#I think this week will be a minsung week | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chimivx · 7 days ago

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‘…and when you’re gone, i’ll tell them my religion’s you…’

Jisung’s dreams are an arms length away, lying in the hands of his superior who gives him a test, one that challenges everything he’s ever known, a taste of a life so intriguing. It’s only a matter of time before he’s faced with a choice… Whose hands does he take?

✞ sacrilegious!minsung au ✞ 27k { three of three } ✞ ‼️ 18+, sacrilegious- it says it up top, blasphemy, its all very religious, they live in a clergy home, religious imagery, praying, god/christ/lord usage, they’re all devoted, eventual explicit sexual content, alcohol use, cigarette smoking, mentions of drug usage, light cussing, sexual acts occur in the church, it costs nothing to keep scrolling, IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW !!

“I don’t understand how you could begin to think that he’s ready.”

Jeongin spoke above whisper, his deep, scratching tone softened by the volume the priests chose to speak at. Christopher and Hyunjin stood on either side of him, the three behind the couch with their long coats on and gloves on their hands, scarves wrapped around their necks.

“You should’ve spoken with us before you said anything of the sort,” Hyunjin said, the melodic softness in his tone easing the harshness of the man before him. Nudging his glasses up his nose with his pinky finger, he exchanged an unreadable look with the eldest priest, then pushed, “This week will be the test,” through his lips in a whisper.

“The test? We know that he’s going to be fine, he always is, he always has been.” Christopher spoke louder than them all, the other two hushed him with raises of their leather gloved fingers. Adjusting the buttons on his jacket he tipped his head backward and took a breath. “You tell me you don’t understand, well here I am, not understanding how you can’t see how much he’s improved- within the past month more so than any time else.”

“That’s what worries me,” Hyunjin sang.

“And again,” Christopher sighed, “Until you further explain to me why, that argument is useless.” Hyunin’s eyes sharpened, a wicked weapon he’s not usually so quick to whip out, though he’s had to several times over the last thirty one days.

Jeongin took a step forward, separating the two as he started for the kitchen. “Let’s save this for our drive, we’ve got hours ahead of us-”

“We’ve had plenty of time to discuss this prior to today, I don’t care how many hours are ahead of us, Jisung was, and has been ready for longer than this month. We have all the time in the world, but he doesn’t, there is nothing left for him to give, to show us, to show you,” Christopher snapped. Hyunjin lowered his chin. Jeongin released a breath and turned on his heels. “If I am sick of waiting for the okay, take one minute out of your days centered around torturing him and imagine how he feels.”

“Christopher, lower your voice,” Hyunjin said, venom in his tone. He took two steps toward him, his black boots clicking on the hardwood floor not covered in carpet. Standing his ground instead of resorting to caving in within himself like he would when Hyunjin lurked toward him this way, Christopher lifted his chin the slightest, trying to appear taller, stronger. His brain worked harder, quicker, this he knew, but the dark spirit had a way of getting in his head like everyone else’s, the ability to break his brain from the inside out, crack him. “That boy is the test.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Minho?” Christopher questioned, looking between his elders with a growing smile before he laughed. “That boy who has done nothing but his job, attempting to keep up with Jisung who we know goes above and beyond? He’s done it, you know. How long have we said that no one will be able to find the shoes to fit?” Both men were silent. “He’s done it.”

Hyunjin’s shadowed eyes flickered between Christophers, withholding words the youngest could see, a reiteration of what he’d said before. That boy is the test. Lifting a gloved hand, he tucked strands of black hair behind his ear as he turned to Jeongin, his eyes the last thing to leave Christopher.

“I’d like to stop through Soro on the way,” he spoke to Jeongin, passing by him, his boots clicking into the kitchen where he reached for Ann to give her his goodbye. “I want to try that new place for lunch,” he waved a hand about, looking toward the eldest for the answer, picking up a finger when he’d caught the name, “Haven, I believe.”

“Then we’d better leave now,” Jeongin said, stepping toward Ann to also bid her goodbye.

Christopher unclenched his jaw and smoothed his hands over his coat. “I guess I’ll get the kid,” he grumbled for none of them to hear. “Jisung?”

His voice carried through the living room and up the stairs, wrapping around the hall to his bedroom, but there was no need for it to. Jisung sat at the top of the stairs with his arms around his knees, his chin rested on one of the knobby joints. Lips pulled together tight, eyes full of nothing, he barely flinched when Christopher called out his name.

He heard them wake up, he heard them getting ready, he heard them in the kitchen with Ann, having breakfast, sipping their black coffee. The suitcases he offered to pack into the back of the car last night, he heard them move, the priests taking them outside themselves. They had told him, “Get some extra sleep, Jisung, take the day off, you deserve it. We’ll take care of it, we can do it ourselves.” They were set to wake him up this morning, like this he supposed, calling out his name instead of knocking on his door.

Standing in the living room, speaking aloud about him like he wouldn't hear, wasn’t supposed to hear, and then they’d call for him.

And he’d come running for them.

Like he always did.

He’d give proper goodbyes to Jeongin and Hyunjin, make sure they were set, that they’d be safe on their trip, and that they’d come back to him, for him.

He’d maybe give Christopher a hug depending on if the older men got into the car before him. He’d wait for him to tell him good things, nice things. That he would get through this week, that he’d be back sooner than he left, that Jisung wouldn’t even notice he was gone.

Then, he’d shut their doors, plaster a smile to his lips to show them he was equipped to handle seven days on his own, which he was, and he’d watch them pull away. He’d watch the car turn onto the main winding road, and wait until it disappeared over the hilly Avida horizon, and then he’d take to the church, busy himself, distract his mind, and drown in work.

Like he always did.

And it wasn’t enough.

It still wasn’t enough.

“Jisung?” Christopher called out once more, the sound of his feet shuffling on the floor sending Jisung leaping to his.

Settling every gut wrenching feeling down with a breath, he tightened his fingers into fists and took his time down the stairs, a slight pause between each step.

He wouldn’t come running.

Everything he assumed had been the truth. He hadn’t spoken about Minho in a month. He kept their secrets, the ones shared between the hours of one and three in the morning, he’s shown little to no interest in him while around the three other men, only if it pertained to work.

How was he still the assignment?

The test.

This week with him, it was a test?

Christopher wanted to give him the job.

Hyunjin did not, nor did Jeongin.

Christopher was right, Jisung had given entirely too much to not be handed what he deserved.

He had given too much.

“There you are,” Christopher said with a smile as Jisung turned the corner into the living room. Passing by the fireplace he’d light up later, he shoved his hands into his pockets and didn’t bother to greet any of them. “We’re heading out.”

“Okay,” the boy said. The priest took him in, his stance, his tone, his smile. “Get there safely.”

He hesitated, Christopher did, thinking Jisung would move, that he’d say anything else, try to cling to him like he would in the past. Jisung could see it in how his brow curved under, a slight shift in his eyes indicating his curiosity, his intrigue toward what his brothers had been discussing prior to the boy's appearance.

“Thank you,” he said, dipping his chin. The seconds he took to scope Jisung out once more felt like hours. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Jisung said. With the smallest raise and drop of his shoulders, he rounded the sofa and breezed by Christopher, letting the priest's eyes follow him, and then his feet, through the kitchen, out onto the back step of the home.

“Ji?” Christopher’s question held nothing of value, Jisung was shaking Jeongin and Hyunjin’s hands, saying goodbye to them with a tilt of his head and the same version of smile he’d given Christopher. The boy glanced over his shoulder at him momentarily, a raise of his eyebrows with that smile telling him he heard him, but he didn’t want to speak with him.

Tugging at Jisung’s heart was the thought of him not opening up to Christopher about what he’s heard. There wasn’t any reason to punish the priest for not giving him what he wanted, it wasn’t his fault, Jisung needed at least two out of three of them to approve his ascent. He also didn’t see anything when it came to Minho, a tiny detail that didn’t and won't go unnoticed. The other two have raised their noses, or at least, Hyunjin has.

But for the time being, Christopher was on their side. Anything said can and will get back to them.

Jisung wasn’t willing to risk Minho for anything.

Not even Christopher.

“Enjoy your time without us,” Jeongin joked, taking Jisungs shoulder in one hand, giving him the slightest shake. “You won’t have anyone nagging you to get stuff done.”

Jisung shook his head. “None of you do that to me, anyway,” he said. “I’ll miss having you around, like always.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hyunjin's words came with a breath, the man pressing a hand to the boy's back before slipping into the passenger seat of the car waiting for them beside the church. Jeongin followed him after another smile pointed at Jisung, getting into the driver's seat.

Awful really, how he couldn’t believe it. How his smile once held value, telling Jisung he meant something to him, that he was important. He could see straight through it. He couldn’t believe him.

Christopher, the last to get in the car, lingered beside Jisung, waiting for the boy to turn to him, to face him, to tell him what he was thinking, what he could see written all over him no matter how hard Jisung attempted to hide it.

“You’re sure you’re okay, Ji?” he asked him when his eyes finally met his.

Shrugging his shoulders, Jisung nodded. “Think I’m honestly just a little tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Christopher hung his head, bobbing it in understanding.

“Hopefully this week you’ll feel better,” he said quietly, flickering only his eyes back up at the boy. “Try not to work so hard, yeah? Get some rest. By the time we come back you know how crazy it’ll get.” Jisung rolled his eyes and they both huffed a similar laugh. Christopher narrowed his eyes, watching as Jisung tipped his head backward to take in the sight of the November grey sky above them. His hands went back to living in his pockets, and his shoulders were rolled back. He appeared taller, bigger, and confident. He stood up straight instead of hunched over like he tried to hide himself.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said with a sigh, looking back at Christopher.

Grown up.

Jisung caught it in his eyes, the priest's surveillance sparked a nerve within him, like he’d blown his cover. “Go,” he laughed, gesturing toward the car. “Before they leave you here with me, you don’t want that.”

Christopher accepted the way the boy pushed him toward the car, smiling as he opened the door for him. “What if I do?” Laughing, he stepped up into the car. “Don’t make me go, stuck with these two.” Jeongin and Hyunjin paid him no mind, the two pointing toward the streets, figuring out which way to go. “You’re so quick to get rid of me, Ji.”

Now Hyunjin paid attention, Jisung felt his eyes like two pistols pressed to the back of his head.

“I am not,” the boy breathed, gripping the edge of the door. “You’re all lucky I don’t climb over you and get in the other seat to come with.”

“Any specific reason why you want to run away from here?” Hyunjin asked.

Jisung shot him that same plain smile he’d been wearing all morning. “No,” he said, sure of himself. “It’s just curiosity for this trip,” he nodded, “I hope I get to hear about it this time.”

Jeongin looked at him now, the scholar wearing a face that rendered him anxious. “You know we always bring things back to you, Han.”

Fingers tightening on the silver metal of the car, Jisung took an unsuspecting breath and shrugged once more. “You’re right,” he said. “You do. How silly of me to think you wouldn’t, you’re all so good to me. Thank you.” Jeongin and Hyunjin exchanged a glance. Christopher gave the boy half a smile. “Enjoy yourselves, try to not miss me too much.”

Pushing the door closed, he raised a hand and took a few steps backward. The car engine sprung to life, and within seconds they were off, rolling toward the end of the parking lot, pulling out onto the main street. Jisung didn’t wait until they disappeared over the hills this time. Instead, he turned on his feet and hurried back into the house, yanking the wooden door shut with a newfound strength.

Feet hitting the floor with a vengeance, heat pulsing beneath his skin, he flew through the house without a need to hide any longer. Whirling around furniture, bumping into end tables, all mannerisms he’d hide because there were six pairs of eyes breathing down his neck. Fueled by the thumping of his heart between his heaving lungs, Jisung hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time, the sound of his feet hitting the wood echoing within the empty house.

At the top of the stairs Minho and Christopher’s bedroom door creaked open, and a wicked smile broke out onto Jisungs face. Turning to greet him, Minho smiled, parting his lips to speak, but Jisung caught them in a kiss quicker than the older boy had a chance to get one word out.

They’d never done this in the hallway before.

This was reserved for his bedroom and his bedroom only.

Through a sigh, an involuntary sound escaping his lips without a second though, Jisung knitted his fingers into his hair and pushed him back inside his bedroom, lips locked as he kicked his door closed behind him.

Two beds were pushed to either wall, a dresser between them and nightstands to match. He’s been here before, but not since Minho’s been around. This was where he’d cry to Christopher. These walls have seen his tears more than his own room probably has, a fact both boys knew good and well about.

Jisung threw himself against Minho, using his hands to pull him and keep him close, keeping himself nearly on top of him, wanting nothing more than for him to do the thing he does that makes him think of nothing else but him. Of Minho. The touch of his hand bringing him the most satisfaction he’s ever felt in his life, more so than he’s felt after venting his feelings to Christopher, even more than he’s felt sitting in a pew within the church.

He’s done it everyday, they’ve done this everyday. In the hours of work he’d do on his own he’d think of nothing else, Minho’s breath on his neck, his lips on his collarbone, his hand over his pants, touching, stroking. Afraid to do anything to himself, if the thoughts got him hard, and they always did, Jisung would clear his head with prayer, turning his focus elsewhere for a moment, until the cycle repeated.

Every night he couldn’t help himself, he’d be throbbing beneath his slacks, his cotton striped pajama pants, whatever he ended his day with, depending on how long it took Minho to sneak into his bedroom. Knowing that Jisung was waiting for him so eagerly had Minho flustered as well, his hands taking to his being rushed, hurried, excited, the two moving like they were sixteen and giggly. They’d fall to his bed, the creak and rock against the wall not stopping either of their curious hands or heated kisses.

He’d get him there in seconds, Minho would. Amidst one of these nights it took one push of his hand over the fabric of his pants and Jisung, so wound up he could cry, finished immediately. Comforting him with kisses to his neck, to his earlobe, Minho calmed him and his pink cheeks down and showed Jisung the beauty, the marvel, in being able to go again. That was the night he gave Minho his first, what he taught him was called, orgasm. Though Minho called it something else, something that sounded much filthier that tickled Jisungs spine whenever the words were whispered into his ear while he writhed beneath him.

Orgasm. Cum. He didn’t care what it was called, he just never wanted Minho to stop. It was all he could think about. That electric feeling in his veins, the burning in his center, the euphoria rushing through him, the way Minho’s breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut as Jisung touched him, as he learned from the way he released the air in his lungs, the hums in his chest. The way he pressed his forehead to his temple, Minho’s whispers and praises of how good he was doing satiated him, fed him, spurred him on until he was arching his chest into Jisung’s, his teeth latching to the boys neck to keep from shouting aloud as Jisung felt him cum.

That same disgustingly delicious feeling Minho gave him, he was able to give it right back, and Minho was right, as he always was. After that, Jisung was able to go again.

In the middle of Minho and Christophers room they stood with their limbs intertwined, hands in hair, bodies rolling against the other, tongues pressed together. Jisung dropped his hands to the plain t-shirt Minho wore, the man dressing down as soon as he knew the priests were out of the house. Grabbing onto the cotton, Jisung yanked him backward to one of the beds neatly made with pillows lined against the headboard. Minho hummed, eyes blinking feverishly as his own hands tried to move Jisung away from him.

“Ji,” he whispered between pushes of his slick lips, “This isn’t-”

The boy didn’t care to listen. Thrusting his hips forward he knocked Minho backward and the man fell onto the bed, knees spreading so Jisung could stand between them. Taking his hands to his neck Jisung tipped his chin upward and never let his lips leave his. He wedged himself between his thighs and smiled as Minho closed them around him, trapping him.

“This is Christopher's bed,” Minho managed to whisper.

“I know,” Jisung whispered back, their lips never parting.

Noses brushing, Minho furrowed his brows. “What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?” Jisung asked, catching his lips gently, letting the way Minho looked up at him fuel the fire building within him.

“Something’s up.” Minho’s eyes fluttered shut within the kiss, but each time Jisung parted from him he took the opportunity to gaze up at him, not wanting to miss a moment. “What did they say to you before they left?”

He tried to kiss him again, to shut him up, but Minho dodged his lips and wrapped his arms around the boy's waist instead. Jisung tried again, then tipped his head back with a sigh, defeated. Looking down at the man he held onto, where his hands were wrapped around his jaw, he felt his heart squeeze.

“Why do they talk about you like that?”

His whisper had Minho’s expression go blank. “What do you mean?”

Jisung breathed, looking about the room for help, Christophers blank walls and neatly done bed making the anger he wanted to swallow turn into bile in his throat. “It’s like,” he paused, blinking, then looked down at Minho’s shining eyes, “They know.”

“What?” he asked, hushed, quiet as ever. Jisung swore all color washed from his cheeks.

“No, wait,” Jisung shook his head, feeling Minho’s panic as if it were his own, “They don’t know, I haven’t said anything, I haven’t told anybody anything. This is between us, I promise you, I’ve already promised you, I keep my promises.”

Minho slid a hand up Jisungs torso, placing a hand over his beating heart. “I know,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

Jisung loosed a breath. “I trust you, too.” Minho’s hand slipped behind his head, pulling him down for a slower, longer kiss that made Jisung want to crawl over top of him. “I just hate that they talk about you like you cause me problems.”

Dragging his nails over his scalp, twirling fingers around curls, Minho’s lips tipped up into a smirk. “I’ve been the problem my whole life. I can handle them saying things about me.”

“That’s not fair,” Jisung whined, taking his hands from his jaw to his thighs, falling down onto his knees between Minho’s. He jumped, pulling backward, placing his hands on the bed. Jisung smoothed his fingers over the pants Minho wore, not realizing or recognizing what he was even doing. “You’re not the problem, the problem is them. They’re the ones causing me problems.”

“Wh-what problems?” Minho asked, steadying his breath, keeping his eyes locked on Jisungs. The boy toyed with his belt, his fingers moving as their own entity, like he didn’t know what he was doing.

“I heard them talking this morning,” Jisung started, sliding his fingers in and out of the belt loops on Minho’s pants. “They said this week will make their decision, I guess, for what they give me, or offer me.”

“That’s a good thing though, isn’t it?” Minho questioned, withholding a gasp as Jisungs hands brushed over his zipper before they took back to his thighs. “You do so well this week, you’ve told me all about it. The way you prep them for the rest of the year, it’s always perfect, they’re sure to promote you when they’re back.” Jisung watched his hands as they smoothed from Minho’s hips to his knees. Glancing up at him and his hooded eyes, the boy started to smile. “Oh, you’re hilarious, Han Jisung.”

“What happens if I do this?” Taking his hands to his belt, Jisung sat forward, his chest lodged between Minho’s thighs. Slipping the leather out of one loop, the way Minho’s breath hitched made the boy laugh.

“What? Why are you- You don’t-”

Jisung pulled the buckle out completely, his smile making Minho’s thighs tighten around him. “What happens if I do this?” He dipped his head down, brushing his nose over the fabric that kept Minho’s half hard length from him.

“Jesus, Jisung,” Minho breathed, taking his hands to the boy's shoulders. Jisung blinked up at him, his lips parted the slightest, his smile wiped away in an instant. “What are you doing?”

Seconds were shared in silence, both boys staring at one another, one in shock, the other in denial. Jisung removed Minho’s hands from his shoulders and placed them on his own lap, standing to his feet with his head hung.

“Do you not want me either?” he muttered, averting his gaze to the wooden slabs of the floor.

Minho sprung to his feet, his hands quickly putting his belt back together as he stepped up to face Jisung. Raising a finger he placed it beneath the boy's chin and tipped it up, their noses millimeters apart.

“Han Jisung,” he whispered, and the boy's lip crinkled. “I’m offended you’d even think that.”

“Why deny me?”

Minho furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Never. I just know that you’re feeling a lot of things right now, and I don’t want you to do something you don’t really want to do.” Jisung’s eyes softened. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I don’t,” he whispered quickly, and Minho smiled.

“I know,” Minho nodded, “But, you were about to do something that changes a lot. That changes everything.” Jisung allowed his hands to grab his waist, his fingers dragging along his back. Minho slid his hand into his curls and the other over his shoulder. “I’m not letting you do anything we haven’t already done, until I hear you say the words.”

“The words,” Jisung whispered.

Minho snickered, the two laughing together in the comfort of his bedroom. “You jerk.”

“I mean it.” Jisung leaned into him, letting Minho bear his weight with ease.

The older boy smiled down at him and fluttered his lashes. “And why’s that?”

Jisung pressed his lips together. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. He was able to think it, he could feel it, but no words seemed to suffice. How was he to describe to Minho that he made him feel like no one else? That the way he cared for him, spoke to him, brought him the most peace, the most clarity. That within just one look all of Jisung’s worries would disappear, giving him a purpose, a reminder of who he was, what he stood for. Minho became an extension of him, he filled him with pride, for himself, for Minho, for his work, for his life.

Butterflies filled him entirely, he couldn’t quite place what it was, how it happened, why they were there, but he liked it. It made him happy, Minho made him happy.

He could compare it to the safety he felt around Christopher, but this was such much more. Minho could read his mind, Minho could feel what he was feeling, Minho seemed to understand him in a way no one else could. He never judged him, never hounded him with advice on how to live his life other than inspiring him to live it the way he wants to live it.

Jisung never wanted to be without him. Just the mere thought of him not being here brought him pain, a crack threatening to split his heart in two. It was fragile, already broken and messily thrown back together in no way that was absolute.

Minho held it in his hands, Jisung couldn’t remember when he’d handed it to him.

When he’d given it over so willingly, letting Minho reach into his chest and take it himself.

“Don’t cry,” Minho whispered, dragging a thumb beneath Jisungs dark lashes. “Why are you going to cry?”

Jisung gulped. Burying his face in Minho’s chest, his fingers dug into his back, clinging to him. Pulling him so close he tried to occupy the same space. Holding him so tight he wouldn’t have a chance to leave, to run away from him.

Letting him wrap himself around him, Minho watched, then cradled him, in hand in his curls, the other around his back. Resting his cheek to his head, he breathed, and he let Jisung do what he needed to do, promising in silence to only pull away when the boy decided to. Pressing a gentle kiss to his hair, Minho whispered, “I’ve got you.”

“Who holds Mass then if none of them are here?”

Minho’s voice echoed within the church, the walls catching his voice and pushing it straight back to him, back to Jisung who balanced vases, candlesticks and books in his arms. Empty handed, Minho held out his palm beneath the boy's loot as if it were going to help catch anything if anything were to fall. All day he’d been a bit distracted, almost unaware of what was around him and what was going on. Smiling at him as he walked beside him, Jisung found it endearing.

“No one,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Incredible,” Minho grumbled, looking backward into the church as they approached the double doors to the hall. Jisung questioned him with a hum, waiting for him to pull on the handle for him. “This should be the one week they let you do it.”

Following his gaze out into the church, the walls and pews lit up by the setting sun in hues of yellow and orange from the stained glass windows, Jisung took a breath and considered the possibilities. It made sense. If anything, it made more sense for it to happen now, during this week, since the discussions were happening more frequently, now that Minho was here. The two would be more than capable of running service themselves, they’ve done it together for over a month now.

“I never thought of that,” Jisung said under his breath. “Minho?”

Hm?” He faced Jisung, looking down at him and his full arms. “Oh,” he laughed, lunging for the door handles. “I’m sorry, I was…”

Stepping into the hall with Minho on his tail, Jisung slipped through the curtain into the sacristy and smiled. “You were what?” He dropped the candlesticks onto one table and shuffled for another to place the vases. Giving Minho the smile before shelving the books, he raised a brow. “What’s happening to you today?” Standing to his tiptoes, Jisung pushed the spines back, then spun to face Minho who backed him into the shelves. “I feel like I can’t keep your attention.”

Minho grabbed the shelf behind the boy, caging him in. “If I tell you a secret will you keep it?”

“Of course,” Jisung whispered, honed in on Minho’s features inches in front of him. When he moved his chin, Jisung moved his. When he tilted his head, Jisung tilted his. “I keep all your secrets.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “You do,” Minho whispered, taking a hand to the boy's cheek, toying with a few strands of hair that lay there. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, and Minho breathed a laugh toward his unwavering innocence he hadn’t seemed to lose yet. He might be stuck with it forever.

“I keep all your secrets too,” Minho said, pulling the curls away from his forehead with a hand pushed backward on the boy's head. He leaned back against the shelf, chin tipping upward as Minho came closer.

Jisung gulped. “Tell me.”

Minho eyed his lips, then gave him a lazy smile. “I’m nervous,” he whispered, “Han Jisung.”

“Why?” The boy screwed his brows further, a line forming between them that Minho drew a thumb over to smooth out, to relax.

“Because,” Minho said, dragging his fingers down the side of the boy's cheek, “I feel like… if I say anything, or do anything, it’ll… scare you off.”

“Scare me off, how could you-“

“I could,” Minho cut him off, pressing his thumb to his lips. “Jisung there’s so much we haven’t talked about. And now…”

He didn’t have to say it, Jisung could feel it, like he always has. The nervousness, he understood it, he felt it himself, but he buried it, didn’t want it to come between them, whatever they were doing. The longer Minho spoke, the more it uncovered.

“You’ve had no trouble in the past telling me about myself,” Jisung said in hopes to acquire a smile, which he did. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

“Never, never,” Minho shook his head, glancing away for only a second, “it’s just, it’s not about you, it’s about myself. It has to do with you, but… it’s me.”

Jisung blinked. “Do I do it wrong?”

Minho broke into a laugh. “What,” he snorted, “Ji, please.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re perfect,” Minho said, leaning in to touch their noses together. Jisung smiled something small. “I just want to be honest with you.” Under the impression they’ve been honest with one another all this time, Jisung’s smile dropped. Minho, quick to take his cheeks in his hands, thumbs brushing over his golden skin, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Remember when I told you about where I came from? The church?”

Cringing, Jisung closed his eyes and shook his head in Minho’s hold. “I do,” he whispered. “Horrible.”

Minho breathed, a dismal smile on his face. “It’s about to get worse.” Jisung peeled his eyes open and grabbed onto Minho’s wrists. “I wasn’t sent away because they found out I,” his voice trailed off as he glanced between him and Jisung, “Prefer… men.” He expected a bigger reaction from the boy, but he didn’t move. “One of the priests there, he and I, we… Were involved.”

“Involved,” Jisung whispered, stuck on his dark eyes. “Like… us?”

“Yes,” Minho said, and Jisung broke from his gaze. Pressing his hands into his cheeks Minho brought his focus back. “And no, Jisung.” The boy, with eyes softening beyond belief, a type of pain behind them he didn’t quite understand yet, pouted his lips. “I was nothing more than something for him to take his shame out on.”

Gulping, Jisung licked his lips and frowned. “You and him, you, you did…”

“Sex,” Minho said, voice hushed, full of shame for himself. Jisung reacted to the word like he’s never said it before. “Yes.”

“And you wanted to?” Jisung asked.

Minho shrugged, shaking his head. “Sometimes.”

“Min,” Jisung sighed, squeezing his wrists in his hands. “You loved him?”

Minho, eyes going wild, rested his hands to Jisung’s shoulders. “Not at all. Why ask me that question?”

Jisung knew why, but he didn’t want to say. It felt juvenile to explain his thoughts aloud. It also brought him immense guilt, the feeling so overwhelming he did not have any idea where to put it.

Sex is exclusive to couples in love. Married couples. Couples as in a man and a woman. One is to be married before engaging in the act, it’s sacred. All his life Jisung kept it aside, didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t think about it, didn’t need it. Not until he met Minho. When the boys in school spoke of it it made him uncomfortable, when Christopher told him his stories of the women he’d meet late at night it made his skin crawl.

Standing here, with his hands on Minho, Minho’s hands on him, his touch strong, confident, and full of care, Jisung seemed to finally understand even if the strategically placed by Hyunjin wires in his brain were beginning to fry. He knew he wouldn’t go through with it if he didn’t care for the person, he knew he wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t in love with them. He’d wait till he was married, until there was a true, pure connection.

It held onto him. It smiled at him. It stood in front of him.

“When people… have sex, they’re supposed to love each other,” Jisung said quickly before Minho reached into his brain to yank him out.

Smiling wider, Minho said, “They’re also supposed to be married.”

“Then why…” Jisung cut himself off before he said something he shouldn’t.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” Minho continued on like the boy hadn’t spoken, “Men aren’t supposed to do this, together.” Color flushed from Jisung’s cheeks. Hands dropping from Minho altogether he clenched his fingers into fists and sucked in a breath. Two hands slid back to his cheeks, knowing this would happen. “This is why I’m nervous.”

You shall not lie with a man as with a woman — it is an abomination.

Jisung knew the words. He’s read them.

They didn’t scare him until right now, in this moment, alone here with Minho. He felt a great deal towards him, he’s spent plenty of nights with him in his bed, it wasn’t fair. Jisung could meet a woman tomorrow, could marry her the day after, and no one would bat an eye, but this connection he shared with Minho… Repulsive. Disgusting. Untrue. It’s what they’d say.

“Don’t be nervous,” Jisung whispered, his muscles relaxing. Reaching out his hands he smoothed them over Minho’s solid chest. “I think… Whatever I feel for you outweighs the text I’ve studied.” He felt a breath release from Minho’s chest, his hands resting over his heart. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What’s that?” Minho asked, tilting his head a bit, Jisung copying him.

“That if we were to… be something, it wouldn’t be allowed,” Jisung said, lifting his wide, sappy eyes to Minho who appeared as if Jisung had handed him the world in the palm of his hand. “I’ve never explored this with anyone before, Min, but I feel things for you, more than I feel for people I consider to be friends. It’s strange to me, to never feel these things for the women I should, but somehow, all at the same time, it makes entirely too much sense.”

“What the hell happened to the boy I met in September?” Minho breathed, the biggest, most genuine smile lighting up his face.

Jisung grabbed his t-shirt by the fistful, tugging him closer. Pushing off of the bookshelf, the entire thing wobbling, rattling against the wall. He spun around, putting Minho in his place where he once stood.

“Just that, Minho,” he smirked, pressing their noses together, “He met you.” Squinting his eyes, Jisung rested his lips. “We don’t use profanities on the property.”

Minho laughed in his face, his head tipping backward. “You’re unbelievable.” Taking his chin in his hands, Minho looked at him straight. “But, I think I worry about you, Han Jisung.”

Jisung whispered, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But, I do,” Minho whispered back, widening his eyes. “You’re much too fragile to not.”

“Fragile?” The way his brows settled over his eyes made Jisung smile. “Come on.”

“Do not act like you don’t know it,” Minho said.

Rolling his shoulders back, lifting his chin as much as he could within Minho’s grip, Jisung clenched his jaw before he said, “I don’t feel fragile with you.” Minho stilled. “Around you.”

Which also made Minho nervous, but he’d never tell Jisung.

Hands making their claim on his cheeks, where they loved to live, Minho held him close, noses touching, breath intertwining. He wanted to kiss him, longed to press his lips to his, get lost in a moment of them, just them, without a need to fear that someone would find them, that someone would walk in on them. Jisung wanted it too, Minho could see it in the way his eyes flickered about his face, the gears in his head coming to a complete standstill when Minho handled him this way.

Something about being within the walls of the sacristy stopped him. The place sacred, and incredibly important to Jisung. He may not fully understand what he’s feeling, what he’s doing, but Minho did, and Minho could. There wasn’t anything he would do that’d put Jisung in jeopardy, with the men in the house, with the room they stood in, or with himself. He said it, he’s told Jisung, that he wasn’t here to hold him back, to keep him from achieving his dream, his lifelong goal he’s strived and worked incredibly hard for.

Gazing toward him now, the air between them thick, heating up, knowing that if Jisung understood the consequences of his actions, this impressionable, genius of a young man could very well drop everything and run from him. Or, worse. Jisung could throw away everything he’s worked toward. Within his obsessive brain, the hyperfixation jumped from his life, his work, to Minho. Though he feels confident, strong in himself, something he hasn’t ever been able to feel without someone telling him he should, Minho could not shake the guilt that he swallowed and kept buried.

November has never made Jisung smile. November has never filled him with joy. The month of November had been created for work, for grey skies, rainy days, and cool breezes, ones to fuel that incurable cold pit within him. A shock down his spine, skin chilled, raised bumps littering the golden hue he’d been blessed with. November wasn’t a friend, it was a reminder of who he was, where he’d come from, what he hasn’t been able to achieve yet.

Somehow, three days into the priests week away, the grey sky greeted him instead of looming above. The chilly air that’d assault his cheeks, turning them and his nose pink, didn’t cause him as much distress as it would in the past. Whatever the weather, it didn't, and it couldn’t, bother him. By Minho’s side with much more freedom than the two have ever had, November stayed outside. It watched Jisung from the sidelines. It left him alone. With Minho nearby, it couldn’t, and it wouldn’t get to him.

Sitting side by side on the living room couches reading the same book together with the fireplace lit, Jisung couldn’t read one word, his mind couldn’t focus, not with how Minho slid a hand over his thigh beneath the book. The day had come and gone, the two barely getting any work done, spending too much time teasing one another, and when they weren’t poking and prodding one another, giggling like little girls, they were silent, the only sound that of their heavy breaths between kisses.

Minho did kiss Jisung in the sacristy days ago, with his permission. The boy didn’t care, he didn’t think twice, he blinked his big eyes and asked Minho to kiss him, so he did. That night they ended up in Minho’s bed for the first time, and Jisung woke up there, tangled in his arms. It was also the first time their hands explored one another in the hours of the morning, Minho showing Jisung how to take care of the problem he’d wake up with while their tongues pressed to the insides of their cheeks.

It was all Jisung could think about for two days. The way Minho pulled the blanket off of them, how he held beneath his chin, keeping Jisungs eyes focused. His fingers wrapped around the band around his waist and pulled, Minho freeing himself of the pajamas he wore, making sure that the night before he’d fall asleep without a shirt on. The waistband wrapped around his knees, nothing beneath them, Jisung’s lips had parted with a gasp. He’d never seen him before, only felt him.

Talking him through it with whispers to his lips, Minho told him what to do, and Jisung obeyed. The boy pushed his pants down his hips, his heart pounding within his chest, his jaw clenching in Minho’s grasp. No one’s seen him naked before, he’s never seen anyone naked before, and here Minho was beside him, bare aside from the pants covering the lower half of his legs. A smirk had pulled at his lips, the older boy tilting his head to catch Jisung’s lips in a slow, gentle kiss before telling him what to do, to do what he does.

Jisung wanted to watch, but he wanted to kiss him too. Teeth clashing, he darted his eyes to Minho’s hand as it drug over his torso, down his hips. The softest groan came out of Minho, muffled by Jisung’s lips, as his hand wrapped around himself, fingers tightening ever so slightly. White knuckles contrasted with the deepening pink of his tip, Jisung let out a sound right after, tongue lobbing into his mouth without an ounce of self control.

He whispered to him, told him again to do it with him, after instructing him to spit into his open palm he brought beneath his chin, the hand that was just wrapped around his cock. Obeying every order, Minho smiled something soft toward him, grabbing Jisung’s hand that lingered over his torso, letting a thick wad of spit fall from his lips into the boy's palm.

They kissed until they couldn’t. Their tongues danced together until they were whiney, grunting, chest heaving, stomach tightening messes. Jisung came first, Minho showering him in praises in forms of gasps as the boy watched himself cum all over the shirt he wore. Exhilarating, doing that himself, knowing that he can do that himself, and that he will be doing that again, but nothing compared to watching Minho, listening to him, the sounds he made, the sounds his body made.

He knew how to move his hand. Jisung had only been able to jack his hand up and down a few times before he was seeing stars, but Minho, his grip rough, his pace quick, the twist of his wrist positively delectable. Jisung took it all in, he studied him, the way he touched himself without looking away from the boy, his body, his eyes. It took him minutes to finish, Jisung got hard all over again, the moment it happened nearly made him orgasm untouched.

Lips pressed together in a messy spit slicked kiss, Minho jerked himself dry, whispered Can I touch you? on Jisung’s lips, and after acquiring the most pleading Yes he’s ever heard, he drug his hand through his release on his chest and swiftly wrapped his hand around Jisung, the boy's entire body writhing in an instant. Minho touched him, without anything in the way, he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t process it, couldn’t think about anything else but him, Minho. Minho.

It took nothing. Minho twisted his wrist, teased his tip, whispered one good boy to his lips and Jisung was cumming much harder than he ever had before.

Fidgeting where he sat, Minho’s hand now toying with the seam of his pants on the inside of his thigh while the other flipped the page of the book, Jisung took his bottom lip between his teeth and laid his head on Minho’s shoulder. Warmth from the crackling fire comforted him, and would have aided in lulling him to sleep if his skin wasn’t burning more than the flames themselves. His hand was too close, it drove him crazy.

He could see it, his fingers tugging at his length, the way his thumb teased his slit, every tweak of his wrist rendering him utterly thoughtless. God, he’s never felt anything more amazing.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asked, his voice a low rumble over the cracking of the wood. His eyes never left the page.

Jisung gulped. “Nothing.”

