himself a glass of water, but when he lifts it to his lips, his gaze venturing to the window overlooking the patio, something catches his attention. Someone. Minho.

He seems to be working out, doing jump squats, his back facing the house when Jisung comes around to the other side of the island to get a better look. He’s in shorts and a T-shirt, the fabric clinging to his body when he moves. 

Jisung is positively drooling. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but he gets so lost in the sight of him that he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps until the very moment Jeongin comes to stand behind him.

Startled, Jisung jerks his hand up and spills water all over himself and the kitchen floor. “Oh my god,” he breathes out, feeling his T-shirt begin to cling to his chest. “Fuck. Jeongin!”

Jeongin does nothing but laugh at his misery and say, “I’ll go bring the mop.”

When Jisung looks up from the mess, he catches the sight of Minho staring at him through the kitchen window, probably alerted by the noise he made. He flushes bright red, embarrassed about making a fuss, but Minho smiles at him and lifts his hand to wave—or, rather, wiggle his fingers. 

Jisung waves back and feels his knees go weak.

⊹

Minho and his dad are fishing. 

Jisung doesn’t quite believe it at first when Auntie tells him—Minho is a renowned dancer, a phenomenal cook, handsome and funny and most likely able to bench press Jisung’s entire weight, and now he’s also fishing? But he’s there in a foldable chair on the dock, with a cap on his head and a fishing rod in his hands, waiting for a fish to bite. 

Jisung has no idea if they’ve caught anything so far since there are no buckets on the pier that would indicate so, so if they have, they must have already released them back into the water.

So, in lieu of a greeting, he asks, “How’s the hunt going?”

Minho turns around to look at him and smiles, so Jisung takes a leap of confidence and rests his hands on Minho’s shoulders, the edge of his chair digging into his stomach. He’s not shaken off or made to believe Minho feels uncomfortable with his touch, so he doesn’t move away.

“Not too well for our Minho,” Uncle says teasingly.

Minho scoffs. “Don’t listen to him,” he tells Jisung. “He stole two fishes right from under my nose. But I’ll get back at him.”

“You should get one of those hats that say, People want me, fish fear me, hyung,” Jisung jokes, giving Minho’s shoulders a squeeze when he whips around to send him a look. It’s not a nasty glare, but Jisung thinks it’s supposed to be one. Too bad he just finds Minho’s expression endearing. “When’s your birthday, actually? I’ll get you one.”

“Ha ha ha,” Minho enunciates dryly. “No fishy dinner for you, then.” 

Jisung tries to hold back his smile. “Aren’t you letting them back out into the lake?”

Uncle chuckles under his breath, instantly going quiet when Minho turns to narrow his eyes at him. Jisung doesn’t falter with his teasing, especially that Minho seems to enjoy bickering with him—or maybe he just likes Jisung’s presence, because he decides that, with nothing better to do, he will sit down on the dock and keep them company. It’s not long until Uncle sighs, takes a look at his watch, and decides to head back inside, though.

“They haven’t bitten in a while. We probably already scared them off the shore,” he reasons, standing up and stretching his limbs until the bones in his back crack one by one. “You can try for yourself if you want to, though, Jisung.” 

“Oh, no, I’m good,” he says, throwing his hands up in surrender. He wants to stay far away from all hooks and lines and smelly bait—even if it’s only synthetical. “Thanks, Uncle.” 

He pats Jisung on the shoulder as he walks away, taking his rod with him, but leaving the chair behind, free for Jisung to relocate to. When he does, he tilts his face up to the sun, enjoying the quiet rustling of the trees around them, the gentle sploshing of water, and how the chill wind makes the day feel less like hell.

Long moments of peace pass them by. Minho is still waiting for a fish to bite, slouched in the chair, but if Jisung has to judge his mood through his expression, he would say he doesn’t seem too hopeful. That is, until the line jerks forward. Alert, Minho lurches up. 

Jisung straightens up, too, craning his neck, as if he would be able to see anything in the water, as Minho waits, and then quickly reels the fish in. When it jumps out of the water, dangling off the hook, Jisung throws his fists up in the air and cheers.

“Oh my god,” Minho says through a fit of delighted laughter. “It’s a carp!”

It’s small, maybe around thirty centimeters, but it’s a living fish, and Minho caught it, and he seems so proud of it that it rubs off on Jisung. He pulls out his phone and says, “Come on. We have to immortalize this.” 

Minho gently takes the fish off the hook, holding its head with one hand and its tail with the other, and strikes a few poses. At first they’re normal—and cute, because he keeps smiling—but then he makes a kissy face at the carp, and Jisung loses it. In the end, he laughs so hard he’s just hoping at least one of the pictures came out fully focused.

“I’ll send them to you,” Jisung says. “Just give me your number later.”

Minho clicks his tongue, still grinning, maybe even harder now, and says, “Smooth.”

Jisung winks because he’s an idiot. He’s pretty sure Minho is into it, though.

The fish wiggles in his grip suddenly, splashing water into his eyes, begging to finally be released. Minho pulls a disgusted face and sinks into a crouch at the edge of the dock to let the fish back out into the lake. Jisung lowers himself down to watch it until it swims too far away for him to see. 

He sighs, forlorn, and says, “Live well, little fish.”

Minho gasps, offended. “What do you mean little? Are you trying to tell me you think that the enormous fish I caught with my own two hands—”

“—and a fishing rod—”

“—you think that the enormous fish I caught with my own two hands—” Minho repeats, a crazed smile slipping past the feigned shock on his mouth, “—is little?” 

Jisung opens his mouth to counter that with No, hyung, of course not. I think it’s the biggest fish in this whole lake, actually. Please, believe me, hyung. You’re the most awesome fisherman under the sun, just as double footsteps sound against the wooden dock. 

It’s Jeongin and Minju. Uncharacteristically nice enough to bring them something without even being begged to, Jeongin hands each of them a freeze pop—Minho gets the blue one, while Jisung gets the purple.

“What are you two dimwits doing?” he asks.

Minho doesn’t take offense in Jeongin’s lack of respect or any honorifics. By now, he probably knows well that it’s just his love language. “Jisung is insulting my fish,” he says instead, and proceeds to rip the top of the plastic off with his teeth

“I wasn’t insulting it or even saying that it was small!” Jisung defends, pouting, although all he wants to do is laugh. “It was a term of endearment!”

“Bleh.” Minju shudders. “You’re getting endeared by a slimy fish?”

“Maybe he wants to kiss a slimy fish and hope it turns into a prince,” Jeongin teases, sucking on his orange popsicle.

“I’ll kiss you instead,” Jisung says with a huff. “Same thing!”

He grabs the back of Jeongin’s neck and pulls him in, pursing his lips. Although Jeongin tries to grimace and push him away, he still bursts into laughter, used to Jisung’s antics. By luck and determination, Jisung manages to land a wet kiss on his cheek. He also licks the skin just to annoy him. 

By the time he pulls away and lets Jeongin rub at his face to get rid of his disgusting germs, Minju has sunk to the ground from laughter. Minho seems amused, but not to that extent, and the way he grins leaves Jisung feeling a bit shy.

Later, when they’re all chilling on the dock, not quite feeling like getting into the water that day, Jisung abandons the vastly interesting activity consisting of scrolling through his Instagram feed, looks up, and accidentally catches Minho’s eye. Minho sticks his tongue at him. Blep. Like a lizard. Jisung laughs and sticks out his own.

Their tongues are purple and blue. 

⊹

The storm raging outside has the window in Jisung’s room rattling in its frame. The thunder wakes him up in the middle of the night and leaves him restless with its intensity. He’s not scared, but he can’t sleep when it’s just so loud. He’s certain he would be fine on any other level of the house, but being right there in the attic makes sleep elusive, so he decides to put on pajama bottoms he has forgone for the entirety of the trip so far, and heads downstairs.

As he assumes that the lump of sheets and pillows on the couch in the upstairs living room is Minho and that everyone else in the house is also fast asleep, he startles when he comes across a figure shrouded in the darkness of the kitchen. 

His heart rate jumps, but then the floor creaks under Jisung’s feet, the figure turns around, and the profile becomes familiar. Minho’s hair is ruffled from sleep, but that only adds to his cuteness. Half of his face is hidden in the shadows, the contours sharp. Pretty. 

“Hi,” he says. “Do you want some tea? I think I still have enough water for one more.”

Jisung comes closer and leans against the kitchen island, the edge digging into the small of his back, and that’s when he notices that Minho is holding an electric kettle.

“Yes, actually, I’d love one, thank you.”

Minho reaches into one of the cabinets to retrieve another mug and, as he pours hot water in, he asks, “Why are you up so late?” 

“The storm woke me,” Jisung says. “It was so loud up there in the attic, I could feel it rattle in my bones. What about you?”

“Just couldn’t sleep at all,” Minho tells him with a sigh. “I tried reading a book earlier, scrolled through my phone, but I just couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Ah, I get it. Those nights are truly just frustrating.”

A moment later, since neither of them is too eager to go back to bed, they’re seated on the sofa in the living room with their tea, watching the storm light up the house every now and then. 

“What book were you reading?” Jisung asks, pulling his knees to his chest. He just wants Minho to talk to him, if he has to be truthful, but he’s curious, too. He wonders what kinds of books Minho likes—what kinds of movies,  music, drinks and food, and if he also likes to stare at the moon or the setting sun or the sky, and if he folds his underwear or just tosses it into a drawer. He wants to know all there is to know. 

Minho smiles, soft. “Do you want spoilers, too?”

With a shrug, Jisung tells him, “Honestly, I probably won’t have the time to read it, so you might as well tell me about the entire thing, as far as you’ve gone.” 

He tips his head back against the couch and tilts it to the side so that his cheek is pressed against it, watching Minho as he tries to remember the beginning of the story.

“It’s a murder mystery,” he says. “I still don’t know who’s the killer.”

“Then tell me. Maybe we’ll figure it out together.”

But Jisung wants to sleep—the only reason why he couldn’t was because the noise in his room wouldn’t allow him to. But he was thinking about it when he came downstairs, about spending the night on the sofa, so it’s not a surprise that a cup of warm tea and Minho’s honey-sweet voice lull him to sleep. 

He doesn’t know at what point his eyelids start slipping shut or when exactly his head falls onto Minho’s shoulder, but Minho wakes him when the storm passes. Jisung groans, blinking the sleep away from his eyes, his hazy mind trying to place where the hell he is.

Minho is sitting beside him, just like he has been before, one of his legs folded under his weight. He’s sporting a small smile as he watches Jisung come back to his senses, and his gaze, so unabashed in the dark of the night, leaves his cheeks heating up.

“I would love to stay with you like this,” Minho says, “but the storm has passed. You should go back to bed before your neck starts cramping up.”

Jisung’s face feels even hotter. He nods, running a hand through his hair, and—with a lot of effort—pushes himself off the couch. He reaches for the mugs, safely sitting on the coffee table, but Minho doesn’t let him clean them up, instead insists on taking them to the kitchen himself.

Jisung has no choice but to leave him there, hoping that despite it all, despite insomnia weighing heavy on his shoulders, Minho finds rest for the remainder of that night.

⊹

“Jisung-ah, I need an assistant. Come help me with lunch.” 

He lifts his eyes from the screen of his phone, craning his neck to see into the kitchen over the back of the couch from where he’s sprawled on the armchair in the living room. Minho is cranking open a jar of kimchi, and he admittedly gets lost in the sight of the veins in his forearms, but then the jar is open, Minho looks up, and catches Jisung’s gaze.

Protesting doesn’t even cross his mind.

It’s not that he’s particularly eager to do anything other than lounge around the house or that he’s a very talented cook (though, contrary to popular belief, if he has a clear recipe, he can fix a delicious meal, so there’s that). He simply wants to spend more time around Minho, crack a joke or two and make him laugh. And he wants Minho to see that he’s capable—that aside from being hot and smart and funny, he also focuses on tasks he’s given and tries his best. He doesn’t remember the last time he cared so much about what someone thought of him, but he really, really wants Minho to actually like him. Not just think he’s alright to be around while they’re stuck here together, that he’s just his brother’s best friend who tagged along for vacation. 

He wants Minho to see Jisung, and he wants him to like him. 

Minju eyes him curiously from the couch as he gets up, but he ignores her, making his way over to the kitchen. 

“We have some leftover rice, so I was thinking of making it fried,” Minho tells him, a question hidden in a statement.

Jisung smiles. “Sounds great,” he says. “Where do you want me?” 

“You can chop the onion and the garlic.”

After Jisung agrees with a hum, Minho prepares everything—sets the cutting board, the knife, and the vegetables on the counter, and then leaves Jisung to it. Jisung cuts the green onion into neat rings, and then expertly peels the four garlic cloves. He slices them one by one, but just as he’s finishing up, the last clove ends up being too small and the knife slips, grazing against his pointer finger.

“Shit,” Jisung hisses, putting the finger to his mouth. Blood begins pearling at the cut in spite of how small it is.

Alarmed, Minho is next to him in seconds. “What’s wrong?”

“Just cut myself a bit,” he explains, a flush of embarrassment rising to his cheeks. So much for being capable and not a complete mess in Minho’s eyes. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.” 

Minho dismisses it. He takes a gentle hold of Jisung’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his lips, and studies the minuscule wound right on the tip of his finger with furrowed brows. 

“Put it under cold water and wait here for a moment,” he says. He makes his way out of the kitchen and then, to Jisung’s surprise, he walks out the front door. 

Although he’s confused, he focuses on following the instructions. He walks over to the tap and runs water on the coldest setting, shoving his finger under the stream until Minho comes back. 

He comes back with band-aids with cartoon cats drawn over them. 

“I had to get these from my car,” he explains, opening the paper box, pulling one band-aid out, and tossing the box onto the counter. He steps closer and gestures for Jisung to show him his finger. As he skillfully plasters the band-aid to his skin, he explains, “My friends gave them to me.”

“They’re cute,” Jisung says, smiling at the row of black cats painted on the one he’s wearing. 

“And useful when you’re prone to injuring yourself while gardening.” 

Jisung looks up at him and realizes, once again, just how close they’re standing. Close enough for him to notice the mole on the tip of Minho’s nose, and how he smells like chamomile hand cream.

“You do gardening?”

“I help my grandparents sometimes,” Minho says, and then, to Jisung’s utmost disappointment, he moves away. He takes over the last clove of garlic and finishes slicing it, careful not to lose a finger. “But then I’ve also sliced myself on accident in the kitchen a few times, or broke a glass and wasn’t too careful picking the pieces up.”

“So the gift was on point,” Jisung notes as Minho puts a pan on the stove, pouring in oil and letting the garlic fry until golden. He’s not instructed to do anything else so far, but he doesn’t even think of leaving. Instead, he takes the chance given to him and asks, “Do you like cats?”

Minho huffs. “Is that even a question? I love cats.” He turns around just to regard Jisung with eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Do you?” 

It makes Jisung want to laugh, how serious he seems about this. “I’m a bit allergic, but I love them,” he says. When Minho’s mouth curves downward, he rushes to add, “My allergy isn’t that bad! I don’t even have to take meds or anything. My nose just gets irritated.”

“Ah, that’s good because I have a cat at home,” Minho says.

Jisung’s heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t allow himself to linger on the thought of Minho thinking about Jisung and his cat in his home together. 

To chase that away, he asks, “Where’s the baby now? Do you have someone cat-sitting?”

“He’s staying with a friend of mine,” Minho tells him, smiling again. 

“He probably misses you a lot.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. He just sleeps all day and wakes up to eat, so if he gets fed, he’s just fine,” he says. “And my friend works from home, is always up for serving as Dori’s pillow, so it’s not like he’s lonely.”

