Chapter Text
Minho
Minho woke slowly as the morning light slipped in through the bedroom shutters. It whispered past the dresser, across the wall filled with frames full of pictures, and landed finally on the bed where it tickled his eyelids. Minho blinked a few times, dispelling the last of his dreams, before turning over.
It was still early. Too early to wake the sleeping Jisung next to him, curled into the covers with just his nose peeking out. He couldn’t help himself reaching out and brushing the stray hair from his cheeks, but when he started to stir, Minho retracted his hand slowly. He’d let him sleep more. He deserved it.
Minho, though, was fully awake and even the comfort of the covers wasn’t enough to keep him from the day. He slid his legs out first, found slippers by the edge of the bed, and lifted himself fully to stranding. He stretched with a quiet groan, arms over his head, before heading to the kitchen.
Minho hummed to himself as he made himself coffee. It was warmer than he expected today. The mist had lifted since the storms came through. As the coffee maker rumbled and the smell started to fill the room, he decided to open a few windows to air out the house. But as soon as he turned from the counter, he tripped over something soft and mewling insistently.
“Starfish you menace,” Minho said. “I’m not going to forget to feed you.”
Starfish looked up at him, incredulous. Minho bent down to scratch her ears.
“Every day is the same. My coffee, and then your breakfast. I think you’ll survive the five-minute wait.”
Starfish let out a low meow. Maybe in acceptance. Maybe in impatience. Teenagers, who could know?
Minho went about the task of opening the can and spooning out the food, then filling her water dish, before finally getting to the windows he’d been meaning to open. The first one, right over the kitchen table, stuck for a moment. Another grunt and pull and it sprung up, letting the cool, salty air in.
It was one year after the XRose and Wildflower trials, many of which Minho played a part as a witness. One year after Byungho, the CEO and owners of the company, as well as Choi Insik, were found guilty. Jisung’s father was never involved in the court proceedings, but the bank was handed over to new leadership. Minho assumed Jisung’s father disappeared quietly to avoid the bad press, but Jisung was convinced he’d made some deal with the police that didn’t see the light of day. Neither knew for sure.
It was also just over a year since Minho and Jisung left Seoul for Sokcho on the eastern coast. With the remainder of the money Jisung had received from his father after paying the lawyer fees, they bought a run-down building close to the sea and spent the next few months converting it to a dance studio, while living in the apartment above it. It was a dream they talked about as Jisung shuttled Minho to and from the courthouses. It came together as a plan when Tiger Arts told him they wouldn't hire Minho full-time again. Here, now? It hardly felt like a reality.
They did everything they could themselves, from researching the right wood for the dance studio flooring and the best type of lights, to filing business and building permits with the city, to printing out flyers and handing them out at local schools.
Slowly, over the course of months, it started to look less like an abandoned building and more like their dream. Jisung laid the mirrors and tiled the bathroom while Minho painted a sign over the entrance in big, bold letters.
And finally, the students came.
When they opened, Jisung acted as financial and administrative manager while Minho taught lessons. When he wasn’t doing odd jobs for the studio, Jisung tapped lyrics into his notes app and sent voice messages to Chan and Changbin.
Most days, Minho felt like this was a punchdrunk sort of happiness he didn’t deserve.
Of course, it wasn’t always a fantasy. The pipes leaked and the heat didn’t work when the winter rolled in. They spent all their money and went into debt to keep fixing up the place and the money from the students didn’t come in fast enough to make it up. The window that stuck in the kitchen was just one on a list of things that hadn’t been done yet. Sometimes, Minho grew frustrated and Jisung cried, but in the end, it was their little creation. Their home.
It was a messy, beautiful, toddling love that felt as close to face-planting as it did flying. Every decision was stupid and perfect.
Minho remembered after the first day of lessons, Jisung took Minho out to a sushi restaurant they couldn’t afford. From their very first month’s income, Minho bought Jisung a professional recording mic instead of proper chairs for the kitchen. And, three months ago, they brought home a stray kitten that Minho had rescued from the beach and named her Starfish.