Minho snapped the book shut with one hand and tossed it to the couch beside him. With a smirk on his lips he turned his chin toward Jisung. “Liar, I can feel how tense you are.” Lowering his eyes to his hand and Jisungs thigh muscles tightened into oblivion, the boy attempted to relax with a chuckle as he reached to tangle his fingers within Minho’s. “What’ve we forgotten to do?” Minho questioned, leaning backward on the sofa, stretching his long legs in front of him, his feet touching the coffee table. “I know we’ve got a lot more to get through, you have to show me how to put the office back together, we have to finish bringing out the decorations for Christmas, but we have four days to do it, we can-”

Jisung swung a leg over his lap, straddling him as he would, and as he liked to do. Cutting him short he grabbed his face and smothered his lips with his own, pressing himself against Minho’s rock solid chest. Hands darting out to the side, Minho didn’t know what to do with them. On the couch, on his own legs, in the air beside him, he didn’t know where to hold, what to touch.

They were in the living room, in the middle of the house where everyone spent the most time, where everyone would collect in the nighttime especially now that the world has grown colder. Sure they’ve both grown bolder, have been together outside of the safety of Jisung’s bedroom, and yes, no one was here. Minho thinks he just can’t believe how bold he’s become, and all of a sudden.

Jisung says it’s because of him, because of Minho, because of his presence. He’s bold around him, has grown confident because of him. Though Minho could agree, that Jisung has changed him as well, it certainly hasn’t been to this degree. No, Minho would still keep his walls up around anyone that wasn’t the boy on his lap. He’s grown softer, towards Jisung, but wouldn’t allow the others to see this side of him. They didn’t deserve to see it, not with how they treated him, treated Jisung.

Free of having to hide Jisung let out the sweetest little whines as he grinded his body into Minho’s, his lips trailing from his lips to Minho’s sharp jaw where he pressed the softest kisses.

He knows what he’s done, Minho does. That’s why that guilt grew, that fear within him, it had the power to paralyze him if he didn’t have the strength to keep it down, keep it locked up. Jisung had grown attached, which is nothing for Minho to have a say in, because he’s grown attached too. To Jisung, to the way he moves, the way he kisses him like he’ll lose him tomorrow, how he laughs, how he makes decisions for himself and sticks to them, he follows through, he’s always been confident, always been strong, he’s never needed Minho around to act that way.

He was that way.

His tiny frame, barely matching Minho’s chest in width- entirely endearing. How he liked figuring things out for himself now that Minho’s cracked through that shell of his, how each time they’re here, on top of one another, Jisung is doing something different, pressing his lips somewhere new, not letting his fingers keep an inch of Minho unexplored.

He let him. Minho laid back, finally placed his hands to his thin waist, and let Jisung have his way with him. It was as if Minho rewound the clocks to eighteen, Jisung acting and reacting like a teenager whose brain and hormones finally clocked in.

At least it was him. Between every kiss, every whimper from his lips, every roll of his hips and tug of his hair, Minho thanked God that he had found him before anyone else. The idea that this could have been someone else made his blood run redhot. That Jisung could’ve fallen victim to what he went through, what Minho was forced to succumb to for the sake of his own sexual satisfaction, not that the three men who lived within these walls seemed the type to do such things. Minho worried.

All these years, hearing about Han Jisung, the amazing, talented, genius Han Jisung, Minho had been prepped to be faced with living a nightmare for the rest of his days here in Avida. Hope running on empty, trust rail thin, loyalty on the back burner… Jisung wrecked it all the second he sat down in Christopher’s office. A small, unsuspecting, closeted gay boy flustered beyond belief whenever Minho took a second to look at him. He wasn’t at all what he expected. This boy broke records, this boy held the highest honors, this boy trailblazed his way here without looking back.

This tiny little thing with his knees and toes turned in and the slightest slouch in his shoulders.

“I’m thinking about you, Min,” Jisung whispered, slipping his tongue over his lips. “I’m always thinking about you.”

Minho wouldn’t say he’d done it on purpose, though his eyes told a different story. It wasn’t his intention to have Jisung end up here on his lap, to corrupt whatever pristine fantasy the boy lived within. Simple curiosity drove him here, drove them both here. Minho wanted to know how he’d done it, lived a life so pure, and Jisung was driven by human instinct. Besides, who could blame Jisung for wanting a taste of sin when it looked this good beneath him.

Minho didn’t intend on falling so damn hard.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

These drawn out nights, the sneaking around, the teasing all day just to kiss him a few times at night- it wasn’t supposed to happen. Minho wanted him the second he saw him, wanted him under him, back arched, slim waist in his big hands. It didn’t happen that way. Jisung climbed on top of him. Every time he pinned him down, he grasped control, he took this where he wanted it to go, and Minho so willingly let it happen.

He doesn’t know when he forfeited the fight, white flag waving, he’s not even sure he’s ever even had the upper hand. Something about Jisung, Minho couldn’t say no, couldn’t tell him what to do even if he tried. He wanted to give him everything he’s ever wanted, all it took was a few blinks of those pure wide eyes and Minho was putty in his hands. The slightest pout of his lips and Minho’s brain switched off.

Whatever Jisung wanted, Jisung got.

Small hands gripped the collar of his shirt, tiny fingers slipping in between the buttons, giving the fabric a harsh tug, pulling it open. Jisung, taking his lips down the side of Minho’s neck, pulling his skin roughly between his teeth, he moved over his collar bone, his tongue dipping into the valleys of each bone, every muscle. Minho’s head tipped backward, eyes fluttering shut, his own sighs and desperate hums, pleas for more, spurring the boy on.

Laying messy, hot, open mouthed kisses to his exposed porcelain chest, Jisung tugged his shirt to the side and tried something new, his conscious brain off, driven completely by the pulsing between his legs. Wrapping his lips around one of Minho’s nipples he giggled as his body jerked, the man's fingers digging into his waist. Pulling away, lips slick, having made a complete mess of his chest, Jisung gazed up at him and poked out his tongue, flicking it over the bud slowly, smiling as every muscle in Minho’s body tensed.

“That feels good?” he asked, and Minho dropped his chin, lips parted, eyes hooded.

Taking a hand to Jisung’s curls, he gasped, “Yes,” and pushed the boy's head back down.

With a smile he drew his tongue in circles, slipping a hand beneath Minho’s shirt to brush his fingers over the other. “What if I do this?” A delicate graze over the rock hard bud sent a chill down Minho’s spine. He was hard under him, Jisung could feel it, he was fighting to not buck his hips up into him. Taking his lips to the other, making sure he had his full attention everywhere, Jisung rubbed his thumb through the slick he left behind and pushed. Then he flicked his thumb side to side, just barely brushing the tip. Sucking on the other, he pulled away, a string of saliva dangling from his lips. “Minho?” His warm breath tickled his wet skin.

Sucking air in through his teeth, Minho tipped his head down and clenched his jaw. “Jisung?”

The boy twisted his brows together and studied his face, his expression one like he saw that morning, while Minho touched himself. Keeping their eyes locked, Jisung opened his mouth and latched his lips to his nipple, Minho writhing beneath him. He let his teeth graze over it slightly, eliciting a groan from his chest, and made sure to leave a mess behind when he parted from him.

Lips puffy, shining in the glow of the flames in the fireplace, he released a breath over Minho’s slick skin and watched him gasp. Spinning his tongue in his mouth, gathering what he could, forcing more from his tongue, Jisung leaned over his chest and let a thick wad of spit fall over each hardened bud. Eyes flickering up to meet Minho’s, Jisung pursed his lips and blew cool air over his chest, his middle fingers barely touching those sensitive spots, nudging them, teasing him.

He learned it all in real time, while doing, while watching, listening. A genius, he picked up on all of it, how Minho’s body responded, what he needed to do to make him make moan like that again, what it took to get him hard, what it took to get him not hard.

Wondering what would happen if he kept going like this, if touching him this way could make him cum, he wanted to find out. His body reacted the same way, he made the same sounds, if anything he was louder. Flicking his tongue faster, quicker, prodding him full of more pleasure, he felt determined to make it happen, if it was possible.

But, then he remembered that Minho taught him something about stamina. It’s why Jisung came within seconds, but Minho could go for so much longer. Virgins didn’t have stamina, that’s why Jisung could burst at any moment and Minho wasn’t even touching him. He was new at this, inexperienced, and stamina came with time, with practice. It could take forever to get Minho to finish without touching him elsewhere.

His hands slid down his torso, keeping his lips moving, his tongue working, Minho panting. Unbuttoning his pants, moving so gently he prayed his lips would keep him distracted so he wouldn’t stop him, he pulled at the zipper and sighed, getting his hand over his underwear, over his very long, very hard length. The way Minho moaned made Jisung’s stomach tighten, so much so that he had to stop what he was doing, had to close his eyes and breathe so he didn’t make a mess of his pants.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” Jisung whispered.

Minho threw his head forehead, his eyes wild as he sneered through his teeth, “You’re gonna make me cum.” The way the boy smirked up at him didn’t help.

“Good.”

“Jisung, hang on,” Minho breathed, “Wait, I-”

He didn’t wait. He couldn’t wait. His heart pounded between his lungs, he was one track minded, he had something to do, something to finish.

Sliding off of his lap to the floor, Jisung fit perfectly between his knees, his sturdy thighs framing his face. Fingers curling under the waistband, he tugged his bottoms down and Minho’s length nearly tapped his nose with how it sprung free. Eyes widening, mouth salivating without realizing, Jisung looked up at Minho who held his breath. His hands were on the couch, grasping for anything to keep him here, present, steady. Looking up at him, his broad exposed chest, his wide shoulders, his thick thighs parted to house Jisung between them. He felt small. Just sitting on the couch Minho towered over him, could grab him with a hand and pin him on his back, taking control like it was nothing.

But he didn’t.

His wide eyes laced with lust gazed down at Jisung, admiring how small he was like Jisung admired how big Minho was. The way the boy gulped at the sheer size of him, his pouted lips inches from his leaking, eager red tip, an innocence once conquered by the facade of he knew what he was doing, but he didn’t.

He’d gotten this far, he’d figure it out.

Blinking a billion times, eyes focused, Jisung leaned into his hips and wrapped a hand around the base of his length, praying away shaking fingers as he grasped him, and squeezed him like Minho did to himself that morning.

“Shiii- Ji,” Minho grit his teeth, his head falling backward, eyes screwed shut. His hand, so small, his fingers, tiny little things, still able to send sparks through his being.

Remembering what he was taught, looking between his heaving chest and his cock that somehow hardened further, he spit into his other hand and swapped it for the other, the coolness of his touch making Minho wince and whine. Smoothing the slick up and down his length, every ridge, every vein like gold in his fingers, he started to smile. Taking in how he looked, long, thick, perfect, his lips parted and his jaw fell open.

An involuntary response. Mouth pooling with saliva, bound to dribble over his chin if he didn’t shut his jaw, he felt empty.

“God, Jisung,” Minho’s moans were as desperate as they’d started, every deep, orgasmic sound making his throat and belly tighten.

What is that?

Licking his lips as his hand tugged up to his tip, his palm smoothing over it like Minho had done to Jisung, he gulped and moved closer. His tongue bobbed in his mouth, pushing against the back of his throat, longing to fall out of his lips. Minho’s gasps, the twitching of his length, the jerking of his hips, Jisung couldn’t help but moan aloud, pressing himself into his thighs, slipping Minho’s tip between his parted lips. Hands flew into his curls, Minho’s fingers tangling with the waves, gripping him tight.

“Jisung,” he groaned, but the boy ignored him.

It felt good. Body tingling, heart thumping, Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut. Breathing through his nose, taking in a deep breath, he sighed around him and sank further, letting Minho’s length hit that spot in his throat, the back of his mouth. Sliding his tongue along the bottom, he pulled away just a bit before ever so slightly twisting his chin before sinking back down, the tip of Minho’s cock hitting places that made Jisung feel fuzzy. Minho, a mess beneath him, couldn’t compare to the way Jisung rutted himself against the couch, bobbed his head faster, and faster, longing to feel him everywhere, feeling so full of him, like every need he ever had was being fulfilled in this moment.

He couldn’t stop, not even when Minho moaned out his name, not even when he felt his own high sparked, rushing toward him, whimpering louder and louder, fueled by the way Minho jerked up into his throat. He made him feel good, he was making him feel good. Jisungs nails pressed into Minho’s thighs, sure to leave marks behind in their wake.

“Fuck, you’re gonna cum,” Minho groaned, pulling Jisung off of him by his hair. Lips swollen, eyes clouded over, brain shut off and dizzy, Jisung was positively wrecked. His tongue fell from his lips and his jaw hung open like his mouth awaited more, unable to do anything else but be used. “How do you know how to do this?”

Jisung gulped, throat tightening around nothing, a soft whine following. “Feels good,” he whispered.

“What?” Minho whispered, holding him by his hair.

Jisungs tongue licked around his lips. “I like the way you feel in my mouth.”

Jaw clenching, groan trapped in his chest, Minho released the boy's hair and tucked his hands beneath his arms, pulling him onto the couch, laying him flat on his back. Lowering himself on top of him, noses centimeters apart, Minho poked out his tongue and pressed his lips to Jisungs, sucking his bottom one between his teeth as his hands worked down his body, tugging off the boy’s pants without him even knowing.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Jisung,” he whispered, then moved down his body, nipping at his neck on the way down. Chest arching off the cushions, Jisung scrambled for his shoulders, but he kept moving, so he had to lace his fingers through his hair. “You smart, smart, boy,” Minho pressed kisses to his protruding hip bones, his hands grasping his waist, his eyes marveling at the difference in size. “Learning so quick,” his tongue dipped out, a thick stripe licked across the strip of skin below his navel, “So eager, too.” Minho looked up at him, meeting his eyes heavy with need. “You’re so good, Jisung, you know that?”

The boy couldn’t do anything but tighten his fingers in his brown locks, barely nodding his head in answer. Minho pressed kisses along the inside of his hips, Jisungs aching length waiting so patiently for him to take it.

“But, what would they say to you right now?” Minho grazed his tongue along the underside of his cock and Jisung trembled. “Their good, perfect, pristine boy, what would they tell you right now, hm? With me here between your legs,” Minho managed to shed him of his pants completely, “My cock just down your throat.” He pushed his knees backward and lowered his chin, his nose brushing against that sweet spot under his length. “So dirty,” he whispered, dipping his tongue out to tease his hole that Minho longed to ruin. A smile snuck onto Jisungs lips, one that made Minho perk a brow. “Yeah?”

“What,” Jisung whispered, unable to wipe his smirk away.

Minho positioned his shoulders just under his hips and nosed his length. “Han Jisung, that turns you on,” he said, lowering his tone. The boy shut his eyes and shook his head.

“No,” he sighed. “No, it doesn’t.”

Minho smirked. “Your smile says otherwise.” Sticking out his tongue, he teased his leaking tip, licking away all evidence of precum, swallowing it down, the taste sweet. Writhing where he laid, hands tugging harshly at Minho’s hair, the man grinned. “Jisung,” he clicked his tongue, tone disappointed. The boy looked down at him. “You filthy fuckin’ sinner,” Minho whispered just before he took him into his mouth, sinking down on him until his nose nudged his pelvis.

Jisung sprung forward, jaw agape, loud, guttural moans tumbling from his lips. Minho could take all of him, and then some. Sure, he didn’t compare in size, but still, the way he could fit him in his throat without a breath, without easing himself onto it, he had Jisung’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. His mouth, his tongue, so warm, so wet, his throat hot and tight as he swallowed him down.

It ended faster than it started, Jisung couldn’t help it.

No stamina.

He couldn’t even warn Minho, his words were mindless babbles of nothing comprehensible, just disgustingly delicious wails of ecstasy. He came in his mouth, down his throat, Minho groaning as he did. Pulling off of him with a pop, Jisung a limp, heaving heap on the couch, Minho sat up and grabbed his waist with one hand, the other pulling at his length, yanking Jisung close to him. He fisted himself, thrusted into his hand as he leaned over Jisung in his post-orgasmic daze. The boy, slow blinking, wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him closer, lips finding lips.

Groaning into the kiss, Minho whispered, “Such a good boy, Ji.” Tongues tangled, chests pressing together, whimpers falling from both of them, Minho’s brow furrowed and his teeth caught onto Jisung’s neck, pressing into the soft skin as he came all over Jisung’s stomach with a moan.

Catching his breath, littering his skin with soft kisses, Minho looked down at the boy smiling up at him, the tiniest thing one would miss if they weren’t centimeters from each other.

With the way he gazed up at him, if Minho didn’t already know that Jisung had fallen, he’d know now.

The heat of the stove warmed Jisung where he sat on the wooden stool, half slumped over the kitchen counter. An elbow on the slab, his chin sat in his hand. Ann moved around the space like she haunted it, knowing every nook and cranny, what tiles to step on, and where everything lived. A tall steel pot sat on top of the stove she stood in front of, just beside Jisung. Dipping a spoon into the simmering, savory smelling soup she’d been working on for some time now, she held it out to the boy with a hand beneath it.

“What am I missing?”

Jisung sipped from the ladle, his eyes widening at the perfect taste. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head as he took the ladle from her to finish what was left. “It’s delicious.”

Her cheeks perked up in a smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling at the same time. “You can tell me the truth, Jisung,” she said, her voice soft, “Unlike the others, you can be honest with me.” She turned back to her pot after taking the ladle from his outstretched hand, her smile deepening as his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“What are you talking about?” he asked within half a whisper. Ann stirred her soup, focused on the stove top. Sitting up, Jisung shoved his hands between his thighs, still wearing his pajamas. If the priests were here he’d have changed, he’d have washed up, made himself a bit more presentable than pajamas and bedhead. “This isn’t the first time you’ve said something like this.”

“It’s not?” she asked, lifting a silver brow.

“No,” Jisung said, missing her sarcasm that so easily posed as real. “The way that you talk about them,” he paused, and she gave him a glance, “Why?”

She took a breath. “The Jisung I know has only ever wanted one thing.”

The boy lowered his brows. “The job?”

Ann swallowed a smile. “Acceptance.” A needle struck his chest. He narrowed his eyes. “I have watched you try for years now, working yourself into the ground to impress, setting your own needs aside for the sake of theirs, setting incredible, unrealistic expectations because you believe it’s the only way they’ll allow you to stay, the only way you think you’ll be given the job.”

Jisung gulped. Blinking fervently, he looked down at his lap, his hands that were clammy between his knees. “Just want to show them I can handle what they give me.”

“And, you do,” she sang, moving toward a cabinet full of spices. “You do more than handle it, Jisung, don’t you understand that?”

He pursed his lips, his courage vanishing deep within him. “It’s still not enough. It doesn’t matter.”

“Now, you know that’s not true,” Ann said.

“It’s entirely true,” he snapped, snapping his head up to glare at her. The woman with the silver braid held his stare, her years of life keeping her strong on her feet. “You weren’t here the morning they left, but they said it themselves. I’m not ready, and at this point, I don’t know what else to do to prove that I am.”

Ann lowered her gaze to the stove. “Not much has been done this week.”

Jisung clenched his jaw. “Because they made me not want to do anything.” She kept quiet, stirring the soup, wandering about the kitchen. “I keep giving, and giving, and giving, and for what?”

“Are you looking for a reward?” Ann questioned, rhetorically of course, but it forced an answer from the boy.

“Yes,” he whispered through his teeth. She turned to face him completely, her soft wrinkled fingers smoothing over the apron tied to her front. Jisung met her eyes, her sharp, knowing eyes, and he melted in place. Shoulders slumping, back curving, he glanced at his lap, to his tight fists, and relaxed them. “What am I saying?”

Ann stepped forward, resting a hand to his shoulder. “Frustration is a very normal thing to feel, Jisung. I believe you deserve the position, though my word means nothing-”

“It means a lot,” Jisung whispered, and she smiled, her fingers patting his boney joint.

“Control the things you want to say,” she continued. “What you just told me, as if you were admitting your faults, or admitting your wants, your greed, you know it won’t fare well with the others. Christopher has told you that before.” Jisung cringed at the drop of his name, and Ann tilted her head. “The way they feel about your emotions getting the better of you, Jisung.”

“They don’t get it,” he whispered. “I’m starting to think they never have.”

Ann moved back to her cooking. “Why’s that?” Only her eyes shifted to watch the boy fidget where he sat, rolling his shoulders back, glancing about the kitchen while his heart began to thud between his lungs.

“The same reason why they won’t give me what I want,” he mumbled. The smallest smile graced her lips. “Minho.”

“Minho?” she asked.

“Yes?”

Jisungs head whipped toward the archway where his voice sounded. Dressed half the same, hair in slightly better shape than the boy on the stool, Minho wandered across the tile with something of a smile on his face. Glancing between Ann and Jisung, the woman focused on her work, the boy wide eyed and staring at him, Minho didn’t know where to go. Leaning against the kitchen table, folding his hands over his chest, he tipped his nose in the air.

“That smells incredible,” he said, morning grog still in his voice. Ann turned to him and thanked him with a smile.

Jisung, sitting up entirely straight, couldn’t take his eyes off of him. A white t-shirt clung to his upper half, accentuating every muscle beneath it, where Jisung had his lips last night. Cheeks flushing, he slid his hands over his thighs and gripped his knees. Lethal, everything about him, no matter if he was half clothed and panting on the living room couch or politely speaking with Ann in the morning daylight of the kitchen. He didn’t know where to look actually, any place he chose it made him warm. All over.

He woke up in his bed again, next to him. Tangled with him.

Fumbling up the stairs hand in hand that’s where they ended up. Beneath Minho’s blankets, clothes strewn to the floor, two sweaty bodies curled up with one another.

Nothing existed in that moment besides them. To Jisung, nothing much other than Minho himself mattered when they were like that.

And, when he walked into the kitchen apparently.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I just woke up,” Minho said, shrugging his shoulders. He flashed a crooked smile at Jisung and the boy blushed. “It’s strange not being on a schedule, this week feels like a vacation for us, too.”

“I’m sure it does,” Ann said quietly, and both boys looked at her. Minho snuck a glimpse of Jisung and wanted to reach out and shake the shock from his face, where he wasn’t giving anything away, Jisung told her everything.

Jisung grit his teeth together before he rolled his head backward and groaned aloud. “If I wanted to get everything done, I could do it in a day,” he grumbled, then shot Minho a look. The man’s fingers tightened on his biceps. “Besides, I don’t think they’re so deserving of it right now, do you?”

Minho perked a brow, a nervous laugh tumbling from his lips as he glanced between Ann and the boy. “I mean,” he breathed, “What are you saying?”

“That they’ll expect everything to be done by the time they come back,” Jisung held his chin high, “That I go above and beyond, every time, she just said it, I do more than enough.” Minho was quiet, waiting for more. Jisung whispered, “What happens if I don’t do a thing?”

“You don’t mean that,” Minho said through a laugh.

Jisung tipped his chin forward. “What if I do?”

“I’d like to know what you have to do with Jisung not getting promoted like he wants,” Ann said, turning to face Minho. Standing up straight, he dropped his arms to his sides, smoothed them over his thighs, then tucked them behind his back. Eyes wide, jaw clenched, his gaze shifted around the room. “Why does he say you’re the reason why they’re not giving him the position?”

Jisung watched him search for the words to say to her, a man who could once conjure up a comeback in seconds, speechless. Either he couldn’t figure it out, or he didn’t want to say a thing. Beneath Ann’s stare, one that resembled Hyunjin’s, though it tended to be more caring, more concerned rather than just collecting information, Minho stumbled over words, finally forcing something from his lips.

“I- I- I didn’t know,” he shrugged. “I’m just trying to keep up with him, just trying to learn from him.” Ann’s expression relaxed. “I don’t want to stand in his way, if anything I want to help him achieve his goals.”

The woman hummed to herself. “I’m sure you do.” Minho glanced at Jisung, the boys sharing a look that made Jisung queasy. Ann turned back to the stove, busying herself, then she said, “They should’ve put you both in one room.”

Chills shot down Jisung’s spine. “What?” he sighed heavily, fingers tightening over his knees. Minho was frozen, wide eyed and glued in place. Jisung swore a smile longed to break out onto her face.

“Your bedroom door was open when I got here this morning,” she said with a quick look toward him. “Are you going to tell Christopher you’re sleeping in his bed? Or, will this be our little secret, these sleepovers?”

“Our secret,” Jisung said entirely too fast for Minho’s liking. The boy caught the slight narrowing of her eyes before she looked away, his own squinting with intrigue. “Ann,” he said just above a whisper, unable to withhold the trembling of his voice. She peered over. She was smiling. Gulping, Jisung whispered, “These?”

Her smile grew. Looking over her shoulder at Minho, then at Jisung, she said, “I’m an exquisite secret keeper.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jisung’s voice quieted, full of worry. Ann hummed to herself yet again, tending to the soup on the stovetop. “Who’s secrets?” She didn’t budge. “Ann,” Jisung slid off the stool and took to her side, latching onto her shoulder, “Please, you can’t do this, tell me.”

She shifted only her eyes. “Yours, Jisung. I always keep yours.” She watched as he looked toward Minho with brows flipped over and hands trembling on her shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on, then maybe I’ll have a better understanding as to why things are the way that they are.” Jisung snapped his neck to look back at her. “I’m not one of them, I am simply here to feed and take care of you, nothing you say to me reaches their ears. If there is something troubling you, if there is something you need to get off of your chest, Jisung, let me be the one to carry it for you.”

He pulled his hands off of her quickly, pressing them to his chest. Tears welling up in his eyes, he blinked fervently, took several steps backward, then bolted from the kitchen.

Christmas trees would tower beside the altar, wearing lights, silver garland, blood red poinsettias. The stained glass windows would be dressed in wreaths, pine wafting through the air, a sign and a comfort that the day was coming. The day would soon be here, be upon the church, the day Christ is born. Jisung would drape the sanctuary with love and care, adoration. No corner untouched, no space forgotten. It’s the most joyous time of year, the most wonderful, he’d take his time, spend every last minute decorating, polishing, cleaning, making it perfect. It had to be perfect.

Sitting in the last pew staring out into the empty church, not a soul in the room other than himself, he envisioned what it should look like, what it should start looking like. Christmas time. Set up started with him, this week, small things here and there like the wreaths, or the Christmas candles, or the ribbons and garland and bows. He and Minho had brought some of them out, uncovered them deep from the closets, but he couldn’t put them up.

The November sun was setting, flashes of lingering sunlight made the windows glow before it’d vanish into the grey void.

Jisung could feel it today.

Cold seeped through the bricks, the stone around him, caressed the bare skin of the back of his neck, an old friend. Vacant pews, vacant choir chancel, he danced his gaze about the walls, chills erupting over his skin. Tucking his hands into his chest, beneath his arms that crossed, he gulped.

These walls, these pillars that towered over him, that arched into the rounded painted ceiling, they judged him. Cold. The faces in the paintings, in the stained glass windows, the stories they told, that once warmed his heart and brought him nothing but hope and wonder, they judged him. He’d walk down this aisle with Christopher, a knowledge hungry, eager boy who now fears he knows too much.

These marble floors, chestnut pews, porcelain statues wearing tears on their cheeks for Jisung himself, anywhere he laid his eyes, the details spat at his feet. How dare he even walk through the doors, how dare he have the guts to sit down in His home, His palace of worship, knowing what he’s done, what he’s chosen to do.

Things he knew were wrong, actions that came with horrific consequences.

How is he to be forgiven after all this time? Jisung should’ve sat himself here at the first implication, after the first night, the first time.

Sinner.

He’d done it.

Filthy.

A word so pretty when it came from plush lips. It filled him with shame, his skin crawling, a place he longed to escape from. But, when it came from plush, delicate lips full of promise he’s never felt more alive.

A trap is what it was. It’s what he was, those plush, delicate, red hot lips that sent him into nirvana. A trap. A test. The test. A distraction.

But, what of what he’s said?

He’s not here to withhold what he wants, he didn’t come here to keep him from his goals, his achievements, his dreams. For weeks, months now, he’s encouraged, supported, defended, and protected. He’s shared more with Jisung than anyone ever has, now the deepest parts of him, there wasn’t any way he’s been planted here to challenge him.

Christopher wouldn’t let that happen. He’s said it, there isn’t anything left for Jisung to prove.

If Minho was, if what they say is the truth, then it means they’ve…

“Jisung?”

His voice ricocheted off the walls, a dagger to the boy's heart as the judgement amplified tenfold. Pillars, marble, cedarwood alike, they looked down upon them. It nauseated him.

He’d come in through the sacristy, pushing open the doors behind the altar, appearing upon the marble in a sweater and slacks. Jisung gulped, wrapping his arms around himself tighter. Carrying a folder in his hand, one thick and full of white paper, he stepped down to the floor with a pause. Fifty feet of empty air and pews stood between them.

They hadn’t spoken a word since the kitchen this morning, both taking to their work, or lack thereof, Minho holing himself up in the office, organizing documents, shredding what no longer was needed, keeping things fresh for the upcoming year. Jisung escaped into the sacristy after he’d gotten dressed. There wasn’t much to do aside from dusting the shelves again, or stacking the books differently again. After pointless hours of cleaning that did anything but clear his head, he ventured out into the sanctuary, wandered down the aisle and placed himself here, in the pew he’d spent ample time in.

Time he’s unsure was well spent or a waste.

Minho took tentative steps, inching toward the boy in the back pew, shoes clicking with every footstep. The folder swung at his side, his fingers clutching it like it were gold while the other lived in his pocket. His chin had lowered halfway down the aisle, eyes softened yet on alert, not knowing which version of the boy he’s grown to love he’d be approaching. Brown eyes clouded over with guilt, he could feel it the second he stepped into the church.

An attempt had been made to catch him before he ran off earlier in the day, but Minho had been ignored. To think Ann was on their side, the way she spoke, somehow it's done more damage than it’s done good. She had reached into his head, Jisungs’, grabbed his thoughts, the ones that had been pushed aside, and she’d twisted them all up, mixed them together. The good had been muddled with what Minho had feared from the start.

Jisung should’ve done this the first time he kissed him.

Jisung should’ve pushed him away then, when it’d all begun, before either of them started to drown.

He stopped at the end of the pew, Jisung sitting on the farther side. Just the way he clung to himself drove a knife through Minho’s heart. Defenceless. Awaiting an insufficient saviour, forced into the arms of one supposedly corrupt, damnable.

“Jisung.” Voice soft, barely audible, Minho waited for an answer. The boy’s eyes were focused forward, fawning over the bare altar, mentally kicking himself for not doing a damn thing. Lifting the folder to his chest, holding it there with both of his hands, Minho took a deep breath, one shaky as he released it. “I thought I said don’t run from me.”

Jisung gulped, jaw clenched too tight. Only his eyes flickered over to Minho, closing as they met his discern. He whispered, “You’re not supposed to take things from the office.” He would have laughed if Jisung wasn’t having a panic attack. He would have laughed if what he took didn’t have any importance to either of them.

Every file he found, he read through. Every folder with an inconspicuous label, he flipped through. Papers in the drawers neither of the boys were to go through, locked drawers, locked cabinets, Minho found his way in, too curious to breeze past them. Jisung did this often, once a month, straightening up the lives of the three men keeping him on a short leash, and not once had he thought to go through sealed drawers, or folders labeled for the priests only. Minho didn’t care much for consequence, he’d feign innocence and claim he’d only been doing his job, that he longed to be as thorough as Jisung.

Locked meant hidden.

Confidential meant secret.

What he found made him sick.

“Can I sit down?”

Jisung opened his eyes, tears seconds from falling, and he nodded. Minho didn’t come any closer, but he sat down on the pew, many feet separating them from one another. Out of arm's reach.

Wallowing in the silence, the only sound to be heard is that of Jisung forcing himself to take deep breaths and the wind howling past the windows outside in the chilling air, Minho drug his fingers along the edges of the folder he sat on his lap. Taking in the church around him, not once letting his eyes fall upon Jisung, he listened to his breaths, his fingers tracing in time with the sound, dragging faster as the boy's intake of air quickened.

Sobs were caught in his throat. The urge to cry had grown stronger the closer he’d gotten, and now that he sat beside him, too far away, yet not far enough, Jisung found himself entirely torn. Which way to go, where to end up, what to do, it was lost upon him. Vision going blurry, he cried aloud, the sound bouncing from wall to wall, taunting him.

“Ow.”

Pressing his hands to his cheeks, he wiped at his eyes, turning toward Minho who had slid closer, now beside him with the tip of his ring finger between his lips. Reaching out for him, blinded by tears, he clung to the sleeve of his sweater and pulled him in, burying his face in his shoulder. Minho wrapped the arm around his back, knitting his fingers in the boy's hair.

His touch alone lessened the weight Jisung bore. His presence, the sound of his voice, his smell. The way he let him cry, sobbing against him, tears staining his sweater. Jisung grasped fistfuls of cotton, pressing into Minho as if he wasn’t the reason he’d been ripped in two.

It should be simple.

What a Goddamn shame it wasn’t.

The one thing he wants more than what he’s tried to achieve for two years of his life, and he can’t have either of them.

Sucking in a sharp breath, lifting his head from Minho’s shoulder, fists still clinging to him for clarity, he met his eyes and released a trembling sigh. Gaze dancing about his honey’d skin, cheeks tear stained, eyes glossy, Minho parted his lips to speak, to whisper to him, but Jisung tugged him by the sweater, planting his lips to his cheek. With a breath, he kissed him again, and again, his lips drawing lower down his jaw, beneath it.

Gripping him by the hair, curls wrapped around his strong fingers, Minho tugged him backward, swallowing the groan that almost came out of him. Jisung, lips slick, brows tipped up, tears streaming down his face, eyes pleading to let him carry on, how weak he felt in Minho’s grasp, it was entirely obscene.

“Ji,” Minho whispered with the slightest shake of his head.

The boy let out the smallest whine. “Minho,” he whispered back.

“Talk to me.” Minho’s lips thinned when Jisung shook his head. “Why not?”

Jisung cried, his voice broken. “You did this to me.”

Minho glanced at the folder he’d slipped onto the pew, eyes narrowing. In his moment of weakness, distracted, Jisung slipped from his grip and threw his arms around his shoulders, lips locking with his, using a hand to maneuver his chin in his favor.

“Jisung,” he managed to mumble, but the boy wouldn’t stop, and Minho couldn’t help himself. Slipping right into delicious kisses, warm flicks of tongues over lips, nothing he would, or could say would end this.

In minutes Jisung climbed onto his lap, he was waiting for it, he knew it was coming. Knees spread over his lap, Jisung laid his chest against Minho’s, his weight on him entirely, like he was handing himself over, surrendering himself to the man beneath him. Hands taken to his waist, Minho drug them up his side and around his back, pressing him even closer.

This was different. Every smack of their lips grew hungrier as the minutes passed, neither one taking their time to savor the other, each kiss persistent, feverish, like they had something to prove. Shameless, not one worried about where they sat, when their tongues met, noses squished together, Jisung smiled.

The world switched off.

Nothing else mattered.

Taking his hands to his jaw, Jisung caught his bottom lip with his teeth and tugged on it, the man groaning aloud, the beautiful sound echoing up to the angels on the ceiling. Tongue lobbing out to drag over the fullness, soothing the bite, Jisung answered his groan with a whine, grinding his hips down into Minho’s lap, smiling over his lips again as he felt his hands slide down to his waist.

“I can’t believe you,” Minho whispered, trailing his lips down Jisung’s jaw, down the side of his neck, taking the skin between his teeth before sucking at it harshly. The boy tipped his chin back, the softest moan sounding from his smiling lips. “This is insanity, Jisung.”

He laughed, and Minho half gasped up at him before he was gifting with another mouthful of his tongue. Hips bucking up into Jisung as the boy wrapped a hand around the base of his neck, he cursed against his lips, something Jisung couldn’t make out. He didn’t care, Minho was hard already. Before him.

“You were right, you know.” Jisung slowed his lips, looking at him through hooded eyes. Minho questioned him with the furrow of his brow. “This does turn me on,” he whispered, glancing around the church. Reaching for one of Minho’s hands on his waist, Jisung slipped it between his legs, then let him go and palmed over Minho’s length. “But, it gets you first.”

“Look at where you are,” Minho clenched his jaw. “Look at what you’re doing.” His tone only seemed to spur Jisung on, the boy's smirk grew, his body writhing, his hands grabbing. “I have every good intention to stop you right now.”

Jisung pressed an open mouthed kiss to his lips, lingering for longer than before, slower, humming against him, rolling his hips into the palm of his hand, aching for more. “But you won’t.”

“No,” Minho whispered, closing his hand over the boy’s cock, eliciting a whimper from his throat. “I won’t, ‘cause just like you Jisung…”

The boy grinned something wicked, hips bucking into Minho’s hand, the friction not enough. Kissing him fast, rough, he took a hand between their bodies and pressed his thumb to Minho’s forehead. “In the name of the Father,” he whispered. Minho sighed, his eyes screwed shut, lips calling Jisung’s back toward them. “And of the Son,” Jisung spoke between slow, wet kisses, his hand pressing to Minho’s heart before it groped each shoulder, “And of the Holy Spirit.”

“Ji,” Minho could barely make a sound, he couldn’t move. Jisung’s hand took beneath his jaw, tipping it upward, forcing him to look him in the eye.

He smiled, one gentle, and he whispered, “Bless me, Father,” he paused, Minho a trembling mess under him, “For I have sinned.”

“God,” Minho groaned, eyes nearly rolling back as they fluttered shut.