“Dori,” Jisung echoes to himself, testing the name on his tongue. He grins. “That’s cute.”

Minho pulls his phone out of the front pocket of his hoodie, lights up the screen, and shoves it into Jisung’s hands. The lockscreen is a slightly blurry picture of a gray tabby cat with a white mouth, in a small black beret and a red ribbon around his neck. 

“Oh my god,” Jisung coos. “This is the cutest little baby I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Minho laughs, satisfied, but when Jisung looks up, he’s turned back around towards the stove as he empties out the jar of kimchi into the pan and starts to stir-fry it. “Right? He’s incredibly cute. And incredibly spoiled, but he deserves it.”

“Definitely.”

But that’s not all—

“Look at the phone case,” Minho instructs. The sight that greets him are five stickers of varying size, all of a cat that’s unmistakably Dori. 

Minho loves this cat to death, it’s so obvious. He seems to take care of him well—Dori’s fur is soft and shiny even in the pictures, his eyes bright and glimmering. He even looks like he’s smiling, which adds to his general cuteness, and tells Jisung that Minho has been providing a happy home for him. He has stolen Jisung’s heart and soul. 

Minho enlists Jisung’s help with one more thing: getting four bowls from the cabinet. His parents have gone out on another trip to the town, so they’re left to eat on their own. He nudges Jisung’s hip with his own as the two of them each take two bowls, a smile playing on his mouth as he calls Jeongin and Minju out onto the patio.

Jisung’s stomach erupts with butterflies.

⊹

Minho and Jisung sit on the dock with bottles of cooled-down beer in their hands, watching Jeongin and Minju kayaking. They found the kayak in the shed, cleaned it off dust and spiders, and decided to take it out onto the lake. Minho deemed it too unstable for his comfort, and Jisung wasn’t too eager to go, either, so they stayed behind while the lovebirds enjoyed a moment of peace. 

Well, Minju is enjoying her peace, sitting there with her face tilted up towards the sun and looking pretty, while Jeongin happily does all the paddling. Just like the universe intended. 

Jisung smiles. He glances to the side, and finds Minho already staring. When their eyes lock, Minho puts the beer bottle to his lips and takes a swig, either delighted with or oblivious to the fact that Jisung is too focused on the way his mouth looks poised on the rim of the bottle to think straight. 

⊹

The sky is cloudless and clear on the fifth night at the lake house. They had to spend the entire day locked inside because of a storm, playing board games and getting mad at one another for cheating, but once the evening rolls around, the weather calms down.

When Jisung pulls the patio door open and steps outside into the night, the air is colder, but still charged, the threat of another storm looming over the town. He should be inside, but he looked out the kitchen window, saw all the stars scattered across the dark expanse of the sky, and simply couldn’t resist going outside. 

He drags one of the garden chairs out onto the dock, almost tripping over his feet when his gaze ventures up towards the sky and he gets so entranced by the sight he forgets to watch his step. 

Once he has made himself comfortable, sitting with one knee pulled to his chest and foot on the chair, he tilts his head back to face the sky and lets out a heavy sigh. Jisung doesn’t have many opportunities to see the stars in the polluted, ever-illuminated city of Seoul, so he appreciates this—the chance to watch them while being in the bosom of undisturbed and serene nature—even more. He’s surrounded by a mysteriously dark forest, with mountains looming over him, and the surface of the lake reflects the night sky, the ripples created by the wind a melody to his tranquility.

He wants to be alone to enjoy it to full extent, but at the same time, when he hears footsteps approaching him down the dock, he recognizes them and easily decides that he doesn’t mind the company. If the company is Minho.

He puts a chair down beside Jisung’s silently, like he doesn’t want to disturb him, but instead of immediately sitting down, he puts something in Jisung’s lap. It’s a blanket, plaid and soft and perfect to use as a shield from the chill emanating from the lake.

“You’re gonna catch a cold,” he says simply. His stare is almost hurrying. Put it on already, his eyes seem to say. Himself, he’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head and tucked behind the ears. He looks cute—and warm. 

Jisung’s heart jumps.

He would really like to steal some of Minho’s body heat. But he wraps the blanket around his shoulders instead and smiles at him, saying, “Thank you, hyung.”

Minho returns his smile before looking away and directing his gaze at the sky. Jisung allows himself a moment of indulgence and stares some more at his beautiful side profile. He forgets himself, does it too openly, and when Minho glances at him out of the corner of his eye and curls the corner of his mouth up in a smirk, Jisung flushes and turns away.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sky with this many stars,” he says after a moment of silence, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “It’s so clear. Magical.”

With no regard for Jisung’s emotional well-being, he says something that—if he weren’t sitting—would have his legs giving out under him.

“I’m even more glad Jeongin invited you here, then.” He looks over at Jisung again like he’s trying to pointedly emphasize that he was already glad that Jisung was here before that. “Although this place is really something else entirely, it’s not usually this fun.”

Jisung’s chest feels like it’s about to burst with emotion. 

He can’t quite hold back the smile fighting its way to his mouth. “Well, my summer has never been this fun, either,” he says. And it hasn’t even been a week since he arrived here. It’s hard to keep track of all those lazy days, really, but he guesses that’s what makes them so enjoyable—that they feel almost infinite. 

“So you’ll come back next year.”

Jisung doesn’t know if it’s wise—or good for his heart—to think that Minho’s voice sounds hopeful. “If Jeongin invites me, sure,” he says. 

Minho smiles. “I will invite you,” he says. And then, as if the weight of the words becomes too much after he actually says them out loud, his voice takes on a much more playful tone and he adds, “I refuse to third-wheel him and Minju.”

“Hm. I’m sure that’s the only reason.” 

“Definitely,” he says, and then meets Jisung’s smile with an obnoxious wink, probably not realizing just how much that makes Jisung’s heart speed up.

⊹

Jisung jumps onto the kitchen counter, watching Minho put fruity cold-brew tea bags into two tall glasses like it’s the most interesting thing under the sun, and lets his heels thump against the cupboards underneath. 

“You were supposed to be lying down,” Minho says. The glance he sends Jisung is reprimanding.

Everyone else has left to indulge in the sweet, warm weather in the town, but the two of them have stayed. Jisung didn’t feel like going anywhere when a headache has been splitting his skull in two ever since he got up this morning. He’s not sure why Minho is here instead of enjoying ice-cream and a walk through a park in the shadow of trees, but he’s been adamant on making sure Jisung is resting and drinking enough fluids while waiting for the family to come back with painkillers.

“I just got up to stretch my legs,” Jisung says. “I’m feeling better.”

“Yeah?”

Minho takes a bag of ice out of the freezer, dropping a few cubes into both glasses, and puts it back in with a sigh. Then, he pours in water from the jug on the counter, and lets the tea bags soak in it. 

“Who would’ve thought spending the whole day lazing around on the couch would do you good, huh?” Jisung jokes.

He hops off the counter, landing steady on his feet, but Minho’s hand still shoots out to rest on his waist and stabilize him. Jisung’s mouth parts in surprise. He looks up, and as if the warmth of Minho’s skin bleeding through the fabric of his T-shirt and turning his brain into mush wasn’t enough, the proximity of their faces quickly renders him a mess. 

Minho is right there. His mouth is—pink and plump and made for kissing, practically begging Jisung to just fuck everything and do it. He’s pretty sure his own lips are begging Minho for the same thing, but far more desperately.

Jisung knows he should take a step back, lie about being too clumsy to make the tension go away, but that damned hand is still on his waist and Minho isn’t saying anything. What he does is press his other palm against the kitchen counter, practically cornering Jisung against it.

Jisung blinks, and Minho’s face seems to be even closer. And just when he thinks he’s finally going to kiss him, the front door clicks open, and Minho moves away like he has been burnt. He stays close enough for Jisung to easily reach out, grab his T-shirt, and pull him back in if he wanted to play with fire. Far enough for it to be considered normal.

“We brought pizza!” Jeongin calls out as he marches into the house, toeing his shoes off in the entryway.

Minju follows it with “And painkillers!” 

Jisung sighs, his gaze cast to the floor. He twists the ring on his middle finger three times, like making a wish. Don’t act weird around me now, he begs. And then gathers enough courage to look up and meet Minho’s eye. 

Instead of discomfort or regret, what he finds on Minho’s face is a smile. More shy than usual, adorned with a blush that’s almost as deep as the pink of his mouth, but still—a smile.

⊹

“We should watch a horror,” Jisung says. “Or at least a thriller.”

“Definitely not,” Minju argues, ever the scaredy-cat. “Let’s see a rom-com.”

Once the sun went down, the four of them sprawled themselves across the sectional in the living room, debating what movie to put on to entertain them for the night. While Minho is backing up Jisung—who adds the fact that Minho enjoys spooky stuff to his mental list of all the things that make him irresistibly hot—Minju is, unsurprisingly, supported by Jeongin, who would put the entire world in her hands if only she’d asked.

And Jisung gets it. He really does. Because he and Minho start arguing with her that rom-coms are boring, and then she makes a cute pleading expression, and Jisung genuinely wants to walk out and drown himself in the lake. Of course, both of them relent when faced with the impossible challenge of denying Minju anything. 

“You go make popcorn to make it up for us and we’ll choose the movie,” Minho says, shooing her off the couch. 

“Make sure they don’t choose something shitty,” she tells Jeongin as she gets up, to which he promises he’ll keep an eye on them. He gets no say, of course. Minho and Jisung might have a soft spot for him, but it’s nothing compared to their soft spot for Minju.

In the end, when she comes back, shoves one of the bowls in between the two of them and takes the other for herself and Jeongin, she’s satisfied with their choice—which, really, was Minho’s choice, since it was a newly released movie starring Suzy, and he, apparently, used to be a big MissA fan. 

The movie isn’t bad, really. Jisung doesn’t hate rom-coms, not at all. He’s quite romantic himself. It’s just that they’re not particularly fun when you’re single, or when your thigh is pressed against the thigh of the guy you really, really like, and who almost kissed you, and who you wanted to kiss—and still want to kiss—so, so badly. 

It doesn’t help that he and Minho are sharing popcorn. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Minju alternate between herself and Jeongin as she brings the damned corn to their mouths without even looking in a gesture of easy, familiar affection. 

Paired up with the sweet action on the screen, Jisung does have to admit feels a bit lonely. But it’s not that he wants a relationship, or needs it to be happy—he’s been fine ever since he and his previous partner parted ways, flirting here and there, going on a date or two, sharing a few noncommittal kisses. Having fun being single. It’s not necessary, and yet he wants it—someone pressed against his side as they watch movies (maybe not rom-coms, but if they liked rom-coms, then Jisung would watch them with them, whatever), someone to grossly feed him popcorn, or laugh at the cheesy dialogue with him. 

His own thoughts make him a bit grumpy. He reaches for the bowl to stuff his mouth full of popcorn and have the salt and butter take away all his internal turmoil, but as he does, Minho reaches for it too, and their hands bump into one another. 

Jisung jerks his hand away and looks up, his eyes locking with Minho’s, equally startled. And then, like a complete gentleman, Minho gestures for him to take the popcorn first. Jisung grins and helps himself to a handful, nudging Minho’s shoulder with his own, gentle enough not to be noticed by neither Jeongin nor Minju.

Half-way through the movie, with the popcorn already gone, trying to get himself comfortable, Jisung stretches his arm over the back of the couch. He’s not actually trying to do the cliché move of pretending to yawn and putting an arm around a person’s shoulders (he swears he isn’t), so he’s surprised when Minho leans back into him. Drops his head against his arm, using it as a pillow. If he twisted his head just a bit to the side, pressed his ear against Jisung’s bicep, he would be able to hear how his already rapid heartbeat picks up its ferocious pace.

All because of him. All for him. 

Jisung doesn’t know how he even makes it to the end of the movie, between Minho practically cuddling up to him and his yearning for easy romantic intimacy, but it feels like he blinks and the credits are already rolling. 

Although she was all for watching the movie, Minju is practically asleep when they turn the television off. “Carry me upstairs,” she whines to Jeongin, who has managed to untangle himself from her embrace and is now standing in front of her, trying to pull her off the couch. 

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and says, “I’ll accidentally crack your skull open, idiot. Get up.”

They bicker some more and eventually Jeongin manages to coax her into standing up, so they bid each other goodbye and head upstairs. Jisung lingers, playing with his phone, until Minho asks, “You going to bed?” 

Jisung nods. “Yeah, I think it’s time.” 

They go upstairs together after that—Jisung walking behind Minho and debating whether he should just climb the stairs with his eyes closed to avoid looking at his ass, trying to be respectful and trying to stay sane. 

“Goodnight,” Jisung tells him when it’s time to part, right by Minho’s bed, way too soon for his liking.

Minho smiles at him warmly. “Sweet dreams, Jisung-ah.”

(Jisung dreams of him.)

⊹

“Do you have enough food?” Auntie asks the next morning. Without waiting for an answer, she marches over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and the cupboards to make sure they’re stocked.

They’re not, but Minho tells her, “We can always drive to the store,” before she can insist on doing it for them or staying behind for the remainder of their vacation. The thing is, Minho and Jeongin’s parents were only supposed to stay with them for a week, so now they’re packing their bags and loading them into the car, not too eager to leave the four of them alone.

“Take care of everyone, baby,” she says to Minho, who immediately pulls an annoyed face.

“They’re grown adults, excuse y—” he starts, and then cuts himself off abruptly under the look she gives him. “Yes, mom. Of course.” 

Jisung does his best trying to stifle his laughter behind the palm of his hand, but Minho still narrows his eyes at him, trying to seem dangerous. He comes off more adorable than anything else, like a feisty little cat, but Jisung lets him have it. 

It might be one of the reasons why, after everyone bids each other goodbye, and it becomes clear that they really need groceries to survive the next week of vacation, Minho tells Jisung to get ready since he’s going with him to the store.

Jisung starts whining, asks, “Why me, hyung? In this weather?” but in reality, he’s happy for any chance to spend time with Minho, especially if it’s one on one.

“What are you even saying? The weather is nice.”

“It’s too hot,” he complains, just to keep up the appearance. 

Grabbing the car keys off the entryway table, Minho rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He waits for Jisung to tug on his Converse, and holds the front door open for him. He promises, “I’ll buy you ice-cream.”

Jisung pretends that’s what tips the scale and makes him stop grumbling. He climbs into the passenger seat of Minho’s Hyundai, glad that it hasn’t been sitting in the sun and therefore doesn’t feel like a moving sauna. The air is stuffy, sure, but once they drive out of the property and dash through the forest with the windows half-way down, Jisung feels the wind in his hair and thinks everything is perfect.

The radio streams one of Minho’s playlists, full of both mellow, atmospheric RnB songs and rock tracks that make Jisung want to bang his head against the dashboard. He’s surprised to find just how many favorite songs they have in common—he knows practically every single one that comes on. That’s also why he can’t really stop himself from singing. At first, he does it just under his breath, to the tune of Minho’s humming, but then the chorus of DAY6’s When You Love Someone comes on, and Jisung breaks into it without even meaning to.

He only realizes what he’s doing when Minho falls silent, listening in. Heat instantly rises to his cheeks, and he breathes out a flustered apology.

Minho doesn’t let him stay embarrassed for too long. “Go on,” he says with a soft, encouraging smile on his face. “You have a pretty voice.”

You can’t say that to me, Jisung wants to immediately tell him. You can’t say that to me, or I will throw my heart up and make a mess of your damn car. The truth is, it’s so hard to not like Minho more and more with every minute they spend together when he’s so caring and sincere with his affection, when he likes the same things Jisung does and gets his humor like no one else and they get along so well. 

