Work Text:
"He told you not to wait up.”
Minho looked up from where he was idly tapping away at his phone on the couch to spot Seungmin in the hallway, glasses on and hair fluffy. Minho hadn’t even heard the hair dryer switch off. It was background noise, like Yongbok yelling at his video games.
“I know,” he replied after a beat, dropping his eyes back to his phone to deliberately ignore Seungmin’s eye roll. “I’m not waiting. I’m just not tired yet, and I’m practising good sleep hygiene by not being awake in my bed.”
“Good sleep hygiene includes not using your phone for at least an hour before bed, hyung.”
“Ah, Seungminnie! There’s hope for you to quit and become a doctor yet,” Minho sang sweetly, and Seungmin scoffed a laugh. “Go to bed, nerd.”
“Hypocrite.” It was blunt, but nothing more. Exasperated, maybe. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he echoed, and Seungmin slid away, satisfied. As his ritual demanded, Seungmin stuck his head into Yongbok’s room to say goodnight, getting a muffled scream in response. Seungmin offered a very sarcastic fighting! that made Minho snort before closing the door behind him. He gave Minho one last glance before disappearing into his own room, turning in for the night at a perfectly respectful time, just like Minho should. Jeongin’s door, left open, taunted Minho from the end of the hall.
Jeongin had been dutifully updating the team-wide chat with selcas and anecdotes of his evening, featuring plenty of devastating full body shots of his long legs and wide shoulders in his suit that Minho had guiltily saved before immediately deleting. He was having fun, and Minho was pleased for him. He looked genuinely happy in every photo, surrounded by his friends, flushed and smiling, dimples popped and eyes crinkled. He made for a beautiful groomsman. Minho felt bad for everyone else in the wedding photos.
One of Jeongin’s childhood friends, Doyoung, had very luckily decided to host his wedding ceremony in Seoul, where his now wife hailed from. It meant Jeongin was able to attend when it otherwise would have difficult to fit around schedules, and even got to participate in his first bachelor’s party. He hadn’t seen his core group of friends in so long, and had been looking forward to it for months since he first received the invitation. It was the bubbly kind of anticipation that had his head buried in the Busan boys group chat more often than not, grin so wide it could split his cheeks, prominent dimples constantly on display like a buffet. Minho honestly thought Jeongin was more excited for the wedding than the bride and groom were. Jeongin took Hyunjin and Jisung with him to shop for his own suit with only the colour scheme of the bridal party to abide by, unable to join the rest of the groomsmen for the shopping, and the three of them applied a kind of seriousness to it most likely rivalled only by the purchasing of the actual wedding dress. It was cute.
It was, in all honesty, an incredibly weird thing for Minho to think about. The fact that Jeongin was of the age now that his peers were marrying, having children- settling into long term careers. Some had already finished their service.
It shouldn’t be that alien of a concept, considering his own parents married younger than Jeongin was now when they discovered Minho was on the way, but it might have something to do with the fact Minho had known Jeongin since he was a brace-faced baby, stringy and clumsy, always eager but not quite sure of himself. He’d helped him find his uniform jacket in rushed mornings when Jeongin was too busy dragging Hyunjin out of bed to get ready himself. Minho had even faked a permission slip for him once to get him out of something or rather- all it had taken was Jeongin’s starry eyes and a please, hyungie? He was far more confident, now. On the way to being fully realised, assured, a menace and a joy at once.
Jeongin was turning twenty-three in little under five months. Minho himself was staring down the barrel of twenty-five, only a week away. Time was passing, and the awareness of it still made Minho a little sick to the stomach.
Minho let himself get lost in his webcomics, holding his weariness at bay by texting nocturnal Jisung about his latest anime. The messages from Jeongin had dwindled but increased in incoherency as the hours passed, and Minho was half-expecting a whiny text asking for him to be picked up, but it never came. Minho didn’t call. He held himself back from even texting. But he did continue to wait.
Yongbok had fallen silent about an hour ago, and it was nearing three am when the electronic keypad sang it’s gentle tune, signalling the much louder arrival of Jeongin as he stumbled through the doorway like a bull in a china shop. There was definitely an effort to close the door quieter than he opened it, shoulders hunching as he locked it carefully. Then he dropped his phone with a loud clatter and a whispered fucking shit, and it took Minho great effort not to laugh out loud.
He doesn’t notice Minho on the couch, and Minho is treated to the sight of him frowning as he tried to force his keys and phone back into the pocket of his trousers. When Jeongin left, his hair was pushed back handsomely- it had been more than twelve hours since, and he had let it fall back over his brow the way Minho liked it most. There was still a delicate shine to his high cheekbones, but his eyeliner was smudged- he looked rugged in a way, illuminated only by the pale moonlight, unaware of his company. Unfiltered. Grown up. There was an ache in Minho’s sternum.