Happiness, yes. That’s what it was.
“Mmmm, did you make enough for me?” Jisung’s voice drifted in behind Minho as he wrapped his arms around Minho’s waist.
“Of course not, it’ll get cold if I make it for you,” Minho said. “You’re never up this early”
Jisung twisted around to try to grab Minho’s coffee mug from his hands. Minho elbowed him away.
“Why are you awake?” Minho asked.
“Felix and Hyunjin are coming soon,” Jisung said. “We gotta get ready to show them Starfish’s food and litter and the keys to the—”
Minho turned in Jisung’s arms and laughed. “That’s not the reason, you liar.”
Jisung pouted. “Fine,” he said. “You weren’t there when I woke up and I was lonely.”
“Closer,” Minho said, leaning in. He could see Jisung’s eyes widen a fraction, his jaw slack.
Jisung pulled at the hem of Minho’s shirt, sneaking his fingers under to find the soft skin beneath. The nails scratched light lines into his hip.
“Ah,” Minho said. “But I thought Felix and Hyunjin were going to be here soon, hm?”
Jisung’s fingers tightened. “Not that soon.”
“You’re worse than Starfish,” Minho said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Wanting my attention.”
“Hyung—“
“Hm?” Minho said. Jisung looked up at him, sleep still on the edges of his eyes, but with such an open, breathless gaze that Minho could feel himself giving in. Because as much as he loved teasing Jisung, he could feel the way his own body was reacting to the pull of Jisung’s fingers and the sound of his low, gravelly voice.
“Come to bed with me?”
“Lead the way, Jisungie.”
Intimacy, like anything else, was something learned. A body was just a body until you taught it what it could do. Whether it be dance, song, or sex, the body practiced and the body learned.
The problem was when it learned the wrong thing.
See, it took Minho months to know how to love Jisung the right way. Or, much longer than that if he thought back to when this really started. But for this—clothes off in the morning sun, sheets pooled around their legs, and morning breath in the space between their lips—Minho needed time. His body had learned what sex meant, and like a dance student who had picked up bad habits, he needed to teach it to forget.
It came slowly at first, with soft and gentle kisses and time for Minho’s heart to relax into a normal rhythm. Stop and go and Jisung’s never-ending patience, though that too needed to be learned. Now, Jisung took his hand and led him step by step from the kitchen back to the bedroom, making sure Starfish was locked out in the hall. Jisung offered him another kiss, another smile, in a breadcrumb trail leading to their bed.
Jisung asked for every piece of Minho he was offered but made it sound like he yearned for it—worshiped Minho’s every hair and blemish. “Ah, Minho,” Jisung gasped. “Let me take off your shirt. Please. Please, let me touch your chest. Let me see… let me feel…”
It was easy to say yes, not because he felt like he needed to, but because he wanted to. He had a choice, Jisung made that clear. When he was overwhelmed, or worse when he had dipped into a headspace that he felt like he had to please, Jisung stopped him. Jisung stopped, not Minho. When he didn’t feel like he trusted himself to say no, Jisung did it for him.
But when he said yes? When he wanted it?
God, Jisung knew how to make him come apart.
Jisung pulled off his own shirt after he helped Minho out of his, climbing backward into bed and coaxing Minho to follow. His skin was smooth over the slim muscles of his shoulders, tensing as he held himself up by his elbows. He was beautiful like a dream he’d never allowed himself to have.
“What’s wrong?” Jisung said, looking up at where Minho hesitated at the edge of the bed.
“Nothing,” Minho breathed.
“Come on, then,” Jisung said, “you’re still wearing too much.”