A slow smile touches his mouth, and he starts singing.

⊹

“We should get more pizzas,” Minho says when they’re already at the counter in the convenience store, ready for checkout. He turns to Jisung and asks, “Can you go back and get them? Four, maybe.”

Jisung raises his eyebrows. “What do you need so many pizzas for?” 

“I’m not your private cook, brat,” Minho says, playfully smacking Jisung on the shoulder. “This is your dinner for next week, so go get it or starve.”

Jisung’s jaw goes slack and he huffs in feigned offense. As he turns on his heel to stalk over to the freezers, he notices the cashier grinning at their exchange. Minho has already packed away most of their products by the time he comes back, all the essentials of microwaveable popcorn and beer and cider, and he asks Jisung to take that bag while he carries the tower of pizzas back to the car. They somehow manage to shove them into the portable fridge in the trunk of his car, and come back into the store to buy ice-cream, which they later enjoy at one of the small tables outside.

“Are you happy now?” Minho asks.

He’s clearly talking about the fulfilled promise of ice-cream, but Jisung has something else on his mind when he says, “Very happy.”

His calf is pressed against Minho’s under the table. He can see sunlight paint Minho’s skin golden, turn his eyes a brighter shade of brown, making them look like they’re made of honey. And Minho is smiling, looking like he’s enjoying himself even though all they’re doing is eating cheap ice-cream in front of a convenience store in sweltering heat. 

Jisung likes being around him so much that even the weather, while bordering on unbearable all day long, fades into the background. His thoughts aren’t usually this cheesy, no matter how romantic he is at heart and how much he’s into someone, so although it’s not necessarily weird, it feels unfamiliar. 

He chases the thoughts away. If he lingers on them for too long, they will consume him—and make him do something stupid.

Minho has some of the vanilla on his upper lip when Jisung looks at him again. The sight is enticing, unreasonably so, and Jisung wants to kiss it off of him. His stomach swoops when Minho’s tongue darts out to lick the ice-cream off. He longs for something that, at least for now, remains unfairly out of reach.

“I’m just gonna go grab some chewing gum,” Minho says when they’re done eating. “Wait in the car for me?”

Jisung sees no reason to go inside with him, so he lets out a hum of agreement and climbs back into the passenger seat after Minho unlocks the car for him. He scrolls through his phone while waiting and then sends Jeongin a message letting him know they’re heading back to the house. 

He looks up from the screen just in time to see Minho stuff something into the pocket of his shorts, but although he looks like he’s trying to be sneaky while he hides it, Jisung isn’t nearly nosy enough to interrogate him. It’s not his business.

He yanks the car door open and takes the driver’s seat with a sigh and, to Jisung’s surprise, he tosses a pack of sour gummy worms onto his lap. “For the road,” he says with a smile. 

On their way to the house, Jisung munches on the jelly and every now and then puts it against Minho’s mouth to let him have a snack while he’s driving, too. The fact that his lips sometimes touch the tips of his fingers is another thing, and what it makes Jisung feel, he refuses to unpack. 

The drive back takes more time than it did to get to the town, so Minho kills the engine when the day is already leaning towards the afternoon. Jisung helps him carry the groceries inside, but when he starts unpacking them, Minho smiles and tells him to go join Jeongin and Minju where they’re drinking iced-coffee on the patio.

Jisung wants to stay, but it doesn’t feel like he has a choice. “Let me know if you need anything, though,” he says.

“I’ll get you when I need someone to take the plates out of the cabinet.”

Minho sounds playful enough for Jisung to know he’s just joking but he sincerely tells him, “Alright. Just come get me.”

He doesn’t stay in the kitchen long enough to see Minho’s reaction.

⊹

When Minho calls them back to the kitchen for dinner—delicious, cheesy frozen pizza—there’s some drama or a movie paused on the TV that Minho must have been watching while keeping an eye on the oven. While Jeongin and Minju go back outside to eat, Jisung lingers in the kitchen. 

“Would you mind if I stayed with you?” he asks, taking his plate and tentatively following Minho to the couch in the living room.

“Of course not,” Minho says, his smile inviting. “You’ve had enough of the lovebirds?” 

Jisung makes a ha sound, but it doesn’t resemble laughter at all. “Yeah. Sure,” he says. 

Sure, that’s why he wants to be with Minho, right there on the couch, his knee pressed into Minho’s thigh as he sits cross-legged beside him, where he can soak up the comfort that his presence brings and get to know him just by being close.

“What are you watching?”

“I just started Hotel del Luna,” Minho says. “It looks like it’s gonna be fun.”

To Jisung’s surprise, instead of just unpausing the episode and continuing the drama, he rewinds it to the beginning so that Jisung isn’t left clueless about the plot. Granted, it’s only twenty minutes, but Jisung’s heart still does a happy somersault in his chest. 

It surely is fun—entertaining enough to keep them in front of the television for an entire four episodes before they part ways for the night, Minho abandoning the pull-out couch upstairs and relocating to his parents’ empty bedroom. 

The drama is fun, but it’s nothing compared to the rush of emotion that surges through Jisung when he sneaks glances at Minho. He looks when Minho isn’t paying attention, when the lights from the TV illuminate his face just right and make his eyes look magical, when he smiles at the scene in the show, when he laughs so hard his whole body falls backward into the couch. 

Jisung is slowly but surely losing his mind.

⊹

The sun is at its highest, the air stuffy and timeless, the temperature rising at a rate Jisung’s body can’t keep up with, so after he’s done eating his third ice-cream for the day, he dives into the chilly expanse of the lake.

Minho gave up on staying fully exposed to the relentless sunlight a while ago. He has retreated to go on a walk or a hike or something of that sort, said he’d be more comfortable in the shade of the trees. Minju and Jeongin have gone to the town for a romantic escapade.

So Jisung is all alone, for a while floating on his back and then helping himself to the float mattress waiting for him on the dock. Minho startles him when he comes back sometime later, has him fall off and into the water when his sudden and loud Boo! breaks through the silence Jisung has gotten used to.

“I could’ve drowned!” Jisung complains. “You could have killed me!” 

Minho just laughs. He knows Jisung has been staying close to the shore—close enough to be able to stand in the water and have it reach no higher than his shoulders.

Jisung hauls himself up onto the dock. He wants to pretend to be upset for a moment longer, maybe use it as a way to get Minho to make him something cold to drink, but his feigned annoyance fades away the moment Minho takes the towel slung over the back of the garden chair, steps closer, and wraps it snug around Jisung’s shoulders. 

He lifts one hand and, without caring about getting himself wet with lake water, brushes Jisung’s dripping hair away from his forehead. 

Jisung melts. He’s pretty sure he’s bleeding internally because of the warmth that spreads from his chest through his entire being. He gives his full attention to the smile slowly blooming on Minho’s face. It makes his eyes seem even brighter, his features just a bit softer. He’s so pretty, it’s unfair.

“Come on,” he says, taking a blind step backward. “Dry yourself off, I’ll make iced-coffee, and let’s keep watching Hotel del Luna.” 

They’re half-way into the third episode of the day and hands-deep in a giant bowl of popcorn when the front door opens. They both crane their necks to see if it’s not a murderer trying to take a chance on a cabin in the woods, but remain otherwise unpreoccupied.

“We’re back!” they hear from the entryway, Minju’s voice cheerful. She walks into the living room a moment later, long hair mildly disheveled. A more sheepish Jeongin tails closely behind her, a dark, explanatory flush high on his sharp cheeks. 

Minho and Jisung exchange knowing looks of amusement. Jisung thinks, I wish this was us. He doesn’t dare to say it out loud.

⊹

Watching the sun set in Minho’s eyes becomes one of Jisung’s favorite pastimes.

As always, they’re perched on the edge of the dock, watching the surface of the lake turn into blazing flames of pinks and oranges, and—as always—Jisung can’t keep his eyes to himself.

Minho looks all relaxed and content. The corners of his lips are curled up into a feline smile, hair is windswept and tousled. Jisung now knows that it smells like apricot. Just last night his head fell onto his shoulder during Hotel del Luna, and instead of moving away or being awkward about it, Jisung stretched his arm behind Minho’s back, practically holding him, and he didn’t even have to turn his head to the side to take in the scent of his freshly-washed hair. He couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about how much he wanted to simply press his nose against Minho’s head and stay like that for the rest of the night.

He still wants to do it, if he has to be honest. He wants a lot of things, and now all of them begin and end with Minho. Jisung can’t stop thinking about him, though it would be hard to do when they spend such a big part of the day together. But he thinks about Minho when he’s in bed in the evening and when he wakes up, and thinks about him outside of this lake house—about how much he wants to see Minho dance and that he wants to create a song for him to dance to. He wants to go on long drives with him and sing in the passenger seat of his car and feed him sour jelly and stare at him while he drives until Minho’s ears turn a dark shade of pink under his unwavering attention. It’s stupid to think just how many things he wants to do with Minho and how much he wants all those things to be dates: go to the cinema, pick him up from work and wander around the city until they find a perfect café to stay in, come over to his place and meet Dori and cuddle with both of them while a movie is playing on the TV, forgotten as they all doze off, warm and content.

Jisung’s heart tremors at the idea of never getting to do any of it with him. The emotions that course through him are intense and they continue growing day by day, leaving him feeling elated and terrified at the same time. 

Fuck, Jisung thinks. Is it possible to fall in love with someone in a week? 

Something about all of this makes Jisung feel off-balance. He doesn’t quite understand it. Sure, he’s prone to mercurial attraction, his interest in people often more temperamental than everlasting. He feels a lot, be it romantically or just in general. But this—this is too much, even for him. He doesn’t know what else to call it. Crush truly sounds like the understatement of the century while this feels like it’s going to screw him up forever.

Never in his life has he felt this comfortable with a person so shortly after meeting them. Even with Jeongin, his best friend, the beginnings were a bit awkward. But Minho—with him, things feel effortless. They’re like two flames lit by the same match. Jisung doesn’t have to think about what he says, doesn’t have to hold his tongue and weigh his words. They have so many topics to talk about, so many interests in common. 

It’s hard to not notice all the small things that make Minho even more likable than he already is—he jokes around a lot, but when he teases Jisung, he never strikes to actually bite; he takes care of people around him, even if he complains about having to do it, all just for show. Minho draws answers from him without even asking a question, and seems to answer his questions before Jisung even thinks to ask them. He makes Jisung feel like the most interesting person in the world. 

Something like that is hard to pass by. Something like that is hard to chalk up to nothing more than a fleeting summer infatuation.

⊹

Jisung is just sitting at the dining table, nursing his iced-tea, pushing the ice around in the glass with a metal straw when Minju joins him in the morning. It’s hot already, the air in the house drowsy, so when he came downstairs, he opened the patio door to let in the fresh breeze. She walks over there, one foot outside, and leans back against the wooden frame, looking out at the dock.

“Minho oppa is still asleep?” she asks.

Jisung shakes his head. “His door was left open, though,” he tells her. He doesn’t say, And he wasn’t inside, because that would mean he checked. He did, but that doesn’t mean he’s eager to tell her that.

Minho wasn’t there when he woke up and came down, either. Jisung peered into the dock from the kitchen window to see if he would catch a glimpse of Minho in shorts while he did squats, but he wasn’t there, so he probably went on a walk.

“He didn’t take you wherever he’s gone?”

Jisung takes a sip of his drink, delaying the answer while the words settle in his brain. Ha. “He was already gone when I woke up,” he says eventually. “And why would he even take me?”

Minju shrugs. “You two seem to be getting along well,” she points out, like that’s enough of an answer and not something that multiplies the questions. The thing about her and Jeongin is that neither of them can really act casual. But the thing about them is also that while Jeongin generally steers clear of other people’s business for his own sanity, Minju is nosy. That’s why she gets along with Seungmin. She also gets along with him because they both used to harbor crushes on Kim Chaewon, but that’s another story.

Jisung gives her a look. “What do you want from me?”

“Gossip,” she says easily, a smile on her face. “You know your secrets are safe with me. I’ll never tell, but most importantly, I’ll never judge.”

Jisung raises his eyebrows dubiously.

“Well, I might judge you sometimes,” Minju relents. “Like when you thought it was a good idea to drink two cups of coffee at the same time and then down another? That was insane.”

That was not his proudest moment. She was so concerned about him she had Jeongin on standby to drive him to the hospital in case he had a heart attack. Nothing happened, thankfully, but ever since that day he has lowered his caffeine intake.

Jisung sighs. 

“I like him so much I want to tie a bag of rocks to my ankle and go for a swim,” he admits, crossing his arms on the table and hiding his face in them with a pitiful groan. “I don’t remember the last time I wanted to go on a date with someone this much.”

“So it’s not just that you want to hook up with him.”

Minju doesn’t even bother making her words sound like a question.

“How does anyone who gets to know him not want to put a ring on his finger right away?” Jisung mumbles. “I want to take him out on a date. Treat him to dinner. Cook him dinner.”

“Wow, now that sounds serious.”

Jisung whines. “I know! That’s the problem.”

“How is that a problem?” 

“I’m not sure if he likes me that way, too. I don’t doubt he wants to sleep with me, that much is obvious, but other than that . . .” Jisung shrugs, awkward when he’s practically lying on the table, his face sour. “And then there’s Jeongin. I’m worried about what he might think of it. It’ll probably be weird for him.”

Minju frowns, coming over to the table to pull out a chair and sit across from him. “I don’t think so. I’m sure he would pretend to be disgusted, but he would be happy if you two got together,” she says kindly. “Also, I’m not sure if Jeongin really considers the possibility of Minho oppa actually being in a relationship or bringing someone home. We were eating dinner once and Auntie said she saw a picture of him with some guy and was wondering if we knew if he was dating him, but Jeongin just said he doesn’t think oppa has any interest in romance.”

Jisung’s stomach sinks.

Minju notices it right away. Her eyes widen, and she reaches out to put a hand on his arm. “I don’t think that’s true,” she’s quick to reassure. “You know how Jeongin is. He just doesn’t want to get involved. And, anyway, even if it were true, from what I’m seeing, you could be an obvious exception.”

Jisung flushes. From what she’s seeing? What she might be seeing is him being hopelessly devoted to longing for Minho, to flirting with him so openly that he has to fight the burn in his cheeks sometimes. That’s nothing. 

“I mean, it’s not like there’s anything really going on between us,” he admits, bitterness spilling into his words. “Although I know hyung likes me, it still feels one-sided.”

“Oh, oppa,” Minju whispers. “I don’t know how to convince you to have a little more faith, but I think that if you really feel so strongly about him, the best thing would be to just tell him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Minho could reject him, plain and simple. He could tell Jeongin, and his parents, and have Jisung’s confession become a long-running inside joke for the entire family. Jisung would never be able to look any of them in the eyes again, that’s for sure.

But he knows Minho would never do that. Even if he rejected Jisung, he’s pretty sure he would do it in the most gentle way possible and keep it a secret so as not to embarrass him. 

And then there’s the other option. Minho saying yes. Minho wanting to go out with him. Minho becoming a part of Jisung’s life—not just his summer.

He opens his mouth to thank Minju when the front door opens. The two of them look at each other for a moment, and then both direct their gazes towards the entrance. Minho comes in a few seconds later, tugging wired earphones out of his ears, unplugging them, and shoving them into the pocket of his sweatpants, blissfully unaware of the conversation that happened during his absence.

“You guys hungry?” he asks, cheerful. He must have gone on a walk, then.

Minju gives Jisung one last look of encouragement and tells Minho, “Starving! You came back just at the right moment to make us something delicious.”