Jisung poked his tongue out from between his lips and drug it over his neck, not once, not twice, but three times, savoring every second, every twitch of Minho’s hips, every whine he tried to swallow. “‘Cause just like me, Minho,” he whispered in his ear, his teeth catching the soft skin of his lobe, pulling before he wrapped his lips around it. “Finish it. Tell me. What am I? What are you?”

Minho grabbed at his waist, fingers digging into the bone, withholding his movement. Keeping him still, his jaw tightened and he gulped, looking directly at him. Jisung waited with baited breath, eyes flickering from his torn lips to his dazed stare. Within a whisper, Minho smirked, “Filthy fuckin’ sinners.”

From pretty lips.

Jisung’s belly caved. Biting down on his lip with a gravely groan, he couldn’t help the way his hips bucked forward. “No, no, no,” he whispered hurriedly, hands grabbing onto Minho’s biceps, fingers digging into the muscle.

“Don’t you dare,” Minho grumbled, and Jisung’s eyes shot open wide. A hand latched onto his jaw, Minho bringing him closer, their noses brushing. “What do you want, Jisung?”

“You,” he whispered, and Minho rolled his eyes. Jisung quivered.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” Minho grit his teeth, speaking through them. “What do you want, Jisung.”

The boy parted his lips, but nothing came out. A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “You.” Leaning into him, Minho prepared to catch a kiss, but Jisung’s lips ghosted him. Grabbing his wrists, pulling him off of him, Jisung slid off his lap and hurried out of the pew.

Minho sat forward, one hand on the back of the pew in front of him, the other on his lap. “What are you doing?” Holding in a laugh, he watched as Jisung tucked his hands behind his back and stepped into the pew before him. Sitting down on the wood, he rested his chin on top of Minho’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Just as his other hand reached for his hair, Jisung sprung up from his seat and rushed toward the end of the pew, stepping out into the center aisle of the church.

Dainty fingers dragging over the carved chestnut wood, Jisung looked back at him, fluttering lashes and a smile so innocent, all Minho could do was roll his eyes for the umpteenth time. “You want me, but you’re running from me.” Standing to his feet, Jisung’s eyes lit up. Minho took his time, strolling toward the end of the pew, eyes fixed on Jisung toying with the wood, waiting for him to bolt yet again. Shoes hitting the tile every few seconds, Minho reached the end, thinking he’d gotten him, but Jisung was one step ahead. As Minho attempted to swing an arm around the boy, Jisung darted away, to the other side of the aisle, many steps away.

“I really thought you’d be good at this,” Jisung teased. “Honest.”

“You little bas-”

“Don’t curse,” Jisung cut him clean off, lifting a finger. He took a few steps toward the front of the church, and Minho followed suit.

“That’s rich,” he furrowed his brows. “Don’t curse.”

They both took a few more steps, completely in sync on opposite sides of the aisle.

Jisung pouted. “I mean it.”

Minho smirked.

Three more steps.

“I don’t understand you,” he breathed. “I don’t think I ever will.”

Jisung broke out into a grin, lowering his chin. “Try,” he whispered, and they took off. Jisung bolted straight toward the altar, Minho on his heels.

Leaping up the stairs, giggles falling from his lips, Jisung grabbed onto the marble and swung himself around the other side, facing the church. Minho posted himself across from Jisung, both hands planted to the cool stone, arms stretched out to either end.

Like the day they’d met.

Face to face in a church Jisung had made a home out of.

He’d taught it to him, top to bottom, every room, every detail, every corner. The secrets these walls held, that the house kept, things he’s never told anyone else, he’d given it to him. To think that very first day Jisung loathed the very idea of sharing anything with him.

Now he can’t get enough.

Minho tipped toward his left, making Jisung spring the other way. Rounding the altar, light on his feet while Jisung scrambled, knees weak with giggles, Minho paused, and waited. A smile played at his lips, but something sounded off in his brain, coursing through his veins, his skin buzzing. Jisung’s eyes, wide, bright, pure, had Minho digging his nails into his palms, wishing they were Jisung’s thighs, Jisungs hips, Jisungs anything.

He knew what he wanted, what he was asking for, what this little dance was all a part of. It only needed to fall into place, and Minho knew exactly where they’d fit. Jisung may have good foreplay game, but the night they spent on the couch told Minho plenty.

The boy needed someone to pin him down.

He pined after that type of submission, another sick way of him fulfilling his need to please, his need to be perfect.

The longer they spun around the altar, the longer Minho chased after him, the more likely he’d be to give that to him.

“Ji,” Minho said, tone steady yet a bit derogatory. “What happens when I catch you?”

Jisung brought his lips between his teeth, his laugh vibrating along the stained glass windows now casting the boys in shadows, more darkness in the room than there was light. Minho tried to pull a fast one on him, hurrying around a corner while he laughed, but Jisung scrambled away, nearly bumping into the corner of the marble.

He caught his breath, sliding a hand over his heart to ease its pounding, and said, “You tell me.” They met smiles, but Minho’s fell after Jisung whispered, “I don’t know anything.”

His fingers pressed into the altar, eyes narrowing in the dimly lit space. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he said. “And you’re good at it, too.”

Jisung raised a brow. “Am I?” He smirked.

Minho rolled his eyes. “There, your ego is fed,” he grumbled, curling his lip. “Now, come here.”

In two steps Minho had been able to snatch Jisung around the waist, lifting him off of his feet. With the boy shouting in fits of laughter, Minho placed him down behind the altar and clamped his hands on the marble, Jisung caged between his arms. Jisung sucked down deep breaths, tried to control his smile, his giggles. He wrapped his arms around Minho’s neck and tugged him closer, the man stepping into him, filling the space. Nearly bending him in half over the marble, Minho poked out his tongue and kissed him, pushing his hips forward to pin Jisung to the altar.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do,” he whispered.

Jisung pecked his lips, his eyes closed, and shook his head. “I don’t.” He spoke just as quietly as Minho. Opening his eyes, he looked up at him, his brows settling above his gaze. “But, I want it. You, I want you.”

Brushing his nose over his, Minho blinked, thinking to himself, every possibility, every scenario flashing through his mind, not one of them ever ending up like this. In the church, on the altar, dry humping one another, cat and mouse, tongues pressed to cheeks… They should be in bed. The couch, somewhere in the house, anywhere but here. His resentment grew with everything they did, everything they shared, when the fuzziness no longer clouded his mind, when he had clarity, whether it be tomorrow morning, or right after, he’d regret it.

Or, would he?

Reality hit, and in mere moments he wanted more.

Clarity washed over him and he ran back, for more.

The things Minho felt, the things he knew Jisung felt, maybe they outweighed everything else. Maybe what lived within them both was stronger than the stone walls that stood around them.

“I want you, too,” Minho whispered, pressing his lips to his cheek. Jisungs hands slid up into his hair, giving it the gentlest pull.

From running in circles and bickering with one another to quiet whispers and soft touches, the energy flipped entirely. Half aware of what he was asking for, what they were discussing, a nervousness awoke within Jisung, something telling him to stop. Something telling him don’t do this. Threading his fingers through Minho’s hair, looking up at him, his tiny smile seemed to silence it all.

One of his hands brushed over Jisung’s cheek, his thumb dragging along his cheekbone, teasing his bottom lashes. “We don’t have to have sex, Ji, I can read your mind, we-”

“No,” Jisung whispered, bouncing his knees. “Please, I want to, I do, I really do.”

Huffing a laugh, Minho kissed the tip of his nose. “It’s a lot of big steps in two days, that’s all.” Tilting his chin to the side, he brushed their lips together. “Let me touch you,” he whispered, “Then we can talk about-”

“Only if you’re inside me,” Jisung said quickly, gulping, tightening his jaw.

Minho blinked, utter shock on his face. “What?”

Jisung pursed his lips, then nodded once. “You can only touch me… if you’re inside me.”

Eyes closing, Minho took a long, deep breath. “Jisung, you amaze me.” He looked down at him, the boy having no clue what he was on about. “Thank god you’re here, ‘cause if you weren’t…”

The corners of his lips perked up. “Thank God you’re here.” Stringing his hands through his hair, roughing it up, he whispered, “I’m not doing this, ever, unless it’s with you.”

“That’s very limiting.” Minho tipped the boy's chin upward, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. Jisung giggled.

“I don’t care.”

Minho sighed. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. The death of me, Jisung, you will be.” His smile and blushing cheeks lured Minho in, lips locking, bodies moving. “You have to listen to me, okay?” Minho’s voice was hushed, every push of his lips against Jisung’s silencing what longed to fall from his lips. “You might not like it this time, it might take more, another time.”

Jisung slipped his tongue over Minho’s bottom lip. “I can handle that,” he nodded, “I can, I promise.”

His whisper made Minho’s knees buckle. “Just listen to me,” Minho caught his eye, sure that he was paying attention to him, “Focus on me.”

Jisung licked his lips. “Not that hard.”

Smirking, Minho rolled his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Jisung breathed.

Dragging his hands down his chest, Minho kissed him, every bit of movement taken with care, softly, knowing that anything abrupt or sudden would trigger his fight or flight, and though Minho knew how important that piece was, he needed him to enjoy this. Pulling at the buttons on his pants, his kisses were chaste, but keeping Jisung afloat. Where his hands worked, imploring heavier feelings, his lips had to slow. Balance.

“I’m gonna touch you,” he whispered, following up quickly with, “To relax you,” before Jisung dejected. The boy nodded, trying to keep his lips locked with Minho’s. They dropped to his jaw when he spoke, Jisung needing to have something occupy his mouth when it wasn’t busy. “Stay with me, okay? Can you do that?” Jisung nodded, and Minho hummed. “Use your words, Jisung.”

“Yes,” the boy sighed, his teeth grazing the skin of Minho’s neck.

“Look at me,” Minho directed, and he listened, head popping up wearing those big, innocent eyes. “Christ,” he sneered. “You have to do something for me.”

“Of course.” He nodded.

Minho settled his jaw, licked his lips, then whispered, “Don’t cum.” Jisung’s expression faltered, Minho knew it too, he was at such a disadvantage. Taking his lips to his ear, tongue grazing his lobe gently, he whispered, “You cum when I’m inside you.” Jisung writhed beneath him, and Minho laughed. “You can do it, baby, I know you can.”

“Then you can’t talk,” Jisung whined. “Did you just call me baby?”

Minho studied his face. “I did, did you hate it?”

Jisung laughed, the tension on his face washing away. “No, I liked it.”

“Alright then,” Minho smirked, kissing his forehead. “Stay with me, baby.”

Kissing him deep, and slow, making nothing but a mess between their lips, Minho worked him out of his pants, instructing him to kick them off his feet. Slipping a hand between his legs, wrapping his fingers around his length, Jisung jerked at the touch, then sucked in a deep breath, focusing on the kiss rather than Minho playing with him. This wouldn’t be over in seconds, he wouldn’t disappoint him.

Telling himself it felt good, he stayed on the outside of it, though the euphoria tried to yank him under. He could do this. He wanted it to last, there had to be more.

Minho brought his other hand between them, pressing it to Jisung’s throat for a few seconds to make him whine before he slipped two fingers between their lips, his tongue sliding out to wet them. Jisung see, Jisung do. When Minho pulled them away, his hand disappeared behind Jisung, but their tongues stayed tangled together. With a breath Minho engulfed Jisung with a kiss as he pressed a finger to his entrance, feeling the boy suck in a staggered breath, every muscle on his body tensing.

“Relax,” Minho whispered, resting his forehead over Jisung’s. The boy's eyes were screwed shut, his brows twisted above them. “Jisung, breath.” Doing as he was told, he released his breath hurriedly, then blinked open his eyes. “Hi,” Minho smiled, and before Jisung could say anything his finger slipped inside of him.

Jisung didn’t think it was possible for his dick to grow harder but it did. “This will make… This will…” He was panting already, his jaw unable to close, hanging open for Minho’s tongue to explore.

“What did I say?” Minho cooed, taking his hand off of his length, reaching for his jaw.

Jisung fluttered his eyes shut. “Don’t cu- h’oh my God.”

Minho smiled. Two fingers and he wasn’t begging him to stop, he was moaning. “You okay, baby?”

Short, staggered breath answered him. “Y-yeah, yes, I am.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Minho whispered. “How’s it feel?”

“Getting better,” Jisung sighed, his breath evening out with time. “It does feel good, it’s just… at first…”

Minho danced his fingers along his jaw, soothing him. “I told you,” he nodded. “It takes time, you overachiever. You can’t just jump in.”

Jisung opened his eyes and Minho swore he could bust on the spot. Already so fucked out, the daze in his eyes grew the longer he looked at him. “Move,” he whispered.

“I will,” Minho assured him with a little nod. “Keep telling me how it feels, okay?”

“Okay,” Jisung whispered, and the moment Minho scissored open his fingers, Jisung nearly dead weighted in his hold. “Minho,” he whined, eyes screwed shut, head tipping back.

“I know, I know,” he sang, littering his jaw with soft kisses. “Doing so good, doing so, so good.”

Jisung whimpered, he whined, everything that fell from his lips echoed within the church, ringing in Minho’s ears, every sound, every detail, amplified. “Want you,” Jisung mumbled, clawing at his hair, tugging the strands so hard Minho prayed away his own release. “Want you, Min.”

His fingers moved in a circle and Jisung thrust against his thigh, seeking friction from anywhere. “Have to play with you a while longer, Ji,” he whispered, pressing kisses to his curls. The boy threw his head forward, his face buried in his chest. Working him open, his fingers wouldn’t be enough, that was something they both knew. Jisung’s had Minho down his throat, two fingers didn’t compare.

Glancing around the space, the altar, Minho’s eye caught the ambry, a wooden cabinet on the wall beside the towering architecture and statues behind them. He’s seen Christopher go in there a few times, Hyunjin used them more, and Jisung’s polished the glass bottles, shown him how. Three round bottles, chrismals, the holy oils blessed by the three priests themselves on a weekly basis.

A groan caught in his chest as Jisung pressed a hand to his length, a happy breath escaping the boy.

How fitting, the week they aren’t here.

Taking his fingers from the boy, he lifted his chin and kissed him, then spun him around. “Ji, you stay right here,” he said, pressing a kiss to both of his shoulders. Parting from him, the air going cold, Jisung pressed his fingers into the marble in front of him, his gaze looking out upon the empty pews, the arcing ceiling, the angels and saints painted onto it gazing back down at him. Standing here alone, tears welled up in his eyes. Without him, it didn’t feel right.

“Minho?” He’d begun to turn, but Minho wrapped around him, lips taking to his neck as he hurried his pants off of himself.

“I”m right here,” he whispered, kicking the clothes away.

Jisung took a breath and leaned his head back, resting it on his shoulder. Minho’s lips grazed his cheek, then his fingers slipped back into him, this time with more ease than before. Further, deeper, Jisung could cum, he wanted to cum, but he couldn’t, he was told not to.

“Jisung,” Minho said, his chest pressing into his back. Eyes half closed, the boy looked at him. “Hi baby, god, you look so pretty.” Jisung smiled. “You still want me?”

“Please,” he whispered.

Minho smiled down at him. “Take a deep breath.”

He listened, and as he exhaled, Minho slid into him.

Lurching forward, hands slapping to the marble, nails clawing at the stone, Jisung cried aloud, eyebrows screwing in pleasure. Minho took his time, inch by inch, one hand gripping the boy's hip, the other smoothing over his back as it arched for him. His so good, so, so good, paired with the way Jisung whined his name like a prayer, neither of them were certain they’d last for very long.

“Ji… Ji?” Minho managed to whisper, breathless, completely sheathed within him.

White knuckling the marble, Jisung, with his lip squished between his teeth, shot him a look over his shoulder. “Hurry,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes.

Minho wrapped his arms around the front of his chest and laid over him. “Does it hurt, what’s the matter?”

“No,” Jisung gasped. “I’m gonna cum.”

Minho released a shaky laugh. “Me too,” he whispered. “You feel so good.”

“You feel so good,” Jisung moaned, laying his head backward on his shoulder again. “Can you move?”

“Is it getting better?” Minho kissed his cheek.

Breathing through his lips, Jisung looked at him and smiled. “Yes.”

Minho pulled out just to push back in, Jisung writhing against him. Hands pressed to his chest, Minho caged him against the altar, pushing him into the marble with every thrust of his hips. Little by little he moved faster, the louder Jisung got, the faster he’d move. Within minutes he snapped into him, the obscene smacking of skin on skin mixed with the sounds that escaped them both, filling the holy air, tainting it. Jisung, with one hand thrown back in Minho’s hair, the other clawing at the altar, Minho both hands on Jisung’s waist, nails digging into his skin while his lips sucked harshly at his neck, both were blind, it’d take a force to stop them.

It wasn’t until Minho felt his own legs shake that he snaked a hand down Jisung’s front, wrapping his fingers around him, eliciting a whine that shot straight through him, his hips stuttering. Oil on his hands already, he pulled at him, tightening his grip with every pass.

“Min, Min, Min,” Jisung panted, his hands reaching back to hold onto him.

“What?” Minho smirked, jaw slack. “You gonna cum?”

Jisung whimpered, his body weight falling backward onto him. “God, yes, g-gonna.”

Minho nibbled his earlobe. “Before I fill you up? Come on, Ji.” His body tensed, his belly rippled. Each sound grew quieter, came out quicker, pleads, begs for more, like he encouraged it to come out himself. “You’re doing so good, you listen so well. I think if you cum it’ll make me,” Minho kissed his cheek, “So pretty when you cum, show me, baby.”

His body burned, every muscle worked for it. Minho’s touch, how he talked him through it, how full he felt, how full he was. Hands thrown back, grabbing God knows what, his fingers tightened, and that feeling snapped. What once was red hot had now turned pure white, stars in his eyes, skin ablaze, heart like a rock in his chest. Coming to, vision speckling back to the dimly lit church, the haze he was in, the man he clung onto for dear life, he was clinging to Jisung. The boy, heaving breaths in time with Minho, was pressed to the marble, Minho’s hands relaxing off of his frame as minutes ticked by.

“Look at me,” Minho whispered in the quiet, in the calming of hearts beating. Jisung tipped his head back, met with the most gorgeous view, messy hair, sleepy eyes, puffy lips, torn up skin. He was still inside him. Minho kissed him gently, nothing like what had been shared before, and upon pulling away, he mumbled the quietest, “You’ve ruined me.”

The tip of his finger drew up and down his spine, grazing every notch that protruded through his golden complexion. Chin in his tousled waves, messier than they’ve ever been, Minho blinked in the hazy light of his bedroom, his breath careful and quiet. Jisung laid over him where he sat against the headboard, the boy's cheek over his heart, half awake, listening to the steady beat between his lungs, rising with his chest after every exhale.

Sheets wrapped around them, some pillows thrown askew, both in briefs and nothing else, they’d spent the night here. Redressing one another in the church, upon the altar, lips brushing over thighs, the delicate touch of hands on waists, calculated kisses with the adjusting of buttons. Barely a word had been shared, not a sound aside from a breathy laugh, or a whisper of reassurance. Their eyes spoke for them, Jisung reciprocating, repeating Minho’s words back to him without the need to actually say them.

Minho could’ve carried him inside, the boy a baby deer on wobbling legs, holding onto his hand tight, for security, not letting him get one step ahead of him, sticking to his side. Tiny kisses stolen as they tiptoed back into the house, from lips, on cheeks, pressed to clothed shoulders, they took their time up the stairs, neither one able to keep their eyes off the other for longer than mere seconds. Undressing in the dark, unbuttoning each other, hands dancing over bare skin, lips dying for a taste, they fell to Minho’s bed leaving their clothes a mess on the floor, half strung over Christopher’s bed.

Spent, physically, emotionally, Jisung had no more to give, his kisses slower than ever, subdued. Minho wouldn’t let him take it further, even if he did try. Overachiever. On his lap, skin on skin, he dozed off, the both of them did, in and out of sleep for a few hours, holding onto one another, not wanting to let go. Even now as he stirred awake, Jisung’s arms tightened around his back. Lifting his head, his tired eyes meeting Minho’s dark lashes, his face softened with a smile.

“Hi,” Minho whispered.

Jisung’s eyes flickered to his lips. “Hi.”

Hands smoothing over his back, fingers pressing into the muscles he knew were sore though Jisung wouldn’t mention it, Minho sighed. “How are you?”

The boy adjusted on his front, trying to sit up taller to reach his lips. “Good,” he breathed, able to press his lips to his chin. “How are you?”

Minho whispered through rushed air, “Great.” Sliding his hands up his sides, taking them around and under his jaw, he held up his head, tipping his chin backward. Gaze dancing around his expression, fawning over him, searching for anything that may give away how he really felt, Minho leaned forward and kissed him properly. “Are you really?”

Jisung gave him a lazy smile, limp in his hands, letting him move him how he wanted. “Yes,” he whispered. “I know what you’re thinking about.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking about,” Minho answered, speaking just as quietly.

“You’re worried.”

Minho’s eyes widened for all of two seconds. “I am,” he huffed, brows twisting together. “Talk to me, tell me, say anything.” He brushed his thumbs over his round cheeks.

Jisung’s lips pursed in a tiny smirk. “I’m okay,” he tried to nod, “I promise.” Minho could do nothing but blink. Laughing, Jisung said, “You were right. The feeling, you were right. But,” he paused, his gaze grew darker, and yet somehow warmer, “To do that, to be there, with you… I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I don’t want it any other way. If I can’t have you…”

“Then, what?” Minho whispered.

Jisung took him in, then shrugged, a soft laugh escaping him. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “You make me feel…”

“Whole,” they both said at once, a whisper shared.

Jisung furrowed his brows. Minho maintained his composure.

He asked, hushed, “Like Felix?”

His stomach dropped to his knees, Jisung shoving his hands between them, palms to his bare chest, pushing himself away. “What?” Minho didn’t move, he let his hands fall to the boy's lap. “What are you talking about?”

Minho swallowed hard. He took a deep breath before he said, “I’m just asking.”

Jisungs entire being flooded with unease. “How do you know that name?”

Reaching for one of his hands, Minho flinched as Jisung shied away. Blinking possibly a thousand times, he looked at him and shrugged with a shake of his head. “You mentioned him at some point.”

“When?” Jisung narrowed his eyes.

Minho stuttered. “I- I don’t remember exactly when, Ji, I just-”

“Why bring it up right now?” Jisung spoke in a tone Minho had never heard come out of him before, not even in his past daily outbursts. “While I try to tell you I feel for you?”

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispered. “I just want to understand.” He sat forward, moving Jisung with him on his lap. The boy allowed him to rest a hand on his cheek. “Jisung, I feel for you, too. I know what this feeling is, what it’s called, I’ve felt it once before. I understand it, and I want to understand you.” He gulped. “I want you to understand you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jisung asked, unmoving.

Minho started to smile. “There you go,” he half laughed, “Let’s talk about it.” He slid his hand up through his waves, pushing them away from his forehead. “You’re so beautiful, Han Jisung.” They shared the smallest smile. “If you don’t want to tell me about him you don’t have to.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Jisung whispered, locked on his gaze. “Felix was a friend from Preso, but I… I shut him out.” Minho lowered his brow the slightest, telling him to go on. “We were studying together one night, and…” Jisung squinted his eyes, the memory fuzzy now that it’s been packed away so tightly all this time, “We fell asleep. When we woke up, he was in my arms… Laying on my chest.” Minho nodded, taking his fingers back to his cheek, smoothing them over his skin. “I think he was going to kiss me.” Jisung looked at him, surprised his words didn’t elicit a reaction. “I ran from him.”

“Why?”

Sorrow filled Jisungs eyes, telling Minho exactly why. “It’s wrong, it’s- I mean, it was wrong. But, now, I don’t… Minho.” Falling forward into his chest, he caught him, wrapped his arms around his back and relaxed back onto the bed.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, dancing his hands from his shoulder blades to his hips. “This stuff is hard.”

Jisung fought back tears. Hands grabbing onto Minho somehow, his arms, or his waist, he buried his face in his neck and took a few deep breaths.

Felix.

The name spoken alone filled his gut with stone, a nauseating weight he thought he’d gotten rid of. The guilt, the shame. A name he hadn’t said in two years, the last time falling over the priest's ears, through his sobs, his heavy cries and heaves of breath.

The last time falling over the priest's ears. Hyunjin’s.

By his side, in the church, in a pew.

Jisung told Hyunjin about Felix.

Springing up, eyes wide, tears brimming, he released a shaking breath.

“Ji?” Minho stilled his hands, bringing them back to his cheeks. He wore concern over his face, but beneath it, knowledge.

“I just remembered I told that story before,” the boy gasped. Minho didn’t move, like before, he was a rock. “Hyunjin. When I started here, when I had my sessions with him, my meetings, I told him.” Panic set in and finally Minho moved, pulling him close, sliding a hand up into his hair, the other around his tiny, trembling frame.

“That’s okay,” he said quietly. “You’re still here, they still care about you, you were… honest with them.”

Sitting in a pew, head in his hands, tears streaming down his face, wetting the collar of his shirt. Beside Hyunjin, the man in black, reciting the story, nearly word for word.

He couldn’t remember what Hyunjin said to him.

There wasn’t a memory he could recall where he heard what the priest told him. How he reacted, how he handled it, to Jisung it was hazy. A memory still buried too far deep within him.

Looking at Minho, thinking of where he came from, what he’s been through, Jisung whispered, “They took you in.”

Minho loosened his jaw. “They did.”

His eyes softened as he sat up. Wiping stray tears that snuck down his cheeks, he said, “If I shared that story with them,” he began, and Minho straightened his brow, “And they know where you’ve come from, what you’ve come from, then… They care.”

“Jisung,” Minho sighed.

“The judgement we feel, that I feel, comes from my own self,” the boy continued. “I’m judging myself,” he laughed, “And, maybe I don’t have to.”

“Ji?” Minho thinned his lips.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Jisung froze, an unsuspecting smile still on his lips. “What?” Another laugh came out of him.

Minho shook his head, slowly, and weight was thrust upon Jisungs heart. “They don’t know about me, I didn’t tell them anything,” he said. “They tried, Hyunjin really tried, but I wouldn’t let him hear it. The church I’ve come from, they covered it all up, they weren’t going to let anyone know what I’d been doing with their priest, they’d condemn him, they’d have to get rid of me, and not just in sending me away. I’d be in danger, and in saying anything, sharing any of it with anyone, I’d be putting others in danger.”

Jisung watched him, lips parted. “What do they know?”

“That the church was close to closing,” he said. “That the priests and people that worked there weren’t the best, and that there was no room for me there.”

“Show some humility. Minho came from a place that couldn’t shelter him, he needs our support. Welcome him, show him around. You remember your first day here, don’t you?”

Christopher told him.

“You lied to them,” Jisung said, and Minho pursed his lips. “I trust them, and you lied to them.”

“Do you?” Minho asked.

Jisung took a breath. “I mean, I did.” He waited with patience, Minho did. “You’ve shown me a lot, you’ve taught me so much. And not just… here,” they shared a soft laugh as Jisung gestured to the bed beneath them. Meeting gazes that both knew and felt too much, they settled their lips into smiles. “I’m not just worthy when I’m of service to others.”

Minho’s smile grew. “No,” he agreed.

Jisung pressed his chest to his, their lips centimeters apart. “I’m always worthy.”

“You are,” he whispered. “Do they make you feel that way?”

“Christopher does,” Jisung said. “Sometimes. But, that’s my own self getting in my own way again. Feeling like I’m not good enough for him. Like, he sees what’s wrong with me, and even if I know he’s not judging me for it, even if he tells me he’s not judging me for it, I can’t help but feel like he is.”

“You’ve told him a lot,” Minho breathed.

Jisung shrugged. “Not about Felix,” he whispered. “I only shared that with Hyunjin… I think. After he and I spoke about it… I don’t remember ever bringing it up again.”

“You ran from Felix like you try to run from me,” Minho said, tone hushed, like he was afraid to say the words aloud.

Jisung blinked. “That day I did.”

Minho tilted his head, running his hand through Jisungs hair. “What else do you remember about him?”

Jisung dropped his eyes to his lap, Minho’s lap. “He was the first one to see me,” he whispered, looking up to Minho through his lashes. “He was a friend. He traveled far to go to Preso, further than me.”

“Why’d he go to the Academy?”

Glancing away, not letting the cold, dark hand of his subconscious pull him under, he tipped the top of the box open and searched. Felix, a boy with blonde hair and golden brown eyes, the thickest Australian accent, and a contagious laugh, Jisung couldn’t remember much else about him. Anything and everything he tried to think up, it made his skin crawl. Even the smaller details, like how his voice sounded, the vibrations he’d feel in his heart, Jisung wanted to positively gag.

“I don’t know,” he breathed, defeated. “Can’t remember.”

Minho took his hand to his chin and tipped it up. “Can’t, or don’t want to?”

Jisung sucked in a breath, one Minho paid attention to. “I’d like to, now that we’re talking about him, he and I were close. The first friend I had, one that I could trust.” A lump lodged in his throat. “The only… Only friend, I suppose.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “He couldn’t trust me.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head as if to shake the memory, but it latched onto him. “No, I couldn’t trust him, what am I saying, he wanted to go against everything we were learning, everything our teachers had taught us. I couldn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust Felix.” Minho furrowed his brow. “I stopped being his friend for a reason, to protect myself.”

Silence surrounded them, Jisungs words hanging in the air like a hand grenade, his newfound reality seconds away from pulling the pin.

Minho’s lips pulled into a frown. “Before that happened, can you remember how you felt about him?”

The boy shrugged, and Minho laid his head back against the headboard. “He was a friend.”

Brushing his thumb over his bottom lip, toying with it, Minho whispered, “And what am I?” Jisung flickered his eyes over his face, the stoic angel, chiseled and perfect, a scramble of features that once angered him, frustrated him, drove him to hate, now one he fawns over in adoration. Minho would have missed how his eyes softened if he wasn’t focused on him, only him. “I am not a friend, Jisung. Friends don’t do this. Act like this.” Minho dropped his hand, smoothing them both over Jisung’s bare thighs. “I like you. I don’t want to be your friend.”

Every muscle in his body tensed. Through his teeth, he whispered, “What do you want to be?”

“More,” Minho said in an instant. Jisung gulped. “I need to tell you something before you say anything-”

Jisung climbed off of his lap, swinging both legs over the edge of the bed, slipping off of it. “That’s…” He searched the floor for his clothes.

“Jisung, wait.” Minho clobbered off the bed after him, pulling on his own clothes. “I need-”

Holding up a hand, sliding his shirt over his head, he gave Minho a look. “I need a second,” he said. “I just shared something with you that’s hurt me, and you want to talk about yourself.”

Jaw falling open, words caught in his throat, Minho threw his arms out beside him. Watching Jisung button his pants, straighten his shirt, and start for the door, he lunged forward, grabbing onto his shoulder, yanking him backward. “Jisung, you’re confused, please, I was only trying to-”

“To what?” Jisung spoke within a whisper. “To do what Felix did to me?”

“What?”

Pushing his hand off of his shoulder, Jisung turned, leaving Minho behind a half opened door.

Felix, his friend.

Jisung wandered outside over the cobblestone, having washed up and spent some time in his bedroom alone, deciding he needed to do something before the priests returned. Two days remained, and the church was bare. Two days until they came home, and not a decoration was up in the house. He wondered what they’d say, what they’d think, coming home to tasks undone, work leftover.

Yanking the door to the sacristy open he dipped inside, pushing it shut with his backside. These shelves could only be dusted so many times, the floors vacuumed, boxes organized, books stacked. He had to decorate, he needed to decorate. Masses were left unplanned, events for the end of the year as well, he’d have guidelines written up, Jeonging, Hyunjin, Christopher, taking what he’d give them, using it to their advantage.

Hands shoved in his pockets he strolled over the carpet, taking his time, brown eyes taking in the space around him, a place once safe and sacred.

They took what he gave them. They used it to their advantage.

He felt awful thinking it. He enjoyed the work, making himself useful, knowing that everything went to plan.

His plan.

Jisung’s plan.

Comfortable waiting on the sidelines, dancing around the edges, waiting in the wings, knowing his moment would come, and that when it did he’d blow it out of the water. The people would know it’d been him all along, he planned the services, he handled the events, he made the connections between the church and charities, he pulled all nighters to ensure paperwork was finished, that all things regarding the church, the patrons, the priests, his community, were taken care of.

Sure, people knew his face, they shook his hand after Mass, but he wasn’t the one on the altar. He wasn’t the being blessing them every week.

If the day were to ever come, if Jisung were to get his wish, would they even believe him? Or, would his existence be overshadowed by the legacy before him? To give credit where credit is due, the priests knew nothing of it. Everyone saw them responsible for Jisungs upbringing in the church, his teachers, his mentors. He had the diploma’s, the certificates, the proof that he’d done it himself, but to them, to the world beyond these doors… They saw three charming, smiling faces. Why would they not believe every word to come out of their mouths?

Bringing himself into the church, passing through the hallway without a sound, he shut the doors behind him gently and stepped up onto the altar, taking a breath as he did. Pulling his arms around himself, fingers yanking at his knit sweater, he gulped. Sunlight poured in through the windows, blessing the marble with swirls of blues and greens, rays fawning over the place he stood last night.

Blinking, he clenched his jaw and looked out upon the pews, empty rows of wood staring back. Stomach dropping ever so slightly, he ignored it, taking himself down the few steps to the tiled floor, footsteps echoing in the empty air.

He glanced about, spinning in a small circle, slowly soaking it in. The church, the atmosphere. Walls of stone, pews of lacquered wood, shining floors. The colors through the stained glass of the windows, they were beautiful, but he’s seen this a thousand times. How the sunlight shone in in literal panes, casting the pews in strategic shadows, an artist particular of with their highlight, it was supposed to wrap around him and hold him, keep him warm, from the inside out.

The walls were walls. The windows were windows.

The mural on the wall, cascading up upon the ceiling, the angels, the saints, their pure, loving faces looking down, showering their blessings over whoever graced the space beneath them, it was a painting. Paint on slabs of concrete.

Turning to the altar, the statues that lived atop of it, behind it, beside it, where he should see visions of working services with Christopher, with Hyunjin, with Jeongin, memories of two years, almost three, they’d been upstaged. By his gentle hands, attentive gaze, and careful words.

His slow kisses and the way he’d let Jisung do as he pleased until he had no idea what he was doing.

Jisung whirled around, facing the back of the church.

Closing his eyes before his thoughts carried and got the best of him, he took a long, deep breath down into his stomach.

And he thought of silky blonde hair.

It slipped through his fingers, it tickled his cheek, it smelled of a gentle lavender.

On his shoulder he’d rest his head, the scent lingering even long after he’d escape back into his room.

Jisung’s eyes sprung open, a sinking happening within him. Folding his hands into fists he dropped them at his side and started down the aisle, studying the way the light fondled his features, his feet, his torso.

Lavender and laughter. Nights spent upon bedsheets, drowning in school books or snacks they’d snuck from the kitchen, staying up too late, whispering secrets…

What secrets?

Jisung sucked down another breath, his heart beginning to beat faster between his lungs desperate for air. That sound, that voice.

What secrets, Jisung?

“I don’t remember,” he whispered, to himself, in the silence.

You remember, you can tell me.

A pit erupted within him, in his gut, nausea washing over him entirely. He could’ve fallen to his knees. Sinking into a pew, his pew, in the back of the church, he placed his arms over the edge of the pew in front of him and pressed his face into them. Keeping his eyes open, alert, on watch, he shuddered in the cold. A lump lived in his throat.

Suppressing a cough, he gulped, knowing he’d dry heave if anything else came out of his mouth. Between his eyes, straight down his throat, down into the depths of him the nausea lived. It sat. It waited. Jisung could smell the lavender, a scent both calming and soft, and it made him want to gag. Blonde hair, sparkling eyes, all of it, he lurched forward, clamping his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes shut until he calmed himself down.

Slumping over, sitting backward in the pew, he laid his hands over his lap and hung his head backward. Tears slipped from his eyes down his cheeks, not that he knew he was crying. He took breaths in halves, able to fill up his lungs only so much without triggering the urge to vomit.

Pray, you can pray and it’ll go away. You’ll feel better.

He had no energy left.

He was beautiful, freckles on his cheeks, heart shaped lips.

Things you shouldn’t pay attention to.

Memories flashed like lightning, one after the other, surfacing like they’d been packed tight, finally given the chance to escape, make themselves known. They’ve lived within him, buried deep, forced to be forgotten.

Between a sob, a lurch of his body, a heave through his chest, the shoving of his face in his elbow, his other hand slapped to the pew, fingers dragging over the smooth cover of a manila folder.

He’d hold onto his hands, his tiny fingers just as big as Jisungs, they’d hold onto his tight, he’d bounce on his knees and he’d laugh, throwing his head backward, a smile too big for his face lighting up the room. Contagious, Jisung would laugh with him, he’d fall forward, the two smushing their foreheads together, eyes crinkling in corners, bodies convulsing in pure laughter. A happiness. The boy who lit up his darkest days. Sunshine.

Through tears Jisung pulled the folder onto his lap, the file full of things left here by Minho who’d taken it from the office.

1957 had been written on the front.