Minho took off his sweatpants, leaving them forgotten on the floor, before climbing into bed next to Jisung. He loved that he could see Jisung completely in this light. He could see the slight shiver of the skin on his biceps as Minho snaked his hand up Jisung’s stomach and the way his throat bobbed as he watched Minho nip at his jaw. Sweat started to make his collarbone shine and Jisung licked his lips when Minho grabbed Jisung’s waist and handled him down so he could hover over him.
Sex had always been dark rooms and secrets—a mind half-present, trying to hide from the truth. In the morning light, being with Jisung was the opposite. It was clarity, shining and clear like stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of color into his world.
When Minho sunk his hips down on top of Jisung’s, pleasure was the only thing he felt. He’d dispelled the shame and the anxiety and decided to luxuriate in this, the present. Jisung’s hand on his back, pulling him closer. Jisung’s leg wrapped around him. Jisung’s lips whispering words that got lost in the small space between them. It was pleasure, not because of the hands or the legs or the lips, but because of who they belonged to. Being with Jisung was trust, not control or fear.
He had no idea why anyone would want anything else.
“Let me taste you,” Jisung said, a growl at the edge of his voice.
Minho sunk his head back into the pillow. “Yes,” he said. “God, yes.”
Jisung flipped them over and Minho felt like he was made of warm embers bursting back into flame, the way every one of Jisung’s touches burned. He strained toward him, wanting more. Needing more. Jisung complied, reacting to Minho’s desperate whines with more attention. The hand on Minho’s chest pressed down with more pressure, the kisses down his collar, his stomach, the line of his boxers, more intense.
Minho couldn’t help the sound he made when Jisung finally took off both their underwear and there was nothing left between them. He was beautiful. He was here, and—
Oh—
This was worship, not pain. This was bliss, not the reason to need to escape. Everyone one of Jisung’s kisses was a reminder that he was human—flesh, blood, and full of hope. And Jisung knew this, knew it better than even Minho, when he touched his cheek and gasped in his ear and brought them closer. He cut off the tethers that tied Minho to his fears and set him free. Set them both free.
After, they lay together in the aftermath, skin drying, and breath returning to them.
There were always things Minho didn’t want to talk about but eventually found their way out in the open in moments like this. Jisung dislodged them from where they clung, sticky, to the inside of his chest. Minho suddenly felt dizzy, like he was looking over the edge of something high. Minho stretched his arm out, trying to find purchase—the edge of the bed or the blanket—but found Jisung’s hand instead. Jisung wrapped his pinky around Minho’s.
“I’m scared,” Minho said.
Jisung turned, squinting against the light now in his eyes. “To go back?”
“Seoul is…” Minho said and frowned. “Seoul feels like something I left behind. It doesn’t feel like a real place anymore.”
“Are you scared of the city?” Jisung asked. “Or, are you scared of what happened there?”
“I’m scared that I’ll forget,” Minho said. No, that wasn’t quite right, but he didn’t know how to articulate what he really meant. He’ll forget who he is? What he’d accomplished since he left? He’d forget the new habits he’d burned into his bones?
Jisung squeezed his hand. “I’ll remind you,” he said.
So simple. Was it that simple?
Jisung lifted himself up to his elbows. “You don’t have to go, you know,” he said. “If you really don’t want to. I’m sure Jeongin will understand—”
“No, I want to,” Minho said. For Jeongin’s graduation and to prove to himself he could. “I can’t let the cheer I made up just for him go to waste.”
“Obnoxious,” Jisung said. “I should have known your priorities.”
“Innie will love it.”
“Unfortunately, he may.” Jisung reached over to the foot of the bed where his shirt was hanging off the bedpost. He pulled it on before gathering Minho’s clothes and passing them over. “Seoul is just a place you used to live. You’re visiting, which means you’ll leave at the end. You can stay as long as you want: a week, or three days, or an hour. Innie really won’t mind. It’ll give him another excuse to visit us again.”
“And then we’ll come back here,” Minho said.
“We’ll come back here,” Jisung said. He kissed Minho on the cheek. “Now, I really need coffee before Hyunjin and Felix arrive.”