⊹

The moment Jisung realizes that they’re on the ninth day of their stay at the lake house, time begins feeling like it’s slipping through his fingers, passing by too quickly, leaving him with a desperate need to prolong it.

He only knows one way to do it, but each time he wants to cross that invisible line, he can’t find enough courage. Not yet, he tells himself, but soon. 

It’s late when they kill their small party on the dock, where the air is cool and humid, with pizza and vicious rounds of Uno and a bit too much peach soju. Jeongin loses the game so he gets the cleaning duty, but Minho and Jisung don’t seem ready to part ways just yet, no matter how colder it gets to sit by the water by the minute.

Jisung tips his head back and watches the stars flicker against the dark expanse of the sky. “Did you know,” he starts, “that all the stars you see in the sky are bigger than the Sun?”

“Mhm? How so?”

He shifts on the wooden dock to steal a glance at Minho and sees him looking up at the sky, too, his eyebrows drawn together like he’s genuinely trying to understand.

“Well,” Jisung says. “The Sun is really just a medium star, but it’s so much closer to Earth that it seems bigger and brighter.”

“How big is it actually then?” Minho asks.

“Its diameter is around one million and four hundred thousand kilometers,” Jisung recalls. He’s a bit good at that, at remembering all kinds of useless things. But if those things help him impress a cute guy, then they will become quite useful. “The biggest star’s diameter is over 2 billion kilometers.”

“Jesus.”

Jisung grins. “It’s huge, right? But it’s also impossible to see without specialist equipment.”

“That sucks,” Minho says, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s funny, because he sounds genuinely upset by the fact. Then, he directs his gaze at Jisung and asks, “How do you know all this? Did you take Astronomy in university?”

“I watch a lot of documentaries,” Jisung explains. “And I easily get sucked into strings of oddly specific YouTube videos.”

Minho smiles. “I mostly watch cute animal compilations, so you have to share more of those fun facts with me.”

Jisung inhales sharply, but his heart still beats faster. “Sure. Of course. I have . . . I’ve got lots of them up my sleeve.”

“I’ll be looking forward to them, then,” Minho says. Jisung, addicted to the sight of his smile, almost passes away when it’s directed at him again. “Give me another one.”

Jisung wracks his brain to find something good to satisfy Minho’s curiosity, and then spends a lot of time discussing it with him—one fun fact after the other, until his repertoire is drained for the night.

At some point, a gust of wind takes him by surprise. He curses under his breath and wraps his arms around himself, but it does nothing to stop his body from shivering. He’s naturally a guy that gets cold easily; in winter, he walks around with ten layers of clothing plus a giant puffer jacket, a hat, and a scarf wrapped around his head. If he could, the moment the temperature drops, he would happily stay in bed, wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito with only his nose sticking out, and hibernate.

Summer is supposed to be better in that department, but nights are getting colder by the day, especially if one is spending their time by a giant body of water.

Minho doesn’t even ask if he’s cold. What he does is wordlessly take his hoodie off and put it, all bunched up, in Jisung’s lap. When Jisung doesn’t make a move to wear it, he gives him a hurrying look. 

“But you’re going to be cold now,” Jisung says, hesitant, although his heart is working overtime, speeding up and pumping warmth through his system.

“I won’t,” Minho insists. “Just take it.”

Jisung sighs, recognizing that there’s no use fighting him over it. He doesn’t really want to, either. He’s cold, and he’s also not going to pass up an opportunity to wear Minho’s clothes. Still shivering, he pulls the hoodie on over his head. The collar smells like Minho, like spice and vanilla. He wants to drown in it. He tugs at the sleeves to hide his hands in them, to warm himself up.

When he glances at Minho, he doesn’t see him cowering from the nighttime chill like he thought he would; Minho is just looking at him, a smile playing on his mouth. He reaches out, steals Jisung’s breath by looping his arms around his neck, and slowly pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over Jisung’s head.

Jisung’s heart stutters at the proximity. It would be so easy to do it now. To take a leap of faith and soar, or crash and burn and blame it all on drunken desire. But instead of acting on it and risking it all being brushed off as an incident under the influence, Jisung takes Minho’s hands and places them between both of his own.

“So that you’re not cold,” he says, but in reality, he just wants to hold Minho’s hand, even if it’s through the sleeves of a hoodie.

Minho laughs. “You’re cute,” he tells him, his voice a tad bit softer than before. And as if that wasn’t enough to get Jisung’s heart to race, he also tips his head to the side and rests it on his shoulder. It can’t be that comfortable, all this strain to his neck, but when Jisung looks down at him, his mouth is twisted up in contentment.

Minho is all sharp tongue and sweet words, crooked grins and gazes that linger until Jisung’s ears are crimson and he forgets how to form words properly. He’s also the most caring guy under the sun, and the reason why Jisung is truly enjoying himself on this trip. 

Jisung wants to ask him if he feels it too, this relentless pull between them, something that’s slowly getting so hard to resist. He wants to act on it whenever they’re together, which is too often to be healthy for his poor, delicate heart. It means he thinks about kissing Minho all the time these days, but it’s not just the desire, he knows, and that makes it so much worse. 

But Minho looks at him, his eyes full of emotion, and Jisung feels like he feels about him the same way. 

Still, whatever is happening in his head, it’s obviously not enough for him to make a move.

Maybe he’s waiting for a perfect moment, too. 

⊹

“If you squeeze in some lemon, it’ll taste better,” Minho says as he cracks open a bottle of vodka and pours it into two glasses. “It’s not going to be that strong.”

Jisung is sitting on top of the kitchen counter, watching, while Minho is—as always—doing all the work. This time around, though, it’s out of his own volition. It was him who wanted to make drinks

“That’s nice,” Jisung tells him. “I don’t really like strong alcohol.”

Minho smiles under his breath just before turning around to put the bottle of vodka back into the fridge. “I’ve noticed,” he says, like it’s that simple.

He comes back to the counter and looks around in search of the lemon. He has to reach over Jisung’s lap to get it. What he doesn’t have to do is lean so much into his space, so much that when he lifts his chin just a bit, they’re practically nose-to-nose.

Jisung’s heartbeat trips into a faster rhythm when their eyes lock. 

Minho drops the lemon and lets it roll to the edge of the counter when he soars forward and captures Jisung’s mouth in a kiss. Jisung lets out a soft noise of surprise, but his body acts before he can even think about it twice. He loops his arms around Minho’s neck and kisses him back, ardent and ecstatic. 

Finally, he thinks. Finally.

His heart feels like it’s about to jump out of his chest when he tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss. Minho’s tongue slips between his parted lips easily, his fingers gripping Jisung’s thigh and being the only thing keeping his mind from floating away.

Fuck. He’s making out with Minho. After all of this inner turmoil, Minho has finally taken the first step—has done the thing Jisung has been anxious to do. And it feels incredible.

Jisung gasps when Minho moves his hands up until they’re slipping under the fabric of his T-shirt and venturing across the expanse of the feverishly hot skin of his back. He digs his fingers into Jisung’s waist like he’s trying to pull him closer, so Jisung arches into him, kisses him harder, but it’s not enough. 

He pulls away, sliding his tongue over his lips for the lingering taste of Minho, his chest rising heavily with every erratic breath he takes. He craves more, so he slides off the counter, has Minho pinning him against it, and reconnects their mouths with so much desperation he would be embarrassed about it if he was capable of actually formulating a coherent thought.

Minho grips his hips to pull him even closer, until there’s no space between their bodies, and he’s kissing him back, hot and heavy. Jisung’s head spins at the sharp moan that leaves Minho’s throat when he rolls his hips against him. 

“Fuck, Jisung-ah,” he whispers. Even then, this quiet, his voice sounds hoarse. 

Jisung tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of Minho’s hair, guiding him back towards himself. Instead of kissing his mouth, though, Minho attaches himself to Jisung’s neck. While Jisung is gasping and panting into his ear, he licks a stripe up his throat and punctuates it with a wet kiss to the pulse point just under his jaw. 

“Hyung,” he breathes out. “Do you want to—”

“Yes,” Minho says immediately, pulling away just to peck Jisung on the mouth again, short, but so, so sweet. He breaks into a smile when their eyes meet again, and something bursts in Jisung’s chest, not just the rapidly escalating desire. 

He takes Minho’s hand and drags him upstairs, to the attic. With Jeongin and Minju in town for a firework show, they’re alone in the house, so they don’t have to worry about sneaking around or being quiet. The drinks are abandoned and forgotten on the counter, the alcohol having nothing on the fire in Jisung’s veins.

He pushes Minho into his bedroom and kicks the door shut, pressing his back against it. They regard each other for a silent moment. Jisung wonders if the heat got to his head. If he’s not just hallucinating, or having a vivid dream with Minho having a starring role in it. 

He launches himself at Minho like he’s diving into a lake for the first time, with his heart stopping for just a moment before starting to beat again, more ferociously than ever before.

Minho’s hands find home on his hips as he kisses Jisung. It looks like it’s taking a lot of him to pull away when he eventually says, “Wait here for me.”

Jisung nods, but before Minho can leave, he grabs the front of his T-shirt and pulls him back in for a kiss. Just one more. And then he lets him go. 

When the room is empty, he climbs onto the bed on shaky legs and props himself up against the headboard, waiting, dizzy with anticipation and desire. He takes that moment to steady his thoughts—but he doesn’t manage. All he can think is ten different variations of Holy shit, I’m about to have sex with Minho. 

He’s hard already, and Minho has barely even touched him. He begins palming himself through his shorts, mind easily slipping away towards the images—memories—of Minho: his hands against Jisung’s skin, his mouth against Jisung’s mouth, the kisses he left against the column of his neck. 

Jisung has never wanted someone’s touch as much as he wants Minho’s at that moment. 

He hears the footsteps against the stairs leading to the attic, fast, as if someone is jogging up them. It puts a smile on Jisung’s face, to know that Minho is just as eager as he is. He appears in the doorway, his hair all tousled from Jisung’s fingers and face flushed. When their eyes meet, Minho stops for a moment and stares as one corner of his mouth rises in a smirk that scrambles Jisung’s insides into mush.  

His gaze slides down to Jisung’s hand where it’s resting on his clothed cock, the thumb working at the head at a lazy pace, and shakes his head in feigned disapproval. “I told you to wait for me,” he says, pushing the door shut. 

Jisung grins. “Shouldn’t have taken your sweet time, then,” he says, but it’s such a lie on both sides—he started touching himself the moment Minho left, and Minho was practically running to get back to him. 

Too impatient, Minho doesn’t even begin to retort. He tosses a box of condoms and a bottle of lube onto the sheets. 

“Where’d you even get this?” Jisung asks, picking up the box, barely able to suppress his smile. Was Minho hoping to fuck someone from the town? Does he always carry these things in his car? “Did you come here with—”

“I bought them when we were in town a few days ago,” Minho says. He sets one knee on the edge of the mattress and comes closer, finding a place for himself between Jisung’s parted legs.

“Was that what you shoved into your pocket so sneakily?”

Jisung laughs at Minho’s perplexed expression. He really thought he was being sly, pretending to go back inside the store for chewing gum and sour jelly. He’s so ridiculous, Jisung can’t believe he did it for him. 

“You saw?”

Jisung nods, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “I thought it wasn’t any of my business,” he says, “but apparently it was.”

Rolling his eyes at Jisung’s cheeky grin, Minho still looks like he’s holding back a smile of his own. To obviously divert Jisung’s attention from it, he rests his hand on the side of Jisung’s thigh, and slips it under the fabric of his shorts until he can press his palm flat against the bare skin. 

His touch is as gentle as his gaze when he asks, “How do you want to do this?” 

Jisung’s heart skips a beat. He entertains the thought of being the one who fucks Minho—and he wants it, wants it so bad—but the need to be filled by him wins over anything else.

He wraps his thighs around Minho’s hips and says, “Like this.”

“Yeah? Alright.” 

Minho smiles, tender and sweet, and Jisung’s heart aches for him. 

He sneaks one hand between their bodies and brings his palm to the inviting bulge in Minho’s sweatpants, observing Minho’s face with wide, curious eyes, and preening with satisfaction when Minho’s hips buck into his touch. His expression is already softened by pleasure, and he looks beautiful. 

(His dick is also big.)

The part of him that strives for Minho’s approval and affection is a bit nervous. His stomach feels hollow and his heart is racing, and it feels a bit like if he wasn’t palming Minho’s cock, his hands would be shaking. But then Minho kisses him and turns it all into a good kind of nervousness. 

Jisung ruts his hips up against him, pulling sweet gasps out of Minho’s throat. He bunches his hands in the fabric of Minho’s T-shirt, tugging at it insistently, waiting for Minho to take the hint. Waiting, until he gets so frustrated with the fact that they’re both still wearing clothes that he snaps, “Take that off.” 

Minho laughs, loud and melodic, and Jisung hates what it does to him. He hates that Minho’s laughter has an even greater effect on him than being touched by him does, and that Jisung likes hearing it so much he would do a handstand on top of Burj Khalifa if only it would mean he made Minho laugh. 

Thankfully, Minho is nice enough to take his shirt off. He wastes no time and gets rid of Jisung’s, too, pulling it off over his head with a dizzying amount of ease.

“Good now?” he asks.

Jisung reaches out to touch him. He rests his palm against Minho’s left shoulder first, slides down and cups his pec, thumbing at his nipple and relishing the hum of contentment that Minho lets out at the contact. His hand travels down to Minho’s stomach, right to the waistband of his sweatpants, and back up toward the other shoulder. He’s entranced by Minho’s beauty, overtaken by the need to map out his body and preserve it in his memory forever.

Eventually, he answers, “Splendid.”

The delay makes Minho laugh, but he’s not any better, not really. He stares at Jisung like he wants to devour him. He could as well be drooling. That shamelessness deepens the flush on Jisung’s face and he has to fight his own instincts so as not to hide away behind his hands. 

Minho’s hand travels up from Jisung’s thigh to his hip. He hooks a thumb over the waistband of his shorts and asks, “Can I take them off?” 

Jisung says, “Make it quick,” and lifts his hips to help him. He wants to be free of his boxers, too, but Minho looks like he wants to take his sweet time, unwrapping him like a gift, so Jisung would be foolish to cut the show short. Once his shorts are discarded on the floor, he insists that Minho gets rid of his sweatpants, swallowing harshly when faced with the fact Minho looks like a god half-naked. It’s already hard to be normal when he’s wearing clothes—now Jisung has to also live with the fact that he has seen Minho without them, and he looks beautiful, and Jisung has never seen a person that hot and he doesn’t think he ever will? Life is torture.

It’s not just that Minho is pretty. He’s also the nicest guy under the sun, who treats Jisung with an amount of care and attention that puts everyone else to shame. He makes sure Jisung knows just how much he wants him. He kisses every inch of Jisung’s skin, from his neck to his navel, while Jisung sighs and flushes and tangles his fingers in Minho’s hair, pulling him closer, always closer. It feels like he’s being worshiped. 

By the time he takes his boxers off, Jisung is so hard it hurts. His dick is twitching against his stomach and although Minho is right there, he refuses to touch him. So much for being nice, Jisung thinks. He eats those thoughts right away when Minho leans in to kiss him, slow and passionate. 

He cradles Minho’s face in his palm, caressing his skin with his thumb. There’s a smile lingering on his lips when they pull away for air. He feels all mushy and soft inside. That, at least paired-up with this overwhelming want he’s experiencing, is a completely new sensation.