Wiping his cheeks, sniffling, Jisung furrowed his brows.

Confidential.

“Why did he take this?” he mumbled, defeated, head rolling back as his hands raised and dropped to the top of the cover. Looking down at it, how full it was, the paper clips sticking out of the edges, he couldn’t ignore the curiosity that lingered.

Within this folder lived the entire year, 1957.

The year Jisung arrived.

He’s never seen his paperwork. Once things were signed, he never saw them again.

The priests ushered him in, welcomed him to their home, and the work began.

There were probably progress reports in this folder, the priests taking notes while he worked beside them, while he met with them and spoke with them. The things they wrote, about him, he held them on his lap.

This folder should be in a locked drawer, one Jisung never thought to question.

One he never had the guts to question.

Those monthly cleanings and purging of papers no longer needed, all that time spent in the office alone, the keyholes never caught his eye. Complete and total trust.

Taking a finger along the edge, the bottom corner stained with a splotch of crimson, he curled it beneath the folder and paused, adrenaline coursing through him. Looking out at the church, eyes falling on a pew near the front, near the altar, he envisions what life was like two years ago, something he hasn’t thought to do ever.

Side by side, him and Hyunjin, they sat here. For hours on end. Jisung sobbed until he made himself sick.

But, why? He blinked, gulping, his palms clammy.

He’d ask him that.

But, why?

Hyunjin, a spirit soft spoken and adored by hundreds, his words rained upon him like bullets. The mere thought of them now made him want to rip his heart out of his chest.

Jisung opened the folder.

Flipping through mindless sheets, budgets, records of events and milestones, his eyes scanned the words furiously, searching for his name amongst the bullshit.

The door behind the altar opened and closed just as gently.

Jisung’s Jobs…

Jisung’s Shopping Lists…

Jisung’s Education…

Pointless, pointless, pointless, he could remember all of that, he could picture it all as if it were happening in real time. His fingers flipped faster, the footsteps drew closer.

Why couldn’t he remember speaking with Hyunjin?

Why were his memories doused in gasoline, and why were the priests standing over him with a match, lit, ecstatic to ignite?

Jisung’s Reading Work…

Jisung’s First Service Plan…

Plan’s for Jisung’s Youth Group…

That never happened.

He flipped, he ripped, he threw papers to the ground, messier and messier, lungs sucking down air quicker with every pass of a page. Legs trembling, hands shaking, there had to be something here, there must be something that could tell him why- Felix.

Felix.

The paper had been crumpled up, then flattened again, like someone had attempted to get rid of it, but it had been recovered.

His name was written across the top, in handwriting, stunning, thin lined cursive writing. Hyunjin’s handwriting. Body going still, Jisung grew dizzy, a weightlessness surrounding him. Tunnel vision, oblivious to the being sitting themselves down on the pew in front of him, facing him, his eyes ate away at the cursive, the writing spilling things to him, that he said himself, that he couldn’t remember.

Memories shared with Felix, the nights they’d spent together, Jisung had gone on and on.

Silky blonde hair, it was written there, in his cursive, lavender, scribbled somewhere beside it.

“Jisung?” Minho.

Nausea.

Jisung admits to thinking he loved him, that the two shared more than friendship. Their connection deep, a level of understanding only a lover could fulfill. Felix makes him feel whole.

“I’m here,” Minho whispered. “Let me help you.”

The page was stapled to a plethora of others, all in Hyunjin’s writing.

A relationship between male and female, he describes, is how they would act. Erotic thoughts plagued them, though Jisung describes them as a natural curiosity. The boys shared various acts of romantic gestures, such as kissing, sleeping in the same bed.

A sob shook his body, tears falling onto the paper, the ink of the pen bleeding, smudging.

The boys acted upon one another sexually, Jisung showing little remorse for telling me what they’d do, neither wanting to have sex, knowing they were to wait until matrimony, but it didn’t stop them from accepting one another physically, orally. Neither thought they were wrong.

Cold. It filled it, it drowned him.

The folder fell from his lap, papers scattering across the tiled floor as he slid off of the pew beside them. Curling into himself, knees to his chest, his head to his knees, his fingers grasping his hair, clawing at his waves, he sucked down a breath and at once, screamed, half muffled by his knees, the sound vibrating the marble that swallowed him, that chewed him up, and spat him back out.

Shaking as he cried, while he sobbed, his body tense, sweat beading over his skin, a hand laid over his back, dragging gently to his shoulder. Fingers pressing into him, telling him he was not here alone, Jisung reached back and threw them off of him.

Minho retracted, on the floor beside him, between two pews, he tucked his hands into his chest and pressed his lips together. “Jisung,” he whispered, watching the boy wail, his body rejecting the truth his subconscious had protected for only so long. “I’m here.” Tears welled in his eyes. Jisung’s pain now his pain. Sitting on his knees, hands gripping his thighs, he shook his head. “They took so much from you,” the boy began to quiet after a gasp, “It’s unfair. It’s incredibly unfair.” Reaching out a hand, Minho touched it to his back hesitantly. Jisung didn’t reject it. “Listen to me when I say I am here for you.”

Lifting his head, a complete mess, he trembled as he pushed himself from the ground. Minho took him in his arms, taking his hands to his shoulders to help him up, his being weak, his entire world pulled out from beneath him. The warm brown of his eyes, it’d gone cold. Vacant. Distant. Dark.

“Ji?” Minho whispered, brows flipped, gaze pleading for a response.

Eyes looking down to the floor, to the papers scattered about, to Minho’s form, to his own shaking hands, Jisung looked straight at him, and whispered, “You read it.”

Minho nodded. “I did.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. “Why didn’t I remember it?”

“It says… They wrote why you don’t, or why you wouldn’t remember it the way you told them,” Minho spoke softly, with all the care in the world. Shaking his head, holding back a cry, his lip crinkled. “It’s horrible, Jisung.”

“What does it say?”

He shifted to look below him at the papers. “I have to find it, I-”

Jisung lifted his hands, planting them on Minho’s knees. Eyebrows upturned, lips pouted, honey complexion pale and withdrawn, he begged, “You tell me.” Minho froze, his eyes widening as they shifted over to Jisung. The boy gulped. “I don’t believe anything they say,” he whispered. “I believe you. You tell me.”

A boy so beautiful, with eyes so bright. Features placed to perfection, lips of gold.

It is as it is.

It is as it was.

Nights spent upon bedsheets, beneath them. Every waking second, spent together. A laugh, a smile that lit up the darkest parts of himself, that reawakened hope within him. Something he thought he’d never felt before, things he’s done, things he’s thought he’s never done before. Where he thought he caught on fast, when he thought he was a quick learner, turns out he’d already practiced. More often than not, the things he’s done with Minho, he’s done them before. All except one.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Minho gasped, jaw gone slack.

“Jisung,” he started, “You’re feeling a lot right now-”

“What did they do to me?”

Minho snapped his mouth shut. “If I tell you,” he said just above a whisper, “It will ruin everything you think, everything you feel, everything you know… about him.”

Jisung’s stomach lurched, his muscles tensing. Cringing outwardly, fingers clawing into Minho’s thighs, he whined as his tears fell instantly. “Tell me.”

“Everything you’ve built here, everything you stand for-”

Jisung threw himself backward, screaming, “Tell me!” Minho jumped. “I don’t give a damn what I’ve built, what I came here to do, who I came here to serve. They took him from me. I loved him and they took him from me.”

“Okay,” Minho breathed, holding out a hand for Jisung to take. The boy glanced at it, settling himself against the back of the pew, pulling his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Crossing his arms over his chest, Minho took a breath and lowered his gaze for a few seconds before training his eyes back on Jisungs. “I’ve heard of this happening. In my years where I came from, and my years prior to rejoining the church. I used to laugh at it, thinking that there's no way it’s effective, there’s no way it works.” Minho bobbed his head the slightest, one hand poking out to gesture to Jisung. “Then, I met you.”

The boy released a breath, holding onto every word he gave him.

“Everything I’ve told you, it’s the truth. Hearing about you and your success with schooling and landing your spot here. I truthfully was interested in meeting you, working with you. But, when I did,” Minho dropped his gaze, eyes drawing over Jisung and his frame, “I did not expect this.”

“What is this?”

He met his eyes once more. “There’s a form of therapy,” Minho kept his voice steady, “A type of therapy. They’ll call it a treatment of sorts, as if we’re unwell. Sick.”

“They tell me I struggled when I first got here,” Jisung whispered. Minho acknowledged him with a nod.

“And, do you remember what you struggled with?”

Jisung’s vacant eyes couldn’t give him an answer.

Minho lowered his voice, moving closer to Jisung as he whispered, “They think they can convert you, turn you into a heterosexual. It’s called conversion therapy.” Jisung’s expression shattered. “The priest who used me, he’d help people. Convert them to what they thought was normal.”

“But never you,” Jisung whispered, his cries quivering within his voice.

Minho shook his head. “He couldn’t, then how would he get me naked?” Jisung buried his face in the nook of his arms, body shaking as he cried. “All the times I’d watch the people leave after meeting with him, nothing but trauma on their faces, in their souls… It wrecked them all, but it never worked. He was a sick man.” Minho reached a hand toward Jisung, placing it gently over his arm, dancing it toward his shoulder hoping to soothe him. “The day that I met you, Ji, in Christopher’s office, I could see it. You felt something when you looked at me. The boy inside of you, the part of you they scared away, that they forced you to hide, he felt something when he saw me. You saw me, and I saw you.”

Jisung lifted his head, teary eyes locking onto Minho’s.

“That look in your eyes,” he smiled at him, “I’ll never forget it.”

“You laughed at me,” Jisung whispered, voice squeaky.

Minho’s smile grew. “I did,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to be rude, I couldn’t help myself, I knew who you were. I knew what you were.” Lifting his head completely, Minho reached his other hand forward to brush tears from his cheeks. “When you told me about Christopher, about how much he meant to you, how afraid you were to disobey him in any way, it confirmed everything I thought. He kept you close. If you were to venture away from him, spend too much time without him…”

“I couldn’t, that terrified me,” Jisung said.

Minho nodded once. “They conditioned that into you. That’s his job. To watch over you, to keep you safe, yes, but… to make sure that this,” Minho gestured around them, to the papers, to Jisung crying, “does not happen. After all of my meetings with each of them, I learned even more. They attempted to get into me, especially Hyunjin. Thankfully I met you, I spent time with you first, so I knew what was coming. It prepared me.”

“For what?”

“This,” Minho whispered. “I liked what I saw in Christopher's office, Han Jisung.” The boy couldn’t fight back his smile. “So did you. Even if you didn’t know it.”

“That’s why you pried at me the way that you did,” Jisung mumbled, moving a hand over top of Minho’s. “Said those awful things.”

“Were they really so awful?” Minho questioned with the perk of a brow and tilt of his chin.

Jisung shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Quiet fell around them, as did a thousand unanswered questions. Staring at one another, that feeling between them stronger than ever, smiles sparked and grew so much that Jisung had moved into his arms entirely, his face buried in Minho’s neck, their arms wrapped around one another.

Drawing his hands over the boy's back, aiding in soothing his breaths back to normal, his heartbeat steady, Minho whispered, “For what it’s worth, I love you too.”

Jisung smiled. “You took my virginity, I hope you do.”

A laugh escaped him. “Ji, we had sex in here.”

Sitting up, hands gripping onto him still somehow, Jisung sighed. “It’s sick.” Minho’s brows creased in the center, worried. “I want them to know.”

Withholding a laugh, the sound coming straight from his chest, Minho dropped his head forward, his grin eating away at his cheeks. “There is so much of you left to uncover,” he half groaned, looking up at him. “I knew that couldn’t have been your first time with a cock in your throat.”

“Stop,” Jisung whispered with a smile.

Minho took a hand to his chin, dragging his thumb over his cheek. Smirk evident, he asked, “Too soon?” Jisung nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The boy looked down to the mess of papers under them. “I need to read all of this,” he said. “Before they come back, I just…” he glanced up at Minho, sorrow filling his eyes, “They’re coming back.”

Minho muttered, “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

“How can I be? After all of this?” Jisung clenched his jaw, scanned his surroundings, ended with Minho, then said, “Bring all the papers to your room. Please.”

Minho, awaiting instruction to move, nodded. “I will. What are you going to do?”

Jisung leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, lips lingering by his ear. “Get ready for you.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to have sex with you, not only after this,” he gestured to the mess around them, “But…” Looking up at Jisung he swept his fingers over his cheeks and held them in the palms of his hands. “You need to slow down. We’ve moved so fast, Ji.”

His face went unchanged. “I lost three years of my life,” he whispered. Minho’s eyebrows flipped over, Jisung swore his bottom lip pouted. “Even more than that, because of them,” he tried to look up, look around, at the granite that towered over them, caged them within its persistent pursuit of a holiness that did not exist, “Because of… this.”

“And, what of when they come home?”

Jisung clenched his jaw, squeezing it shut with such force Minho could feel it in the heel of his palm. “I don’t know.” The words slithered through his teeth.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Jisung quirked his head in question. “About us?”

Minho huffed and breathed through a laugh, his hands dropping to the boy's lap. “God, no, Ji,” he stifled his laughter, “That you know, that you’ve figured them out, that they have no control over you any longer.” Glancing down to Minho’s hands, Jisung took a deep breath, his lungs squeezing from the pain of heaving for so long. “You’ve broken their cycle, you can change what’s happened here, you can rewrite years, you can save others from succumbing to the same fate as you, you can be all you’ve ever wanted to be, but stronger. You have the upper hand here.”

The upper hand.

Stronger.

One step ahead.

“They’re smart,” Jisung whispered. “Why would they keep this around, so close, if they know I could’ve found it as easily as you have.”

Minho narrowed his eyes. “They’ve trusted you. All this time. Just as you’ve trusted them.”

The angelic curvature of his face went unphased, an expression so set in its ways. Jisung studied him, his perfection, his assertiveness regarding the matter, that his whole world had been flipped upside down. He studied him. With brows upturned and tears on cheeks, he maintained his composure, didn’t let Minho in, and for the first time in a long time he allowed himself to analyze.

As if some subconscious being had reawoken within him, like the wires in his brain had gotten tangled and finally put back together. Through cinnamon sugar eyes, he watched, studied, learned.

“Why were you bringing this to me?”

Minho pursed his lips into the quickest smile. “What?”

Jisung swallowed, licked his lips and nodded, voice absolutely quiet. “The folder, Minho. Yesterday you brought it in here, I assume you were bringing it to me.”

Furrowing his brows, he slowly bobbed his head. “Right after I had read it, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I needed to know if you knew, I had to confirm what I already knew to be true.” He attempted to reach back for his cheeks. Jisung dodged his touch. “Ji.”

“Why bring it to me?” Jisung lifted his chin. “To confirm what you knew to be true, you think that sounds spectacular, but you know what it sounds like to me?” Minho could barely shake his head. Jisung whispered through his teeth, “Sounds like you were put here to challenge me.”

Minho leapt where he sat, higher on his knees. “No, no, don’t you dare-"

Jisung pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, looking down and around at the papers on the floor. “Did you do this?”

“Do what?” Minho leaned forward, exasperated, eyes pleading with Jisung.

The boy rolled his shoulders back, meeting his eyes after a few moments of silence. “I don’t know.” Minho sighed, his head dropping toward his lap. “It seems awfully fitting though, doesn’t it, Lee Minho. That you come here, seeking my job. You tell me you knew who and what I was from the start, you fall into Christopher’s good graces instantly. You say you told them nothing. Yet, here we are, behind their backs, defiling their church. We're supposed to be serving them, and they said it themselves, you are the test. I find it highly amusing that you got past Hwang Hyunjin, because nobody does.” Minho sat like stone. “Either you’re here to mess things up for me, or you’re working with them.”

“Good god, they screwed you up,” Minho muttered, head shaking, eyes boring into Jisung’s. “Ji, I’m real. I’m not working with them, I’m not here to-"

“Then, you did this yourself,” Jisung laughed aloud, a cackle of sorts, sending chills down Minho’s spine. Rolling onto his knee caps the boy grabbed fistfuls of paper, crumpled them up and threw them toward him. “You made this up, this isn’t real. You needed something to help convince me of this fantasy we’ve been living in.” His stomach flipped, nausea rising within him. “This whole time, all this God damned time.”

Standing to his feet his knees wobbled so much so that he had to grab onto the pew for stability. Minho scrambled to his feet. He was shouting something, saying something, but Jisung could only hear the pulsing of blood in his ears, could only focus on the heave of his stomach as he backed away from Minho. Using his hands to turn him around, he shook his head. Tears fell, sobs bounced off the walls. Jisung used the pews as a crutch, hobbling for the altar as fast as he could, wanting nothing but to run from him.

At the altar his knees hit the marble, his hands slapping to tile just after. Tears slipped from his cheeks to the floor, sparkling in the dim sunlight. Gasping for air, he rolled over onto his back, elbows on the ledge, and he looked down the aisle, dread consuming him, filling him to the brim with pins and needles.

Cold.

Minho strolled the floor. Slowly. His gaze locked on Jisung where he laid. He carried himself no different than before, a stunning face full of sorrow, a build more structured than the walls around him. Perfection.

Jisung sobbed harder, his chest squeezed by an invisible rope it seemed the man approaching him seemed to be holding.

He stepped over him, his skinny legs. Casting him in shadow, Minho paused with his waist between his ankles, and he crouched down. Reaching out a hand, he drug two fingers over Jisung’s cheek, brushed away his tears, and lifted his chin.

With a steady breath, he danced his thumb over his honey toned skin, and smiled. His own eyes brimmed with tears. After a nod, he whispered, “I forgive you,” and he kissed him. Not once, not twice, but three times. Pulling away from him, forehead to forehead, both of their eyes squeezed shut, Minho took a deep breath, breathing him in, and just as he released it, he released Jisung, his footsteps receding behind the altar until they were nothing but a faint memory living in the back of the boy's mind.

The back door to the clergy house pushed open in a hurry, one both excited and nervous. Barreling through the threshold, suitcase in hand, Christopher greeted Ann with a dazzling smile, but breezed past her. Something more important would be waiting for him, in fact, he’s shocked he wasn’t waiting on the doorstep. Behind him Jeongin and Hyunjin got themselves in the kitchen and greeted their caretaker appropriately, unlike their youngest.

“Ji?!” Christopher called out into the house. Leaving his suitcase in the kitchen for the other two to deal with, he tore off his gloves, his hat, his scarf, feet moving a mile a minute through the hall and into the living room. Unbuttoning his jacket, he paused behind a couch and sighed. “Hi,” he nearly sang, his smile deepening into his cheeks, dimples on display.

Jisung sat on the couch to the right of the fireplace. Eyes fixed on the priest, he didn’t say a word.

Christopher let out a laugh as he finished with his coat, tossing it over the back of the sofa. “Mad at me? A week is too long, yeah?” Hyunjin and Jeongin joined him on either side of the couch. Jisung shifted his eyes. Christopher tilted his head, eyes narrowing, scanning over his prodigy. “Everything okay?”

Then, his eyes zeroed in on the folder sitting upon his lap. One thick, full, labeled 1957.

Hyunjin and Jeongin seemed to catch it right away.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin began, but Jisung sat forward, silencing him.

Jeongin lifted a hand. “Let’s talk, Han, I believe-“

“I believe you need to explain yourselves,” Jisung spoke with such a sureness it took them all by surprise. “But, I don’t think I have the patience to sit here and listen to it.”

Jeongin placed his hands by his sides, tucking them behind him, folding them together. Hyunjin watched him, took him in, read him, and Jisung knew it, could feel it. It’s how he knew how to do it, too. Fast learner. Everything written in the pages on his lap, the truth.

Christopher, with both hands sliding over his chest, reaching for his neck, he stuttered before choking out, “Where’s Minho?”

Jisung settled his lips in a lazy smile, one half amused and half disgustingly ticked off. Tucking a finger beneath the cover of the folder, he tossed it open and licked the tip of his finger to rifle through the files. “Don’t worry,” he shook his head, clicking his tongue, shooting the three of them a look so sinister, “I did it.”

Christopher whispered, “Did what?”

Jisung smirked. “Won.”

masterlist ✞ talk to me ✞ ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

#stray kids au #skz au #minsung au #minsung stray kids #minsung fic #minsung smut #minsung fanfic #minsung #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #lee know x han #lee know x han jisung #skz smut #skz angst #sacriligious au #idk how to tag this tbh #nervous #m&td

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bangrychannie · 7 months ago

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Stray Kids Fic Recs

Hello! Recently I have become a stray kids fan and have fallen into a rabbit hole of fanfiction. Various pairings bc I don't care what the pair is just that it's stray kids related lmao. Added a line break bc there's a lot. Also feel free to rec me skz fics please bc I'm always reading

the book of us; electricity: (Seungjin | 10/10 | 84,966 | teen and up)

HJ @hyunfortunately 5h ;-; i was at the store and this song was playing over the speakers and i tried to remember some lyrics so i could search it up later but i can’t find it this is TRAGIC HJ @hyunfortunately 5h it was in korean and it’s kind of got rock-pop-balladish vibes and the first line of it was “neoneun neo neoneun na” if anyone knows it PLEASE tell me Seungmin doesn’t like to interact with other people on Twitter, but the questions seems almost aimed to him. He hits reply and types, “Try Hi Hello by Day6.” [Seungmin falls for Hyunjin from 2000 miles away. He expected that it would be inconvenient. He didn't expect quite how much Hyunjin would change his life.]

Genuinely one of the best fics I've ever read. It reads like a love letter to high school in the best way possible.

so this is what love is by dwaekinz: (Seungjin | 4/4 | 43,743 | teen and up)

seungmong_22 Hi, Hyunjin! My name is Seungmin. I'm Felix's friend, I hope he's mentioned me before…? Ha. We met online two years ago. I know it's unexpected But I kind of need your help hyuntothejin Me??? After 2 years of online friendship, Seungmin has finally found the time and saved up enough money to visit Felix for his birthday. In order for the surprise to work, he recruits the help of Felix's brother, Hyunjin, and together they spend the next three months forging a plan as well as a friendship of their own— or maybe something more.

So cute and fluffy no notes

Endgame by Raesan (Minsung | 9/9 | 150,840 | Explicit)

Jisung didn’t mean to procrastinate, but he didn’t think that all the clubs would be full in just a week. He sighed, seeing that only one club still had availability. Too bad he didn’t know shit about chess. Or what happens when Jisung, captain of the college soccer team, meets Minho, the number 2 ranked chess player in the country.

This fic is genuinely SO GOOD lol I think about it every day

reply hazy, try again by mrehk (BinChan | 1/1 | 14,951 | Explicit)

Changbin’s calculus tutor is Bang Chan. Smile wide, eyes shining, curly hair wild around his head. He’s got his backpack slung over one arm, those fuck ass chino shorts with a five inch inseam that make Changbin’s mouth water— and, goddamn, he’s wearing a fucking cropped t-shirt. Jisung and Seungmin are going to string Changbin up and have their way with public humiliation when they hear about this. (OR: solving for the derivative of l+o+v+e)

Funny and cute, I love idiots in love and that's what this is

Also mrehk is a fantastic writer so if you like this fic there's way more where that came from

i will protect you (gothic font) by mrehk (Minsung | 1/1 | 16,661 | Explicit)

Seungmin ignores him, smacking the folder onto the desk, flipping it open without looking, sliding it across the surface towards Minho. “It doesn’t matter. This was in the lease. You signed, right—” he taps the bottom corner, Minho’s initials perfectly legible. “Here.” “Excuse me?” Minho leans forward. “Paragraph nineteen subsection C,” Seungmin says, not even looking down as he recites the document word for word. “Lease is not voidable in the case of suspected paranormal activity.” He pounds his finger on the period. Minho laughs. A short, barked thing, completely disbelieving. “You’re kidding me.” “I’m really not,” Seungmin’s face pinches up into the sort of fake, squinted smile someone gives when they’re being an asshole. No remorse. (OR: Minho has ghosts, Jisung hunts ghosts)

Another funny one by mrehk my beloved

one day to fall in love (countless ones to love you) by whatifidbeenthatauthor (Minsung | 1/1 | 22,018 | Mature)

Minho stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Han Jisung. He looked unbothered, still going on about his way. “You didn’t say Hi,” Minho said, forcing the voice to come out of his throat. “You always say hi, hyung.” Jisung turned to look at him, a smile playing on his lips. He looked amused. Minho’s mind wasn’t keeping up. “Today’s different, I guess,” Jisung shrugged. “I went with a variation.” Minho would have found him insufferable, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to process the frustrating sensation that usually accompanied Jisung’s presence. Minho blurted out something that might have him sent to a madhouse. “No. I’ve lived today six times. You- you always say hi, hyung.” He felt crazy. More than usual. Jisung laughed. “What the fuck,” he said, and Minho knew he sounded insane, but could this kid please not be so arrogant? “Me, too. I thought I was the only one,” he continued, and he changed Minho’s life. *** Minho's life is boring, predictable, borderline uneventful. Until he gets stuck in a time loop. And, with him, his friends' friend, Han Jisung, a crazy dude who's only into skating. And whom Minho doesn't necessarily like.

I love time loop/time travel fics if anyone wants a list of specifically those lmk lmao

(never) have your fill of me by lolainslackss (Minsung | 3/3 | 36,028 | Explicit)

“How often can he possibly be having sex that it’s disturbing you this much?” Hyunjin asks, disbelieving. “He has sex, like, every day. And then again at night, sometimes.” Jisung makes a noise of distress. He drags his hands down his face before balling them into fists beneath his chin. “It’s just . . . so distracting, Hyunjin.” “Distracting,” Hyunjin repeats, giving Jisung a meaningful smirk. “Oh, I bet it is.” “Aw,” Jisung whines. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” “Like what?” “Like you think I wish I were the one he were fucking, instead.” “Because you do, don’t you, or are we pretending we both don’t know that?” Hyunjin’s gaze flits over to Minho before it swiftly cuts back to Jisung, all-knowing. “You’d let him do anything to you. Am I wrong?” - In which PhD student Han Jisung unleashes a succubus from a magical book, winds up living with him, and then forms a sex pact with him.

I also have a lot of demon fic recs so lmk

36 Questions That May Lead to Love by bluecalicocat (Minsung | 1/1 | 17,282 | Teen and Up)

generic username @realhanjisung yo my friend wants to be a therapist, can someone pls fake date me so he can practice counseling couples? i have 3 cats @leeknow deal

This fic is so funny

Searching for My Heart in Yours by lk321 (minsung | 5/5 | 36,995 | General)

When Jisung moves to Miroh, a town in the middle of nowhere, all he’s looking for is some peace and quiet. Instead, what he finds is a prickly witch for a neighbor by the name of Minho, who accidentally spills a potion on Jisung and forms a psychic bond between them, opening Jisung to whole new world of magic. As Minho tries to find a cure for their predicament, Jisung finds himself pulled into Minho's lively and magical life. It's not the peace and quiet Jisung was looking for, but as Jisung gets to know the witch through the emotions they're forced to share, Jisung realizes that the answers he’s searching for in life might just lie here in Miroh, in places he least expects.

Feels like a warm hug

the long game by floraii (HyunSung | 1/1 | 16,045 | Teen and Up)

“Anyway,” he continues, voice still sultry, “I’ve been seeing you in class, and I was just wondering—” he moves his hand to curl around a strand of his hair. “Could I get your number?” Han Jisung’s big brown eyes blink again. His gaze darts to his lips, then to his notebook, then up to his eyes. “To study?” “Yeah,” Hyunjin blurts without thinking. What the fuck? Study? What is happening? Why is he agreeing?

Hyunjin has a type. It’s not usually shy boys in his Intro to Statistics class with big round eyes and glasses, but Han Jisung is different.

This fic was so funny I was actually laughing out loud

I have plenty more where that came from! So there will be more recs soon

#fic rec #skz fic recs #fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #minsung #minho/jisung #hyunsung #seungjin #binchan #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #skz fics #minsung fic #minsung fics #stray kids fics

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cuddlepilefics · 3 months ago

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Flushed cheeks + past prompts (Sicktember)

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregivers: mainly Chan (+Minsung)

@sicktember

Prompts: flushed cheeks

“I might be a teeny tiny bit sick, but it’s fine.”

I didn’t mean to wake you

Borrowed hoodie

Psychogenic fever/stress induced illness

Aches and pains

My body is one big ache

Lethargy/exhaustion

Tepid bath

Vitamin c

Taking a sick day

Blankets

Asleep on the couch

warm soup

fuzzy socks

No one’s POV.:

Jeongin had been pretty run down for the past two weeks, which wasn’t really surprising considering the busy schedules he’s had. For weeks, he had constantly been stressed, unable to catch a break and it got to the point that he even stressed about being stressed. Tired didn’t even come close in trying to describe what he felt, so right now that they finally got a weekend off to rest and recuperate, Jeongin couldn’t imagine getting up at all. His limbs were heavy as lead and struggled to roll over and pull his blanket tighter but the light was peaking through the curtains and burned his eyes, keeping him from going back to sleep.

Chan had spent most of the night editing a track he had been working on and ended up sleeping almost till noon. When he finally emerged from his room, he figured Jeongin had already eaten breakfast and probably gone out to spend the day with some of the other members. He might even be visiting his family, though he didn’t mention anything the day before, at last not as far as Chan could remember. Only when the Aussie heard the bathroom door open and shut did he start to question his assumptions. He had figured Jeongin would join him as soon as he was done but the maknae simply went back to his room. Since he hadn’t seen his dongsaeng since the day before, Chan decided to check on him and was surprised to find the curtains drawn and the younger already back in bed, curled up under his blanket.

With the blanket pulled up to his chin, Jeongin turned to Chan, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed. He looked dazed with sleep still, which was weird as it was already lunchtime. “Hey there”, Chan hummed, crouching next to the boy’s bed. He smoothed Jeongin’s hair down and whispered: “Are you okay? You do feel a little warm to me. Want me to fetch the thermometer?” The younger shook his head and mumbled: “I might be a teeny tiny bit sick, but it’s fine. Don’t need to know if I have a fever or not.” – “Sick how?”, Chan frowned worriedly, cupping Jeongin’s flushed cheek. He was pretty confident that the maknae was running a temperature. “My body is one big ache”, Jeongin sniffled, closing his eyes, “And no matter how much I sleep, ‘m still exhausted.”

Chan took a seat on the edge of the bed and stroked Jeongin’s hair, humming: “I’m pretty sure you have a fever, so good thing you can take a sick day and rest as much as you need. Can I get you anything?” – “Some water please? Been kinda thirsty an’ my head hurts but the distance to the bathroom already felt so incredibly long”, the younger muttered. “Of course, I think I’ll also get you some Emergen-C. Might help giving your immune system a little boost. Do you think this is a virus you caught or is it stress induced?”, Chan inquired, his finger trailing down Jeongin’s neck to feel his lymph nodes. The maknae sleepily blinked up at him and yawned: “Could be stress induced, ‘cause it neither feels like a cold nor some kind of stomach bug. ‘m jus’ so lethargic and aching all over.”

“Do you feel like eating?”, Chan asked softly as he watched Jeongin sip his drink, “I could get you some ibuprofen once you got some food in your tummy, so we could get your fever down and maybe ease the aches and pains a little.” – “Not hungry. Think all I really need is rest”, the younger mumbled, placing his glass on the nightstand. Helping him settle back down under his blankets, Chan smiled: “Do you want me to leave you alone, so you can sleep?” Jeongin just shrugged at that. Being alone hadn’t really helped him sleep earlier, so maybe some company while he waited out his misery would be nice. “Or I could get my laptop and sit with you for a while. If you’d like that”, the leader offered, knowing his dongsaeng wouldn’t openly ask for it. When he received a tiny nod, he smiled: “Alright, be right back.”

With his headphones dangling around his neck, laptop under his arm, Chan returned to Jeongin’s room and handed the maknae an icepack. “Here, this should help bring your fever down and ease the headache a bit”, he explained, waiting for Jeongin to scoot over, so he could take a seat next to him. Getting comfortable curled up against his hyung’s side, Jeongin pressed the icepack against his forehead and sighed in relief. With how nice it felt against his flushed skin, there was no way he wasn’t running a decent fever but he hoped he'd be able to sleep it off soon.

“Are you still awake?”, Chan frowned, when the younger was still squirming an hour later. Jeongin nodded and groaned: “Can’t get comfy, everything hurts.” – “Okay”, the Aussie sighed sympathetically, “How about a bath? It might help?” – “Too much effort”, the maknae whined, making Chan chuckle. Petting his hair, the eldest teased: “Silly. You won’t even have to do anything. Let me go fill the tub, I’ll carry you there.” Before Jeongin got another chance to argue, Chan had already disappeared to the bathroom. He made sure the water would only be lukewarm, so it’d lower the boy’s fever and hopefully make it a little easier for him to rest comfortably.

“You ready, baby bread?”, Chan smiled as he tugged on Jeongin’s blanket, “Come on, hold onto my shoulders. I got you.” The younger groaned, his muscles protesting being moved. It almost felt like a bruise with how badly Chan’s touch ached but he knew it was still better that having to walk. Settling his dongsaeng on the closed toilet lid, the Aussie instructed: “Get undressed and into the water, yeah? I’ll fetch you a change of clothes. Do you want one of my hoodies?” Jeongin gave a pathetic nod and sluggishly tugged off his shirt, a borrowed hoodie enough to bribe him.

He sighed as he sank into the water. It should’ve been uncomfortable with the slight chill he had but for some reason it was soothing against his overly sensitive skin. When Chan returned to the bathroom, he placed the stack of clothes onto the sink and sat on the closed toilet lid. “Minho and Jisung are coming over later”, the leader announced, waving his phone around, “Most of the others are out but they were enjoying a quiet day and Minho was in the mood for a home cooked meal, so when they heard you’re sick, they decided to make soup.” – “’m still not hungry”, Jeongin mumbled guiltily, his heart clenching at the thought of his hyungs going out of their way for him on their day off without him even being able to really appreciate it.

Sensing that Jeongin was growing sleepy, Chan offered to wash his hair for him and steadied his shoulders as he climbed out of the tub, swaying lightly on his feet. Bundled up in a large fluffy towel, the maknae plopped down on the closed toilet lid and sniffled softly while Chan dried his hair for him. Cupping Jeongin’s cheeks, the leader cooed: “Your cheeks don’t look as flushed as they did earlier and you don’t feel as warm, so that’s good. How about a change of scenery? Do you want to lay on the couch? We could turn on the TV, so you don’t get bored if you don’t manage to fall asleep.” The younger nodded but reached up his arms, muttering: “Carry me, hyung?”

Chan got Jeongin settled on the couch with the instructions to pick a drama, while he went to collect a few blankets to bundle the boy up in. “Here, I also grabbed a pair of fuzzy socks, so your feet will stay warm. My mom warned me about catching a cold when my feet got cold. It’s probably too late for that but I doubt warm feet could hurt”, Chan rambled, throwing a blanket over the maknae’s body before sitting down at his feet to put the socks on him. Finally feeling more comfortable in his own skin, it didn’t take long for Jeongin to drift off to sleep.

When Minho and Jisung arrived at their friends’ apartment, Chan was quick to shush them with a finger against his lips and over the leader’s shoulder, Minho could see their dongsaeng asleep on the couch. “Oh, honey”, the dancer cooed as he kicked off his shoes. Jisung gave Chan a small smile and followed the Aussie to the kitchen, so he could put the pot of soup on the stove. Crouching next to the couch, Minho felt Jeongin’s forehead and frowned: “How long has he been this feverish? Oh, hey darling. I didn’t mean to wake you.” – “We already brought his temperature down quite a bit”, Chan informed, while Jeongin blearily glanced up at Minho, “He hasn’t taken any medicine yet though because I couldn’t convince him to eat.”

Hearing that, Jisung turned on the stove to heat up the soup before joining them in the living room. “Hey, Innie”, the rapper smiled plopping down on the floor next to the couch, “You’ve finally run yourself into the ground, huh?” The younger gave a sad nod and muttered: “This sucks. Just when we finally got some time off.” – “I know, lovely”, Minho shushed, stroking Jeongin’s flushed cheek, “We’ll make the best of this free day though, right? Hannie and I had planned a quiet day anyway, so our plans weren’t so different. We can just hang out together and I bet you’ll feel so much more like yourself once you’ve had some meds for that fever.” Closing his eyes, the maknae sighed before pushing himself into an upright position. “’m not hungry in the slightest, sorry”, he mumbled, “I know you cooked for me but….” – “It’s okay, baby bread”, Minho chuckled, “I didn’t think you were and I’m not expecting you to eat much. Just have a few bites so the pills won’t upset your stomach. I won’t be upset or offended if you can’t finish, I just thought forcing yourself to eat wouldn’t suck as much if it was warm soup.”

With the promise that it was okay if he couldn’t finish all of his soup, Jeongin eventually let himself be talked into eating a little. Chan was quick to supply the medicine he had set out earlier, glad that Minho could sweet-talk their dongsaeng so easily. Maybe he should’ve called the dancer sooner instead of having Jeongin suffer on his watch. Jisung helped the maknae pick out a new drama to watch together, while Chan and Minho changed the sheets on their dongsaeng’s bed. They didn’t want him having to go back to sweaty sheets later and were glad how readily he let himself be taken care of, though that in itself was a testament to how bad he must be feeling.