Jisung
“Yah, Changbin-hyung, open the door!”
Jisung knocked again, adjusting his duffel bag to the other arm.
“You should have let me carry it,” Minho said.
“It’s fine!”
“It’s cutting off your circulation.”
“I told you I would—”
A rattle of the door handle and finally, Changbin opened the front door.
“Finally,” Jisung said. He handed Changbin his bag and strode into the apartment. “What took you so long?”
“What, no hug for your hyung after all this time?” Changbin said.
“I speak to you on the phone every day,” Jisung said. “I see your face too much, I’d say.”
Changbin still took the bag and carried it in after them. “Pfft, no sense of affection.”
“I can give you affection,” Minho said with an exaggerated pucker of his lips. “Come here.”
“Nope,” Changbin said. “I’m not going where Jisung’s been. Do you want something to drink? You must have come straight from the train station.”
Jisung sank into the couch, tired from the early morning travel. “Coke?”
“Sure. Minho?”
“Same, thanks.”
Jisung looked around as Changbin rattled around his kitchen. It was only the third time he’d seen this apartment that Changbin shared with Chan. They moved in together pretty soon after Jisung left and he thought they worked well as roommates. They shared a three-bedroom, the last room used as a makeshift studio for them to record. In the year since they moved, they made the place feel like theirs, though it was still sparsely decorated. A large TV was mounted on the wall across from the couch and some free weights were piled in the corner.
The only things on the walls were some framed album covers by the windows—the albums on which the songs they wrote together appeared. Jisung had more time to spend writing with the two of them than he ever had when he lived in the same city. So far, they had B-sides on pretty well-known groups’ albums as well as one more that was set to come out in a few months. The entertainment company said there would be a music video for that one.
It was success, or the start of it at least. Jisung liked seeing them up there on the wall.
Changbin handed Jisung his drink and sat in the chair across from him as Chan emerged from his room to greet them. Jisung had been back to the city a few times to work on music and go to meetings. Once, but only once, he went to see his family. Mostly, he wanted to check in on his mother and make sure she was okay. She had done what he should have expected her to do: turned the blame on Jisung. It was his family against Jisung because he was the one who betrayed them. Fine. It was easier to turn away from them all than become stuck in half-apologies.
So, Seoul was still familiar to Jisung, but Minho hadn’t returned since the last of the trials.
“You’re here!” Chan said, sweeping Jisung and then a less-than-willing Minho into hugs. “Sorry, I was just getting off a call.”
“No problem,” Jisung said. “For a gig?”
“Something for us, actually. Potentially,” Chan said. He smirked. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“The suspense,” Minho said, wiggling his eyebrows. Jisung gave him a playful smack on the shoulder.
“So remind us again why you’re back?” Changbin said. “Other than getting to witness my beautiful face.”
“It’s their friend’s graduation,” Chan said. “They told us, like, ten times.”
Jeongin had finally completed his university degree and he’d invited Jisung and Minho to the ceremony. Even after they moved, they’d kept in touch. At first, it was just a happy phone call. A, guess what, and an, I told you so, in return. But they kept chatting and a couple of months ago Jeongin visited them for a week and it felt like nothing about that convenience store was just a coincidence in the end. Fate or what, Jeongin was their friend, and now, they were celebrating.
Though parts of their friend groups were slowly piecing together, the only one in their circle who also knew Jeongin was Seungmin. That had been another happy coincidence. After Seungmin left the bank, he was hired at a new tech company that was just getting on its feet. They needed someone to run their financial office, which was usually a position far beyond the years of experience Seungmin had, but as he put it, “being a whistleblower for a high-profile bank actually looks good on your CV.” When Jeongin started to dip his toes into looking for a job after graduation, he’d found the same company and reached out for a programming job. Jisung got the two in touch and found they clicked. Jeongin got the job and Seungmin got a new work friend.