Minho curls his fingers around his wrist and pulls Jisung’s hand away from his cheek. He holds Jisung’s heavy, desire-ridden gaze as he slips two of his fingers into his mouth, tongue flicking between them, wetting them with his saliva until they’re slick. Jisung’s eyes are wide and his dick leaks precome onto his stomach as he watches him suck on the fingertips, infinitely erotic and detrimental to Jisung’s health.

“Hyung, fuck,” he whispers. “What the fuck.” He should have known it would only turn Minho into a monster—make him smirk around his fingers, make him take them out of his mouth just so that he can swipe his tongue from Jisung’s palm up to his fingertips. “Oh my god.”

Minho pulls off and laughs, that demon. “You’re so cute,” he says, leaning in to steal another kiss from Jisung’s mouth. His hand finds its way to Jisung’s dick. He rests his palm against it, just putting pressure, and smirks when Jisung gasps into his mouth. “And so hot.”

“Hyung, please,” Jisung says, fighting his own embarrassment. He’s flushed from head to toe. “I want you so much.”

Minho’s smile softens. “Alright, jagiya.” 

Jisung’s heart stutters dangerously. He swallows, unsure whether his hands are trembling and he’s having a visceral reaction because he’s so horny, or because Minho called him by a pet name. Probably both.

Sitting back against his calves, Minho grabs a pillow and puts it under Jisung’s hips. “Comfortable?” he asks, and when Jisung nods, he finally takes the bottle of lube and pours a generous amount of it onto his fingers.

Jisung holds his breath. Minho, situated on his knees between Jisung’s parted legs, gives his thigh an encouraging squeeze and presses two of his lubed-up fingers against his hole. He doesn’t slide them in, just begins to slowly massage his rim. His eyes are flickering between Jisung’s face and his ass, watching his every reaction, taking in the mess he has turned him into so easily.

Jisung wants him already—wants Minho to fuck him until all Jisung can think about is him. Which, considering that he’s unable to stop dreaming about him every minute of the day, won’t be that hard. 

He opens his mouth to tell him to hurry, but Minho’s hands work faster than his tongue. He finally pushes one finger inside, knuckle by knuckle, mind-numbingly slow. Jisung bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from gasping.

“All good?” 

“I’m not going to break,” Jisung tells him, a bit amused, a lot endeared.

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop being careful,” Minho says, but he does proceed to add the second finger. He starts stretching Jisung well, slowly fucking into him, brushing against his prostate just enough to make breathing steadily a challenge.

With the third finger inside, Jisung tosses his head back against the mattress, a moan in the shape of Minho’s name leaving his mouth. He lifts his hips higher, chasing Minho’s fingers, desperate to come even though he knows Minho won’t let him just yet. 

“You’re so pretty,” Minho says. His eyes are glazed-over like he’s the one on the verge of an orgasm. Like he’s the one being skillyfully fucked into oblivion with nothing but fingers. “And you sound pretty, too.”

“Shut up,” Jisung whines, covering his face with his hands. Minho immediately clicks his tongue in disapproval and reaches out to pull them away and make him stop hiding.

He seems to love just how much Jisung blushes under his attention; knows just how much power he holds over him. It’s infuriating. 

A moan rips out of Jisung’s throat when Minho attacks his prostate again. His hands clench around the sheets, eyelids slipping shut, orgasm so close he can practically taste it on his tongue.

Of course, Minho expertly chooses that moment to pull his fingers out.

Jisung groans, narrowing his eyes at him. “I genuinely hate you so much, you have no idea.”

Minho smiles, obviously very satisfied with his cruel actions, and props himself up on his clean hand to peck Jisung’s mouth. “I do know, jagiya. I really do know,” he says, barely containing his laughter.

And there it is again, that honey-sweet jagiya, a word powerful enough to get Jisung’s heart rate to pick up its pace again when it has just begun to slow down and stabilize. That couldn’t have been Minho’s intention when he put a pause on fingering him, but it’s not like Jisung wants him to stop. That’s really the last thing he wants. He’s going to bask in it for as long as he’s allowed to.

Although he’s supposed to be taking a moment to breathe, Jisung doesn’t intend to let Minho have one of his own. He sits up, maneuvering Minho, pushing him down onto the mattress, making him sit back against the headboard. 

He goes easily, pliant in Jisung’s hands. His chest is heaving, he’s breathing heavily, but a smile is still planted on his mouth, growing when his eyes lock with Jisung’s. He reaches out to pull him closer by the shoulders, slotting their mouths together in a languid kiss, seemingly insatiable when it comes to the taste of Jisung’s lips.

“Can I touch you?” Jisung asks when they pull apart, his hand on Minho’s thigh, thumb stroking the firm muscle meneath, his soft skin, which he really wants to kiss. Or bite into. Both. 

Minho licks his lips and says, “You can do anything.”

“That’s a lot of power,” Jisung says with a smirk, though he’s sure he won’t use a majority of that power tonight. Is it foolish of him to hope that maybe there will be another time? Because he’s really, really hoping that’s the case. 

“I trust you,” Minho tells him—and takes him by surprise with how earnest he sounds. “Just touch me already.”

On his knees between Minho’s legs, Jisung grabs the waistband of Minho’s boxers, annoyed that they’re still on, and makes him shuffle them off, swallowing harshly when his cock finally springs free. It’s big, but Jisung could tell that before; it’s also hard, and the truth is, he must have gotten this worked-up from fucking Jisung open with his fingers, which is, hands-down, of the hottest things to have ever happened in his life.

He wastes no time wrapping his hand around the base of Minho’s cock, grinning with satisfaction when a sharp inhale escapes his throat. He jerks Minho off, stroking him up and down at a slow, steady pace. 

Minho tips his head back against the wall, but he keeps staring at Jisung through half-lidded eyes, quiet gasps leaving his parted mouth each time Jisung’s hand comes up to thumb at the slit, swiping away every drop of precome.

Jisung leans in to kiss him, swallowing up a particularly loud moan right out of Minho’s mouth. It turns him on more than it should, hearing all the noises Minho makes because of him. For him. It’s not helping when his own cock is still hard, and it gets even worse when he moves down onto the mattress, propping himself up on his elbows, because he has to stop himself from rutting against the sheets like a crazy person and instead focus on sucking Minho off. 

Minho tangles his fingers in his hair when Jisung finally takes his cock into his mouth, lips closed around the head. Jisung sucks, his tongue circling around the tip while his hand is twisting around the base. He strains to look into Minho’s eyes, but he’s desperate to keep the eye contact, to have Minho watching him, to see the pleasure build in his gaze and cloud his expression. 

Jisung licks a stripe up the underside of Minho’s cock, from the base to the head, swallowing it up when he comes up, relishing the way Minho’s breath hitches.

“Ah, I—” he trails off, voice higher than usual as Jisung hollows his cheeks and sucks. His head lolls to the side and he smiles while watching—it looks almost dreamy, way too soft for a casual intercourse with a guy he met last week. He whispers, “God, Jisung.”

Jisung’s cock throbs against the mattress at the sound of his own name coming out of Minho’s mouth. He wants to touch himself—for Minho to touch him; he just wants to come already. But at the same time, he wants to prolong this moment—make it last, engrave it in his memory in case it never happens again. He’s hoping it will, but—

You never know. 

He pulls off Minho’s cock to catch his breath, starting to stroke it slowly again and taking this chance to press a kiss against the inner side of Minho’s right thigh. Minho chuckles at the touch, running his fingers through Jisung’s hair and turning it into a bigger mess than it already is. 

“Stop being cute,” he says. 

“I can’t help it,” Jisung tells him just before kissing his other thigh, this time grazing the skin with his teeth too. Just to tease. “I was born this way.” 

Minho rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling, so Jisung takes no offense. “You can give me a hickey,” he says through a hiss when Jisung swipes his thumb over the cock of his head again. “I know you want to.” 

Jisung looks up at him with wonder. He can’t see himself, but he’s pretty sure his eyes are wide as saucers and bright, glimmering from excitement. “Yes,” he breathes out. “Yes, I want to.”

It makes Minho laugh breathlessly. But then he’s moaning, whimpering Jisung’s name when Jisung attaches his mouth to his thigh and sucks in a bruise, swipes his tongue over it, kisses it better.

He pulls away to look at the mark, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. There’s nothing Jisung wants more than to bruise him up all over, leave a trace of himself on Minho’s skin, a reminder of this night for his eyes only.

He holds that thought, though, and returns his attention to Minho’s cock, flicking his wrist on every downstroke. When he leans in to take it into his mouth again—he’s just getting started, after all—Minho puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “I think this is enough.”

He looks like a mess, if Jisung has got to be honest. Incredibly hot, but a mess nonetheless. His whole body is flushed—from his ears to his chest, his skin is red and warm, a trickle of sweat running down his temple. He’s breathing heavily, clutching Jisung’s hair and the sheets, and he really looks like he’s about to combust.

Jisung grins. “Hm. I wanted to push you a little more.”

“Maybe some other time, if you still want me to be fully-functioning tonight,” Minho says, all casual, all oblivious to the storm the words some other time brew inside of Jisung, to the way they make his thunder.

“I—Yeah,” Jisung whispers eloquently.

He pushes himself up onto his knees and manages to somehow exchange positions with Minho even though every muscle in his body trembles, either from intense excitement, or because they’re all protesting the movement. Probably both.

After Jisung fixes the pillow under his hips, Minho kneels between his parted legs and gives his thigh a tender pat. His hand lingers, the touch enough to add fuel to the fire in Jisung’s groin. It has been fun, it really has, but he’s so horny he’s losing his mind. All he needs now is for Minho to just fuck him.

Minho reaches for the box of condoms, but Jisung beats him to it. “Let me,” he says, taking one out and swiftly ripping the foil open. He rolls the condom onto Minho’s cock, savoring his harsh intake of air, grinning to himself, thinking, Finally. 

Although Minho looks like he’s also doing everything to hold back, Jisung doesn’t have much mercy. He strokes him with a lubed-up hand, cranes his neck up to kiss him, and smiles against his mouth, mischievous and happy at the same time.

He lies down and wraps his legs around Minho’s hips, digging his heels into his back to pull him closer. A smirk graces Minho’s face, like he’s saying, Eager much, huh? and he looks so hot, Jisung genuinely doesn’t know how he has managed to hold himself together until now with this gorgeous man making him feel like he’s walking on clouds right in front of him. 

Minho, holding his cock by the base, lines up at Jisung’s rim. “Good to go?” he asks.

Jisung nods in response, practically shaking with the need to feel him inside already. He holds his breath while Minho slowly pushes inside inch by inch, stretching him in that incredible way that lets Jisung know he’s going to feel him for days.

“Oh, hyung,” he whispers, feeling breathless, squeezing Minho’s hips between his thighs.

Minho still and lets his head roll forward for a moment. “I know,” he says, looking up and locking eyes with Jisung. He grips his hips a little tighter. “You feel so good.”

It’s impossible that anything could ever feel better than this, Jisung thinks, but then Minho pulls back, only leaving the head of his cock inside, and bottoms out again, and Jisung’s insides melt from the overwhelming pleasure. Minho finds a good rhythm easily, fucking Jisung slowly but with passion, like he, too, is desperate to make it last. 

He leans in at one point, holding himself up on his arms with an amount of strength that makes the blaze in Jisung’s groin go wild, and swoops in to steal a kiss off Jisung’s waiting mouth. 

It’s intimate, being face-to-face with him, seeing his glazed-over eyes up close, seeing just how much Minho wants him reflected in them. Jisung is overtaken by the urge to hide away, but he doesn’t. He slings an arm around Minho’s neck to have him closer and holds his gaze even though its weight makes his heart beat at a speed that should probably land him in a cardiologist’s office.

Jisung is so gone for him, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He whispers Minho’s name just before craning his neck and capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, licking into his mouth, just wanting to taste him on his tongue. Minho continues fucking into him, each thrust unhurried and deliberate, driving him crazy. The measured rhythm is more intense than the roughest fucks Jisung has ever had. His jaw goes slack.

“So good. I—Ah, feel so good,” he keeps babbling. “Hyung. Fuck, hyung.” 

The pleasure is rewiring him from the inside out. He’s falling to pieces, turned-on and needy like never before in his life, and each time Minho whimpers his name or curses under his breath, Jisung finds himself getting closer to the precipice. He’s so close his muscles are slowly starting to tense up.

Minho rests his forehead against his, and they try to kiss, but it’s all too much, and they end up just breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. 

“Jisung, I’m close,” Minho pants out, letting out a loud moan when Jisung rakes his nails down his back. “Shit—”

He thrusts in harder than before, and reaches down between their bodies, but before Minho can even wrap a hand around him, Jisung comes all over his stomach. He doesn't have the chance to feel embarrassed about it because he just feels so good, and the pleasure travels through his entire system, putting his muscles and mind at ease. Minho fucks him through it, spilling into the condom just moments later, Jisung’s name escaping his throat over a breathless moan. The sound of it alone makes Jisung’s cock twitch again.

While trying to catch his breath, Jisung reaches out and pushes Minho’s hair away from his sweaty forehead, cradling his head, undoubtedly looking overly fond of him. Minho catches his gaze and sends him a dizzy smile. He unwinds Jisung’s legs from around his hips but keeps one hand on his thigh as he carefully pulls his cock out. 

Jisung bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from whining. He’s not prepared for the overwhelming feeling of emptiness that takes over him the moment Minho moves away, even if it’s only to toss the used condom into trash. He’s back when Jisung blinks again, crouching next to the bed, so Jisung pushes himself up onto his elbow to be eye-to-eye with him.

They regard one another for a silent moment, taking in each other’s swollen lips and flushed faces, and both break into matching grins. Jisung’s heart skips a beat or two at the sight. The connotations.

“I’ll go grab some tissues,” Minho says eventually. “Be right back, alright?”

It’s not that Jisung has been rendered immobile—he could get up and clean himself up on his own no problem—but his mind is all floaty as if he’s had a few glasses of wine, and the idea of Minho taking care of him like this makes his stomach feel funny, too. 

He nods. It’s good. Jisung needs a pause to restart his heart, anyway, and he’s not sure if his attempts would be successful with Minho in the same room. Right next to him. He’s the reason behind Jisung’s emotional disarray on a regular day these days; now, right after they have just had sex, when Jisung feels all mushy and vulnerable, Minho being his usual handsome and caring self only magnifies the strength of everything Jisung feels for him and adds to his inner turmoil. 

He has to stifle laughter when Minho’s knees crack as he pushes himself up into a standing position, schooling his expression and pursing his mouth when Minho glares at him half-heartedly. Jisung pats his butt when he turns around and watches him gather his boxers off the floor and pull them on. 

His stomach flips when he catches a glimpse of the hickey he’d left on Minho’s thigh, leaving him with the hollow need to do it all over again. He wants Minho so much. He wants to mark him up and cheesily tell him, You’re mine, and he wants Minho to bite into his neck and call him his in that hoarse, fucked-out voice, and love him all tender and sweet over and over again.

Jisung falls against the sheets with a sigh. He feels a bit pathetic and a lot emotionally spent, yearning for Minho like that, wanting him like he has never wanted anyone before in his life. 

He’s so deep in his thoughts the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs completely escapes him. It’s not until Minho shows up in the doorway that he shakes himself out of the stupor.

He sits up as Minho climbs onto the mattress, but he’s not allowed to even touch the pack of wet wipes. Minho handles them himself—he takes one out and without as much as a word starts wiping the cum off Jisung’s stomach. He uses another one for good measure, and then cleans his dick, too. It feels nice and embarrassing at the same time.

When he reaches for another tissue to wipe the lube off Jisung’s ass, though, Jisung says, “I can do it myself.”