When the two eldest returned to the living room, they found Jeongin with his head in Jisung’s lap, the rapper gently playing with his hair. They had a drama playing but with how glossy the maknae’s eyes were, Chan doubted he was actually watching. Not having anything better to do and insisting a drama binge was his exact definition of a quiet day off, Minho settled on a bean bag next to the couch, so he could stay close to Jeongin too. Chan went to the kitchen first, preparing a tray with tea and snacks before joining his dongsaengs in the living room and settling in for a relaxing afternoon.

#fanfic #fluff #comfort #fanfiction #sickfic #sick #stray kids #skz #sicktember #sicktember2024 #sicktember 2024

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strawbstixe · 3 months ago

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sugar, butter, flour

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 3.2k (wooo!)

𝙖/𝙣: this is a cute little au where han works at a bakery with chan! (i recommend listening to "what's inside" from the musical waitress while listening to this- it really sets the mood) the intro is kinda long- im soooorrry! i love exposition...

𝙩/𝙬: slight pinning, minsung is briefly mentioned!

𝒍𝒆𝒆: han

𝙡𝙚𝙧: chan

It was all muscle memory now, and Chan had known him for so long that he knew better than to trust him with the actual baking of the pastries. He was more of a "smile and wave" worker, the personality hire, if you will. Usually, Han would be up by the register, absentmindedly pressing and poking at buttons whenever there was a free moment. But now that the bakery was so empty, he had the opportunity to poke at buttons that were even more fun: Chan's. Well, not really. Han didn't mean to, at least.

𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚌! 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐! ⋆୨୧⋆

Honestly, he was just trying to do his job. He was on dough duty, balling his fist into the mint green flour bowl before gently swiping his hands together. He'd take another handful, dusting the countertop lightly with flour, watching serenely as it settled on the parchment paper like freshly fallen snow.

It was, quite literally, impossible for Han to screw this up. The scent of vanilla and butter wafted around him as he pulled the clear bowl of freshly made cookie dough Chan had made from the mini-fridge.

It was simple enough. These cookies were preordered for some kid's birthday- or...something- Han wasn't really paying attention when the woman ordered. He just knew that she wanted star-shaped, vanilla sugar cookies with buttermilk yellow royal icing piped on top.

This should've been quick and easy; Han had done so many cookies like this that he could practically do it in his sleep now. But...something had been off about him lately.

Being forgetful and lost in the clouds was par for the course for Jisung. But recently, he had become even more scatterbrained: his mind always...preoccupied.

It was his fault.

It had all started a month ago. Han was doing what he usually did, booping random numbers on the cash register, humming a non-existent tune.

His ears would perk up at the sound of the little bells Chan had tied to the doorframe, and when his eyes would follow, he'd be met with a man with a long coat and turtleneck, his ears red from the cold.

It was all over for him.

Jisung would catch himself constantly daydreaming, making fake scenarios in his head about stupid couple-y stuff. It didn't help that this guy had an amazing sense of humor- he'd come in frequently, always ordering something sweet with the most obscene messages on it.

Han's current favorite was the "Fuck off, asshole" cake he requested a few weeks ago, and he wished he could thank him for giving him an excuse to force Chan to pipe profanities in fancy calligraphy on a cake. He'd never forget the face he made. It made his year.

All he could do lately was think about him: this Lee Minho guy, whoever the hell he was, was crippling his ability to work properly.

He hadn't even noticed his arms were moving. He failed to feel his legs moving. He didn't even realize that he was just...staring blankly at an empty counter, a plethora of star-shaped cookies sprawled out on the baking tray. How long had he been finished for?

"Jisung?"

Now that his ears were actually working, he was able to hear an annoyed and somewhat concerned Chan calling his name for the umpteenth time.

"Are you alright, honey?" The 'concerned' part of Chan's mind was definitely the one taking over now. "The cookies are done cooking, Ji..." His tone was gentle, as if he was talking to a frightened child. "Did you hurt yourself-?"

"No!" Han would quickly say, swiftly turning around to meet the face that called out to him. "No, I'm-" He felt a little guilty that he worried Chan so much- and he intended to express that guilt, but the sight he was seeing right now distracted him.

They were done? As in done done? That made no sense; he was literally just flouring his hands a minute ago. He didn't even remember putting the cookies into the oven.

This was a prank, Han had decided. Chan must've decided that Han was drifting off too much, so he made a whole other batch of cookies to screw with him a little. That had to be it.

As he pondered this theory, he'd inspect the cookies thoroughly. Looking for some sort of proof that would actually support this accusation. Maybe he was going crazy.

Wait.

"What the-?"

Something else caught his attention. He almost skipped past it- it was easy to since they weren't frosted yet. They all looked the same at first glance. But- he could've sworn he saw a-

Han let out a small "Uhhh..." in confusion, his head tilting to the left as he leaned in to get a closer look. "...Hyung? Did you make this?"

Six heart-shaped cookies lay peacefully in the center of all the star-shaped cookies, making their own star with their formation.

"Make what?" Chan would muse from his frosting corner, piping a dainty little birthday cake with blue buttercream. "The cookies?" He'd answer his own question after a few beats of silence. "Of course not, Jisungie, you're just being silly now." Chan would laugh. He'd laugh as if this was actually funny. As if Jisung wasn't losing his mind.

"They're hearts-" Han would begin. He genuinely didn't know whether he should be impressed or concerned. If Chan was telling the truth, which it really sounded like he was, then that meant he had made these cookies, which made no sense to him. "Why are they hearts? And why aren't all of them hearts? Why is it only some of them-"

"Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something!"

That statement was said way too teasey for Jisung not to take offense to it. "What are you trying to say?" Han would question, his arms crossing almost instinctively. "You're insinuating...something. I don't know if I like that you're doing that."

"There's nothing to insinuate, Jisung. I'm just saying," His body language was nonchalant; a shrug and that bracket-shaped smile. However, that was the polar opposite of the tone coming out of his mouth; teasing and all-knowing. "Maybe your subconscious made those cookies so you could-"

"No!"

"Give them to someone?"

"Definitely not!" Han already didn't like where this was going. He hated the look Chan was giving him- and he hated how red his cheeks were getting at just the thought of that being the case. "That's crazy! You're crazy!" He felt the need to clarify that. "I don't even know him like that- I've only talked to him like...what? Seven times? I wouldn't make heart cookies for him- and even if I did- which, again, I didn't- I wouldn't give them to him! That's insane-"

"I never said his name, Jisung." Chan would muse as if this was some big 'gotcha' moment as if he had just caught Han with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. (He made the same face at him then, too.) "I never said his name," He'd repeat. "yet you knew immediately who I was talking about! I think that is insane."

Oh shit. That was a pretty good 'gotcha' moment, huh? "I- that's not true. I was just- I was just inferring..." He'd mumble, his words slurring together as his eyes darted to the floor. Han knew he was as red as the food coloring on the shelf, and he hated it. He was only proving his point, he knew. And maybe, if he swallowed his pride for a minute, he'd be able to admit that Chan was sorta right on a couple of fronts, but even if he was right- that didn't mean anything.

"I think you should give them to him." And despite the fact that the words 'I think' started that sentiment, it sounded more like a demand than a suggestion.

"I think you should mind your business." Han would retort back, albeit the fact that it was under his breath, and he really didn't intend on Chan hearing it.

"What was that?"

Han would choose to remain silent.

"Han Jisung, what did you just say?"

The words that were coming out of Chan's mouth scared the shit out of him. He couldn't really explain why; Chan's tone was playful. But in an odd way, it was threatening at the same time. Han decided to start walking back to his flour-dusted counter, attempting to forget this conversation ever happened.

"Jisung. We spoke about your insubordination."

Han's jaw would drop farther than he thought was humanly possible. "Insubord- this doesn't count! You're trying to meddle in my love life-!" He'd protest, whipping his head around. Was Chan actually insane? Did he actually drive him crazy?

"I told you that if something happened again, there'd be consequences." The word 'consequences' was horrifying on its own as it is, but the smirk that accompanied that word mortified him even more.

"You can't make me ask out one of our customers-" Han would attempt to reason, failing to realize that they had already passed that point. "That has to be like- an OSHA violation- I could get you fired!" No, Han didn't really understand what OSHA was; he had just heard Chan use it a couple of times, so he hoped that slinging that word at him would help his case here.

Much to his dismay, Chan would ignore him. He'd lurk towards him like a man- no- a monster on a mission. Han would attempt to run, only to realize he was corned by the counter he had rushed to a few seconds prior. He tried to reason out the worries in his head. What was the worst Chan could do anyway? He wouldn't hit him- that would be ridiculous.

It felt like the universe was laughing at him because as soon as he thought that, Chan would crack his knuckles. What the fuck?! Was he actually gonna hit him?! Han waited for a fist to meet his face. No way this was happening right now. But, no fist ever came.

Chan would morph both of his hands into what could only be described as...claws.

Oh fuck. Chan was going to do something worse.

"NO!" Han would scream once the realization hit. "You can't- you cannot- don't you dare!" He'd hold his hands out as a makeshift shield in an attempt to protect himself as he sunk to the floor against the counter. Chan would only inch closer.

"This is cruel! And- and unruly- you can't! I'll quit! I'll- I'll sue-!

An embarrassing loud screech would escape his lips as soon as Chan reached him, cackles immediately ripping from his throat as soon as he felt nails scratching at his sides.

"You're not going to quit," Chan would say as if that was the important takeaway he got from Han's (not so convincing) plea. "And you're certainly not going to sue; that would just be silly." Chan couldn't even get that part of the sentiment out with a straight face, his words laced with his own chuckles.

"STAHAHAHAP THAHAHAT!" Han would attempt to dance his way out of Chan's grasp, but it was no use. If he jerked right, Chan's hands would go right. If he jerked left, Chan's hands would follow suit yet again.

“AGH! SOMEOHOHONE," It was embarrassing how hard it was for him to breathe- especially considering Chan hadn't even been tickling him for thirty seconds yet. "SOMEONE IHIHIS GOHONNA SEEHEHEHEHEE!"

"No one is going to see, Jisung- No one is even here to see." Chan would tsk with a shake of his head. He'd notice Han's gasps for air, so he'd attempt to move spots, walking his fingers up his sides and to his ribs. "Better?"

"Nohohohoo!!" Han would whimper through his snickers. "Ihihihit stihihill- AHAHAahaack!!" Han would only get halfway through his giggle-ridden sentence before feeling a sharp taze between his ribs. "Dohohon't dohoho thahahat! Pleheheheaseee, hyuhungg!"

"Aww, how cute." And, despite the teasey nature, those words did seem genuine. "Does it really tickle that much? I'm barely even touching you!" Now the genuine nature was gone. He was just being cruel, Han decided.

"Nohoho mohohore! Plehehease, hyuhung- pleheheheheeease! I've hahahad enohough!!" Han would plead through his hysterical giggles, his hands swatting in every direction he could possibly think of.

"You've had enough?" Chan would question, halting momentarily as he raised his brow. "Since when was it you who decided that, hm? I don't think you've had nearly enough."

"I hahave!" Jisung would rush to reply, the giggles still clinging to his words. "I have! I HAVE! Please, I have! I swear- I've learned my lesson- I'm sorry!" The threatening obviously didn't work, so he'd choose to switch tactics.

"Sorry?" Chan looked confused. And amused. Han could only assume that wasn't a good sign.

"Yes!" He'd frantically nod his head, so much so that he was almost convinced it would fall off if he went any faster. "Yes! SO sorry! I'm SO sorry, hyung, really!"

"What for?"

What for? Shit. He hadn't thought of that.

“For…being a bad…employee…obviously..?” It was painful. He really didn’t intend it to come out as unsure as it did- it literally sounded like he was asking Chan if that was the right answer. He was so screwed.

“Honestly,” Chan would begin, and although his tone sounded positive, his smirk said otherwise. “I didn’t want an apology to begin with. So you’re okay on that front.”

Han let out a sigh, the biggest sigh he ever had. “Oh, thank god. So we’re good? Does that-“

“Oh, no.”

What?

“I’m still going to tickle you. I’m not done. I’m just saying I don’t need- or really want an apology. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

And before he could even react, his arms were pulled high above his head, pinning him against the counter. His eyes would widen in horror, his mouth opening to spit out the quickest and most frantic pleas his body could muster.

“N-No! NO- please- I mean it! Whatever I did to upset you, I swear! I’ll- I’ll never do it agAHAHAHAIN-!” Those pleas were quickly interrupted by his own voice cracking, cut through by his laughter.

“STAHAHAHAHA! I CAHAHAHANT- I cahahahahan’t!” Han’s head would toss back as he tried to muster all of his energy, tugging on his own arms like his life depended on it. Thank god it didn’t because his arms weren’t going anywhere.

Chan really was just being cruel now. With one hand being occupied with Jisung’s two hands, he’d use his free one to spider his fingers around his armpit, watching as Han screeched and cackled.

“PLEHEHEHEHASE!” Han screamed, as if Chan hearing him was part of the problem. “PLEEEHEHEHEASE! WHAAHAHAT- WHAHAHAHAT DOHO YOHOU WAHAHAHAHANT FROHOM MEHEHEHEHEEE??” He could admit, that was kind of a stupid question. He already knew. He could only hope that he was wrong, but he knew he wasn’t.

“I want you to listen to your head.” Chan would hum, now gently swirling his finger around and around. “And your heart. You have nothing to lose here! I want you to take a chance.”

Chan would still his fingers. Han would pant, sucking in a big breath of air. They’d stare at each other as if they were having a silent staring contest; the loser had to speak first. Chan would blink.

“Well?”

Han didn’t have the heart, or really the energy, to respond. His eyes would remain glued to the floor.

“Are you going to do that?” Chan would ask. “…Or…have I been too easy on you?”

Oh fuck.

“H-Hyung…” Han would whimper, noticing Chan removing his hands from his arms. He’d slam them down immediately, shrinking into himself. “I…” He was scared.

“It’s��it’s scary, Hyung…”

“What is?” Chan would respond quickly, his face laced with concern. Oh god. Had he gone too far? That was never his intention. “The tickling? Hannie, I’m so sorry-“

Han would cut him off. “No. Not- not that,” he’d flush; he didn’t even think that would be possible at this point- he was already bright red. “Talking to him, Hyung. I…” Han didn’t want to get choked up. It was stupid. It made no sense. “…I don’t want him to laugh at me. I don’t want him to think I’m weird-“

“Oh, Hannie…”

Before he knew it, his face was getting cupped. He’d stare ahead at Chan, being met with a sympathetic smile. “You are not weird. And even if you were…so what? That’s part of your charm.” His words were genuine, he could tell.

“You think I’m charming?” That question was meant to come out more jokey than it actually did. He didn’t know why he sounded so shocked.

“I do, yes.” Chan would chuckle. He thought that question was adorable. “I think he does too. My baking isn’t that good, Jisung. Something-“ He’d clear his throat, playfully shaking his head. “Sorry. Someone else has to be motivating him to come here so often.”

“…And you think it’s me?” Han didn’t want to get his hopes up. He didn’t want to feel that horrible feeling: looking forward to something, raising his expectations- just for them to be crushed right in front of his face.

“I know it’s you, Jisung.”

But when Chan spoke like that, with such conviction and confidence…how could he not believe him? Maybe Chan had actually noticed something he hadn’t, and it wasn’t like him to do something to maliciously hurt him. He wouldn’t be telling him this if he didn’t believe it.

And as if on cue, those cute little bells tied to the door frame would chime. Han would freeze for a moment, staring at Chan like a deer in the headlights, and the “Hello?” that was called from the register in that familiar voice didn’t help things.

Oh shit. He had spent this whole time laughing- now the heart cookies weren’t even ready. He’d look to Chan frantically, searching for answers. Luckily for him, Chan already seemed to have a plan- as he normally did.

“Go!” He’d whisper, beginning to usher Han away. “Go talk to him! I’ll finish up the cookies. I’ll set an alarm on the oven- when it starts ringing, come back here and get the cookies.” He’d explain, grabbing a piping bag. “You know what to do then.”

Han would nod, quickly stomping his way to the curtain separating the kitchen and the registers. But, before he could step out, he’d hesitate.

“Hyung?”

“Yes?” Chan would respond, already focused on the cookies in front of him.

Han would look over his shoulder, a soft smile gracing his face. “Thank you…in advance. You know…in the case you actually are right.”

“Of course, Jisung. Good luck.”

Chan would watch in satisfaction as Han opened and exited out the curtain, relieved as he heard him start his normal “Hi! What can I getcha’?” spiel. He’d do great, he knew.

Chan would put down the piping bag after a few minutes, setting the timer on the oven to two minutes. He’d spend those two minutes taking the original cookie dough batter, untouched, out of its hiding place: one of the lower shelves on the counter. The last thing he wanted to do was waste good batter!

He’d put the clear bowl in the mini-fridge, shutting it quickly as the timer beeped. He’d grin as Han did as he was previously told to do: he’d rush in, quickly finding the small plate of six heart-shaped cookies frosted in pretty pink and red buttercream. He’d turn to Chan, giving him a quick nod and a mouthed “Thank you!” before rushing back out with the cookies in hand.

All Chan could do was smile. He prayed this would go well. Everything had so far, at least. Besides, he knew it better than anyone else could:

If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

omg omg omg!!! first fic DONE! this is a liiiittle late, so im sorry!! it just wasn’t done cooking yet! (hehe!) i hope you guys like it 🥹

#sylviescribbles #tickle fanfic #tickle fic #skz tickle #stray kids tickle #first fic #lee han #ler chan #kpop tickle

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felixsramen · 11 months ago

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Yours Truly

This is part 28 to my skz poly fic. I'm so sorry I've been gone so long. I've had a lot going on. Hopefully I'll have my other work done sometime this week of my Minsung x Chan x reader. This one's kinda short so I'll have the next part up around tomorrow sometime though.

Previous<<<< Next>>>>>

Warnings: None

You watch as you pass street by street. It crosses your mind if this was something that would continue if you were to date them. Cute little dates with each or even all of them. "What's going on in that head of yours pretty girl?" Chan asks snapping you out of your thoughts.

"She probably thinks we're going to kill her. I told Chan that we shouldn't have gone all the way out here. Of course you were going to think we were trying to kill you. What did I tell you Chan?" Minho says getting onto Chan.

Chan rolls his eyes at his boyfriends words. "I doubt she thinks we're going to kill her." Chan looks at you. "Wait don't tell me Minho is right." Chan says concerned now.

You can't help but laugh at him. "No. I didn't think you were going to kill me. Should I have thought that?" Chan shakes his head.

"Of course not. We would never jeopardize your safety." Chan says taking a glance at you. "That's good to know." You say with a smile.

"Can't promise the same for Hyunjin and Jisung though." Minho says and you can't help but laugh at that.

"It's not even that they would jeopardize your safety. It's the fact that they would jeopardize their own safety." Chan says sighing and shaking his head. You and Minho can't help but laugh at his own words.

"They're like children. If it's too quiet something is going on. Last time the house was quiet Jisung and Hyunjin thought it'd be funny to put red dye in Seungmins hair dye. Seungmin pretended they didn't exist for a week even after they had apologized after the first few hours." Chan says and you can imagine that exact thing happening making you laugh.

Minho lets out a chuckle. "I remember that. Me and Lix had to help him dye it back. He was really pissed at those two. I remember the time they decided that they were going to make a cake for Felixs birthday and almost burnt down the kitchen. The sad thing was that they were just icing the cake. To this day I still don't know how that happened." You can also imagine that. They seem to be the most chaotic out of every one.

"It's worse when they decide to try and bring the others into it." Chan says laughing.

You can't help but find it adorable when they tell stories of each other. It truly makes you feel like you're part of them. Yet at the same time you can't help but wish you were part of it.

Chan sets his hand on the glove box palm up. He glances at you giving you a small smile and you take his hand. "So cute. You guys make me want to throw myself out the car window." Minho says and you and Chan can't help but roll your eyes.

"Says the one who kissed me this morning and I quote "because you're my boyfriend and I have the privilege to kiss you whenever." Minho sighs and you can't help but laugh.

"Don't forget you slow danced with me a few days ago." You say chiming in.

"Are we sure he isn't dying? You're not dying right Minho?" Chan says teasing him but Minho glares at him. "No I am not dying. I'm perfectly fine actually. I just want to show that I care and want to be romantic sometimes." Minho grumbles out.

"I'm just joking love. I'm sorry if I upset you though." Chan says looking into the mirror. Minho shakes his head. "I'm not upset it's just embarrassing." Minho says quietly looking away.

"Don't be. We all show our love in different ways. You shouldn't be embarrassed. I love you too Min." Chan softly says before turning into a parking lot.

"I think it's cute." You say softly. A small smile frames Minho's face. "Thank you guys."

You finally look outside the window and you're met with a small shop. You go to open your door but Minho has already opened it. You can't help but smile as you get out of the car.

Minho and Chan both hold out a hand for you to take and you take both of them as they lead you into the small unfamiliar shop.

Taglist: @queenmea604 @lolareadsimagines @tinyworld14-blog @liv302 @jinniespuppy @stephy-nicole13 @freyaniobe @chansbabygirlsstuff @jkookiejiminlvr @hyuneyeon @sirenthalia @nagadiluc @tenshimara @leeknowleeknow @boi-bi-ahaha @shltsnglggles @tinystarsthing @armystay89 @baby-fairy-yas @haileybugulug @freckleboilix @im-sinking-in-mud @lmaouwu @greysweaters-blog @katrodriguez99 @3rachasninja @amararosesblog @1alesakura @m4gg13-g @vampcharxter @noellllslut @berryberrytan @junebug032 @vrslvts1 @jeongchaos @emyferra08 @stvrfir3 @feybin @mauvemelon @worcesheshestershiresauce @realrintaro @katsukis1wife @foliea @krishastumblernow @pretty-blkgirl @mrsseochangbin @cyberpunksunwoo @nobody3210

#poly skz #skz fluff #poly stray kids #stray kids fluff

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jupitersnewmoon · 4 months ago

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Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider...Han?

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider...Han? - Minsung Spiderman/College AU

ଳ Jisung likes to think he's very good at keeping his identity a secret but Minho can recognize that waist anywhere.

ଳ chapter 1 - Marriage Papers or a Restraining Order?

ଳ cw - depictions of v!olence, swearing, gays being gays, Jisung is kind of a stalker, light angst because I'm a wuss, hurt/comfort, no smut... unless, a little corny, minsung, changlix, hyunbin

ଳ next chapter

“Do you think Captain America has to take ‘Music History’ when he’s not out saving the world?” Jisung grumbled as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans.

“No, but he’s also, like, a hundred years old I think,” Chan replied.

Jisung and Chan walked down the hallways of their college campus after another long and boring lecture. Despite them being in different years, Chan suggested to Jisung that he should take Music History with him his junior year so he wouldn’t suffer during his senior year like Chan is now. Definitely not because Chan didn’t want to struggle alone or anything. He just had his friend's best interest in mind.

“Who even cares about the ‘Baroque Era’ or why ‘Handel’s Messiah’ was so popular and life changing,” Jisung complained.

“George Handel s’rolling in his grave right now.”

“Well he can Handle these nuts in his mouth! I should be training for my first big fight! Not sitting in a 2 hour long lecture about things I’ll forget next week,” he whined.

Chan giggled and rolled his eyes while Jisung continued to complain about the lecture as they made their way to the food court. It had been roughly 4 months since Jisung became spider-man and for the most part everything was going pretty smoothly. Did he almost plummet to his death a few (many) times while he was still getting used to web swinging? He wouldn’t see why that’s important to bring up right now.

Chan was the only one to know about Jisung’s new… abilities. Jisung really did try to keep it a secret, but Chan was getting more and more concerned about why his friend kept coming home exhausted and sometimes hurt. Plus he really wanted to show someone all the cool new things he could do. He trusted Chan with his life, he knew he could tell him anything. It was also nice to have someone helping him through all of his new changes. And Chan was way better at coming up with excuses on the spot whenever Jisung accidentally did something “spidery”. It had raised a few red flags with their friends when all of a sudden Jisung went from barely being able to bench the barbell to being able to lift twice what Changbin could like it was nothing. Chan was thankfully able to play it off, but Changbin’s ego never fully healed.

Despite how worried Chan was about him, he knew his friend could handle whatever was thrown at him. While you wouldn’t know it through Jisung’s day to day actions, he was really smart and Chan had faith no villain was a match for the boy. But Chan didn’t have to worry too much right now. Jisung was hardly saving the world from heinous villains at the moment. The most he would do is stop a pickpocketer or help old ladies cross the street. Oh and watch one of his best friends friend go to and from school everyday. What!? It wasn’t weird, he was just making sure he made it safe! Listen, if Jisung was a villain he would totally kidnap the boy, he was far too pretty for his own good! He wasn’t a stalker, he was like a guardian angel.

The 2 boys walked into the food court and looked for their friends. It had become tradition for their little group to eat together every Monday after they were done with lectures and before Felix had dance practice. Chan and Jisung followed the sound of Changbin and Felix’s laughs and made their way to the table.

“Hey guys!” Felix beamed at the two.

Maybe if Jisung wasn’t so focused on the unfamiliar person sitting at their table, he would’ve made fun of the way Chan immediately seemed to melt just by Felix saying hello.

Jisung looked to Chan and glanced in the stranger's direction and gave Chan a questioning look. Chan just shrugged his shoulders and the two sat down in front of the three boys.

“How was music history?” Changbin asked with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“Please don’t get Ji started. If I have to hear him complain about that damn class one more time I’m going to be joining famous German-British composer George Frideric Handel in his grave,” Chan grumbled, taking out both his and Jisungs lunches. Ever since high school Jisung has had a habit of finishing his food before he makes it to lunch, so Chan has always packed extra for him.

Changbin leaned to the side and cackled, understanding the reference as he had taken the class last year. Jisung turned to Chan and faked a face of pure betrayal, mouth agape and eyes widened.

“I thought you were on my side!” Jisung shrieked.

“A man can only take so many ‘Handel these nuts in your mouth’ or ‘Handel this dick in your ass’ before it starts taking a toll on your mental and physical health.”

“Why are you hating, I’m hilarious!”

“Okay okay,” Felix butts in, “please refrain from speaking about male genitalia in varying holes at the dinner table. Especially in front of Innie.”

Jisung and Chan both turned to look at the boy they had completely forgotten about during their argument. The boy stared at them trying to bite back a smile at their interaction.

“Hi I’m Jeongin, a friend of Felix’s from dance! It’s nice to meet you both!” Jeongin smiled and put his hand out for them to shake.

“Hey I’m Chan, it’s nice to meet you too.” He took the boy's hand in his own. “And this is Jisung.” Chan nodded his head in his direction.

Jisung shook Jeongin’s hand and smiled at him. He was grateful that Chan took the lead on their introduction. Jisung was always quieter in front of new people, especially ones who heard him defend himself about making inappropriate jokes about a dead composer. First impressions are important and this was definitely a way for Jeongin to get to know him.

“Innie recently joined our dance class and he’s been killing it so far!” Felix exclaimed excitedly as he put his hand on Jeongins shoulder, looking like a proud mother.

“Ah, I don’t know about killing it, but it’s been a lot of fun getting to know everyone! Jeongin replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh don’t be so humble! I think I saw Minho start to tear up when he saw you dance! It’s been so long since we’ve seen someone with your kind of talent Innie!”

Jisung’s head snapped up at the mention of Minho’s name. Changbin looked at Jisung with a downwards smile and a tilt in his brow. Jisung glared at the older boy in an intimidating way. Well as intimidating as he could get with his cheeks full of food. Changbin tried his best to suppress a silent laugh and Jisung kicked his leg underneath the table. He realized too late what he had done when Changbin howled out in pain and dramatically grabbed his leg feigning a look of pure pain and anguish.

“Yah, Jisung! What was that for!?” Changbin hollered, shin in hand and a grin on his face.

“Just felt right,” Jisung pouted and filled his cheeks with more food.

Felix and Jeongin looked at Jisung confusingly but before they could question him Chan interrupted.

“So Felix, Jeongin, are you guys excited for your first showcase of the year?”

While the boys discuss the upcoming showcase Jisung’s mind starts to drift. And because Jisung is a weak weak man, he starts thinking about his favorite pretty boy. Jisung doesn’t know what it is about Minho that has him so enraptured, but Minho has Jisung wrapped around his finger and he has no idea.

What Jisung thinks is the most pathetic about what most people would call ‘obsession’ but he likes to refer to it as a ‘special interest', is that he and Minho have never actually officially met before. Despite the fact that Minho and Felix live together, the stars have never aligned to where Minho is home at the same time as Jisung comes over. Jisung used to think it was karma for the thousands he must've slaughtered in a past life to always just miss meeting the guy, but Jisung knows now that it was actually the universe sparring him. Jisung really isn’t all that bad at flirting, but he knows damn well he would fold like a lawn chair if Minho even glanced in his direction. And to Changbin and Chan’s utmost despair, they now have to hear Jisung complain and yearn for the man but will under no circumstances ever EVER introduce himself. Jisung tells them that he will work up the confidence one day but it's been two years now and absolutely no progress has been made. But if you ask Jisung he thinks he’s getting somewhere! He used to hide on tops of buildings whenever he “escorts” Minho home safely, but now he’ll hide in an alley and they’ll be like 8 feet apart instead of like 20! Give him like 2 more years and he’ll walk by him one day and maybe even give him a little nod in passing. Slowburn has always been one of Jisung’s favorite genres, he’s doing it for the romance of it all! NOT because he’s a pussy, no matter what Changbin says.

Jisung is snapped out of his daze when he hears his name being called.

“Sorry huh?” Jisung asks, tilting his head.

“I asked if you’re excited to watch the showcase in a few weeks?!” Felix asks again, not too concerned about his friend's usual spacey behavior.

“Duh! You guys kill it every time! It’s always a pleasure to watch such beauty and magnificence grace the stage!” Jisung replies dramatically in almost a British like accent.

Felix laughs and reaches across the table to playfully smack Jisungs hand.

“Well I’m glad you’re excited. You 3 should actually be even more excited since you guys are formally invited to the after party this year!” Felix exclaimed.

“Since when do you guys do after parties?” Changbin questioned.

“Well we usually don’t but because it’s Minho's last first showcase we wanted to celebrate!”

The 3 boys nodded understanding of their reasoning, even if they knew it was more likely just an excuse to get blacked out after a grueling few months of preparation for the showcase.

“I’ll send you guys the deets when it gets closer! But for now Innie and I should get going!” Felix said while he and Jeongin stood up from the table.

“Same time next week?” Chan joked while he watched Felix leave, with an almost longing look on his face.

“You know it,” Felix replied, winking at Chan.

Changbin and Jisung giggled while Chan malfunctioned at the boys actions.

“Bye Jeongin, it was nice to meet you!” Changbin called out while they got further away.

Jeongin turned and flashed him a smile and waved at the group. The boys returned his wave and continued eating their food.

After Chan rebooted and came back to life, he turned to Jisung with a menacing smirk.

“So Ji, are you excited for the party?” Chan asked innocently.

“Well the fact that people will be there kinda sucks, but the alcohol and food will surely make up for it,” Jisung stated obviously.

“Hmm, is that all you're excited about?” Chan questioned.

Jisung looked at him suspiciously and nodded his head hesitantly, taking a bite of his food.

“Awe, can’t believe your resident pretty boy didn’t even make it on the list,” Chan fakes a saddened look, “how would he feel knowing you’re not exhilarated to meet him officially.”

Jisung’s whole world comes to a complete stop as he drops his fork on his plate. Jisung sits there like a deer frozen in headlights while Chan and Changbin holler out laughter.

The fact that Jisung would be at a party in an enclosed space with the person he’s been obsessing over, or, specially interested in, didn’t even cross his mind. The party was supposedly specifically for Minho too. Felix had been dying to get Minho and Jisung to meet but he was able to avoid it everytime, but he wouldn’t be able to avoid him at his own party.

“Oh my god Ji you are so fucked!” Changbin laughed.

“Have some faith in the boy!” Chan teased, “maybe he’ll finally work up the courage to look him in the eye!”

Jisung put his head in his hands and groaned.

“There is no way I can go to that party and make it out alive,” Jisung grumbled into his hands.

“Hmm, well you could always not go, But you’re gonna have to give Lix a reallllyyy good reason,” Chan evilly smirked, “like telling him the truth.”

“NO! Absolutely NOT!” Jisung shrieked, “I love Lix with all my heart but that boy can not keep a secret to save his life! Plus he’ll try to play cupid and get us together. Which will end horribly because everytime I’m in the same room with him I forget how to function!”

“I know it’s really pathetic,” Changbin replied nonchalantly.

“Oh I know YOU’RE not talking!” Jisung pointed accusingly at the boy.

“Yah! At least I can talk to Hyunjin! You damn near explode anytime Minho's name is even mentioned!” Changbin replied in return, already knowing whom Jisung was referring to.

“At least I don’t have plans to propose to Min the first time I ever meet him!”

“You just don’t know how to seduce people! You can hate all you want but I made an impression on Jinnie and he eats up my affection! I expect him to send the marriage papers any day now!”

“The only papers you’re getting is a restraining order!”

“Alright you two calm down, it's really not that serious,” Chan said trying to reason with them.

“Oh I know damn well you don’t want to get involved in this, you’re the worst out of all of us,” Changbin warns.

Chan raises his hands in surrender and shovels food into his mouth minding his business.

“Don't worry Jisungie, we’ll make you look all pretty and use you as a gift to Minho for doing so well,” Changbin teased.

Jisung’s face turned a deep shade of red as he put his head on the table and groaned.

“Come on kid you can sulk later, we gotta get you to your next class,” Chan giggled as he rubbed Jisung’s back comfortingly.

Chan and Changbin walked a moping Jisung to his class. Chan warned the boy to pay attention as he knew Jisung would most likely stress over a party that doesn’t even have a date yet instead of listening to the lecture.

“See you at home, have a good day at school baby, I love you”, Changbin teased like a mother dropping her child off on the first day of school.

Jisung flipped him off and walked into the room while Chan laughed at the duo's antics.

It’s safe to say Jisung did not listen to a single thing his professor said. The first half of class was spent anxiously wondering how he was supposed to act normal in front of Minho when Felix would inevitably introduce them at the party. Jisung hasn’t even made eye contact with the boy and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t survive it. He knows Minho is a normal guy just like everyone else but he has built up so much anticipation in his head about their first meeting he’s driven himself crazy. Minho is no longer just a normal man, he’s another entity entirely. Someone from a different planet. An otherworldly creature whose origins could probably be traced back to Venus. The planet of love, beauty and desire. That’s the only place Jisung could imagine someone like him coming from. Jisung gave Minho the title of ‘pretty boy’ because describing someone who probably doesn’t even know of his existence as pulchritudinous seemed a little insane. The first time Jisung saw Minho he googled ‘words stronger than beautiful’ and that one seemed the most dramatic which is exactly how Jisung feels for him, dramatically.

The second half of class was spent with Jisung thinking about if he were to go, what would he even wear? Jisung’s closet is every wannabe skater boy's wet dream which he adores, however the baggy clothes do nothing for his figure. Jisung has a waist that would put any Disney princess to shame and the only outfit that does it justice is his spidey suit. Has it crossed his mind to put the suit on and hype himself up to Minho before he officially meets him? Maybe. Jisungs thought process was that if Minho heard how cool Jisung was from a reliable source then he would have a better chance of making the boy swoon. And who’s more reliable than a friendly neighborhood spider-man?

While Jisung was debating his outfit options, something that Changbin had mentioned hit him like a truck. ‘Don't worry Jisungie, we’ll make you look all pretty and use you as a gift to Minho for doing so well.’ That sentence made his thoughts spiral even more. Could Minho see Jisung and think of him as pretty? As a gift? Oh no, now Jisung needs to make sure he looks his best for their first interaction. He needs to make sure the first time Minho see’s him he can hear the wedding bells start ringing. No pressure or anything.

As his lecture comes to an end Jisung has decided that he can get through his first ever meeting with Minho. He may just need a little help from Felix and his beautifying abilities and a good amount of alcohol. Jisung exits class with a little more pep in his step and his head held high. Maybe it was the hopeless romantic in him that controlled his brain and heart, but he was gonna make the love at first sight trope happen like his life depended on it. And if you asked him, his life did depend on it. Jisung knows for certain that if he doesn’t implode the second he gets within 2 feet of Minho, they will fall in love and be together for the rest of their lives. How could he possibly be so certain about this? His spidey sense of course. It allows him to sense potential danger and apparently soulmates. Jisung would describe his spidey sense like alarm bells going off whenever danger is near, but when he sees Minho, you could say he hears wedding bells. Or maybe the sleepless nights and constant yearning have finally caught up to him and he’s finally lost his mind. A boy can only take so much pinning before it starts rotting your mind of all sanity. But if Minho is the last thing Jisung thinks of before he loses all sense of reality, he wouldn’t mind it much. What a pulchritudinous final thought.

Jisung makes his way out of the building and starts heading in the direction of the dance studio. On Monday’s, Jisung’s class ends a few minutes before the dancers usually leave the studio after practice. Sometimes Minho stays later to get extra practice in but Jisung doesn’t mind waiting. Obviously not if he’s willing to wait 2 years to even introduce himself but that’s not important right now.