“Right,” Changbin said. “Maybe you can introduce us. You’re taking away our other friends after all.”
“You wouldn’t have even known Felix or Hyunjin if not for us,” Minho said.
“Fine,” Changbin said. “But what I said still stands.”
“What I think Changbin means is that it’s very exciting that you’re expanding your studio,” Chan said.
“I absolutely didn’t mean that,” Changbin said. “Hyunjin promised he’d go shopping with me and—”
“So,” Chan said, giving Changbin a sideways stare. “Felix told me you have enough interest to add more classes.”
One month ago, Hyunjin and Felix had left Tiger Arts to join Minho and Jisung’s studio. Minho didn’t ask them. Jisung thought he didn’t want to mislead his friends into joining an infant endeavor that may fail. So, it was Jisung who brought it up. “No, fuck Tiger Arts,” was what Hyunjin said when he asked. “They won’t let me choose my classes and they fired a choreographer last month for asking for a raise. Felix and I are already on the way out.”
They arrived in Sokcho a few weeks later.
“Yeah,” Minho said to Chan. “Though more like I feel a little over my head. I specialized in hip hop for most of my career, but I’ve been on my own out there, teaching everything from beginner movement for toddlers to competition-level jazz.”
“We couldn’t exactly say no, early on,” Jisung said. He looked over at Minho, his heart swelling with pride for what he’d been able to do this past year. “But Minho’s underselling it. He’s so good that the students keep bringing in more of their friends, he can’t do it alone anymore. I’m just glad that Hyunjin and Felix wanted to move to us.”
“Hyunjin wanted to do contemporary and ballet, which he’s had more training in,” Minho explained. “And Felix likes working with the younger kids, so it really turned out well. Though I feel bad they’re taking a pay cut.”
“They’re excited,” Chan said. “I don’t think they care.”
“The ocean is waiting,” Minho said. He opened his arms wide, inviting. “You’re always welcome to join.”
“The entertainment companies are all in the city,” Chan said.
“Give yourself more vacations,” Jisung countered.
“Oh, that sounds nice!” Changbin said.
Chan gave him a look that was a mix of fondness and all-consuming fatigue.
The four of them chatted over drinks and snacks, Minho having to steer the conversation away from the intricacies of producing when they ventured too far into work territory. It felt good to be back here, an arm’s length from a laughing Chan and overexcited Changbin. For a moment, he considered what it would be like to be this close all the time, and the ways his music would change and grow if they could make it in person, together. But the idea slipped back out of his mind like water from a broken cup, because that wasn’t what he wanted. His music he could take anywhere. His life, though, wasn’t in Seoul.
Minho took his hand gently and casually during the conversation, a reminder. An anchor. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Wasn’t he supposed to be the strong one here? Whatever the case, Jisung’s mind could wander and he could float happily in the conversation with his friends because he could always find his way back home.
After Jeongin’s graduation ceremony, Jisung and Minho decided to walk from campus. They didn’t have a destination—Jeongin was with his family today anyway and they’d have time tomorrow to see him—so they wandered from street to street, going whichever way felt right.
Jisung found that even after only a little time living outside of Seoul, the city felt too big for him. The buildings were too tall and endless and he felt like he’d get lost in the alleys beyond every turn. It wasn’t scary, these old streets, only they just didn’t fit him. They felt familiar, but stretched out, like old clothes worn until threadbare and ripping.
Maybe Minho felt the same way. He didn’t say much on the walk, only kept his hands in his pockets and once in a while pointed out a funny sign or an interesting patch of weeds poking out from the cracks in the pavement.
He loved this version of Minho, full of quiet curiosity. He found joy in small moments, lifted them up to the light, and showed them to Jisung. See? The world isn’t always so big and scary. It’s filled with wonders waiting to be discovered. It was this aspect of Minho—one of the many that shined in different lights, like a prism catching the sun at the right angle—that grew in the last few months. The part of him that could only thrive when he felt like he didn’t always have to fight. Instead of worrying about each new part of Minho he met, Jisung now thrilled at it. How wonderful! How beautiful to see a flower bloom and be surprised at its colors. How happy he was to see his love smile.