“Right, sorry,” Minho says, the tips of his ears instantly reddening. 

Once Jisung is done and has deposited all the dirty tissues into the trash bin by the wall, he grabs a clean pair of underwear from his bag and tugs them on, watching Minho fiddle with his fingers out of the corner of his eye. 

He makes the effort to sound casual when he asks, “Do you want to stay for the night?” even though inside, he feels all the tired muscles in his body become taut again. 

But there’s nothing to be nervous about when Minho smiles and tells him, “Of course.” 

Jisung relaxes, exhaling a quiet breath of relief while Minho gets up to flip the duvet over so that they can lie down on the clean side. He joins him on the bed a moment later, melting when Minho opens his arms for Jisung to fall into. He rests his cheek on Minho’s shoulder and throws one leg over his hips, enjoying the warmth of his bare skin even though his own still feels like it’s on fire.

“Jisung-ah,” Minho starts quietly and then pauses, waiting for Jisung to hum and let him know he’s listening to continue. “Did you . . . Was it alright for you?”

Jisung cranes his neck to look up at him, surprised at the question. Minho’s gaze skitters away when their eyes lock, and he appears so uncharacteristically shy and so characteristically adorable that Jisung can’t help the smile breaking on his face.

“Hyung,” he says softly, caressing Minho’s chest with his palm, “you’re the best in the entire world.”

Minho clears his throat, but his attempt at staying casual to Jisung’s earnest confession is futile. His mouth twists into an involuntary grin no matter how much he tries to school his expression into indifference. “Well, uhm, that’s—that’s great,” he says. “You’re the best, too.”

“In the entire world?” Jisung asks, just to be a little shit. He might be trying to embarrass Minho some more—he doesn’t get many chances to do that, after all—but he’s actually looking forward to the answer.

Minho hums, thoughtful, and then slowly, he corrects, “In the entire universe.”

Well, Jisung thinks, heart racing again, that backfired.

“Alright, you’ve gone too far,” he says. “I’m going to need five years to emotionally recuperate from that.”

Minho laughs, and tightens his hold around Jisung, trying to pull him closer although he’s already pressed against him skin-to-skin. There’s no getting closer than this. 

“You can just believe it and accept it,” he says. What’s worse, he actually does sound sincere. Maybe there’s a chance his feelings mirror Jisung’s; maybe he actually does think sex with him is the best he’s ever had, and it’s not just some kind of joke.

The thought alone is enough to make blood rush to Jisung’s head. 

Slowly, the adrenaline begins to wear off and the exhaustion catches up to him. He closes his eyes for just a moment, but that moment is enough to make him start falling into the sweet arms of sleep. 

Jisung lets out a soft sigh and detaches himself from Minho to roll onto his other side. At the noise of confusion coming out of Minho’s throat, he blindly reaches backwards and grabs his arm, wrapping it around his own waist. 

“Spoon me?” he asks drowsily.

Minho wastes no time moving onto his side and curling behind him, pulling him close, until Jisung’s back is pressed snugly against his chest, his nose against Jisung’s nape. Their legs are tangled together. It should be uncomfortable to sleep like this in the middle of a hot summer night, but clearly, the need to be close beats everything else.

“Goodnight,” Jisung whispers into the night. 

He can practically feel Minho’s smile against his own skin when he says, “Sleep well, jagiya.” 

⊹

The space next to Jisung is empty when he wakes up, and although Jisung’s mind is all fuzzy around the edges, still half-asleep, the other side of the bed is still warm, and he knows one thing for sure. There should be a person sleeping beside him right now. 

His stomach swoops, in a bad way. Jisung pushes himself up into a sitting position and looks around the attic, trying desperately not to lose his cool. Minho wouldn’t be cruel enough to sneak out, right? He wouldn’t leave Jisung all vulnerable and alone in the middle of the night like that, even if last night didn’t mean anything to him.

Before he has the chance to freak himself out, the door creaks open and, thankfully, Minho steps inside. 

He startles when their eyes meet. “You’re awake,” he says, like he’s surprised. And then, finally, he offers Jisung a smile and comes to the bed. “Sorry. You looked deep asleep, so I didn’t think you’d wake if I ran to the bathroom.”

Jisung’s pulse calms down with the explanation. Minho didn’t leave him alone. Minho doesn’t look like he regrets what happened the night before, if his fond expression and the way he regards Jisung with is anything to go by.

“It’s fine,” Jisung tells him, stretching his arms over his head, letting his muscles wake up from a good night’s sleep. A smile spreads across his mouth when Minho climbs onto the mattress to join him.

He’s dressed in a T-shirt, as opposed to how he’d fallen asleep the night before (a pity, really, Jisung misses the sight of his chest). Every bit of sleep is washed away from his face, and when he leans in to peck Jisung on the mouth, it becomes clear he also took care of his morning breath. 

Jisung whines, turning away. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I don’t care,” Minho says, smiling, but he takes Jisung’s protest to heart and doesn’t try to kiss him again. Instead, he brings a hand up to his hair and runs his fingers through the mess it has become over the night, smoothing it down and making him look a bit more presentable.

Jisung watches him, his chest on the verge of bursting with the amount of affection he’s storing and keeping safe, locked in his ribcage.

“Do you wanna go to town today?” Minho asks.

“And do what?”

He shrugs. “Get ice-cream. Walk around. Just go somewhere.”

And Jisung reads between the lines. Be alone. It’s not like they can’t be alone here—they have spent hours separated from Jeongin and Minju at the lake, in the living room, or on the patio, after all—but there’s a difference between being on the other side of the wall or in the house while someone else is on the dock, and being in the town a few kilometers away.

“Then I want to go,” Jisung says. “Can we do it later, though? I want to take a shower and, honestly, it’s a bit too early for me to move.”

Minho laughs. “Sure. I might go for a walk around the lake, but if you’re not up for that yet, I’ll just go alone.”

For a split second, Jisung debates whether he’s insane enough to actually tag along with Minho precisely because it’s Minho who’s asking, but decides against it. They’ll spend the whole afternoon together; he doesn’t have to run to the forest after him.

“Are Minju and Jeongin awake?” he asks.

“Jeongin is eating breakfast downstairs,” Minho says. His fingers are still carding through Jisung’s hair, and it feels so nice, Jisung wants to curl up with his head in Minho’s lap and be caressed by his gentle hands. “Minju is still asleep. He said they came back around two yesterday.”

Jisung smiles sheepishly. “So they didn’t hear us.”

“Definitely not.” 

That’s a relief. Jisung isn’t too keen on bringing anyone he hooks up with home so as not to accidentally ruin Jeongin’s life, but he thinks the scarring would be even worse if the person he heard Jisung with was his brother. He would never let Jisung live it down.

When Minho eventually retracts his hand from his hair, with nothing holding him in place, Jisung gets moving. He forces himself to get off the bed no matter how much his body begs him to keep lazing around and says, “I’m gonna go take that shower.”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” Minho tells him, a lazy smile spread on his lips. Jisung is about to retort with something that bites, except Minho adds, “I want to kiss you properly,” and it kind of has him tripping over his thoughts.

“I—uh, I will,” Jisung stammers. “I take dental hygiene very seriously, hyung.”

“I’m glad,” Minho says through delighted laughter. If he wasn’t so cute, Jisung would have already kicked his ass. Ugh. 

He walks over to his bag and rummages through it in search of a T-shirt that’s good enough for a semi-date with Minho in the town and a pair of ripped denim shorts that makes his ass look great. Then, he grabs his towel off the radiator and, casting one last look at Minho, who’s been attentively watching him all this time, walks out, and makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

In the shower, it seems that even the soothing stream of warm water and liters of body wash aren’t enough to wipe out the invisible mark Minho made on his body the night before. Jisung’s skin burns with the phantom touch. He has never experienced anything like this after sleeping with someone, this thought in the back of his mind, the feeling that he’s ruined for everyone else. Or, rather, everyone else is ruined for him. 

It scares him.

He knew that his feelings for Minho were real, but now, they feel cemented. Like he’s not going to be able to just return to Seoul and leave them behind. Shake them off like they meant nothing. It terrifies him, no matter how much he tries to reassure and convince himself that there’s a chance Minho reciprocates it all—even if just a bit.

When he comes back to his room, a towel stretched across his shoulders to absorb the stray droplets of water cascading off his damp hair, Minho is already gone, off on his walk. When Jisung grabs his phone, though, he finds a message from him. I’ll be back soon is all it says, but it’s enough to make warmth spread in his chest. 

Jisung heads downstairs. He finds Jeongin sprawled across the sofa in the living room, still alone, and joins him after pouring himself a mug of coffee. (He notes that the drinks he and Minho abandoned the night before are long gone, the counter devoid of any traces of them.) When he kicks his feet up into his lap, Jeongin pretends to be annoyed with him, but nonetheless gives up on trying to make him move without a fight.

“How were the fireworks yesterday?” 

“Actually cooler than I thought they would,” Jeongin says. “I didn’t know they could make them into so many shapes.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” Jisung asks, a slight pout on his mouth. “I thought they would just be regular fireworks.”

“Smiley faces. Flowers. Cats.”

“Oh,” Jisung says. “Minho hyung would like that.”

Although he freezes momentarily, wondering if he’s not being too obvious, pointing out Minho’s affinity for cats, Jeongin doesn’t find the comment suspicious at all and lets out a hum of agreement.

“You two should regret not going with us,” he says. 

Although Jisung thinks seeing the firework show would have been fun, his thoughts escape to the events of the night before, and he can’t find it in himself to wish for something else. He’s glad he and Minho stayed. He’s happy they had sex, and he wouldn’t exchange that for anything. Even cats made of colorful sparkles.

He stays there, watching videos from the show on Jeongin’s phone until Minho comes back from his walk. Seeing the two of them on the sofa, he comes closer instead of venturing anywhere further into the house, and puts his hands on the back of it, swiftly stealing Jisung’s attention away with his arrival.

Jisung saw Minho not even two hours ago. He sees him all the time, actually, since they have been practically bound to the same house for the past two weeks, so there is no reason for him to lose it whenever he lies eyes on him. And yet. He hears the jump in his heartbeat in his ears, loud and clear, before it settles down into a faster than normal, but still steady, pace. 

“Ready?” Minho asks, smiling down at Jisung, apparently amused that now he’s got his head in Jeongin’s lap.

Before Jisung can even open his mouth to answer, though, Jeongin butts in and asks, “Ready for what?”

“I’m taking Jisung to the town,” Minho says easily, while Jisung’s heart skips a bit with nervousness. “Invitation is not extended, so don’t even beg.”

Jeongin pulls a face. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Wanting to avoid him suddenly finding it curious that the two of them spend so much time together, Jisung gets off the couch without lingering. He makes sure he has his phone and his wallet on him, and then tells Minho, “I’m ready, hyung.”  

“Bring back some snacks!” Jeongin calls out after them when they move to the entryway to put on their shoes. They share a look of fond exasperation and step out of the house without another word. 

The weather is nice—it’s less scorching hot than Jisung thought it would be when he looked out the window earlier, so he’s relieved. Minho cranks up the air conditioning in the car, too, so when they pull out of the driveway, the summer heat is the last of his worries.

He makes himself comfortable for the duration of the drive, tipping his head back against the headrest as another good playlist—this time a more upbeat and summer-like one—begins flowing through the speakers. He watches Minho drive, shamelessly ogling his toned arms and the side of his face, imagining a future in which this place—the passenger seat of Minho’s car—is rightfully his. 

He can’t rid himself of this feeling—this need for something more—since the moment he realized just that he liked Minho at all. It hasn’t gotten any better since they slept together, now that he knows just how deep his affection for him runs.

They don’t talk about what the night before means, not really, but despite that, Jisung doesn’t feel anxious, or like what happened is being dismissed and swept under the rug, left to be forgotten.

He wants more, but he doesn’t want it to be too much too fast. And . . . 

Well. He doesn’t want to get burned, either. 

He startles when Minho’s hand finds home on his bare thigh. He glances to the side and meets Minho’s gaze—soft and mildly concerned—before he returns it to the road stretching in front of them. 

“Everything alright?”

Jisung hums. “Yeah. Just tired.” 

“We’re almost there,” Minho says, fingers slipping under the fabric of Jisung’s shorts. Inching higher, always higher. Jisung swallows harshly. “I have a blanket in the trunk. We can go to the park and lie down. You can rest.” 

“That sounds nice,” Jisung says, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a smile. That sounds like a date, his mind supplies unhelpfully. Sue him for being romantic. 

They leave the car in the lot next to the gate to the park, but before heading there, they make their way over to the other side of the road to buy ice-cream. While waiting in line behind a group of kids at the booth, Jisung is looking around, taking the place in. It’s a quiet town, not too many cars, not too many tourists, but picturesque against the mountainous backdrop. 

“You didn’t bring sunglasses?” 

He turns back around to Minho and blinks away the spots dancing in front of him from looking at the sun. It’s possible Minho noticed him squinting.

“I didn’t think of bringing them,” he says, slightly embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal, though. I don’t really need them.” 

Despite that, Minho unhooks his own semi-rimless sunglasses from where they’ve been tucked into the collar of his T-shirt and hands them over. Jisung is taken aback for a split second, and then grows amused. 

A part of him wants to take the sunglasses just to have something of Minho’s, even for one afternoon, but he’s too much of an overthinker to risk feeling foolish about it later, so he says, “It’s really fine, hyung. But thank you.” 

Minho pauses, and slowly tucks the glasses back against his shirt. “Suit yourself,” he says, feigning an exasperated tone. All it takes is for Jisung to nudge him in the side and he’s smiling again, though, so the effect falls flat. 

When it’s finally their turn to order their ice-cream, Jisung gets mango and vanilla, and Minho asks for chocolate and mint-choco. Having sneakily prepared for it beforehand, Jisung uses his card to pay for both of them before Minho can even try to beat him to it. When Minho gives him a look, he just smiles, way too satisfied for such a mundane thing.

“Don’t sulk,” he says, gently nudging Minho with his elbow as they cross the road again and direct their footsteps toward the park. “You can buy me some snacks later.”

“I’m not sulking,” Minho insists, licking at the mint-choco flavor of his ice-cream. He tries to keep a straight face, but the moment Jisung laughs to himself, he joins him right away. 

They walk around the park, falling into an easy conversation about how much more unbearable the heat will be once they return to Seoul, which then turns into Jisung complaining about all the things he needs to do before his next semester starts. He kind of wishes Minho would butt in and say, But you’ll find the time to see me, right? but Minho doesn’t. He just listens with rapt attention.

Jisung agonizes over how much he wants to take Minho’s hand. Walk around like all those couples do, their fingers laced and hands swinging between them. They find a perfect spot to spread their blanket on the grass in the shade of a giant tree before he can make up his mind and just go for it, so he’s left dreaming about what could have been. 

Minho sits cross-legged to the side of him while Jisung leans back against the trunk of the tree, and for a moment they focus on quietly finishing their ice-cream cones to prevent the treats from melting and staining their hands with sugar. 

The summer heat must be getting to Jisung’s head, because there’s no other explanation for the embarrassingly foolish idea that pops into his mind the next time he notices Minho sneaking glances at him. He doesn’t actively make an effort to be sexy or sensual around him, not really. He’s pretty sure Minho is into him the most when he’s not trying at all, like that one time he caught him staring when he was just pouring himself water from the jug in the kitchen. But, still—he can’t quite help himself once the thought appears.

He catches the melting vanilla ice-cream trickling down the cone with his tongue and licks it up from the bottom to the top. Just as he comes up, he looks at Minho from beneath his eyelashes. Just as expected, Minho catches his gaze. He seems taken aback for a moment before he eventually clears his throat and looks away. 