Jisung sometimes thinks about how creepy it would seem to someone if they knew what he was doing but he really doesn’t see the harm in it! He’s just making sure a civilian get’s home safe! That’s his job! Granted maybe he wouldn’t get employee of the month for only ever escorting the same civilian home but who would blame him?

While Jisung is deep in thought over if it was hypocritical to tell Changbin he would get a restraining order for proposing to Hyunjin when he’s the one basically stalking Minho, he feels a slight tingle ripple through his body. Jisung halts his movements and tunes into himself, waiting. A few moments later he feels the same tingle ripple through his body but this time it’s much more powerful than the last. His spidey sense. The metaphorical alarm bells are ringing and Jisung knows it’s time to go. He lets his body take control as he runs towards the danger. He looks back at the dance studio and sighs. He’s sure Minho will make it home safe on his own, but this is the only time he gets to see the boy so excuse him for experiencing some withdrawals.

Jisung weaves through the people on campus and runs in the direction of the city. As he sprints into the streets he can start to hear people screaming in the distance. Jisung tunes in and listens for any clues on what could possibly be happening. He hears the sounds of what seems to be cars being thrown into buildings, the shattering of glass, and a strange mechanical whirring. It’s left him with more questions than answers but one thing is for certain. This isn’t just some petty crime, this is a real attack.

Jisung runs into an alleyway and changes into his spider suit. Jisung originally wore a red hoodie and some old blue sweatpants but with the help of Chan he was able to make a much cooler and safer suit. He throws his backpack and clothes behind a trash can and runs back into the streets. He runs a few feet down the block before he makes a b-line for a car coming his way. Jisung lets out a shaky exhale and shakes out his hands attempting to calm his nerves. This is the first real villain Jisung has ever fought and despite the anxiety that riddles his entire being, adrenaline slowly starts to take over. Finally his first chance to prove himself, he’s not going to blow it.

When the car draws near, Jisung runs up the hood of the car and onto its roof. From there he jumps and slings his web to the nearest building. Jisung starts swinging through the city as his body guides him to the chaos. He’s incredibly thankful he spent all that time practicing swinging, now would be a bad time to fall thousands of feet in the air.

As Jisung gets closer to the mayhem, he can start hearing more and more. Cars honking, the heavy breathing coming from people running for their lives, metal crashing into each other, but one thing stands out amongst the rest. He can hear the distant wail of a man screeching a name.

He can barely make it out through all the commotion going on. Rory? No, no not that. He focuses hard on the man's shrill voice.

“Rosie?” Jisung whispers to himself.

Before Jisung can think anything of the name, something catches his eye. A red honda civic starts hurtling towards him. Jisung maneuvers his body out of the way and lands back on the ground. He looks around for the man but can’t see anything other than absolute destruction around him. Jisung is baffled at the scenery in front of him. It didn’t take him longer than 15 minutes to get to the heart of the city and yet there is already so much damage. Whatever was causing this was powerful.

Jisung catapults himself down the street looking for the threat. His eyes scan over the roofs of buildings and the streets below but he can’t seem to find the cause of all this destruction. Jisung grows more and more frustrated as he can’t seem to find the source. The loud crashing of cars and almost deafening screams are starting to become too much for him.

Even before Jisung gained enhanced hearing he never really enjoyed being around loud sounds or crowded places. He would get overstimulated quickly and now with his powers it seemed to only get worse. But Jisung knew he had to push the overwhelming feeling aside and focus on the job at hand.

After what felt like hours of web slinging, Jisung saw a woman with her arms held tightly around her limp body. She wore a lab coat that was covered in blood and shards of glass. Jisung knew if he left her there she would die quickly so he landed and fell to his knees in front of her shaking form.

“Ma’am are you okay, can you hear me?” Jisung frantically questions, gently placing his hands on one of the very few spots on her arms that wasn’t covered in blood.

This jolts the woman seemling back to life as her eyes shoot open and gasps for air. She looks around frantically and after a few seconds finally seems to take notice of the boy in front of her.

“No please you need to leave he, he’s gone insane you need to run!” The woman barely chokes out.

“Who’s he? Who’s gone insane?”

“Dr.O-Octavius, he built something, but, but it-” Before the woman could finish her sentence her eyes slowly shut and she went limp in Jisungs hold.

Before Jisung could even comprehend what had happened another car came flying just a few feet above his head. Jisung gently lets go of the woman and shoots up from his place on the ground. The sound of mechanical whirring is much closer so he follows it without a second thought.

His heart is beating so loudly he’s pretty sure it’s going to burst his ear drums at any moment. He’s been wanting a real fight so bad for months but now that it’s happening he’s not so sure. Maybe it was the woman dying in his arms that sobered him up but Jisung is now afraid that he might not be good enough to win this. The image of the woman’s passing flashes through his head but Jisung quickly shakes the thought away. He’ll just have to deal with the aftermath of that later.

Jisung can feel that he’s getting closer to whoever this Dr.Octavius is and the adrenaline starts coursing through his body once again. The screams have almost completely subsided now and he would usually enjoy the quiet but Jisung misses the noise now more than ever. At least when they’re screaming they’re still alive.

Jisung rounds the corner of the building and finally sees the man causing all this terror. He lands back on the ground and immediately starts running toward the man who lets out an anguished cry.

“ROSIE WHERE ARE YOU?” He screeched as he picked up another car with one of his mechanical tentacles and threw it towards a building.

Jisung assessed the situation as best as he could with what little time he had. Chan always told him to look for the best in people and while he could tell the man was clearly in pain and looking for someone he was also causing mass destruction and probably killing hundreds. He wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt and believe that he was just acting out because he lost someone he truly loved but he was far too great of a threat to try and have an impromptu therapy session unconstricted. Jisung knew he had to get the man confined so he could try and talk to him without his life being on the line so he started to think of a plan. The man seemed to be just a normal, well, man and his biggest threat were the four mechanical tentacles that protruded from his back. Jisung knew if he wanted to get close to him he had to get the tentacles under control. He figured he could use his webs to trap the tentacles in sort of a spiderweb and that should be able to hold him off long enough to try and understand what he was doing. It wasn’t until Jisung came just a few feet from the man that it finally hit him.

Oh my god that man has robot tentacles.

Where the fuck did he get robot tentacles? Why did he not get robot tentacles? He wanted robot tentacles.

Jisung’s thoughts ended abruptly when yet another car whizzed past him. Many thoughts were already racing through his mind but one stood out amongst the rest.

He really hoped these people had good car insurance.

The man, presumably Dr.Octavius, had taken notice of Jisung and was gearing up to fight him. Jisung knew any sort of conversation would most likely fall on deaf ears as the doctor seemed hysterical so instead of trying to reason with him Jisung kicked off the nearest wall and swung into action.

Jisung looped around the doctor and shot his webs at the tentacles trying to get them stuck together. But with every web he shot, the man was able to pry his way out of them. The tentacles were far stronger then Jisung had anticipated and if his webs couldn’t hold him down then Jisung and the city were in big trouble.

With a new idea in mind Jisung began scaling the side of a nearby office building and just as he hoped, the doctor followed him up. Jisung climbed gracefully up the building while the doctor's mechanical appendages rammed their way into the side of the building, completely destroying the property value.

As they made their way up the tall building the doctor used the other tentacles that weren’t helping him climb to try and pierce Jisung. Jisung weaved side to side avoiding the doctor's blows. The amount of force that the appendages were using to try and pierce Jisung caused the building's structure to rattle with each hit. Due to the vibrations Jisung started to lose his grip and he knew if they continued like this he would either fall or get struck.

As they were nearing the top of the building Jisung saw a giant hole in the building just a few feet ahead. It looked like some kind of explosion had completely taken the wall out. He decided to take his chances and headed towards the opening, hoping to find a better way to get the man under control.

Jisung hurried into the hole and catapulted himself to the other side of the room creating distance between himself and the madman. Dr.Octavius soon follows him through but stays on the other side of what seems to be a destroyed lab. The doctor mournfully looks around the room and sighs.

“Why are you doing this?” Jisung questions carefully not wanting to anger the man further.

The doctor looks at Jisung regretfully and lets out a shaky exhale.

“This is all my fault.” The doctor whispers.

Jisung stays quiet, silently urging the man to go on.

“I just, I just wanted to build something that could fuel the world. A source so powerful it could rival the sun. A sustainable fusion power reactor. But it wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready and yet I still powered it up. And look where it got me. I lost everything and now look like the monster I am.”

Jisung stood there and listened to him explain. He wanted to interrupt and say he thought the tentacles were badass but he figured it wasn’t the right time.

“The reactor malfunctioned and my wife, she was there and now I can’t find her and and the tentacles are fused with me but seem to have a mind of their own and it feels like I’m losing control and-”

Jisung could tell the man was about to become hysterical again and not wanting him to cause another scene he interrupts his rambling.

“Hey look it’s okay. You obviously didn’t mean for any of this to happen. There’s nothing we can do to change what has already happened but we can figure out where to go from here. You said you lost your wife? I’m sure she couldn’t have gone very far, maybe she evacuated to somewhere safe.”

‘To get away from you destroying the city’, Jisung added in his head.

“I need to make sure she’s okay, that she’s still alive.”

“Okay okay we can do that. But you can’t tear the whole city to shreds. That’ll only make things worse.”

The doctor nodded his head and Jisung let out a quiet sigh of relief. Maybe he wasn’t too bad at this whole superhero thing. Hunt down the bad guy, run from the bad guy, give said bad guy some life changing advice, this was a piece of cake.

“Great, now what does your wife look like?” Jisung questioned.

“She’s about 5’8, long brunette hair, and she’s probably still wearing her lab coat,” the doctor explains.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Jisung knew exactly where his wife was, she died in his arms not very long ago.

Jisung stood there silent for a few seconds not knowing what to do. He figured he had two options. He could not tell him and let him figure it out when they came across her dead body, which would lead to another outburst. Or he could tell him now and, well, have it lead to another outburst. Either way this was going to end unfavorably for everyone. If the doctor was tearing shit up when he thought she was alive, he couldn’t imagine the damage he would do knowing he had nothing left to lose.

“Is everything okay?” the doctor questioned.

“I think I know where your wife is,” Jisung whispered, head bowed.

Dr.Octavius stared at the boy quizzically for a few moments trying to decipher why Jisungs mood had changed so quickly. The boy had gone from incredibly enthusiastic despite his obvious nerves to dull and somber just by mentioning his… wife.

Octavius’ eyes darkened.

“Where is she?” He gritted out.

“I really don’t think you want to know-” Jisung tried to explain but was quickly interrupted.

“WHERE IS SHE?” the doctor roared.

“Listen, I really don’t think you should see her when you’re like this-”

“WHY ARE YOU KEEPING HER FROM ME?”

“I am not trying to keep her from you but you have to understand that-”

Jisung was cut off again by the doctor fastly approaching him. Jisung swung out of the way just in time as the tentacles tried to capture him.

“BRING ME TO HER!” the doctor boomed.

“Trust me you really don’t want me to-” Jisung yelps, moving out of the way as a desk comes flying at him. “Okay you REALLY need to stop fucking throwing things at mE!” He exclaims running away from yet another flying object.

“TELL ME WHERE SHE IS NOW!” Dr.Octavius yelled, redying another desk to throw at the boy.

“FINE SHE’S ON EAST 2ND STREET NOW WILL YOU PLEASE PUT THE DESK DOWN!” Jisung shouted.

Dr.Octavius turned and left without another word and Jisung followed close behind. Maybe he should’ve mentioned she was dead before he told him her location but damn was Jisung tired of getting shit thrown at him today.

They made their way down the streets of the damaged city. The doctor stayed on the ground sprinting while Jisung swung a few feet above him. The sun was starting to set and Ji briefly wondered if Minho had made it home safe or not. He figured Min most likely took one look at the news and decided to stay somewhere else for the night as he lived deeper in the city, which was now covered in broken glass and upside down cars. Jisung started debating whether or not he should try and find him to make sure he was okay wherever he had decided to stay. To make sure a citizen was okay of course, not because he was pretty sure half the reason he was shaking was his body's reaction to not seeing him for so long (22 hours, but who’s counting).

As they both neared the street where Rosie laid, the sound of distant sirens could be heard echoing through the now almost deserted city. Jisung tried to focus on the sound to distract himself from the bile that seemed to make its way up his throat. The idea of going back to that street, that place, and seeing a woman he wasn’t able to save was nothing short of nauseating. There was really nothing Jisung could’ve done to save the woman, she wouldn’t have made it to a hospital and even if she did, her condition was so horrible she probably wouldn’t have survived the night. But still, he felt like it was his fault. Like maybe if he had gotten there faster he could’ve done something to save her. Or maybe if he had done his job a little better he could have noticed someone building a nuclear fucking reactor and stopped it before they had a chance to finish building it.

But Jisung didn’t do any of that. He failed before he even had the chance to try and succeed. This wasn’t his one and only opportunity to prove himself, the opportunity was there all along, he was just too busy moping to see it.

Jisung’s entire body tightened as they turned down the street. The sign that read ‘East 2nd Street’ seemed to laugh at him. To mock him for not being good enough. He swore the buildings were taunting him, calling him names. He not only couldn’t save Rosie, but he also couldn't save Octavius. Rosie may have been the one to die, but the doctor was the one who would have to live without her. Which was arguably worse.

Jisung landed a few feet behind the doctor to give him space as they neared her. He hung his head low and waited for Octavious to cry out in pain. To scream until his throat tore into two. But there was nothing. There was no yelling, no wails, just the sirens creeping closer.

Jisung slowly lifted his head to look at the two. The doctor was knelt hunched over his beloved cradling her in his arms. Silent tears streamed down the man's face. His body shook slightly from the silent sobs that wracked through his body.

All Jisung felt was guilt. A true hero would have been able to save her and in turn save him too. But without so much as raising his fist, he managed to kill them both.

The doctor slowly turned his head toward the boy.

“This is all your fault,” the doctor spat.

Logically Jisung knew this wasn’t true. Octavius built the faulty reactor. Octavius was the one to set off the reactor. And Octavius was the one who drove his wife to run away wounded and bleeding. Jisung knew the doctor just couldn’t take accountability for what he had done. That he just needed someone else to blame. Rosie was the last thing that made the doctor feel human and now that she was gone what was left of him? Dr.Octavius was now a shell of a once great man who lost everything. He had nothing left to live for.

And maybe that’s why Jisung replied, “I know.”

But Jisung was wrong. Octavius did have something to live for, revenge.

The mechanical tentacles slam into the ground one by one as they lift Octavius into the air. With one last look at his beloved lying dead on the concrete he turns toward Jisung. There is now a dark sinister look in the man’s eyes. Any trace of solemn has vanished into thin air and was now replaced by the overbearing primal urge to slaughter. With each step the tentacles took toward Jisung the human side of the man seemed to dissipate the further he got away from Rosie. If the doctor was a bitch to deal with when he had something to lose, Jisung was really going to be in for it now.

Jisung turned and started web swinging down the streets of the city. He knew if it really came down to it he had a good chance of defeating the doctor but Jisung didn’t really want anymore blood on his hands today, so he swung in the direction of the sirens. He figured there had to be at least 30 or so cop cars headed in his direction and while him and the police don’t exactly see eye to eye they could at least help sedate the crazed man.

The doctor is screaming insults and profanities at Jisung as they make their way towards the sirens. Ji is sure he’d be offended by whatever the doctor is spewing behind him but his heart is beating so loud he can barely hear anything else, which is probably for the best.

The way Jisung is swinging and maneuvering around and over the buildings is truly a sight. He hasn’t exactly been paying attention to where he was in the city, just trying his best to meet the police in the middle. He skillfully navigates through the streets like he’s done this a million times before, and he’s starting to think maybe he has.

Jisung takes in his surroundings and before he can even react he feels a rush go through his body. His spider sense has obviously been kicked into full gear this entire time because well there is a revenge driven mad scientist trying to kill him. But this wasn’t his usual spidey sense.

Jisung glances at the buildings he's using as momentum to keep swinging and they’re starting to become more and more familiar. Jisungs heart just about falls out of his ass when he sees a familiar apartment coming into view.

And then his heart goes from his ass straight down to hell when the alarm bells start to get drowned out by a choir of wedding bells. Usually Jisung accepts this symphony with open arms but his world is ready to explode into pieces when he sees a boy with brown hair standing outside of his apartment.

Minho.

A/N

thank you so much for reading the first chapter! the next chapter should be out soon!! this is only the second fic i’ve ever written so i hope it’s coherent enough! thank you for reading and i’ll see you soon! ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅

#stray kids #minsung #lee know #han jisung #changlix #hyunbin #spiderhan #college au #spiderman au

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violet-1atte · 1 year ago

Text

Candy Cane Mocha

this is very late...oops

Summary: After being in America for six years, Jisung returns to South Korea for the holidays and reunites with his best friend and ex lover, Minho

Tags: Minsung, Christmas, holiday, exes to lovers, getting back together, fluff, Minho is whipped, Jisung is whipped, smut, bottom!Jisung, top!Minho

AO3 Link

Six years. Six years since Han Jisung had left South Korea to go study abroad in the United States. Six years since he had seen any family other than his parents. Six years since he had been home.

It was a good six years. In that time, he had improved dramatically in his English speaking skills, made new friends, lost friends, had relationships (although largely unsatisfying), and more hookups than he could count. He had finished college and was working on getting his name known as a producer alongside his friends Chan and Changbin who were transfer students just like him. It wasn’t that he had intentionally stayed away so long. Life had just taken over and he never had the time to plan a trip back.

This year, he decided it was time. He had some vacation time saved up from work and honestly, he missed it. The States had their own charms, but he would still get an ache in his chest, yearning for his small hometown in South Korea even six years later. That was why he planned a four week vacation to visit his family for Christmas and see them for as much time as possible.

As he waited for his parents to pick him up at the airport, a nervous excitement bubbled in his stomach. His parents had come to visit him while he had been gone, but it had been so long since he had been home, he didn’t know what to expect. What had changed? What had stayed the same? Did his parents keep his old bedroom in the same state he left it or did they clear it out? Did the same people live in his neighborhood or had they all left like Jisung six years before? If the same people were there, would they remember Jisung? And if they remembered him, what would they think of him? Was his ex still living here or had he left too? Jisung didn’t know whether he wanted him to be there or not. Would it be a crime to say he missed him even though it had been so long?

There were so many questions Jisung had, and they all left his mind the moment he saw his parents. They hugged him and he hugged them back harder. His mom nearly cried, cupped his cheeks, and whined about how he was, “Too skinny.” His chest filled with warmth and for a moment he forgot all of his worries about returning.

When he got home, his mother started preparing dinner. “I also got cheesecake for you,” she said, and Jisung’s mouth watered. “I thought you might like a little treat after that ridiculously long flight.”

Jisung pressed his lips together, a knot forming in his throat. “Thank you, eomma,” he said softly. “Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?”

“Oh no need,” his mother stated with a wave of her hand. “You appa will be helping me anyway. You should go and rest before dinner. I know you must be exhausted.”

At the suggestion of rest, the fatigue hit Jisung’s body and his limbs felt too heavy for him to carry. He was exhausted. The jetlag was going to hit him hard and being on the plane for so many hours had taken it out of him. “Okay. I think I will go up to my room and rest for a bit,” he said with a smile.

“Good! I’ll call you when dinner’s done.”

Jisung grabbed his suitcases he had set down and made his way up the stairs to his old bedroom. His chest tightened as he took in the layout of the house, the same as it had always been. Family pictures lined the walls and he cringed at the school photo from his sophomore year where he was wearing thick rimmed glasses and had bright blue braces on his teeth.

When he opened his bedroom door, he was suddenly eighteen again–unsure of himself, apprehensive of the future, mourning the end of his high school relationship–everything was exactly as he had left it, albeit a bit cleaner. The shelf full of manga he had left thinking it would be too immature to bring with him still remained, as did the shelf of figurines below that. His old posters were still on his wall, only the corners were curled in. His bed was made but he had no idea if it was with the same set he had made it with when he left. Knowing his mom and her affinity for cleanliness, probably not. But it didn’t even matter. It was all so similar that the wave of memories it brought back was almost too much for Jisung to handle.

Going to sleep was the easiest solution to dampening the onslaught of emotionally-charged memories that being home produced. It didn’t take long for him to doze off either, and he only awoke when his father called to him from the bottom of the steps. He did a double take when he woke up, absorbing his surroundings in confusion before he relaxed. It was like stepping back into the past.

As they sat down to dinner and Jisung filled his plate, his earlier questions came rushing back. “Has the town changed much since I’ve been gone? I remember you said they added a new shelter here,” Jisung started. There had always been stray cats and dogs wandering around his neighborhood when he was a kid, so the addition of a shelter was extremely welcome.

“Not too much, honestly,” his father said with a shrug. “You know how it is around here. Nothing much to write home about.” He laughed softly, and Jisung was reminded how much he had missed the sound. Even though his parents came to visit, it had still been over a year. “We’ve had a couple families move out here and there, a couple move in. But it’s mostly the same.”

Jisung nodded softly and then his mother got a lightbulb look on her face. “Oh! But this new coffee shop opened recently. About a year ago, I think. It’s such a cute little place, really gives the village an extra homey feel to it. It’s actually run by–”

His father cleared his throat and gave his wife a pointed look. “It is really lovely,” he agreed. “You should check it out. We won’t be here tomorrow since I’ll be working at the office and your eomma will be at the shelter, so it’d give you something to do,” he suggested.

Jisung wanted to ask about what his mom was going to say before she was cut off, but he decided it probably wasn’t important. He simply smiled and nodded at the suggestion. “That does sound nice. I’ve always loved places like that. Maybe I can work on some lyrics while I’m there.” He didn’t write music as much as he produced but there were still some artists he needed to work on lyrics for. Cafes and coffee shops were the best place to do work like that.

“Good!” his mother said with a sweet smile. “I’m sure you’ll love it.” And contrary to what his younger self believed, she was often right, so Jisung believed her.

“I’m sure I will,” he responded.

His parents shared a look that he couldn’t interpret but then the topic shifted and he forgot about the entire exchange, other than the fact that he needed to visit the cafe.

As much as Jisung loved winter, the wind nipping at his already numb cheeks was not his favorite thing. He pulled his scarf up just a bit higher so that it covered the bottoms of his cheeks and he rubbed his gloved hands over his skin. He reasoned that at least he would have a warm drink and a cozy coffee shop to sit in soon and all the wind and icy temperatures would be worth it. Thankfully, the shop was not too far away from his home and he was able to admire all the Christmas lights and decorations that lined the streets. Even if he was cold on the outside, he felt warm on the inside.

The coffee shop was not easy to miss. He noticed it as soon as he came upon the building. The outside was decorated with garland and icicle lights and there was a large sign on the front that read, Lino’s Coffee and Tea in cursive lettering. The same title was printed across the two big windows in the front. The door was painted red and had a large wreath hanging on it, which Jisung admired for a moment before he opened the door.

A quiet chime went off as Jisung pushed the door open and a delicious concoction of scents hit his nose as soon as he stepped inside. Rich coffee mixed with cinnamon and the smell of sweet pastries, and it made Jisung’s mouth water. There was no one standing at the counter, but there were a few patrons sitting at various tables, sipping on lattes and snacking on expertly prepared pastries. The display at the counter caught Jisung’s eye immediately, and while he had originally been planning on just getting a coffee, the sight of a cheesecake with a spiral of red strawberries around the edge and drizzles of chocolate over the top caught his eye.

From inside the kitchen, someone called, “I’ll be with you in a minute!” and for a second, the voice sounded extremely familiar, but Jisung couldn’t place it.

That was, until the owner of the voice stepped out. In an instant Jisung’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell agape. Deep-set brown eyes, rose-petal mouth, sharp jawline, the most perfect nose he had ever seen–he would recognize that face anywhere.

The same look of recognition passed over the other man’s face and after a few seconds, his shocked expression softened and he smiled softly. “Jisung-ah,” he said, and Jisung’s stomach flipped when his name rolled off his tongue. His voice held the same, gentle warmth that it always had when he spoke to him. But that had been so long ago.

“Minho-hyung,” he breathed.

He had not seen Minho in six years and it had been four or five since he had last spoken to him. He couldn’t exactly remember. But at one point, they had been best friends. And before that, Minho had been his boyfriend.

They started dating when Minho was in his senior year of high-school and Jisung was in his junior year. They had been friends since 7th grade and Minho was his first kiss. His first everything. Minho never intended to go to college so he was still around even as Jisung was in his senior year. But when Jisung graduated, that's when everything changed. They started having more disagreements, more tension, and less romance. Part of that was fueled by the fact that Jisung had applied to a college in the United States and was fully planning on attending. Minho acted like it would be okay and he would be fine, that they would be fine, but it was clear he was having a difficult time handling it. In the end, they both agreed to break up and go back to being friends.

As time went on though, they progressively started talking less and less. The major time difference coupled with Jisung’s busy life and their past put a rift between them and at one point, one of them sent the last message. Jisung couldn't remember who, but he had a feeling it was him.

"It's been a while," Minho said, bringing Jisung back to the present. "How long has it been?"

"Gosh." Jisung rubbed the back of his neck. "Six years? Yeah. Six years. It's been a long while."

"It has," Minho agreed with a nod. He was rocking back and forth–Jisung could imagine him bouncing on the balls of his feet. It was something he often did when he was excited or nervous. Jisung didn't know what to do with either of those things. “What are you doing back here?”

“I’m here to visit my parents and just visit…home,” he answered, hesitating at the word “home.” “I’ve been saving up vacation time and money. So I was finally able to travel.”

Minho hummed softly. “That’s good. Really good.” And really, Jisung couldn’t agree more.

"How have you been? Is this your place?" Jisung asked, gesturing around to the coffee shop. "Fuck wait–Lino? Is that you? Lee Minho? "

A smile bloomed across Minho’s face and Jisung’s heart stuttered in his chest. Oh shit. It was just as beautiful as he had always remembered it. Even more so. He still had the same lopsided grin, the same slightly crooked front teeth.

Jisung’s stomach felt like a whole zoo.

"Yeah, this is my place. I opened it up about two years ago. I was working to open it for a while before though. The idea came to me when you–" Minho cleared his throat and glanced down. When you left, Jisung gathered. "I didn't really know what to do with myself. You know I was kind of directionless for a while…well I knew I didn't want to leave, and I loved baking and coffee, so it just made sense."

Picturing Minho putting so much work into this little coffee shop–spending hours developing recipes, saving money to open–made Jisung's chest fill with warmth. He had always been such a hard worker and Jisung had always admired him for it. That hadn't changed. "Well it's beautiful. And everything–everything smells amazing and looks–wow. I can't believe you did this all on your own. It's spectacular. Wow." Jisung couldn't help his exclamations of awe. It really was amazing. The inside of the coffee shop was honestly beautiful, decorated for Christmas just like the outside. He hadn't even noticed the Christmas tree in a corner of the shop until he started looking around as he attempted a coherent compliment.

Minho laughed, soft and bright, and it was the most beautiful sound Jisung had ever heard. Wow, he had missed him. It was insane how fast he felt comfortable around him again. “Thank you, I’m glad you like it,” he said genuinely. “Ah, I’m taking up your time. You probably have things to do. What can I get you, Jisung-ah?”

“No, no, it’s okay! I was just gonna chill here for a bit, work on some song lyrics, you’re good,” Jisung said, waving his hand. “I think I’ll take a large candy cane mocha, and…a slice of that cheesecake there,” he said, pointing at the cheesecake on the display. A knowing grin spread across Minho’s face and he nodded as he typed Jisung’s order into a little keypad on the counter.

“You never change,” he mumbled, the smile still on his face.

Jisung’s cheeks warmed and he bit his lip. In the past, Jisung got cheesecake on every outing he possibly could, and it was his dessert of choice on dates. He didn’t respond as he paid, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that Minho remembered.

A few other people entered the shop as Jisung waited for Minho to finish his drink and get his dessert but Jisung’s eyes were focused on Minho. Over the years, Minho’s appearance had matured so much and he had grown into his features in a way that made him even more beautiful, which Jisung hadn’t thought possible when they were together in high school.

When Minho handed Jisung his drink and his plate of cheesecake, their fingertips brushed. Minho didn’t seem to notice, but the contact sent sparks up Jisung’s arm. He needed to remind himself that this was his ex. His ex he had not spoken to in years. There was no reason for him to be reacting to him this way. None.

Except, as he thanked Minho and began to move to find a table to sit at, Minho called out to him. “Jisung-ah,” he began, then clenched his fists on the edge of the counter, “it’s good to see you again. I…I missed you.” And oh this was not good for Jisung’s poor, lonely heart.

He hadn’t realized how much of an ache there had been in his heart until it lifted, eased by Minho’s presence, his words. He swallowed a lump in his throat and inhaled. “I missed you too, hyung.”

Minho and Jisung’s breakup had been Minho’s idea. It was mutual, and Jisung agreed to it almost immediately. That fact only made it harder for Minho, though. When he brought it up, part of him hoped that Jisung would fight for him, that he would say they could work things out, that distance wouldn’t destroy the love they had. Instead, he smiled a little sadly and nodded. “I think…I think that might be for the best.”

No one knew that Minho spent every night for the next month crying after that.

Years before, when his last message was left on read by the younger, Minho resigned himself to never seeing Jisung ever again. He reasoned that it was for the best, that it would help him move on and finally get settled with his life. And it had helped, even if not at first. It allowed him to focus more on planning for his cafe and that’s what he did; he threw himself into work like he never had before. In the end, it was worth it. He had a beautiful coffee shop that made a good profit and made the townsfolk happy. He was happy and he was settled. Sometimes he still thought of Jisung, wondered how he was doing and what he would say if he knew how successful Minho’s dream had become. But for the most part, Jisung was out of his mind.

And then he walked into Minho’s shop and right back into his life. Nothing could have prepared him for the tidal wave of emotions that hit him the moment he laid eyes on Jisung. He looked the same as he always had, but he had grown up. His jaw was sharper but his cheeks were just as full. He had a few new piercings on his ears and his hair was lavender instead of the deep brown he had left with. Minho felt the same way he had felt when Jisung first held his hand, only this time the feeling choked him.

Despite the cocktail of emotions swirling through Minho’s head, talking to Jisung was easy. As easy as it had always been. They just clicked like that. It felt like they had never stopped talking, like Jisung had never left. But at the end of the day, he had. It had been years, they were both adults, they had both been through things neither of them knew about in the time since they’d last spoken. In a way, they were practically strangers.

And yet, Jisung looked so happy to see him.

The interaction was something Minho couldn’t keep out of his head. It took everything in his power not to look at Jisung the entire time he was sitting at his table. He had to remind himself that things had changed, time had passed, Jisung probably had a girlfriend or a boyfriend back in America.

Perhaps they could be friends.

Minho had deleted his chat with Jisung a while ago but he still had his contact. He could never bring himself to delete it or block him. He had no reason to. Things had just faded out and they didn’t even end on a necessarily bad note, no matter how heartbroken Minho had been. Circumstance just brought them to that point. But now that he had seen Jisung again and he was in the area, likely staying with his parents, then there was a chance Minho could text him again and they could hang out.

Unfortunately, Minho was scared. He was worried Jisung didn’t actually want anything to do with him and he would turn him down and he would be stuck in a pit of his own embarrassment. He needed to test the waters first. Jisung would likely be there until Christmas at least so he had time.

What he had not been expecting was for Jisung to come into the shop almost every day from that point. The second day he came in and told him how his parents were the ones who told him to come to the coffee shop and how much they loved it. Minho realized he would have to give them a personal thank you for bringing Jisung back to him. That day he ordered a candy cane mocha again, saying that while he usually just went for an Americano, it was Christmas time so he wanted to be more festive. He had also had a larger sweet tooth lately.

He didn’t come in the next day, but he showed up the day after that, getting a simple Americano that time. One day he came in and didn’t even order anything, just said he liked the environment and it was relaxing to write music there. Minho caught him looking at him at least five times while he was working behind the counter; there was no excuse for the way it made butterflies erupt in his stomach.

Around a week from the first day he came in, Jisung showed up again when it was an hour before closing and he ordered a chocolate filled croissant and a hot chocolate with whipped cream. Minho gave him a little extra just because he could. And instead of leaving to sit at a table and write lyrics like he had the days before, Jisung stayed at the counter so he could talk to Minho in between customers. It was a slow day, so Minho was grateful for the company, especially since it was Jisung’s company. But he wouldn’t admit that out loud just yet. He didn’t talk about anything important, mostly just different anime he had watched recently and what some of the genres he had been working on were, but Minho held on to every word.

The time rolled around for Minho to close up, and it made his chest ache as he thought of telling Jisung he was closing for the evening, but Jisung beat him to the topic instead. “I could help you clean up, if you want,” he suggested.

Minho’s heart soared before it landed back on earth and he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m sure you have things to do. I can handle it on my own,” he reassured him.

Jisung’s bottom lip pushed out in a pout. It made Minho��s knees weak. Fuck, he was even worse off than he had been in the past. “I want to help though. You work here all by yourself and it’s gotta be hard, even if that’s what you usually do.”

“I have help sometimes,” Minho said with a shrug. Jisung was still pouting and if Minho were a stronger man, he would tell him to go anyway and insist he could do it on his own like he always had. But Minho was incredibly weak. “Alright, fine. But don’t expect to get paid, this is volunteer work.”

Jisung’s pout turned into a wide smile and he hopped off of his seat. “I know, don’t worry. I just wanted to help.”

He shuffled behind the counter and suddenly Minho was keenly aware of the fact that since Jisung walked in two days ago, he hadn’t interacted with him without the barrier of the counter between him. Now it felt real–Jisung was actually here and not a figment of Minho’s imagination. He swallowed thickly.

“Alright, if you want, you can just wipe down the counters and tables. I know where everything goes so I’ll take down the display.” He gestured for Jisung to follow him into the back and handed him a cloth and cleaning agent for the surfaces around the shop.

“Sounds good to me, Minho-hyung,” Jisung said with a soft smile. He took the supplies from Minho and went back out to the front to begin wiping down the various tables and countertops. Minho watched him for a minute as he went, something tugging at his chest. He gave himself two firm pats over his heart and mumbled, “Shut up,” under his breath.

They cleaned in relative silence. Occasionally, Jisung would break the silence by humming a melody Minho didn’t recognize under his breath. It was comfortable. This was how they always worked, Minho remembered it clearly. Silence didn’t bother either of them. They didn’t need to talk to fill some imaginary gap–each other’s presence was enough.

With help, cleaning did go by faster. Jisung was efficient and even helped him sweep and mop so Minho could focus on fixing everything else that needed to be dealt with.

The December sky was dark when they stepped out onto the street but the sidewalks were lit by lamps and colorful Christmas lights. Under the subtle glow, Minho could see the gentle flush on Jisung’s round cheeks. “Let me walk you home,” Minho suggested before he could think better of it.

Jisung tilted his head at him, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Do you even remember where I live?”

“I could never forget,” Minho admitted. He had walked past it a few times over the years and would sometimes pause in front for a moment, hoping that somehow Jisung would come through the front door.

Jisung hummed, contemplating, and then nodded. “Okay, yeah. I could use some company on the way, if it’s not too much trouble.” He wrapped his scarf around himself, obscuring the bottom half of his face.

“No trouble,” Minho reassured. “I’ve got nothing to do anyway." What he didn't say was that he just wanted to spend more time with Jisung. He didn’t want to go home and reminisce about the past while wishing he had just spent more time with Jisung. He didn’t even know how much time Jisung would be spending in Korea. He needed to get every second he could, even if it was the last he would ever see of him.

The streets were fairly busy with cars and the sidewalks with people leaving work, but if anyone asked Minho later, he could only remember the two of them. They walked back together, closer than needed. They didn’t hold hands, but they came pretty damn close with the way their arms would brush together every few steps. Jisung either didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t mind.

After they had walked a few blocks, thick flakes of snow fluttered down onto the sidewalk beneath their feet. Jisung’s eyes widened at the sight and he let out a soft gasp as more snowflakes joined in. “Oh my gosh snow! Wow, it's so pretty. Where I live in America doesn’t have much snow. This is exciting,” he said, skipping a little as he walked.

“A little Christmas gift from the universe then,” Minho commented with a chuckle. Jisung’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at the sky and the Christmas lights reflected off them and cast a warm glow on his face. Minho was reminded that Jisung’s favorite season was winter. This walk may have been enough to make it Minho’s favorite, too.

Jisung caught at least ten snowflakes on his tongue before they arrived at his house. Minho, unfortunately, only caught them in his eyes. But it was worth it to witness the joy on Jisung’s face.

They paused at the door before Jisung went inside; it painfully reminded Minho of the first kiss he shared with Jisung after a walk similar to this–only that was on a warm summer evening and they were both hot and tired and so inexperienced–Minho thought that if they were to share a kiss now, it would be much better. He thought he saw Jisung’s eyes flick to his lips, but then the look was gone, Jisung meeting his eyes. “Thank you for walking me home,” Jisung said with a soft smile.