After about an hour, the sky started to darken and Jisung could feel the humidity rise. First a couple of drops, enough for Jisung to stick out his hand and make sure he wasn’t just feeling things, before the downpour began. The sky opened and suddenly, the two of them were soaked.
“Run!” Minho said, grabbing Jisung’s wrist and pulling him down the street and around the corner. Jisung wasn’t sure where they were running to, because he’d never been to this area of the city before. A subway stop, maybe, or a cafe if they could find one. But as they rounded the block, a bright entryway opened up in front of them and Minho dragged Jisung through behind them.
They emerged into the dry convenience store soaked and laughing, shaking water from their hair and peering back behind them at the downpour.
“I didn’t know it was going to rain,” Jisung said, breathless.
“It’s not like you ever actually check the weather,” Minho said.
“But I have a feeling, usually,” Jisung said. He waved his arms vaguely toward the sky. “It didn’t feel like a rain day today.”
“Well, your rain sensors are off,” Minho said with a tap to his temple. “I’m hungry, let’s get a snack.”
They made their way through the aisles, picking out their favorite crackers and cookies until Jisung had both his arms full. Minho paid and Jisung found a corner table to watch the rain fall.
Did it feel like it had before? Sitting side by side with Minho under the fluorescent lights, watching the rain wash the dust down the empty street? Yes and no. Those days felt like so long ago, dinners full of secrets and discovery. It was an excavation, carefully sweeping away the dirt from what lay underneath. Now, they didn’t need the artifice of anonymity. They passed a bottle of green tea between them and it didn’t feel like a game for which Jisung needed to guess the rules. It felt natural when Minho would feed him another cookie, check his phone, and then stare out the window while chewing on his thumb.
“Do you miss it?” Jisung asked. He stared at Minho’s profile.
“Dragging my tired ass to the store to buy a dry instant dinner just to talk to a cute boy?” Minho said. “I can still do that whenever I want.”
“You know what I mean,” Jisung said. He smiled though. Cute boy.
“Our old dinner dates? Maybe. Seoul? No,” he said. “I missed our friends, but we see so much of Felix and Hyunjin now. We could visit here more, though.”
“You don’t miss Seoul at all?”
Minho finally looked back at Jisung. “I like who I am now much better than anyone I was here,” he said.
“I liked who you were here,” Jisung said.
“I couldn’t stand myself,” Minho said. He shrugged. “But it got me to where I am now. So maybe that Minho wasn’t too bad.”
Jisung kicked his feet.
“Did you ever dream of something like what we have now?” Jisung asked. “When you were here.”
“My dreams were never anything so big,” he said. But then, a sly smile started crawling across his lips. “There’s one thing I always wanted to do, though.”
“What?” Jisung said.
Minho leaned forward, bringing his fingers to Jisung’s cheek. He wiped some crumbs from the corner of Jisung’s mouth before leaning forward and kissing him, slow and deep.
“That,” Minho said.
“You’ve done that before,” Jisung said, though he could feel the burn in his cheeks.
“Hmm, not like this,” he said, looking around the store.
“This is some sort of voyeuristic fantasy for you, isn’t it,” Jisung said. “The start of some porn—”
He was cut off by another kiss and a hand around his arm. “Look, the rain let up,” Minho said. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”
And so they threw away their wrappers and empty bottle before walking back into the street. The city smelled wet and new, spring flowers finding paths up through the sidewalks to meet the sun, and trees folding open their leaves. Jisung and Minho left that convenience store behind, not theirs, but one of many. The same and different, familiar and strange, every confusing paradox at once. It was their place, and it would forget them as soon as they left. But it had made them, tangled them in the same story until they could not be torn apart. So here they were, still, hand in hand, walking into the waiting world.