Jisung grins to himself, smug even though he knows he’s going to look back at this and feel immensely embarrassed. But right now, he shamelessly revels in the sight of Minho’s flushed neck and ears. He likes teasing Minho just as much as Minho loves teasing him. It’s not often that he manages to visibly fluster him, either, so whenever it does happen, Jisung takes his time enjoying it. Stares and stares. 

They spend the entire afternoon in the park. At some point, Minho rests his head in Jisung’s lap and not only doesn’t protest when Jisung starts carding his fingers through his hair, but seems to actually enjoy it. His eyes are closed, his expression serene, and if he didn’t ask questions while Jisung talks about the legends and myths associated with the moon, Jisung would think he was asleep.

When the sun has already set, they drive to the convenience store to stock up on meat, instant ramen, and snacks to last them for the remaining days of their stay. There’s no one outside, the street almost eerily quiet, and the convenience store lights barely illuminate the spot where the car is parked.

Jisung is leaning against the side of the car, downing the remainder of Sprite from the can, waiting for Minho to come back with another one for the road. His gaze is fixed on the store’s front door, so the moment Minho steps out and finds him, their eyes meet. Minho pauses in his step for a brief second, like he’s taking the sight in, sighs, and smiles tenderly.

Jisung doesn’t expect that when Minho comes closer, he’s also going to crowd him against the car and kiss him until Jisung can’t think anymore. The kiss isn’t long enough for Jisung to get a proper taste of him, but the flavor of the cherry lollipop Minho ate before lingers on his mouth long after Minho pulls away. He stays stunned, hands hovering uselessly in the air until Minho presses the ice-cold soda can against one of them.

The condensation wakes his body up, but his mind remains a mess, impossible to make sense of, hidden behind a dreamy, kiss-induced haze. 

Jisung looks up at him, conflicted as to what this spontaneity means in the first place, but Minho just gives his waist a squeeze and steps back. His eyes seem to search Jisung’s face for answers, too, so although he feels unbalanced, Jisung nods.

It’s alright, he wants to say. It’s alright, so you can do it again. His tongue betrays him, the fear of what might happen tying it into knots, not allowing him to speak.

Minho smiles as if he can actually hear it. He stares for a moment longer, leaving Jisung’s entire face to burn under his gaze, before finally asking, “Should we get going?” 

⊹

When Minho comes into Jisung’s room and asks if he wants to go swimming the next afternoon, Jisung lifts his eyes from the screen of his phone and raises his eyebrows incredulously.

“You hate the water,” he says. “You don’t even know how to swim.”

“Yeah. But I thought that maybe if I saw you shirtless, it would be a more pleasurable experience,” he says cheekily, grinning when Jisung’s jaw goes slack with embarrassment mixed with disbelief. And then— “It’s so hot, and I want to go, but I want someone to be there in case I start drowning.”

Jisung softens, but he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t tease Minho, if only just a little.

“Aha,” he starts. “So you’re asking because you just want me to be your lifeguard, and not because I make for a pleasant company and have an incredible body. Understood. I’m not upset at all.”

Minho peels himself off the wall where he’s been leaning against it and joins Jisung on the bed, swinging one leg over his thighs and holding himself up on his palms on both sides of Jisung’s head. He hovers above him, looking all amused and beautiful, and Jisung finds it exceptionally hard not to wrap his legs around his hips and pull him down.

“I love your company,” Minho says, then, his eyes gentle and earnest. The softness lingers in his expression for a moment longer before his mouth twists into a small smirk and he adds, “And I love your body.” 

Jisung rolls his eyes, but his heart does a somersault against his will, anyway.

“I guess I can play your sexy lifeguard, then,” he says, but neither he, nor Minho, make the move to get up.

He tentatively lifts a hand to Minho’s neck, slowly caressing his jaw with his thumb. If he could—if it wasn’t so utterly embarrassing—he would spend hours just looking at Minho, memorizing every inch of his body, each birthmark and scar, dip and curve. He would kiss his entire face and tell him just how beautiful he is, have him squirm away, completely flustered.

He lacks the confidence, doesn’t know how to just take what he wants when it comes to Minho. And he wants so much. 

⊹

They laze around on floaties for what feels like hours, splashing water over each other when either of them complains about being too hot, until Jisung leans too far to the side and falls over into the lake. Although he didn’t mean to do it, he doesn’t have enough energy or will to climb back onto the floatie, so he stays in the water.

He coaxes Minho in, too, tells him, “It’s so much cooler in here, hyung,” and it sure is, but Jisung also just wants to wrap his arms around him and he can’t do that when Minho is sprawled across the watermelon floatie. 

They’re close to the shore, the water level can barely reach the middle of their rib cages, so the way Jisung holds Minho is—for the most part—nothing more than an excuse. Minho smiles, slinging his arms around Jisung’s neck, tipping his head back just enough to look at his face. 

“You’ve got an eyelash on your cheek,” he says, but when Jisung reaches out to swipe it off, he takes a hold of his wrist. “Make a wish first.” 

Jisung blinks. His heart thumps in his chest, loud and full of desire for things that he can almost graze with his fingertips, and he thinks, Want me back. Want me like I want you. Instead of wiping the eyelash off himself, he lets Minho cradle the side of his face and do it for him. 

“What’d you wish for?” 

Jisung says, “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true,” but he hopes that Minho can feel it—that he can tell from where they’re pressed against one another, that these days, all Jisung truly wants is him. 

To get the point across, he flattens his palm against Minho’s lower back and pulls him closer—kisses him on the mouth, slow and full of emotion. Can Minho tell just how much he needs him to be the one to take the first step? Jisung hopes this is clear enough, because he’s not sure how he’s supposed to go back to his own life where he can’t hang out with Minho and poke fun at him and steal kisses from him on a whim. His stomach twists at the realization that he has managed to get used to the shape and feel of Minho’s lips against his own over the span of four days; that he’s not sure if he wants to kiss anyone else now.

He pulls away when his chest starts to feel tight, but he can’t really stop himself from pecking Minho’s mouth just one more time. And then, like a mature adult that he is, he deflects and runs away, choosing to splash water right into Minho’s face. His own, too, by proximity, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Do you want to die?” Minho calls out just as Jisung throws himself into a swim. He knows Minho won’t follow him too far out into the lake, and that’s not something he wants, so he just escapes out of his reach and looks back.

Minho looks unreasonably cute when he’s squinting and scrunching his nose because water has gotten into his eyes. It’s detrimental to Jisung’s health, his cuteness. Its effect on his heart is something he doesn’t know how to recover from. 

He’s a bit stunned as he watches Minho approach him with revenge written all over his face. He doesn’t want to run from him, not really, but he’s sure Minho will have more fun if Jisung puts up a fight instead of letting himself get caught right away, so he gives it a try, running through the water, laughing out loud.

As Minho starts to chase him, his murderous expression softens. By the time he circles his arms around Jisung’s waist from behind, he’s grinning from ear to ear. Jisung can feel the laughter echo through him where his back is pressed against Minho’s chest, can feel his heart as it beats, strong and rapid.

“Do you want me to dunk you?”

“That depends,” Jisung says, breathing heavily. “Are you going to give me mouth-to-mouth if I drown?” 

Minho laughs. His hold around Jisung loosens, but he doesn’t pull away. He rests his cheek against Jisung’s shoulder and takes a deep breath. 

“Your hair smells nice,” he says. “Like coconut.”

“Weird that it doesn’t stink of the lake,” Jisung jokes, resisting the urge to lean back against Minho and melt in his arms. 

Minho hums and says, “I like it when you smell like the lake, too.”

Jisung stammers. He wonders if Minho is even aware of the weight his words hold. Of the effect they have on Jisung and his foolish, desperate heart.

“Thank you?” he says, sounding even more unsure than he feels.

Minho just laughs, sweet and melodious. “You’re welcome.”

A shiver runs down Jisung’s spine when he presses a barely perceptible kiss to the back of his neck. Unfortunately, that’s also when Minho pulls away completely, taking his hands off Jisung’s hips and putting enough distance between them for Jisung’s lovesick brain to start screaming, No! That’s too far! Come back! Closer! Get closer! Fortunately, he moves back in time to avoid Jeongin seeing them embraced.

He appears on the dock out of nowhere with a giant pink inflatable mattress, startling them both into slight awkwardness. While Jisung decides to climb back onto his floatie and avoid looking in his direction, Minho asks him, “Where’d you lose your better half?”

“She’s napping,” Jeongin says with a sigh. “Kicked me out because she wanted peace.”

“Ha,” Minho grins. “Smart girl.”

Jisung snickers.

Jeongin doesn’t even bother to bicker with Minho about it. Without another word, he grabs the mattress floatie and tosses it out onto the surface of the lake. When he climbs onto it, he accidentally splashes Jisung in the face. He doesn’t even say sorry, that bastard, but Jisung doesn’t have it in himself to retaliate because his attention slips away to more important matters, like Minho throwing his head back with laughter.

Jisung wants nothing more than to hide his face in the crook of his neck. Breathe him in. Kiss the column of his throat. Feel his pulse skitter at every touch. But he can’t—not with Jeongin around. Jisung loves the guy, he really does, but he wishes he could read the room a bit. He seems completely oblivious to the looks Minho and Jisung give each other behind his back, the tension between them, and Jisung isn’t sure if he should laugh or thank the universe. 

Since it’s one of their last days at the lake, they go all out with dinner. Minho puts meat on the grill while the rest of them are tasked with throwing together a few side dishes, and they spend the evening on the patio with crickets chirping and the lake shimmering with moonlight.

Minho isn’t even sneaky when he gives Jisung the biggest slice of meat or when he transfers a bit of the cucumber salad to his plate from his own, but neither Minju nor Jeongin say anything. Minju notices, at least, Jisung knows, because she kicks him under the table and gives him a look that demands gossip. Jeongin, on the other hand, is in a perpetual state of minding his own business, and Jisung isn’t really eager to tell him he fucked his brother while he was out watching fireworks, so it’s great. 

Jisung is already thinking about all the ways he can avoid being in the same room with Minju alone and getting thoroughly interrogated when she falls back against the garden chair and starts whining. 

“Ah, I’m so full,” she complains, rubbing her stomach.

Minho sets his empty glass down and says, “Go on a walk to let it settle and then head to sleep.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” she says. “But I’m not going on a walk alone.”

Jeongin barely lets her finish speaking before he’s telling her, “I’ll go with you.”

Jisung is too lazy to move more than ten meters, so after they clean up the table and put out the barbecue fire, he simply relocates to the couch in the living room. Minho tags along, so they put on a newly-released horror movie that shows up on Netflix’s home page. Surprisingly, they keep their hands to themselves and actually focus on watching what’s happening on the screen, which is, when Jisung really thinks about it, a shame.

Later, just as they’re queuing up another movie, not yet willing to call it a day, Jeongin and Minju come back and bid them goodnight. The house feels even quieter after they disappear upstairs. 

Somewhere in the middle of the movie—more boring and predictable than the first one—Minho suddenly turns to the side to look at Jisung. “Stop trying to wiggle your toes under my thigh,” he says. “I’m not your feet warmer.”

Jisung sits up, his jaw slack with pseudo offense. “Excuse me? I’m not trying to use you as my feet-warmer.” 

Jisung might have been . . . poking Minho’s thigh, but it’s definitely not to steal his body heat. He doesn’t have a reason for it, either, not really. He just wants to touch Minho all the time and wants to take advantage of every opportunity to do it that arises before he’s inevitably stripped off of it.

Minho presses his lips together, looking like he’s trying incredibly hard not to smile and remain serious. “Then what are you trying to do, huh?”

Weighing his options for a moment, Jisung decides to stop beating around the bush and finally says, “Touch you.”

The admission, obviously truthful, seems to take Minho aback. For a moment, he just stares at Jisung with his eyebrows raised, and then, he moves. He takes the cushion he’s been holding in his lap and presses it against Jisung’s chest, pushing him down into a lying position and swiftly situating himself between his parted legs. 

Their eyes lock for a split second, Minho’s mirroring the overconsuming want Jisung feels in his entire being, before Minho dives down and kisses him like Jisung has been wanting him to all throughout the evening. He doesn’t waste time pressing his tongue against Jisung’s mouth and slipping it inside, letting it flick against Jisung’s, turning the kiss wet and a bit messy.

In the back of his head, Jisung registers the noise coming from the television screen, some blood-curdling screaming. Ha. The protagonist on the screen is getting slashed to death and Jisung is having the best kiss of his life, with a gorgeous man between his thighs.

His fingers are in Minho’s hair, keeping him close, not letting him go away too far. He’s kissing Minho over and over again, gasping into his mouth when Minho grinds against him. The friction isn’t enough to get him hard, but it makes something electric course through his system all the same. 

“Mhm. Happy now?” Minho asks, leaving a kiss in the corner of Jisung’s mouth, leaning to kiss the other corner, and then finally kissing him square on the lips again. “Happy that you can touch me?” 

Jisung nods, dazed. His mind feels floaty in the same way it does after he drinks a glass of wine. He looks at Minho through his eyelashes as a smile spreads on his mouth.

“Very happy,” he says, his eyelids slipping shut when Minho leans in to kiss him again, slower this time. Jisung can feel how desperately he’s trying to hold his own smile at bay to not break the kiss. His stomach erupts with butterflies.

Minho’s hand travels between the sofa and Jisung’s back, slipping under the fabric of his T-shirt, making Jisung arch up against him. His touch burns as if he’s leaving behind a mark in the shape of his fingerprints, something Jisung is going to feel for the rest of his life. 

Minho kisses him like he’s the only person that matters on this planet, and Jisung knows that he won’t walk away from this unscathed.

⊹

There’s something incredibly serene about spending a warm summer night sitting in front of a blazing fire and hearing it crackle as it consumes logs of wood. Thanks to the magic powder Minho brought along, it shimmers in shades of red and purple and green, magnificent. 

Jisung knows he should be marveling at that, and on any other day he would, but his eyes can’t seem to take the hint and instead focus on admiring Minho himself. He has gotten used to the sight of him and is past the stage where he stares in a way obvious and smitten enough to make Minho uncomfortable, he likes to think, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice just how handsome he is. 

It’s hard to keep eyes away, especially because of the intense romantic feelings Jisung is harboring for him, if he has to be honest. He’s certain people that pass him on the street look over their shoulders to glance at him again, that they let their eyes linger. He has that kind of effortless beauty that other people can only dream of, his edges sharp and defined, turning completely soft when he smiles.

But it’s not just that. Jisung stares because he wants to see Minho when he thinks no one is looking. Observe his mannerisms, the way he carries himself. He stares because he derives an unreasonable amount of pleasure from seeing him relaxed on the garden chair, with a lazy smile on his mouth and colorful fire reflected in his eyes.

Jisung longs for a chance to see him outside of this environment. When he dances, and when he works, when he comes back home after a particularly tiring day and wants nothing more than to have his hair pet and shoulders massaged. When he’s around his cat, and on his day off, and when he can’t sleep. 

There’s nothing Jisung wants more than to truly get to know him. 

It feels impossible that it’s almost the last day of their stay at the lake house already. Somewhere along the way the passage of time has gotten lost in the mind-numbing warmth of summer air and ice-cream and kisses he shared with Minho. Now, Jisung is just dozens of hours away from all these things becoming nothing more than just a distant memory.