“Of course.” Minho clenched his fists in his pockets. “Jisung-ah–I’ve been enjoying spending time with you at the coffee shop—” He watched Jisung’s face fall for a split second before he continued, “but I want to spend more time with you, if that’s okay? I know we stopped talking and it’s okay if you don’t want to but—”

“I want to,” Jisung interrupted. “We can talk about all of that another time, I know I…I need to say some things. But I do want to.”

Minho let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Okay. Okay then. I’ll text you. I still have your contact.” Was that embarrassing to admit? Minho realized he didn’t care.

“Oh…that’s–that’s good. Yeah. Text me. I’ll make sure I find a time.”

“Perfect.” Minho knew his excitement was poorly concealed but this was Han Jisung. Han Jisung who used to be his Han Jisung. “I’ll let you go in now, it’s fucking freezing. And I think my fingers are turning into popsicles.”

Jisung laughed and shook his head. “Well you better warm them up then. I’ll see you later, Minho.” He waved and then in a blink of an eye, he was on the other side of the door.

Minho sighed and a shiver wracked his body. Fuck it was cold.

Minho messaged Jisung the next morning. Jisung was sitting in his living room, sipping a mug of hot chocolate, when his phone made a loud ping! He nearly dropped it when he attempted to pick it up to check who had messaged him and his stomach flipped when he saw the contact name. He hadn’t changed it since they had last messaged.

Minho-hyungie

10:27am When are you free?

Jisung

10:28am I’m free almost any time this week :) My fam still has to work until Christmas So lonely (˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥⋆)

Minho-hyungie

10:32am Later today then? I’ll ask my friend Felix to watch over the shop until close

Jisung

10:33am Reallyy? What are we gonna do?

Minho-hyungie

10:36am Mm it’s a surprise

Jisung

10:36am Sounds suspicious You aren’t gonna murder me are you?

Minho-hyungie

10:37am I already have the dumpster where i’ll dump your body in mind

Jisung

10:39am (°△°|||) Scary

Minho-hyungie

10:40amI’ll pick you up at 2?

Jisung

10:41am I’ll be ready!

Minho-hyungie

10:42am Make sure to wear warm clothes

When Minho came to pick Jisung up, he pestered him the entire time, begging him to tell where they were going. But Minho wouldn’t budge, even when Jisung used his biggest, saddest eyes possible. That had gotten him so many things in life so it was entirely too frustrating that it didn’t work on Minho in the moment. But Minho apparently had developed a resolve of steel over the years so he could not be persuaded.

It was only when they actually arrived that Jisung realized the surprise was worth it. Minho was taking him ice-skating. Something he hadn’t done in years.

“Oh my gosh!” he exclaimed, eyes blowing wide as he turned to Minho. “You’re amazing.”

“I know I am,” Minho said with a playful grin.

Surveying the skating rink, Jisung was hit with memories from the last time he went ice skating. He and Minho were still together at the time. It was an icy winter day, colder than this one. Minho had surprised him then too. The only real difference was that it was closer to Christmas then and of course they were holding hands and sharing soft, giggly kisses every time one of them slipped. It was a memory Jisung had totally forgotten until now. He wondered if Minho remembered that too, if this location and the surprise had been intentional. He tried not to think about it. Things were different now. They were different now.

Yet, when he looked at Minho and he smiled at him with the same soft fondness in his eyes as he did years ago, Jisung wondered if they really were so different.

“Still remember how to skate?” Minho asked as they walked to get their skates. Jisung rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Pft, of course. It’s like riding a bike, right?”

It was not like riding a bike.

The moment Jisung was on the ice he was slipping and sliding everywhere except where he actually wanted to go. His arms flailed around and his legs slid across the ice in opposite directions, forcing him into a near split before he landed gracelessly on his butt. His lips jutted out in an exaggerated pout as Minho doubled over laughing, clutching his sides like Jisung’s pain was the funniest thing he had ever laid eyes on. “You are not amazing. I just changed my mind. Stop laughing! ” he whined.

Minho let out a little “ah” as he finally caught his breath and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hannie. You were just so confident.” Hannie. He hadn’t called him that in a while.

Minho eased towards him on his own skates and held his hand out for Jisung to take. Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed and he pursed his lips but he took his hand anyway. Unfortunately, even with Minho holding his hand, he was still unsteady on his feet and they nearly slipped out from under him as he stood so he went colliding into Minho’s chest.

Warm arms went around his waist, holding him steady. Jisung inhaled a shaky breath, his nose filling with the scent of Minho’s cologne. It was something vanilla and sweet and it made Jisung a little dizzy. “Careful,” Minho chastised, his voice so gentle and warm that it melted over Jisung like caramel. “Hold onto me and I’ll help you.”

It wasn’t good for Jisung to be this close to Minho. His ex and ex best friend. It wasn’t good for his sanity or his heart but Jisung was selfish. It was okay anyway, right? He was just helping him skate. So he nodded, not trusting the sound of his own voice now that he’d had real physical contact with Minho and had smelled his sugary cologne.

“Okay, wrap your arm around me.”

Jisung did as he was told and moved away from Minho just enough that he could wrap one arm around his waist. Minho did the same, his gloved hand coming to grip the curve of Jisung’s waist. They had too many layers between them for Jisung to really feel it but his breath still hitched at the pressure. Minho didn’t seem to notice, and if he did notice, he didn’t say anything. He got right into guiding Jisung along the ice, holding him firmly so that he wouldn’t slip. It started to come back to him as they glided along the smooth surface, but Jisung didn’t want to let go, even after he became confident enough to do it on his own. It was cold and Minho was so warm and his fingers felt nice digging into his side. He was probably holding him harder than he needed to but that didn’t phase Jisung one bit.

“You really did forget all of this in America,” Minho said, shaking his head. “Is it really that warm there?”

“Well, no…” Jisung responded, cheeks burning from embarrassment. “I just live in California near the ocean and it’s super warm there. We hardly ever get snow there. And America is so big, hyung! There’s places there that are super cold.”

“Oh yeah, I know. I just mean…I don’t know��kinda forgot what state you lived in,” Minho admitted sheepishly. “I thought it was like New York or something. Nevermind.”

Jisung frowned softly, discomfort twisting in his stomach. “It’s okay. I mean, we didn’t really talk about where I was going that much…and it’s been a while.”

Minho hummed and when Jisung glanced up his lips were pursed and his expression looked pinched. The discomfort spread through Jisung’s stomach and settled in his chest like a weight. There was something hollow there, nestling deep inside him. They had stopped moving, no longer moving smoothly across the ice. The air had gotten colder and it was thick with the unspoken truth they both knew. We don’t know each other anymore.

Minho looked over at Jisung and his face relaxed a little. “Sorry just… I know it’s silly. It’s just where you live. But it’s really been so long. I don’t–” He swallowed and for the first time Jisung noticed his eyes were glassy. “I don’t know anything about what your life has been like for the last–what? Four years?”

The hollow feeling crawled up Jisung’s throat and he held down a distressed sound. “Let’s–let’s sit down, hyung.”

Minho nodded in agreement and he directed them to the edge of the rink so they could sit down on one of the benches. They were silent for a moment, both of them trying to figure out what to say, what needed to be said. After a moment, Jisung decided to be the first to speak. “What do you want to know?”

“Huh?” Minho asked, tilting his head to look at Jisung.

“What do you want to know about me? About my life. Since the last time we talked.”

“Everything,” Minho answered easily. “I want to know everything, please.”

So Jisung told him everything. He told him how he never intended to stop messaging him, how it almost just happened and in the end he thought it might be for the best–but he also told him how sorry he was for that. How the guilt still twisted his stomach like a hoard of snakes whenever he thought about it. He also told him about Chan, a music student from Australia, and Changbin, another music student who had grown up in New York city his entire life but had deeply Korean traditions, both who were Jisung’s two best friends in the United States. He told him how they wanted to start a production group together called 3Racha and they had been slowly working towards producing for bigger artists. He told Minho about the relationships he had while he was in America, not missing the way that Minho’s eyes flashed at mention. He told him about the friends he had made and about the time he went out drinking with Chan and Changbin and got so drunk he made an utter fool out of himself by attempting to dance on the bar. He told him how he started seeing a therapist for his anxiety and how he discovered that working out really helped him mentally. He told him everything that he could think of, everything that would make it seem like Minho had been there all those years.

The sky was dark with only a hint of sunlight peeking over the horizon when Jisung finished. The tips of his ears were numb and his nose was running from the cold and even though his hands were shoved into his coat pockets, they still felt cold. Anyone else who had been there previously was gone and it was getting close to the point where the rink would be closed off for the night.

“I’m sorry I took up all our time with my talking,” Jisung said through chattering teeth. Minho smiled softly and shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. I just liked spending time with you. Getting to hear you talk,” Minho told him. “Your life sounds so interesting.”

Jisung chuckled. “Not super interesting. Just chaotic.”

“It’s interesting to me.” Minho’s eyes held his and his gaze was so intense for a moment that Jisung’s heart nearly stuttered to a stop. But then the intensity was gone, leaving behind a mob of butterflies in Jisung’s stomach. “We should get going. Maybe get some hot cocoa since it’s so cold?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d like that.” Jisung stood up from the bench and stretched. His limbs were stiff from the cold and from sitting so long. The thought of hot cocoa made a shiver run through him from his head to his toes. He couldn’t wait to be warm and cozy instead of freezing.

They dropped off their skates and went to Minho’s car. On their way back, they picked up some hot cocoa to go and as the warmth settled in Jisung’s stomach he let out a content sigh. Even though they didn’t spend their whole time out ice-skating, Jisung was happy. He felt a weight was off his chest now that he had shared so much about his life with Minho. There was still more they probably needed to talk about. The end of their friendship, their breakup. Jisung still wanted to be Minho’s friend, but he couldn’t deny there was something more there. Something that could be worth pursuing now that they were both older and more mature. The problem was, Jisung was nervous. It had only been a week since they had reunited and as much as Minho now knew about his life, Jisung knew little about what Minho had been doing all this time.

He had been working on stepping out of his comfort zone though. He had been working on facing his fears.

“I wanna hear about your life too,” Jisung said softly, picking at the edge of the lid on his hot cocoa cup with his thumb. “I did a lot of talking and you didn’t get to tell me about yourself.”

“It’s not all that interesting,” Minho replied with a shrug, turning the wheel with a single hand.

Jisung shook his head adamantly. “Not true. It’s you. And I think it’s up to me to decide whether or not it’s interesting while you’re telling it, right?” He smiled playfully and Minho sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” Minho said with a chuckle. “But, later. It’s late. When we hang out next. If you want that, of course.”

Jisung bit his lip, a jolt of excitement shooting through him. Minho wanted to continue spending time with him. That was good. “I do!” He nodded. “And then you’ll tell me everything, right?”

“I will.” Minho took a quick glance at him and smiled so fondly Jisung was sure his heart would melt through his ribcage.

“Then I can’t wait.” His lips curled up in a soft smile and he took a sip of his hot chocolate. The drive was quiet from that point on, with only the sound of the road underneath them for background noise. Jisung tried not to let his mind wander too much, but there was still something left on his mind that he needed to say.

They arrived at Jisung’s house and as he stepped out of the car, he turned to look at Minho. “I’m sorry. For not texting you back. I should have–I wanted to, I just—” He sighed and chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t really have an excuse. But I didn’t forget about you. I’m sorry I did that to you.”

Minho smiled a little ruefully but Jisung could tell that behind the hurt that must have been there, there was sincerity. “It’s okay. It’s in the past now, yeah? I think I needed it anyway.”

Jisung gave him a nod. “Well, it won’t happen again.” He didn’t say that really, over the last few days he had realized that he never wanted Minho out of his life again. He was a different person than the one that had left for the states, a better one. He could do better now.

Minho’s smile changed into something sweeter and Jisung’s breathing became easier. “I’m glad. And if you do leave me on read again, I’ll just keep bothering you. Sound good?”

Jisung’s cheeks hurt from how hard he smiled. “Yeah, sounds really good, hyung.”

They said goodbye and when Jisung went inside, he placed his hand flat over his racing heart. This was so bad for him. He felt like he was slipping on ice again, careening towards the ground. Only there was a chance that someone might be there to catch him this time.

Jisung did not get to see Minho much for the next few days. He was busy with the coffee shop and Jisung was busy spending time with his parents and old friends. He got together with his friend Hyunjin, who he had been close to in high school, and that brought a lot of ease to him. Hyunjin was as annoying as ever, but that only made Jisung happier to see him. Their time together reminded him of more carefree days, summers off of school, skipping class to do anything but homework. He hadn’t realized how closed off he had been to his old home until now, but now he had gone from being worried about his return to never wanting to leave.

His parents seemed to be just as happy to have him back. His mom was making all his favorite foods for every meal and giving him portions to the point where he could swear his pants were getting tighter. His father insisted on hearing about every song Jisung produced or worked on, which was a little overwhelming but Jisung would never pass on sharing his pride and joy with someone else.

With these bright sides though, there was something…slightly more annoying. They seemed intent on making Jisung’s reunion with Minho a Big Deal.

“So…have you stopped by the coffee shop these last couple days?” Jisung’s mother asked as she stood at the sink washing vegetables for dinner. Jisung could feel his cheeks turn fifty shades of red and he shook his head.

“No. Besides, why does it matter, huh? Something you want to tell me, eomma?”

Jisung had figured out by now that his parents set him up to meet Minho. It didn’t take much inference to come to that conclusion. He was grateful but at the same time he couldn’t help but shake his head at their scheming.

“No, nothing,” she said with a shrug, humming as she set the vegetables in a bowl. “I’m just glad that you two are talking again. You both always got along so well.”

“I always liked him,” his father piped up as he entered the dining room. “A really good kid, that one. You should invite him over sometime! Christmas dinner?” Jisung resisted the urge to groan. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to rub them. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Minho over for Christmas dinner. It just felt a bit too soon for that. And it might insinuate that he wanted more with Minho–which might not be a lie at this point.

“I don’t think he’d want to do that. We’re just getting back to knowing each other.” He sighed, slumping down in his seat.

“Well tell him he’s invited!” his mother said with a sharp nod of her head. “He can say no if he wants, but the offer is there!”

“Humor you eomma, Jisung-ah,” his dad said.

Jisung did groan this time, long and heavy; like a petulant child. “I’ll ask. Don’t worry.”

That seemed to satisfy them for the time being and they quickly changed the subject to something else. Jisung didn’t know what–he was once again too lost in his thoughts. Thoughts about Minho, who was taking up too much of his mind. He shouldn’t be like this, not with his ex. But he couldn’t help it. His parents were right. They did work well. Chopsticks, their friends used to call them.

Perhaps now, things could be different. Perhaps now, the distance wouldn’t be so hard to bridge.

Later that day, it was Jisung who messaged Minho, asking when he was free to hang out next. They had been texting more since the day Minho brought him skating and through some of those texting conversations, Jisung had learned more about what Minho had been up to during the past few years. To his surprise, he discovered that Minho had not had a boyfriend since they had broken up. He learned that he had a situationship and a few miscellaneous no-strings-attached relationships that did not last long, but nothing substantial. The sicker part of Jisung’s brain twisted with excitement at this news. It made him believe that there was a chance. He wasn’t even sure when he had started wanting Minho back, but somehow he felt like he had since the moment he laid eyes on him in the coffee shop his first full day back home.

Minho responded a half an hour later, waking Jisung up from the light sleep he had fallen into while lying on his bed watching anime. He rubbed his groggy eyes and blinked rapidly at his screen as his eyes adjusted to the bright light.

Minho-hyungie

6:34pm You wanna come over tomorrow night? I’d invite you over tonight but I’m totally unprepared for guests lmao

Jisung

6:35pm Waaaa you wanna prepare for mee? \(๑•́o•̀๑)/

Minho-hyungie

6:35pm I’m just a great host

Jisung

6:37pm Yeah yeah But tomorrow does work good for me *gasp* we should make Christmas cookies!

Minho-hyungie

6:40pm And have you burn my house down? No way

Jisung pouted, rolling over on his bed. He had gotten much better at cooking since he and Minho were last together. Minho’s worry wasn’t entirely unfounded since the last time Jisung tried to cook anything he did end up lighting it on fire, but he had grown. He was twenty-four and he would be damned if he couldn’t make some Christmas cookies.

Jisung

6:42pm That’s so mean hyung :c I’m a lot better at cooking now yk And you can always bake the cookies while I decorate :3

Minho-hyungie

6:43pm Mhm sure I’ll pick up the ingredients tonight

Jisung

6:43pm Yayy! You’re the best

Setting his phone down, Jisung stared up at the ceiling. His heart was beating too fast and his cheeks were warm, which was becoming a common side effect of talking to Minho or being in his presence. He was royally fucked.

It only got worse as he got ready to go over to Minho’s house the next evening. He was aware they weren’t doing anything particularly special, but he could still feel the budding anxiety blooming in his stomach. When he and Minho were last together, Minho was still living with his parents. He was on his way towards getting an apartment of his own, but he hadn’t gotten everything settled with that yet. Now Minho was an established adult–he had his own place, his own home. There would be little bits and pieces of Minho’s personality spread throughout the entire place–he would get to meet Minho’s cats that he had heard so much about since returning to Korea. Jisung would be in Minho’s most personal space, he would see the most vulnerable parts of him. And they would be wholly, entirely alone. Together.

He knew he was making a bigger deal of it than he needed to. But to him, it felt like something big. And it twisted his stomach and pulled his ribs together until the ends were rubbing against each other, making his chest too tight for him to breathe.

But then Minho texted him a picture of his cat Soonie next to a ball of cookie dough with a text that said, “He keeps trying to steal our cookies. You better hurry up,” and suddenly Jisung didn’t feel as worried. Even if he and Minho were still in the process of getting to know each other again, it was still Minho. And as much as they didn’t know each other, they knew each other more than anyone else could ever understand.

Everything would be fine.

He arrived at Minho’s house five minutes before the clock hit 7pm. They had agreed to hang out “around that time,” so Jisung counted it as perfectly on time, if not a little early. Minho’s house was smaller than his family’s home and towards the outskirts of town. There were a few other houses lining the street around it and he had a small yard and what looked like it would be a flower garden during the summer. He had a doorbell so Jisung didn’t bother knocking, opting to ring it in hopes that it worked.

Minho’s muffled voice responded from behind the door followed by the quiet padding of feet on the floor. Moments later, the door opened and there was Minho, smiling softly. His hair was slightly mussed and he was wearing an apron that had flour and a few sauce stains here and there and his cheeks were slightly flushed. Jisung swallowed thickly. Royally fucked. “Hi, Jisung-ah,” he greeted. “Come in. Are you hungry? I made some dinner ‘cause I didn’t know if you would’ve eaten but I probably should’ve asked—”

“That’s perfect,” Jisung replied, the smile that had already been on his face the moment Minho opened the door splitting into a wide grin. “I actually haven’t eaten so I could definitely eat now.”

He followed Minho inside and was immediately hit with just how Minho his house was. It was small, but cozy. Countless plants were spread throughout the living room and the kitchen, sitting on the edges of counters and tables. His furniture and decor was all warm toned with dark green and yellow throw pillows on his couch and a lounge chair he had in the door. There was a yellow checkered tablecloth on the dining room table and a pair of salt and pepper shakers shaped like cats in the middle. The sight alone made Jisung’s heart swell.

After he was finished surveying the house, he finally noticed the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. His stomach growled and his mouth watered, hit with the different spices in the air from whatever Minho had been cooking. “Oh my gosh I’m like, actually so excited to eat,” he said with a laugh. Minho turned and looked at him fondly.

“Yeah? Well, good. I made a good amount,” Minho said, going to get the food off the counter. “Ah–it’s japchae. Is that okay?”

Jisung’s eyes lit up. “Oh that’s perfect. Seriously. What planet are you from, hyung? You’ve always been so good at cooking.”

Minho laughed and shrugged as he got the food for them. “Mars, but I didn’t learn to cook there.”

Jisung shook his head, huffing out a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“You like weird though, right?” Minho asked with an attempted wink. Jisung’s stomach did somersaults. There was a time, so long ago, where he and Minho were sitting outside one summer night. Minho was having a hard time with his parents and some of his friends and had lamented at that moment that he was, “just too weird for people.” Jisung had turned to him, cupped his face in his hands and said, “You are never too weird, hyung. Not for me. And besides. I like weird.”

To think that Minho still remembered that. Jisung ached. And worse, he wanted.

Minho cleared his throat after Jisung had been silent for too long. “Sorry, that was…too much.”

“No,” Jisung quickly reassured him. “You’re right. I do.” He smiled and Minho’s eyes went wide for a second before he smiled back.

It was that moment that there was the sound of paws running across the floor and something furry was rubbing against Jisung’s legs. He looked down and let out a gasp at the sight of Minho’s cat, Soonie, curling himself around his ankles. Then, in less than a second, another ball of fur joined Soonie, butting its head against Jisung’s legs while emitting a loud purr. “Oh my gosh. Soonie and Doongie, right?” Jisung asked, kneeling down to pet the two cats on the head. “Hi guys! Oh aren’t you just the cutest? Oh my, so soft!” he cooed, scratching behind Doongie’s ears.

“Yep, that’s them. Dori’s probably hiding somewhere, but I’m sure he’ll come out eventually.”

Jisung glanced up as he petted the two cats and found Minho smiling down at him. He quickly looked away, but the sight made his cheeks warm.

“As much as I would like for you to keep getting to know my babies, we should probably eat. The food’s gonna get cold,” Minho said, which prompted Jisung to pout. He gave both Soonie and Doongie a final pat on the head and let out a dramatic sigh.

“I’m sorry, kitties, but your owner insists I leave you.” Doongie meowed and Jisung’s frown deepened. “I know, right?” He shook his head playfully as he stood up. Minho watched him with an amused glint in his eye as he went to sit down at the table. “Oh wow this looks good,” he exclaimed as soon as he laid eyes on the food in front of him, completely forgetting about his cat dilemma. He was salivating just looking at the food.

Minho chuckled as he joined him sitting down and picked up his chopsticks. “Well I hope it tastes as good as it looks. Please, eat.”

Jisung was never one to not listen when told to eat, so he did. And immediately he felt himself fall again for Minho entirely, the first bite of noodles bursting with so much flavor he nearly moaned. “Hyung, what the fuck,” he groaned. He scooped up another bite with his chopsticks and slurped the noodles into his mouth. “This is amazing. You’re amazing.” He almost tacked on an “I love you,” but refrained.

“It’s not anything that special,” Minho said with a shrug. Jisung wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“It is though! And you will accept the compliment.”

Minho rolled his eyes and laughed. “Alright, I will, thank you.”

Satisfied, Jisung went back to eating with more vigor than he even ate the meals his mother prepared. He would have to tell her that she had competition.

Jisung looked ridiculously adorable, all messy from decorating cookies. There was a smear of blue icing on the corner of his mouth and flour on the tip of his nose. He was wearing one of Minho’s aprons because he didn’t want to get any of the icing on his outfit. Minho didn’t know what to do with the fact that he desperately wanted to kiss him.

Making it through dinner without grabbing Jisung by the collar of his shirt and pulling him for a kiss was one of the most difficult things Minho had done in a long time. When Jisung took a bite and his eyes lit up and he smiled, when he groaned as the flavors hit his tongue, when he shook his hands in little fists, Minho’s heart ached. He had so many regrets and he wasn’t sure he could come back from them. He wanted Jisung back. He wanted his best friend back, he wanted the person he had once believed to be his soulmate back.

Decorating cookies with Jisung made the thoughts in Minho’s head quiet down, at least a little bit. It made Minho so happy he couldn’t think negatively. Even if the ache in his heart didn’t subside, at least Jisung was here. And he was so happy.

“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” played in the background as Minho filled a Christmas tree-shaped cookie in with green icing. Jisung hummed softly to the tune and swayed his hips every now and then as he decorated his own snowman cookie. Minho’s eyes were drawn to the motion every few moments and he quickly averted his gaze whenever he realized what he was doing. Did he even know how irresistible he was? Or was Minho just insane?

“Aww, I messed up his eyes,” Jisung whined, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He held up his snowman cookie, showing Minho the smeared black where the eyes were supposed to be. If it weren’t for the white all over the cookie and the shape it probably wouldn’t even look like a snowman with how wonky the features were, but to Minho, it was the best snowman in the entire world.

“That’s okay, I think it looks just fine,” Minho reassured him with a slight smile.

Jisung huffed a little, shaking his head. “All your cookies look perfect. It’s so annoying.”

Minho couldn’t help but laugh at that, his cheeks hurting slightly from how much he had been smiling the whole evening. “And yours are good too, Sung. Besides, we’re just gonna eat them anyway so how they look doesn’t matter.”

“That’s just a nice way of saying mine look fucked up.”

“It is not!” Minho denied, even if Jisung’s snowman looked more like a demented Santa Claus. He tried. That’s what mattered.

“Sure,” Jisung mumbled. He went back to decorating his cookies, a sulk plastered on his face. A chuckle escaped Minho’s lips and he rolled his eyes.

They continued decorating cookies like that, mostly in silence. Occasionally Jisung would pipe up to say something random or he would sing along to the Christmas song that was playing. It was pleasant. Minho felt more comfortable than he had in a long while and for the first time in years, his chest swelled with a true Christmas feeling. His happiness swelled up and overflowed enough to get caught in his throat, giddiness like a child on Christmas morning spreading through even his limbs.

Minho saved most of his cookies so that he could have a nice spread once he was done. Jisung periodically ate the cookies he made, and when they were finished, Minho had about a dozen cookies left while Jisung had a solid six and was complaining about his stomach hurting.

“If you hadn’t eaten so many your stomach wouldn’t be hurting,” he scolded.

“You can’t blame me when they’re cookies you made,” Jisung retorted, indignant. He gingerly rubbed over the top of his stomach and sighed. “It’s not my fault.” He lifted his hand to his face and licked bits of crumb and icing off his fingertips. Minho swallowed thickly.

“Mhm, blame me.”

He picked up one of his cookies and held it between his teeth as he gathered the rest onto a plate. “Wanna wastch a Chwrifmash movie?” he asked, words garbled by the cookie in his mouth. Jisung side-eyed him, the corners of his mouth turning downwards.

“You couldn’t have asked before sticking that in your mouth?” Minho shrugged, finally biting off the piece. Damn, they were good. “But yes, I do. Can we have snacks too?”

“You were just complaining about your stomach hurting,” Minho said, but at the same time went to his cabinets to see what he had. Jisung didn’t seem phased by his comment, instead going to his living room to make himself comfortable on the couch. The sight of him so at ease did something to Minho’s poor heart and he wet his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.

He joined Jisung on the couch a few minutes later with two bottles of soju and an assortment of movie snacks in hand. He sat down with enough space between him and Jisung for another person. He knew they had gotten closer recently, but he wanted to make sure Jisung was comfortable. If they were going to be closer, Minho needed Jisung to make the first move.

“What movie d’ya wanna watch?” he asked, leaning back against the couch cushions as he opened the bottle of soju. Peach flavored. He remembered Jisung saying he liked that in the past and hoped he still did. The first sip settled in his stomach with a pleasant warmth. Maybe a bit of alcohol would stop his thoughts.

“Any is good. Elf, maybe?” Jisung asked. Minho snickered. He should have expected that.

“Elf it is then.” He turned on the movie and Jisung settled back the same way he did, opening his soju with a quiet “thank you.”

Ten minutes into the movie, Jisung scooted closer to Minho on the couch. He stiffened when he noticed and that made Jisung frown. “Is this okay?” he asked, sounding so small and vulnerable in a way that Minho never wanted to hear.

“Yeah, it’s perfectly fine,” he told him with a gentle nod. He realized then that with as much as he wanted to be close to Jisung, Jisung might actually want the same thing. So instead of being a coward, he moved closer to Jisung and closed the gap between them so that they were touching from their shoulders down to their thighs. The contact made Minho’s skin tingle and his heart rabbited in his chest, yet somehow he wasn’t nervous. Maybe it was the sips of soju he’d had settling in his stomach sending alcohol through his veins–liquid courage–but he felt confident. Before he could overthink it, he wrapped his arm around Jisung’s shoulders, his fingertips brushing against his shoulder. He may have imagined it but for a second he thought he heard Jisung’s breath hitch at the contact.

“Is this okay?” it was his turn to ask. Jisung nodded quickly, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “You sure? I know we…” We’re not the same anymore. We’re exes. We broke up. We didn’t talk for years.

“It is,” Jisung said, his voice the texture of cotton candy. The weight was removed from Minho’s chest.

“Okay, good.” He pulled Jisung more into his side and caressed his shoulder with the tips of his fingers. He could hear Jisung’s soft breaths and could smell his shampoo like this–strawberry, he decided–and it was not good for his sanity. He was so warm against his body, so close. He had been worried about Jisung, but perhaps he should be worried about himself.

They only made it five more minutes and another sip of soju into the movie before Minho’s feelings were exploding out of his chest, too much to contain. “Jisung…I…” He swallowed thickly and fiddled with Jisung’s shirt sleeve. He wasn’t looking at Jisung but he could feel his gaze on him. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t–I didn’t want to break up with you, back then. I thought–I thought it was the best thing for us but I didn’t want it. Fuck, I–I wanted you to say no.” His voice shook a little.

“Hyung…” Jisung muttered, eyes wide as he stared at Minho.

Minho wet his lips and turned his head, making eye contact with him. “I just…I need you to know. That I regretted it. There wasn’t a day I didn’t want you back.”

“Hyung,” Jisung said again, his voice sounding a little more desperate. “Why–where is this coming from?”

“I—” Minho wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but he wasn’t drunk. Sure, it was affecting him a little bit, easing his nerves, giving him the courage to say this. But it wasn’t why he was saying it. “Since the day you walked into my coffee shop last week, or whenever it was. I’ve been thinking about everything. And it just made me realize how much I missed you. I think I could–no, I am falling for you again, already. I just can’t keep it in, especially since you’ll be going to America again and I–”

“Minho-yah, hey. Minho, it’s okay,” Jisung said, reaching up to cup Minho’s cheeks. Only when he brushed his thumb over the soft flesh there did he realize that he had started crying. What the fuck.

“Sorry,” Minho choked. “I’m sorry, the last thing you probably wanted to come back to was your ex I mean we had to stop talking for a reason—”

Minho was shut up the moment he felt Jisung’s plush lips press against his own in a warm, chaste kiss. There was little finesse, no tongue, no urgency, but in that moment it was everything. A calming buzz settled over Minho’s body and mind, something settling in his chest where it had been left hollow. Jisung tasted like peach soju and sugar from the cookies they had made together, and like something so familiar even six years later and so distinctly Jisung that it hit him with a wave of nostalgia.

When Jisung pulled away, his heartbeat was roaring in his ears yet he felt calm. He felt sated, but he wanted more. That was the thing. When they broke up he said he was okay being his friend, but he continued wanting more. When Jisung came back, he told himself he wanted to be friends with him again, and here he was, wanting more. With Jisung, he was insatiable. Greedy. There was never enough when it came to Jisung.

Jisung looked at him, seemingly waiting for a response to the kiss. He didn’t say anything else, rather, angled his body so he could face him better and pulled him into another kiss. This time he slotted their lips together with purpose, tilting his head so he could take all of Jisung in. He cupped Jisung’s cheek with one hand and the other he rested on Jisung’s waist. Oh his waist. It had always been one of Minho’s favorite parts of him and it turned out it was now, too.

He gave the curve of Jisung’s waist a squeeze which prompted a small gasp from him. Minho parted his lips as Jisung gasped, licking across his bottom lip, a mere taste of all that he wanted. When Jisung seemed to reciprocate his desire, he licked into his mouth, swallowing down the little noises Jisung made as he kissed him deeper. He was a good kisser, much better than when they had been together as inexperienced teenagers. He tried not to think about all the people he must have kissed since then and tried to focus on the fact that regardless of any of that, Jisung was here.

Jisung shifted and his hands slid from Minho’s cheeks to tangle in his hair and Minho groaned into his mouth. He wrapped his arm around Jisung’s waist and tugged him forward a little; Jisung seemed to get the memo because in the next moment he was moving to sit in Minho’s lap, his thighs straddling his hips. Minho tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and Jisung outright moaned, the sound pooling as arousal in his belly.

“Min– Minho,” Jisung gasped against his mouth after Minho released his bottom lip. His hands fell from Minho’s hair to his shoulders and he gave a small roll of his hips–a barely-there movement, but Minho felt it.

“ Mmh, Sung-ah, fuck,” he breathed. He felt dizzy, his head swimming like he was drunk. He wasn’t, but he might as well have downed the entire bottle of soju in one go. He hadn’t felt desperation like this in a long time. But he needed Jisung, needed him in ways he couldn’t begin to describe.

Jisung released breathy whines into Minho’s mouth, their lips gliding together, slick and wet. Messy, but so good. Jisung’s breath came out in pants between kisses, a string of spit connecting them. It was driving Minho insane. And when he rolled his hips again Minho gasped at the friction against his cock, which was already hard in his sweatpants. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted—

But—

“Ah, Jisung, Sungie, wait,” he said when he got a moment to breathe from how incessantly Jisung was kissing him. Jisung froze, his movements stopping all together.

“What is it?” he asked, eyes wide with worry, anxiety.

Minho wet his lips, the taste of Jisung still lingering on them. “I don’t–I don’t really have anything for uh…uhm.” He gestured vaguely with his hand and cleared his throat. “And I think…I think we should wait. Maybe a little.” Getting those words out felt like tearing at his chest but with their history they couldn’t just rush into things. That would only end up in both of them getting hurt and that was the last thing Minho wanted. He wanted to do things right.

Jisung frowned and looked a little disappointed, but he nodded. “You’re probably right,” he agreed softly.

Minho swallowed. “I do want you,” he said, hoping to reassure any thoughts that might be going through Jisung’s head. “But I also want to make sure that you know I want you for more than just sex. And I don’t want us…I don’t want you to do something you might regret especially since you’ll be leaving and we have… history.”

“I wouldn’t regret it though,” Jisung said assuredly. “I know that already.” He slid off of Minho’s lap but still stayed glued to his side. “And the same things you said, hyung. I didn’t want us to end either. And I never forgot about you. Even if I was an asshole and stopped messaging. That was never–it was never because I wanted to forget you. Fuck, Minho, I don’t think I could regret anything with you except for leaving you.”

Minho’s eyes stung and he looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly a couple times. “That’s really…wow.”

“We were stupid kids, hyung,” Jisung said, rubbing Minho’s shoulder. The action caused Minho’s heart to skip a beat. “I was too, especially. Neither of us knew what we were doing in life, I was totally immature.”

“Right person, wrong time,” Minho said with a wry laugh. Jisung still seemed like the right person, but would there ever be a right time? He was going back. Minho didn’t even want to think about it.

“Yeah…” Jisung trailed off, looking down for a moment. “I know…things are kind of uncertain right now. But I want you to know that spending time with you since I got back has been the happiest I’ve been in a while.”

Minho’s heart was going to beat out of his chest, he knew it. “That’s just because I feed you so much sugar.”

“It is not!” Jisung gasped, shoving his shoulder. “You do make an amazing candy cane mocha, and amazing cheesecake, and amazing cookies–but that’s not the point!”

Minho couldn’t help laughing, throwing his head back. “Ah, I know. I’m just teasing. I’m glad. Really. I’ve been happy too.” Jisung’s smile was worth any tension Minho had felt, any anxieties he had, any worries. He would do anything to see Jisung smile over and over again.

A moment of quiet passed over them where Jisung just leaned against Minho. Then Minho took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Let’s think for a few days. I think I already know where I stand but I want to be sure. And I just want to keep enjoying my time with you.” What I have left until you leave. “And I want—” His cheeks warmed and he looked off to the side. “If we do anything, I want to make it special. I don’t get to have you for long, I want to make everything count.”

Jisung stared at him for a moment before he grinned widely. He giggled and bounced in his seat. “ Hyung! That is so romantic and so cheesy. You’re so cute what the fuck.” He giggled again and Minho tongued his cheek.

“I am not cute.”

“You’re adorable. I lo–I love how much of a hopeless romantic you are.”

Minho could deny Jisung’s accusations all he wanted but there was no way he could deny the way his heartbeat sped up just a little. “I just…I care about you, Sung-ah,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I know you haven’t been back for long, but I never stopped caring about you. So I want to show that.” Even if I only get to have you for one night. Even if that’s all I’ll ever get.

“Hyung,” Jisung mumbled, eyes going a little wide. “I–that really means a lot. I care about you too. I’m still so sorry I just left like that. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

Maybe Minho was a fool, but he chose to believe him. He reached up to brush a strand of hair behind Jisung’s ear. “I know. I wouldn’t let you anyway,” he joked, but inside he felt it was the truth. He couldn’t let him go again. He wouldn’t.

“You better not,” Jisung said with a giggle. “Now let's pay attention to the movie. We missed Buddy getting attacked by the raccoon.”

“Shit,” Minho muttered, laughing softly. “You’re right. Guess I’ll have to skip back.”

The smile Jisung gave him made his heart ache. But it was a different ache this time. It was mixed with a little hope.

“Yeah, you better.”