And Minho still hasn’t brought the topic up. He still hasn’t said a word about wanting to continue seeing Jisung when they get back home. It leaves a sour taste in Jisung’s mouth, and if he has to be honest, it also makes his heart ache. He knows he could take the first step, but he has been making his interest so embarrassingly obvious, while to figure out whether Minho likes him the same way, beyond sex and kisses, Jisung actually needs him to say something. 

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want this night to end knowing that all he has in the palm of his hand is just the following day, and then, worst-case scenario, he will be left with nothing.

So he stays on the garden chair until his tailbone protests, the air gets cold, and the fire slowly simmers out. He stays until it’s only him and Minho left outside, and then, even though Minho doesn’t seem like he’ll be moving inside anytime soon, finally decides to call it a day. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower and head to bed,” he says, even though he doesn’t owe Minho an explanation. A part of him wishes Minho asked him to stay, or—he’s embarrassed to even entertain that thought—tell him he’d join Jisung if Jisung let him. 

But Minho does neither of those things.

“Alright,” he says instead, sending Jisung a smile. “I think I’ll get going soon, too.” 

So much for a joint shower, Jisung thinks, letting out a soft sigh as he steps inside the house. He washes up quickly, wanting nothing more than to finally sink into the sheets and rest. His bones feel heavy with emotion. 

Jisung is tired, but even with eyes closed, sleep remains stubbornly out of his reach. 

He isn’t sure how long he lies in bed, growing more restless by the minute while unable to actually doze off, but at some point during the night, the door to his room creaks open. He would be more concerned about an intruder if the moonlight spilling in through the window didn’t illuminate Minho’s face; if Jisung weren’t able to recognize him by the smell of his body wash alone. 

He doesn’t react, so he doesn’t know if Minho can tell he’s not sleeping when he closes the door behind himself and slowly sneaks closer. The mattress dips under his weight when he lies beside Jisung. That proximity isn’t enough for him, just like it isn’t for Jisung, whose heart begins to beat twice its regular rhythm. He scoots over closer, slinging an arm around Jisung’s waist.

Jisung gives up on pretending he’s asleep and moves farther back, so that he’s pressed snug against Minho’s chest. Minho lets out a sigh of contentment and nuzzles his nose against the back of Jisung’s neck. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs right into his skin.

Jisung moves one hand to rest it on Minho’s arm where it’s draped across his stomach, holding him closer. He feels goosebumps rise on Minho’s skin under his touch. 

“Me either,” he says. He weighs his words, wanting to say something, but not sure what is right. Finally, he settles on admitting, “It’s a pity we can’t stay here for a few more days.”

Minho lets out a hum of agreement. Jisung can feel the ghost of his smile against his nape when, sounding amused, he says, “If we stayed a few more days, then you’d want to stay another few. And another.”

Jisung cracks a smile. “I don’t want to go back to my responsibilities. Sue me.”

“That’s true,” Minho agrees. “Do you have a lot to do before the semester starts?”

“Not really. I just have to revise the material. But now that I’ve been grilling my ass in the sun for two weeks, the mere idea of sitting down in front of a textbook makes me want to die.”

Minho laughs. “You can afford a day or two of some more rest when you get home, right? You don’t have to throw yourself all into it.”

“Stop being rational when I’m catastrophizing,” Jisung complains, bottom lip unconsciously jutted out in a pout. 

Hugging him a little tighter, Minho says sorry, but he doesn’t sound apologetic at all. More amused. Endeared, maybe. “Alright. So do all your work at once and ruin the rest of your summer. I’m not going to stop you.”

Jisung laughs. “Thank you for being supportive.”

“Always,” Minho says without a hitch.

Jisung’s heart skips a beat.

It would be so easy to say something then, in the quiet of the night, when everything feels less tangible—less susceptible to destruction. Jisung considers it. But when he finally manages to fight and eradicate his cowardice, sleep finally catches up to him. His mind starts floating away into dreamland, his eyelids grow heavy, and between all that and the kiss that Minho presses against his shoulder, Jisung falls asleep. 

⊹

It was fun at first, this instant crush he had on Minho, this immediate attraction and desperate need to get his attention. It was fun because it wasn’t supposed to really mean anything.

But it’s not fun anymore. 

Not when Minho is gorgeous and smart and caring, their vacation is ending, and Jisung feels like the world is crumbling under his feet at the realization that the two of them will drive down different roads and their paths might only cross again when he’s invited over to Jeongin’s house and Minho happens to be there.

Jisung so badly doesn’t want things to end like this. He wants more. So much more. Maybe more than he should, considering he has only known Minho for two weeks. But those two weeks have been like no other, and Jisung has never found this instantaneous connection with anyone before. It feels like something worth a chance. 

He can’t find the courage to ask if Minho feels about it in the same way, though. Not yesterday, when Minho snuck into his bed, nor today, which they spend on packing their stuff, cleaning out the fridge, and making sure no trash is left behind. Jisung succumbs to cowardice.

Jisung wakes up to an empty bed, which doesn’t help his case at all and makes it easy for him to turn to unwanted, anxious thoughts, but when he comes downstairs, there’s a glass of iced-coffee waiting for him in the kitchen and Jeongin is telling him Minho made it for him.

A perfect sight to start the day with, Minho is working out on the patio again, so Jisung doesn’t dare complain about waking up alone anymore. He leans back against the kitchen counter, out of Jeongin’s sight, and shamelessly watches Minho through the window for another ten minutes. Him doing squats and lounges is far more entertaining than anything Jisung could waste time on scrolling through his phone. 

When Minho finishes exercising, he steps into the kitchen all sweaty and panting. While Jisung is busy staring at his arms, without a word, he comes closer to steal the glass out of Jisung’s hands and takes a big sip of his coffee through the metal straw.

“Good morning to you too,” Jisung says, rolling his eyes. 

Minho grins and hands the glass back. “Good morning. Are you all packed up?”

“Some of us wake up at reasonable hours instead of exercising at seven in the morning,” Jisung tells him. “I haven’t had the chance to start.”

“Excuse me, I only started working out at nine,” Minho defends himself. Then, he lowers his voice. “I didn’t want to wake you. Figured you could use some more sleep.”

Jisung melts right then and there, becomes a pool of gooey mass on the kitchen floor. He doesn’t know what to say to that as he trips over his own thoughts, torn between wanting to devour Minho whole because he looks unbelievably hot and wanting to kiss him tenderly because he’s the sweetest guy under the sun.

“I’m gonna go take a shower and start packing,” Minho says before Jisung can come up with anything of substance. He lingers in the kitchen before eventually turning on his heel and disappearing upstairs. Once again, Jisung wishes an invitation had been extended to him. 

For the remainder of the day, he focuses on packing his stuff and tidying up the space. Once he’s done with his room—and it takes him a long time despite how little things he brought along for the trip—he tries to hang around Minho. He helps him empty the fridge, which includes sharing ice-cream and canned soda between themselves, and then they drag the garden chairs into the garage and make sure they haven’t left anything outside. They have so many chances to start the right conversation, but what they talk about instead is music: something casual that doesn’t involve even a nudge of their feelings.

Jisung is disappointed. In himself, mostly, in his inability to just take the first step and not agonize over possible consequences. As the evening approaches, he just grows sad. It’s pathetic how much he cares. How much he wants Minho to just do something. Say something.

Beyond physical acts over the last few days that tell Jisung that he’s attracted to him, Minho doesn’t make the effort to show that he wants those two weeks to stretch in time—to turn from a summer fling into something stable. Maybe permanent.

The thing is, Jisung is a writer. A creature of words. He loves the little things—the touches and the stares and the skips of heartbeats—but sometimes, when the stakes are this high, what he truly needs to settle his mind is some actual verbal reassurance. 

If Minho doesn’t want this to go anywhere, that’s fine. Jisung will move on. He will probably spend the whole week looping the saddest songs on his playlist and eating ice-cream until his stomach hurts, but he will move on. But if his feelings are left hanging without a direction to go in, he will be stuck. 

So, fuck it, he’s just sad. 

He steals a plastic container of store-bought strawberries from the fridge and sneaks out to the dock in the middle of the night to eat his sadness away in an accordingly melancholic ambient.

His heart feels heavy. Is there even a chance for anything to happen now? They still have the morning, that’s true, but if Minho hasn’t said anything over the course of so many days, the possibility of him waking up at the last moment is . . . Well. It’s pathetically low. 

Just as he thinks it, he hears approaching footsteps fall against the wooden dock. He takes a sharp breath, his blood pressure suddenly rising. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Minho, after all, has a knack for finding him here alone. Third time’s a charm, or something of that sort, Jisung thinks as Minho sits down beside him without a word.

With his eyes still fixed on the glimmering surface of the lake, trying not to give way to the feeling of hopelessness rising in his chest, he quietly asks, “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you sneak out,” Minho says. “Thought I’d keep you company.” 

Jisung lets out a hum of acknowledgement. He’s happy to be able to spend some more time with Minho, but that contentment is dimmed by the kind of gloom Jisung can’t pretend isn’t there.

He’s not exactly trying to be subtle about it, so he shouldn’t be as taken aback as he is when Minho breaks the silence and asks, “Why are you sad?”

Still, Jisung’s heart stutters dangerously. Because you haven’t said a word about us. Because it looks like I’ve gotten my hopes up, he wants to say. Instead, like the coward that he is, barely glancing at Minho, he says, “I’m not sad.”

Minho gives him a look. 

“You’ve looked sad all day long,” he says. “What’s up?” 

Jisung looks away and takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I just don’t want to go back yet,” he says, foolishly wondering if maybe given more time, he would be able to make Minho fall for him. “I want to stay here and keep enjoying my summer.”

“Is that really it? Because yesterday—”

Jisung clenches his jaw. He whips around towards Minho and interrupts him.

“No, that’s not really it,” he says before he can think better of it. “The thing is, I like you. I like you so much, I actually don’t remember the last time I felt so strongly about someone. So I’m sad because it’s our last day here and you haven’t said anything about wanting to see me when we get back to Seoul and—” He cuts himself off, grimaces, and turns away. “It just sucks.”

Despite his best efforts to remain calm, his heart rate immediately spikes. He has to fight the urge to either get up and run away or throw himself into the lake and drown. It’s embarrassing, how desperate he sounds. How much his desire to be a part of Minho’s regular life bleeds into his voice.

Minho’s shoulders slump. “Why didn’t you just say anything?” he asks, his tone gentle. He doesn’t seem to hate Jisung for confessing and therefore ruining the opportunity to keep their one-night stand dead and buried. 

“I put myself out there,” Jisung says firmly. “I’ve been continuously putting myself out there all throughout our stay at the house. I just wanted you to make your move and tell me it’s not all in my head.” 

Before his pulse can regain some semblance of normality, Minho reaches out and takes Jisung’s wrist, pulling his hand onto his own lap. Jisung looks at him, then, finally, uncertain and, frankly, scared, only to be met with his tender gaze.

The corner of Minho’s mouth curls up when their eyes lock, and that alone is enough for the pressure in Jisung’s chest to start slowly dissipating.

“I was going to reach out when we got back,” Minho admits, to Jisung’s utmost delight and surprise. “I was going to call and see if you were available for coffee or dinner or anything. But if I knew how much it would get to you, I’d have made plans with you while we were still here.”

The relief is instantaneous. It’s one thing to feel Minho’s attraction toward him and depend on his own perception which is at times uncertain, and it’s a completely different thing to have it spelled out for him.

Minho wants to make plans. That alone has heat rising to Jisung’s cheeks, warmth pooling in his chest. This is a chance—all for him to take. 

Jisung lets out a shuddering breath, too emotional for his own well-being. “So I got all heartbroken for nothing,” he says, fighting the urge to cringe and hide away. 

Minho squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry for making you doubt,” he says sincerely. Before Jisung can even begin to explain that it’s his brain and his fault, Minho continues, “I really like you, I’ve loved spending time with you, and I’d love to get to know you better.”

Not for the first time, Jisung is overtaken by his own affection for Minho. He likes him so much. 

“I work odd hours. I have to travel sometimes. But I live in Seoul, and I’m only one call away,” Minho continues. “If you’d like to go on a date—or hang out in general, all you have to do is reach out.” Then, to drive the point across and chase all of Jisung’s anxieties away, he says, “It doesn’t have to be over.”

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees softly. “I don’t want it to be over.” 

Minho breaks into a smile that twists his stomach into a thousand knots. “Oh, come here,” he mumbles, and pulls Jisung in against his side. Jisung regrets that he has to let go of Minho’s hand to wrap his arms around his waist, but the moment he rests his head on Minho’s shoulder, the feeling disappears. 

He can’t believe this is all real. Minho actually likes him back, and not only that—he also wants to go out on a date with him. Probably multiple dates. Jisung has truly never felt this elated about his feelings being reciprocated, but with Minho it feels like the happiness is going to rip his chest apart. 

“It’s really cold out here,” Minho says. “Do you want to go back inside?” 

“In a moment,” Jisung agrees. He feels too comfortable now. His body simply doesn’t want to pull away from Minho, even if it’s to walk right next to him. 

He clumsily reaches for one of the strawberries remaining in the container and brings it to Minho’s lips, watching attentively as he takes a bite. His lips are perfect. Does he know how perfect they are? And his teeth—they look cute, and Jisung is sure they would look even cuter imprinted on his skin. Anywhere. Everywhere.

They only head back into the house after they have eaten all the strawberries. Jisung drags Minho to the kitchen to throw the container out, unable to distance himself from him at all, and then says, “Spend the night with me.”

Minho smiles and kisses him against the kitchen counter in place of an answer. 

⊹

“Minho hyung will give me a ride to Seoul,” Jisung says just before he’s supposed to load his bag into the trunk of Jeongin’s car in the morning. He knows Jeongin is going to get all nosy and suspicious if he doesn’t elaborate, so he tells him, “You know, to help me avoid you two being gross.” 

Minju gives him a look from where she’s standing by the door on the passenger’s side. Jisung smirks just briefly at her, but she catches it easily. Her eyes widen, and then she’s marching over to the trunk, slamming it shut, and taking Jeongin by the arm to drag him into the car.

“See you at home!” she calls out just before shoving Jeongin into the driver’s seat. He’s so confused by her behavior, he doesn’t even protest. “Drive safe!” 

Jisung blinks, surprised, as he watches her climb onto the passenger seat. They drive off a moment later without preamble, leaving him perplexed. Minju is truly his number one supporter and enabler. He needs to remember to gift her a bottle of wine for all her efforts when he’s back home. 

With her and Jeongin gone, he finally shoves his bag into the trunk of Minho’s car. When he turns around, he finds Minho standing at the top of the stairs leading to the house with his baggage in hand.

“They left already?” he asks, surprised.

Jisung says, “Minju is onto us and she decided to generously give us a moment of privacy.” 

“She did?”

He waits for Minho to load his duffle bag into the car and shut the trunk before stepping closer and throwing his arms around his neck. “Yeah,” he says softly, a smile stretching on his lips to match Minho’s own. 

Minho tips his head back to look at him, his hands traveling down from Jisung’s waist to his butt. Without an ounce of hesitation, he tightens his grip and smirks when Jisung’s jaw slacks.

“That’s nice of her,” he murmurs. “Should we make use of it?” 

Jisung’s heart thunders. 

He lets himself be led back into the house. Minho kicks the front door shut behind them and immediately surges forward to kiss Jisung, long and unhurried. Passionate. So full of emotion. 

He puts his hands on Jisung’s shoulders and backs him into the living room, pushing and pushing until Jisung is falling onto the sofa. And then, like someone sent on the planet to strip Jisung off his entire sanity, he drops to his knees in front of him, a wicked smile on his face. 

Eighth world wonder. That’s what he is. And the best thing is, Jisung can call him his.