For the next few days leading up to Christmas, Jisung thought a lot. He went over every memory he had with Minho in his head, mulled over his feelings for hours. His parents even asked him what was wrong with how silent he had been at the dinner table since he was usually full of endless conversation. He explained that he was alright but simply had something important on his mind. He was grateful to them for not prying too much. This was something he needed to figure out on his own.

While he went over his thoughts, he tried to spend as much time with Minho as he could. That really only allowed for two coffee shop visits since he was busy with his own family and Minho was getting more visitors at the shop with it nearing Christmas. Couples were coming in every few minutes, holding hands, giggling, ordering matching drinks and desserts–Minho’s candy cane mocha was the most popular. Jisung had to agree with the popular choice. If he wasn’t coming for Minho there was a large chance he would come anyway to get it again. But maybe that was his bias.

On his second visit since their night together, which happened to be the day before Christmas Eve, Jisung met Felix. He had heard about him from Minho and knew he helped out with the coffee shop on its busiest days but he hadn’t met him once since he had started coming there. He had not been expecting to hit it off with him so quickly. He was shocked to find out that they were born so close together, practically the same age. Felix could only be described as sunshine incarnate, with a smile that could blind anyone that looked at it for too long, and a personality that hooked anyone to him the moment they started talking to him. He spent more time talking to Felix then than he did Minho and there were more than a few times where he felt Minho’s gaze on them. Whenever Jisung looked over he would quickly look away, lips turned down in a frown. It made Jisung smile to himself. Minho was jealous.

As much as Jisung enjoyed his jealousy, it was entirely unfounded. For some reason, Jisung meeting Felix only solidified his feelings. Meeting his friend somehow made him feel one step closer to the closeness they had once shared. And knowing he was friends with such an angel made him trust Minho more.

That evening, while lying on his bed, he made his decision. He’d practically made it already, but he wanted to think about it like Minho wanted. He wanted Minho. That much he knew. There was a lot he had to figure out since he would be traveling back to the United States after the New Year, but he was also selfish. He wanted Minho even if the future was uncertain. He didn’t want to be cautious anymore.

Jisung picked up his phone and his thumb hovered over Minho’s contact before he pressed “call.” It only rang a few times before there was a shuffled sound and Minho’s voice came over the speaker.

“Hey, Hannie. What’s up?”

Jisung licked his lips and sat up a bit straighter so he could focus. “Hi, hyung,” he greeted. “I’ve been thinking. About our conversation.”

“Yeah?” Minho breathed. Jisung felt like he could hear his interest over the phone.

“Yeah,” he reiterated. “I really do want you, hyung.” It made him blush to say it out loud again, his cheeks heating up from the simple admission. “I know it’s complicated and there’s a lot I have to figure out but you’re so…I wanna be yours again, hyung. Will you make me yours?” He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath as he waited for Minho’s response. He heard the other take in a sharp breath.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll make you mine. I don’t care about anything else. I just want to have you one time, Sungie.”

Jisung didn’t say how much he didn’t want it to be one time. This wouldn’t be their first time together, but somehow this felt even bigger than the first time they shared together. Jisung could still remember that moment. How they were both so young and inexperienced but that didn’t matter because it was them and they wanted each other even if they were still figuring out how things worked. Now they were reuniting with more experience, both of them more mature. Both of them with so much to figure out but with the undeniable pull towards each other. Jisung didn’t know how he had gone so long without talking to Minho.

“You can have me, hyung,” he said, so soft he was worried Minho hadn’t picked it up, but the small hum he heard on the other side told him he had.

“What are you doing on Christmas Eve?” Minho asked.

Jisung didn’t even have to think. “I’m completely free. I’m not doing anything with my family until Christmas. And either way, I’m sure they would understand.” His parents had been nothing but encouraging of the renewal of his relationship with Minho.

“Okay, good. Come over for dinner, then? I’ll make it really nice, just for you, Sung-ah.”

A lump formed in Jisung’s throat and he nodded even though Minho couldn’t see. “That sounds perfect. Absolutely perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Mm. Same time as last time.”

“Alright, hyung. I’ll see you then!”

“See you then. I’ll let you go now, ‘kay? Gotta go give the demons water.” Jisung found himself nodding again, even though Minho couldn’t see. “Goodnight, Hannie.”

“Okay, goodnight, Minho-hyung,” he said, unable to hold back his smile. The line cut off and he let out a sigh as he put his phone down. He had a date with Minho. A Christmas date no less.

He was so fucked.

Jisung had done his makeup, styled his hair, and done every possible thing under the sun to make himself the prettiest for Minho that he possibly could. He figured Minho liked him as he was, but a little extra effort didn’t hurt. Especially since he had a strong feeling of where the night was going to go after dinner. His eyes had a light golden shimmer on the lids and there was mascara on his lashes, his lips were a rosy pink tinted from a lip stain and gloss, and had added a hint of blush on his cheeks. He didn’t need much since he would most likely be blushing the entire evening anyway.

Minho’s smile when he invited him in was blinding and it made butterflies explode in Jisung’s stomach. He could tell that despite Minho’s excitement, he was still a little nervous which quelled some of Jisung’s nerves.

“You look pretty, Hannie,” he said softly as he took in Jisung’s appearance. If it was possible for an entire body to blush, Jisung’s did just that.

“Thank you, hyung-ah,” he replied, smiling bashfully to himself. Minho still thinks I look pretty.

The house smelled just as good as last time and his stomach growled the moment he stepped inside. There was a bigger spread than before and the yellow checkered tablecloth had been replaced by a red tablecloth with two lit candles in the middle. The lights were dimmed and the flames of the candles cast a warm glow over the kitchen that made it the perfect combination of cozy and romantic. And when Jisung glanced into the living room he saw that Minho had even set up a Christmas tree. It was fake and some areas were more sparsely decorated than others, but it was the most beautiful tree he had ever seen. His eyes stung.

“I hope this isn’t too much. Or too little–I wanted it to be nice,” Minho rushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I also–I made a cheesecake. Since I know you like that.”

“This is perfect, ” Jisung exclaimed. He felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. “And you made me cheesecake? You’re amazing. I could kiss you.”

Minho blinked a few times and then said, his voice a little softer, “You could.”

Jisung’s eyes went wide but then he smiled, stepping into Minho’s space so he could hold him closer. He tilted his chin up and pressed his lips to Minho’s, eyelids fluttering shut. The kiss was a lot less passionate than the last one they had shared, but not as chaste as the first kiss Jisung had given him. It was just deep enough, the quick swipe of tongue against parted lips a promise of what was to come.

“You taste so good, Sungie,” Minho murmured as he pulled away and Jisung’s cheeks turned a fiery red.

“Goodness, shut up,” he whined, shoving him away playfully. “I won’t kiss you again if you’re gonna be embarrassing.” Minho smirked, satisfied with himself. They both knew Jisung was lying. He would kiss Minho again, and again, and again.

They got to dinner after that, Minho being the gentleman he was and filling Jisung’s plate for him. There was a thick layer of tension that hung in the air as they ate and it made Jisung’s skin tingle and his stomach twist in delight. It was hard to focus on conversation, but he did his best to talk since it was Minho. And he could talk to Minho endlessly. He explained his Christmas plans and learned that Minho wouldn’t be seeing his parents for Christmas. As much as that saddened him, he wasn’t surprised. Minho had always had a rocky relationship with his parents; he was just sad they had never made any effort to repair their relationship with him. He invited him over to his house with his family but he learned that he already had plans to spend time with Felix and his family who were visiting from Australia. Rather than making Jisung jealous, he only felt happy.

Dinner was filling and delicious and the cheesecake Minho had made was even better than the ones he made for his coffee shop. It practically melted on his tongue and Jisung couldn’t hold back the moan as the taste. “This is literally the best thing I have ever tasted. You have to make these like, every day now. Like seriously, send me this, hyung. I don’t know what I’ll ever do now that I’ve tasted this.”

Minho blushed and the sight was so pretty Jisung nearly fainted. “I guess I’ll have to now, if you like it so much,” he said. Then, something in the air seemed to shift and Minho’s gaze shifted. He reached across the table and for a moment Jisung was confused at what he was doing, but then he cupped his jaw and swiped his thumb across his bottom lip. “You always eat desserts so messy.”

Jisung’s cheeks heated up and his stomach swooped. He was going to whine, complain, but Minho apparently wasn’t done. His thumb still remained on Jisung’s lip and he gingerly pulled it down so his mouth opened just enough for him to slip his thumb inside. “Here,” he said. There was a gravelliness to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t want you to waste any.”

Stunned, Jisung could only blink at him. And then he did the most logical thing–he swirled his tongue around Minho’s thumb, licking off the crumb of cheesecake he had swiped up. That seemed to satisfy Minho and his lips quirked up as he popped his thumb out of Jisung’s mouth.

“Good boy. ”

Jisung gasped and a jolt of arousal zipped through his stomach. He suddenly felt dizzy and all too aware at the same time. Minho ran his thumb along Jisung’s bottom lip, coating it in his own spit, before he pulled away. His lip and jaw tingled where Minho’s touch had been and his entire body felt like it was on fire. Fuck.

“Finish up, Jisung.” Minho’s eyes were half lidded, sharp and catlike, and arousal pooled in Jisung’s stomach and prickled at his skin like needles.

He nodded and took another bite of his cheesecake because even though his mind was elsewhere now, there was no way he would let it go to waste. And the sooner he finished, the sooner he could get to the real dessert of the night.

Minho’s eyes were fixed on him the entire time he made his way through the dessert. He was afraid to look up, but when he did he found that Minho’s eyes never left him, even when they made eye contact. Occasionally Jisung noticed his gaze shifting from his face to his mouth–when he licked some of the cream off his lips the rhythm of Minho’s breathing changed, and even that sound was enough to make heat boil in the pit of Jisung’s stomach.

Jisung licked the fork clean after the last bite and set it down on the plate. “Done, hyung,” he announced, the anticipation for what was to come sending tingles up and down his spine.

“Did you like it?” Minho asked as he got up from his chair. Jisung followed, standing on shaky legs. Minho was in his space with two strides and he placed his hand on the curve of Jisung’s waist. His thumb rubbed up and down, melting Jisung’s brain into sugary syrup.

“Yeah, it was amazing,” he mumbled, swallowing thickly. “I loved it.”

“Mind if I see for myself?” Jisung knew what he was asking immediately–Minho already had his own slice, but that didn’t matter.

“Please,” he whispered, heart beating wildly in his chest.

The grip on his waist tightened and then Minho was kissing him. He coaxed his mouth open with his tongue and pulled him close until their bodies were flush together. He eased a thigh between Jisung’s legs and he let out a gasp into his mouth at the friction. He could feel Minho smirking against his mouth as he used the hand on his waist to make Jisung grind down onto his thigh.

At the same time, he used the hand that wasn’t holding Jisung’s waist to grab Jisung’s hair and tilt his head so that he could slot their mouths together better. The slick sounds of their lips and tongues sliding together made the arousal coiling in Jisung’s belly grow and he whimpered pathetically. His mind felt hazy already from just a little kissing, his cock already fully hard in his pants as he practically humped Minho’s thigh. It was embarrassing but that only made him more turned on.

“Minho-hyung, ahhh,” Jisung moaned as Minho tilted his head back with a tug of his hair and began planting open-mouthed kisses on his neck. The kisses quickly changed to him sucking bruises on his neck. He nipped gentle at the skin and Jisung let out a little ah again.

“You sound so pretty…fuck you’re so pretty for me, Hannie,” he mumbled against his skin. Each brush of his lips made Jisung shiver and his cock twitched in his underwear.

“Please, Mm-Minho,” Jisung begged. His legs were beginning to shake–any second he was going to collapse to the floor in a pile of goo.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, hm?”

Jisung nodded quickly as Minho led him down the hall to his bedroom. He never let go of his waist, instead wrapping his arm around him to guide him. It made Jisung feel safe somehow–owned, like he belonged to Minho. And maybe that was what he had needed all along. Maybe that was why none of the relationships he’d had in America felt right. Because right was waiting for him in South Korea.

Minho’s bedroom was much like the rest of his house. Various potted plants spread about, some hanging from the ceiling. There was a cat tree in the corner and fairy lights going around the room attached to the ceiling. His bed was big and the blankets were a soft mint color. He still has the same favorite color, Jisung mused to himself as Minho laid him down on the bed.

“Is this still okay?” Minho asked as he hovered over him, his hands sliding underneath Jisung’s sweater. His breath hitched as he nodded eagerly.

“Yes, it’s perfect. I want you. Please,” he answered. To prove his point he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving himself half naked for Minho to admire. Minho inhaled as he took in Jisung’s body, the curve of his waist, his built chest, the muscles in his arms. Jisung knew he looked good, but Minho’s hungry gaze still made him feel shy. He moved to cross his arms over himself after Minho looked too long, but he grabbed Jisung’s wrists and pinned them down.

“Don’t hide, jagi, ” Minho instructed. “You look so perfect. So goddamn pretty.”

Jisung swallowed down a whimper at the praise and the pet name. Jagi. Minho called him jagi. He never imagined he would hear him say that again, but here he was, calling him that while he pinned his wrists to the bed. He was blushing all the way down to his chest already. “I won’t, but hyung. Stop staring. I want you.”

“What do you want, hm?” Minho asked, tilting his head.

Jisung whined, his cheeks burning. “I want–” He wet his lips. “I want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me, hyung.”

Minho’s eyes fluttered shut as he groaned. “Fuck, such a good boy, asking so nicely. Yeah, of course I’ll fuck you.”

He leaned down to capture Jisung’s lips in a hungry kiss again and his hands began roaming Jisung’s body, sliding down to undo his pants. Jisung’s senses were overwhelmed with Minho, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his cologne, the heat of his body. His hands left fire wherever they touched, sparks igniting, exploding into flames that enveloped Jisung’s entire body.

He lifted his hips as Minho attempted to tug his pants and boxers down, having to pull away from the kiss for a moment to get him completely naked. They tossed them somewhere in the room, neither of them caring where they landed.

With Jisung left completely naked and Minho still dressed, he felt incredibly vulnerable, but somehow safe at the same time. Minho’s eyes were trained on him again, drinking him in like he was some sort of magic elixir. Jisung had never felt so desired. Minho looked at him like he was ready to worship the ground he walked on.

A bead of precum leaked from the tip of Jisung’s dick and he whined when Minho’s eyes flitted down to it. “Minho,” he pleaded. “You’re still fully clothed. I want to see you.”

Minho chuckled and smirked down at him. “Yeah? What do you have to say?”

“Please,” Jisung said. He wasn’t beyond begging. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to have Minho right now. “Please let me see you, hyung.”

Minho smiled and pressed a quick peck to his lips. “Okay, okay. You can see me.” He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it in the same direction Jisung’s pants had gone, and Jisung nearly drooled at the sight. He had gotten much more built over the years but still maintained a layer of softness over it all. Broad shoulders and muscular arms faded into a soft tummy that Jisung wanted to sink his teeth into. A light trail of hair went down into the waistband of Minho’s pants. His mouth watered.

“Off,” he huffed, sitting up so he could start tugging down Minho’s pants.

“Impatient,” Minho laughed even as he helped him tug them down.

“Don’t tease me.” Jisung pouted. “I’m so needy for you and you’re teasing me!”

“Oh baby,” Minho cooed. “You’re just so cute when you’re all pouty.” He cupped Jisung’s jaw and brushed his thumb over his bottom lip. Jisung’s heart skipped a beat and blood rushed to his cheeks. “But don’t worry, I won’t make you wait long. Just a second, okay?”

Jisung nodded dumbly, laying back down on the bed as Minho scooted back to get rid of the rest of his clothes. His cock hung heavy between his legs, so hard and red. And fuck he was huge. Jisung’s hole clenched around nothing at the thought of it inside of him, fucking into him, keeping him so full.

Minho grinned at him and crawled forward to sit between Jisung’s thighs. “Spread these pretty thighs for me, jagi,” he said softly, tapping Jisung’s upper thigh. Jisung let out an embarrassed whine at how his cock twitched at the simple contact.

Jisung took a deep, shuddering breath as he bent his knees and spread his legs apart to give Minho access. He tried to keep his nerves down but they continued to bubble up, making his heart race. Minho seemed to notice and rubbed a soothing hand up and down his thigh. “Shh, relax. I’m gonna take care of you, m’kay? And you can tell me if you don’t want to do anything, alright?”

He nodded, wetting his lips. “I know. I trust you.” He relaxed a little more as Minho smiled, allowing himself to sink into the bed. Minho moved his thighs further apart and reached behind him to grab a bottle of lube sitting on the dresser and a condom that had been placed there. Jisung bit his lip as he uncapped the bottle and poured a generous amount onto his fingertips. The sight of Minho’s hands covered in the slick substance had Jisung’s stomach twisting, arousal building.

He reached between his legs and pressed his middle finger to his entrance. “‘M gonna open you up now, okay?” Jisung exhaled shakily, not trusting himself to speak. Minho bit his lip as he pushed the tip of his first finger past his rim and his eyes winded when he was met with no resistance. “ Baby, what is this?” he asked, his voice taking on a gravelly edge it hadn’t had before.

Jisung squirmed under him, body heating up like he was sitting in front of a fire. “I–uhm–I fingered myself before I came…so I would be ready,” he admitted shyly. He hadn’t planned to, he just got in the shower and it happened. He couldn’t stop thinking about Minho, his touches, the kisses they’d shared, getting fucked by him.

“Shit, Sung, that’s so fucking hot,” Minho groaned, sliding his finger all the way in. “Did you think about me while you fingered yourself? Imagine it was my fingers? Or my cock?”

He curled his finger and Jisung moaned, nodding his head. “Hah–y-yes,” he hiccuped. “Pictured it was you…wanted it to be you, hyung.”

“Shit.” Minho looked almost as affected as Jisung felt and it only made his dick ache more.

“I can take two now, I promise. I’m all prepped already, I need you, ple– ahhh, ” he moaned, cutting himself off. Minho inserted a second finger, filling him up easily. Jisung had gotten to three fingers before he came all over his hand. Minho’s hands had always been smaller than his, his fingers shorter, but there was something about the fact that it was Minho that made it feel so much better.

“Sucking me in just perfect, fuck, ” Minho breathed as he pumped his fingers inside his hole. “Can’t wait to fuck you, shit. You’re so pretty.”

“ Min ,” Jisung gasped, back arching as Minho spread his fingers. “Another, please, I’m ready.”

Minho was too far gone himself to question and after pulling out his first two fingers he pushed inside him again with three. Jisung’s breath hitched and his toes curled. Minho pushed his fingers deeper, just shy of where he needed it, and it was so much, yet not enough. He needed more, more, more.

Minho fucked him with his fingers for a little while longer, reducing him to a whiny, breathless mess with just his hands in no time. Even if he had smaller fingers, he knew how to use them and could angle them better than Jisung ever could when he fucked himself. His cock was leaking all over his stomach and his body was shaking when Minho first brushed the tip of his fingers against his prostate. His stomach tensed and his cock twitched against his stomach, telltale signs of his orgasm approaching.

“Mmm, ‘m gonna–gonna come if you d-don’t stop. I’m ready, I promise, need you to fuck me now,” he begged, eyes stinging with tears of desperation.

“You sure, Hannie?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes, please. I can take it.”

Minho let out a little sound, akin to a moan, and it went straight to Jisung’s cock, electricity shooting through his stomach. “O-okay, shit. You’re so perfect. How are you so perfect?” he mumbled as he pulled his fingers out. Jisung whimpered at the loss, body arching against the bed.

“Don’t–dunno. It’s just for you,” he said, and he truly meant it. Having Minho back, having him like this, felt so good, there was no way he could have anyone else.

“All for me, hm?” His gaze softened for a moment before they narrowed again as he hiked Jisung’s legs up so he could fold his hips back. “You’ll be good for me and take it then, hm?” he asked as he rolled a condom onto his cock with his free hand.

Jisung nodded vigorously, eyes wide as he watched Minho adjust him like a doll, with one hand no less. “Yes, yes, please, just fuck me, fuck me jagi,” he begged, the pet name slipping out easy on his tongue. Minho’s eyes went wide for a second and he blinked, but seconds later his expression was back to normal.

“Gonna take such good care of you Sungie. My Sungie,” he muttered. Jisung moaned as the tip of Minho’s cock pushed inside of him. It was barely anything but already he felt so full. Minho was going to split him in half.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whimpered, ass clenching around Minho’s length. Minho hissed through his teeth and squeezed the flesh of Jisung’s soft thighs. It hurt a bit, and they were probably going to bruise. Jisung hoped he would be bruised for weeks.

“Shit, Sung, you’re so fucking tight. Gotta relax for me, m’kay baby?”

Jisung tried but he was too overwhelmed. Already the sensation of Minho’s cock filling him up was too much, too much—

“Kiss me,” he breathed, inhaling sharply as Minho pushed in a little deeper.

Minho didn’t respond, opting to instead maneuver between Jisung’s thighs so he could cage him in with his arms. And then his lips were on him, kissing him incessantly as he pushed his cock deeper, deeper. Jisung moaned into his mouth and Minho swallowed his sounds down like a shot. Their breaths mingled together and Jisung was at the point where he couldn’t determine whether the soft moans and whines he was hearing were from his own mouth or Minho’s. And before he knew it, Minho was fully seated inside of him, his hips pressed first against his ass.

“Oh my–fuck, you feel so good around me Jisung. Hannie ,” Minho groaned against his lips. “So good, such a good boy, relaxing all nice for me.” He pulled back and oh, Jisung was going to die. He looked so pretty, cheeks and ears red, his lips cherry-tinted and spit-slicked. At that moment, he was like a god, and Jisung wanted nothing more than to worship him.

“‘M good. Feel so good inside of me,” Jisung moaned, pressing his head into the pillows so his neck arched. “‘M so full. You fill me up so well, hyung.”

“Yeah?” Minho breathed, eyes gleaming. “Shit it’s like–it’s like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was,” Jisung supplied, too delirious to think about his words. The sound Minho made was akin to a growl and it made shivers travel over the expanse of Jisung’s body.

“My Jisungie,” he mumbled, reverent. “Can I move now, jagi? Please, my pretty?”

“Mhmm, please, need you. Need you to fu-fuck me yesterday,” he stuttered. “Wanna feel you.”

“Fuck,” Minho moaned, and then he was pulling out, all the way, until just the tip was left inside. Jisung was only given a second before he slammed back in, punching the air out of Jisung’s lungs in the form of a choked moan.

His thrusts were relentless, each one leaving Jisung breathless, dizzy. He cried out as Minho angled himself just right, the head of his cock brushing against his sensitive prostate. Pleasure pulsed in his tummy, so overwhelming and so good at the same time.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” he cried, eyes stinging with tears again.

“You–you look so fucking, mngh– pretty, shit, S-Sung,” Minho gritted in response. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. A drop of it ran down and landed on Jisung’s cheek, causing his cock to jolt against his stomach, more precum beading at the tip.

“ More, harder,” Jisung whined, his voice pathetic to his own ears. He wrapped his legs around Minho’s waist and Minho pushed forward with the extra help, practically folding him in half. The new angle had him hitting Jisung’s prostate head on, and it felt so good that tears finally spilled from Jisung’s eyes. They ran down his cheeks and spilled onto the pillow below him. Minho’s breath caught in his throat at the sight and he dropped his head between his shoulders.

“Are you–shit are you crying?” he asked breathlessly. Jisung whimpered.

“Just feels–feels so good,” he sobbed.

Minho groaned. “Fuck, you’re incredible. Taking it so well.”

“Good? Am I good?” Jisung asked deliriously. He felt dumb, so dumb. Completely cockdrunk on Minho.

“ So good. Mm fuck. My good boy,” he praised. Jisung moaned wantonly at his words. He was so far gone. Everything was too much and simultaneously not enough.

Minho continued fucking into him, maintaining a steady rhythm despite the fact that he was breathless and panting. Every thrust had Jisung sliding up the bed, his cock bouncing helplessly against his stomach. Even though Jisung’s stomach tensed every time he was filled up again, his body remained pliant, perfect for Minho to use how he wanted. He knew he must have looked utterly debauched to Minho with his mouth hanging open, endless moans spilling from his red-bitten lips. His makeup was probably running too.

A hand reached between their bodies and wrapped around Jisung’s cock and he writhed. “ Nghh, Minho, Min– please, pleasepleaseplease—” he babbled, no clue at all what he was even begging for. Minho smiled crookedly above him. A drop of sweat collected at the tip of his nose.

“Are you getting close, jagi?” Minho asked. His voice was rough and it made Jisung shudder.

“Ye-yes,” he hiccuped.

“Good,” Minho hummed. “You’ve been so good. You can come for me whenever you want.”

His body melted into pleasure as Minho began stroking his painfully hard cock in tandem with his thrusts. Jisung’s body was coming apart at the seams. He squirmed underneath Minho, the combined sensations of being fucked and touched almost too much–and then he was coming. He gasped and tossed his head back into the pillows as his orgasm washed over him and cum spilled all over his belly. He clenched rhythmically around Minho’s cock despite the overstimulation, pathetic whines falling from his lips. Minho groaned above him.

“ Hng, oh my gosh, Sung-ah, you’re s-so–” was all he managed to get out. His thrusts stuttered as Jisung continued to clench around him while he rode out his orgasm. He needed to see Minho come, needed to see the expressions he made as he hit his peak.

“Co-come inside me, pl-please,” he whimpered. He squeezed his legs around Minho’s waist and dug his heels into his lower back. “Please, wanna see you.”

That seemed to be all the encouragement Minho needed, because all it took was a few more thrusts and he was coming too with Jisung’s name on his lips. He shoved his cock deep inside Jisung as he filled the condom and Jisung could almost imagine that it was him he was filling up instead. Minho moaned breathily as Jisung squeezed around his cock a couple times purposefully to milk him through his orgasm. The sound made Jisung’s cock twitch against his stomach even though he just came. There was no way he could get hard again so soon, but the sight and sound of Minho coming was almost enough.

When he finished, he pulled out and tossed the condom in the trash and then let out a long exhale, collapsing onto the bed beside Jisung. They laid there for a moment catching their breaths, the only sound in the room their gentle panting. Then Minho rolled over to face Jisung wordlessly. Jisung turned his head toward him and Minho merely blinked a few times and then his arms came around to pull him close. He maneuvered them until Jisung was on his side and they were spooning, Minho’s arms wrapped securely around his waist. His breath fanned across Jisung’s neck as he nuzzled close, and he remained silent.

For a second Jisung thought that he was asleep, that was until he heard him take in a stuttering breath. “Minho?” he questioned softly, something twisting in his stomach at the sound.

Minho exhaled slowly and squeezed Jisung’s waist tighter. “Please stay,” he whispered, voice small and barely audible. Seconds away from breaking. An ache spread through Jisung’s chest. He rested his hand on top of one of Minho’s and brushed his thumb over the knuckles.

“ Jagi,” Jisung murmured. “Of course I’ll stay. I was hoping you’d ask.” He couldn’t be sure if Minho meant for just the night or forever, but he found that maybe he wanted to do both.

“Okay,” Minho breathed, his body relaxing more behind Jisung. “I’ll drive you to your family’s in the morning. So you can spend Christmas with them.”

“That sounds good to me. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas Eve with you.”

Minho hummed and he could feel him smile from where he had rested against his shoulder. “Me too.”

They continued cuddling for a few minutes afterward and then Jisung yawned loudly, triggering the same reaction from Minho. “Ugh, we should clean up,” he said. “I’d love to go to sleep now but we’re both disgusting.”

Jisung groaned. “I don’t want to…”

“What if we shower together?”

At that Jisung’s eyes widened and he grinned. “Okay…maybe. But you have to carry me to the shower.” He wiggled around so that he could face Minho and gave him the biggest doe eyes he could. “ Please? I’m tired.”

“You didn’t even do any work,” Minho responded with a scoff. But he moved to sit up anyway, pulling Jisung into his arms like a baby. Jisung giggled happily and wrapped his arms around Minho’s neck.

“You’re the best, Minho-hyung,” he chirped. He craned his neck so he could kiss his cheek and giggled again at the sight of Minho’s ears turning red. Fuck, he really could love him again. He was afraid he already did.

Minho set him down once they reached the bathroom and Jisung let out a squeak when he saw himself in the mirror. His cheeks were streaked with tears and lines of mascara and there were bruises littering his neck from when Minho had first started kissing him. His hair was a mess and his cheeks were still flushed even though they had rested a bit. He looked utterly fucked out.

“What?” Minho asked, cocking his head to the side. Jisung covered his face and groaned.

“I am a mess! Why didn’t you say I looked like that?” he whined petulantly.

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “You look pretty. Means I fucked you like you deserved.”

Jisung sputtered while Minho laughed at his reaction. As much as he wanted to pout though, he couldn’t keep the smile off his lips.

Something warm bloomed in Jisung’s chest as he watched Minho prepare everything for their shower, humming to himself lightly as he grabbed an extra toothbrush from his cabinet and set it on the counter for him. The feeling quickly turned bittersweet though as he realized that in another week and a half he would be gone again. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t.

As soon as he was in the shower with Minho’s hands in his hair shampooing the strands with vanilla scented shampoo, his thoughts melted away. He sank back, rested his back against Minho’s chest even though the other complained that the angle made it harder for him to wash his hair.

They traded off washing each other, managing to keep their hands from wandering for the most part, and then they walked back to bed, now clean and comfortable. Minho pulled off the top comforter out of principle and switched it for a cleaner one. He also grabbed Jisung a change of clothes and it made Jisung a little dizzy at how much they smelled like Minho and hung a little baggy on him. Minho had never been that much better than Jisung but obviously over the years he had gotten broader, while Jisung had only recently started working out regularly. Any size difference made Jisung’s heart flutter. He felt small in the best way.

Since it wasn’t that late, they decided to turn on a cheesy Christmas movie while they cuddled under the covers. Jisung had trouble keeping his eyes open but he forced himself to stay awake, wanting the moment to last forever. Minho was completely engrossed in the movie but that didn’t stop the hand that was around Jisung from caressing him every now and then.

By the time they finished their movie, it was a little past midnight and both of them were ready to sleep. Minho crawled under the covers first and opened his arms for Jisung to burrow in against him. Jisung released a content sigh as Minho’s arms came around to hold him. Minho kissed the top of his head, letting the kiss linger for a few seconds before he moved away.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he mumbled against his hair. Jisung’s heart kicked in his chest and he snuggled closer.

“Merry Christmas, Minho.”

And for the first time in a while, Jisung remembered what Christmas really felt like. Even if he would be leaving soon, this would be worth it.

Minho spent as much time as he could with Jisung during the rest of his time in Korea. Jisung came to visit him in the cafe whenever he was free, and after Minho was done working, he took Jisung out as long as he wasn’t busy with his family or other friends. Jisung also came over to his apartment almost every night. They would have dinner, maybe watch a movie, and then Minho would fuck him until he was a babbling, crying mess underneath him. He felt a little bad for stealing him away from his family so much, but Jisung’s parents seemed to be quite supportive anyway, if their knowing smiles when Minho dropped Jisung off on Christmas morning were anything to go by.

There was a level of bittersweetness to everything they did. Minho could feel it and he could tell that Jisung felt it too. They were in a bubble, but it wouldn’t be long before reality came crashing down on them and they had to face the fact that Jisung would have to go back to America and they wouldn’t be together. Minho was doing his best to accept it, but it was harder than he could have imagined. He didn’t want to let Jisung go, not when he had just barely gotten him back.

There was a chance they could do long distance, now that they were older and more mature. But their relationship was still in such a fragile stage that Minho worried the distance would rip them apart again. He couldn’t handle that.

What made it worse was that Jisung didn’t seem to want to leave either. Minho could see it in his eyes, in the way that he looked at him. He knew it would be hard for them both and that somehow made it worse. Maybe if he knew that Jisung wasn’t feeling the same things he was feeling, and wasn’t falling for him again too, then it would be easier. He could tell himself that it wasn’t meant to be and he shouldn’t waste his time on someone who didn’t even like him the same way. But Jisung did. He could see that now, especially after they spent Christmas Eve together. Minho was losing him all over again and he didn’t know whether he would ever get him back. What if they really did end up getting torn apart again and Jisung chose to never come back to South Korea? How would Minho survive?

It was New Years Eve when it all came to a head. Minho was with Jisung at a small party hosted by Felix, who had invited them and a few other friends, two of which Minho only had heard of named Seungmin and Jeongin, and one who he learned Jisung had been friends with for a while, who he learned was called Hyunjin. Jisung was lamenting the fact that his friends from America, Changbin and Chan, couldn’t be there to go into the New Year with them, and wouldn’t even be experiencing the New Year for fourteen more hours. At that moment, realization hit Minho like a truck and the drinks he’d had turned sour in his stomach, making him sick. There was no way he could do that.

He excused himself from the conversation and made his way outside so he could stand in the cold air. Perhaps knock some sense into himself. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart and ease the mess in his stomach so he wouldn’t actually get sick. “Fuck,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. Why couldn’t life just be simple?

After about a minute of alone time, the door opened followed by a quiet, “Minho-hyung?”

Minho spun around and his eyes met Jisung’s. A lump caught in his throat and he desperately tried to swallow it down. “Hey,” he croaked weakly.

“Is everything alright?” he asked. “You just…left.” His voice held a vulnerability to it that hurt Minho’s heart. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed Jisung’s hand to intertwine their fingers.

“I’m sorry, jagi,” he said, giving Jisung’s hand a squeeze. That was a new development too since they had spent Christmas Eve together. Jisung seemed to like getting called that and Minho liked calling him that. It was normal for them when they were younger and it felt the same even now. “I just…” He swallowed thickly, the lump crawling back up his throat. “I don’t–” his voice began to crack and he took a deep breath. “I’m not good with words.”

“That’s okay, take your time,” Jisung urged. He gave Minho a reassuring squeeze of his hand and that gave him the courage to continue.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he began. “I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve loved spending this time with you. More than…more than you even know. And that’s why–that’s why it hurts so fucking much, Hannie. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you’re gone. I’m–I’m falling in love with you all over again and I can’t lose you again. I don’t want you to go but I can’t make you stay—”

Minho was cut off when Jisung engulfed him in a hug, holding him so tight he almost struggled to take a deep breath. Jisung’s voice came out muffled from where his face was buried into Minho’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you either. I don’t. I’ll figure something out, I promise. But we can make it work. Please, let’s try to make it work.”

Jisung sniffled and his body shook a little and that’s when Minho realized Jisung had started crying. “Oh no, baby, please don’t cry. Fuck, you’ll make me cry. I hate crying, you’ve already seen me cry too much,” he said with a watery laugh.

“I just don’t want you to leave me. You don’t–I know I left before, but I’m not gonna leave you. I know it’ll be hard.” He lifted his head and moved back enough so that he could make eye contact with Minho. His watery eyes made Minho’s heart clench. He cupped Jisung’s cheek to wipe his tears and Jisung let him. “But can we please try? I promise I’ll do everything to make it work. I’ll visit as often as I can.”

The promise did ease Minho’s fears but they were still there, sharp and biting. “I just don’t know how…it’s so far,” Minho lamented. “What if…what if you decide it's too much? Or if you decide you want someone else over in America? We’re still…we’ve barely even restarted our relationship. And I know how I feel but I don’t…”

“I’m falling for you again too, Minho,” Jisung said firmly. “I might…I might already be there. I know it’s fast, but I already loved you in the past. I can love you again. We’re grown up now. I’m–I’m scared too, you know? Cause what if you find someone here? What if you change your mind?” Minho wanted to say that he would never do that, that he could never, but then he realized he would have to apply the same logic to his own thoughts. “But that doesn’t–that doesn’t matter enough for me to not hope.”

Minho nodded and Jisung took a deep breath. “If you…if you really don’t want to try then I understand. I know I may have seemed more chill about this whole thing but…I really think you’re it for me. Why else would we have met up again all these years later?” he asked.

“You’re right. And I want you to be it for me too. I don’t think I ever fully let you go.” Minho swallowed. He couldn’t let his worries stop him from having Jisung back. He had let his fears stop him in the past, and maybe that was why he was having these issues now. It was probably good for them that they ended things, too young to properly navigate something as complicated as a long distance relationship. But maybe he could do it. For Jisung. For them.

“I’ll try,” he said finally. “I want to try. So so bad. I’m just scared.”

“Me too,” Jisung admitted shyly. “Like, really fucking scared. But we’ll be doing it together, right?” He smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. Minho couldn’t help smiling back.

“You’re right. Together,” he agreed. Jisung’s smile grew wider and he bounced on his heels.

“See? Now let’s go back inside. I don’t want to miss our midnight kiss. And it’s so cold. What were you thinking, coming out here by yourself anyway, Minho-yah? Trying to get sick,” he grumbled under his breath, making Minho laugh as he dragged him inside. It amazed him how easily Jisung was able to make him feel better. Maybe it was a sign that things would be okay.

As they counted down the seconds to midnight, eyes locked together as they waited for the clock to hit 00:00, Minho felt it. Like sparks spreading through his chest. A flame igniting, taking over his body. And when Jisung kissed him, smiling so much against his lips that it practically couldn’t even count as a real kiss, and he tasted the decaf candy cane mocha he’d forced Minho to make him to help him sober up, he knew. It would be okay.

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