Jeongin’s tie was loose around his neck, the top button of his shirt undone to reveal the elegant chain necklace hanging between his collarbones. His rings have stayed on but his poor suit jacket had been hastily folded up under his arm, because he tended to overheat when he was drunk. There was a muffled curse as Jeongin tipped forward, slamming his palm against the wall for support as he fruitlessly attempted to toe off his pointy dress shoes.
“Had a bit too much to drink?” Minho asked, amused, and Jeongin’s head whipped up, letting loose a louder curse in fright. He squinted into the dark, eyes visibly bloodshot in the moonlight that fell over their doorway. Minho waved cutely and got a glare in response.
“Why are you sitting in the dark like a freak,” Jeongin mumbled eventually, looking back down as he tried to refocus on his shoes. His bangs dropped into his eyes, and as he clumsily tried to flip them out of the way he almost sent himself careening into the wall when his unwilling body followed his head.
Minho laughed this time, pulling himself up from the couch and padding to join him in the cramped entry. “You’re going to knock yourself out like that.”
“Can do it m’self,” Jeongin sniffed, even as he automatically slouched with his back to the wall, clearing space for Minho to crouch in front of him. Minho set about untying his laces, tugging them loose to the last loop so it was easier to guide Jeongin’s huge, unwieldy feet out of the leather without knocking him unsteady, his one-legged balancing act already being a precarious risk on a good day. When his socked feet were back on solid ground Minho looked up to find Jeongin already looking back, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. His usual flush was ever present and even richer with alcohol in his system. Shades darker than the pink of his tongue when it darted out to lick over his bottom lip. Minho averted his gaze.
“All done,” he said instead to fill the silence, patting Jeongin’s calf. The material of his dress pants was soft and expensive, and he let himself stroke it idly. The muscle twitched under his caress and so Minho withdrew his hand, wrapping his arms around his thighs, hands hidden in the bend of his knees. Safe. “Did you eat?”
Jeongin cleared his throat, sliding down the wall a little further like his joints weren’t cooperating. “Fucking. Like. Hours ago, at the reception dinner,” he groused, and Minho’s lip quirked as he slowly descended until he was on his haunches in front of him, surely uncomfortably with his long limbs folded up, their knees knocking together. He didn’t look like he particularly cared, head lolling onto his shoulder as he continued to stare at Minho’s face, eyes roving over his features as if he didn’t complain about having to look at it every single day. Minho could feel his ears starting to heat, but that was impossible to hide. He’s drunk. “The portions were tiny because Minhee-noona’s parents didn’t pay for catering as well. I wanted to get a burger on the way home but Hansol-yah ditched me because his girlfriend kept texting him. Most of the buses stopped running.”
“Evil Hansol,” Minho replied indulgently, unable to help himself, and Jeongin puffed his cheeks out. “Are you still hanging out with everyone else tomorrow before they head back?”
“That’s the plan.” Jeongin sighed, lifting his arms above his head and linking his fingers. He groaned under his breath when his shoulders and elbows cracked. His arms dropped with a thump over his knees, and this time his head tipped forward, pout pronounced as he plaintively said, “Feed me, hyung?”
“Are you going to complain about being puffy?” Minho retorted, even as satisfaction curled in his chest. He loved it when they asked for food.
Jeongin grimaced. “I stopped caring about being puffy when Hyunwoo bought shots.” He paused before quietly adding, “I had so many shots, hyung.”
Minho rolled his eyes, grunting as he stood back up before hauling Jeongin up after him. Jeongin smiled widely down at him, happy to get his way. As if Minho had ever given him anything else. “I’ll see what we can whip up.”
Jeongin let himself be led into the living room, expression smug as Minho nudged him to collapse onto the couch, continuing the rest of the way into the kitchen solo. His first stop was the dedicated packet ramyeon shelf in their cupboard, always stocked well by Yongbok and Jeongin. “We have some of your gross jin jjambbong, how’s that sound?” He heard a happy chirp- must be a yes. Jeongin was the only one in the dorm who actually ate the seafood ramyeon- something about having so much seafood as a child. Minho would have thought that would leave him far pickier for quality in adulthood, yet Jeongin insisted he loved it. Minho himself couldn’t stand it. Seungmin would eat it piss off Jeongin. Yongbok said it had never tasted the same after his first experience with real jjambbong in Jeju. Despite it all, Minho still found himself grabbing a few packets if they happened to be on sale in his forays to the supermarket- it’s not like they were going to waste. It didn’t have anything to do with the private glee he’d get from Jeongin’s eyes lighting up when he opened the cupboard to find it on the nights he was particularly homesick.
Jeongin hummed a melody from their next comeback to himself as Minho filled a pot with water, setting it on the stovetop and cracking the packet open in advance, checking the liquid sauce sachet and dehydrated flakes were inside. After a while Jeongin fell quiet, and when Minho looked over his shoulder he was seemingly zoned out. This was the usual Jeongin after drinking- sleepy, ruffled with it. He had a habit of blurting every thought that came across his mind whilst he was drunk, and it had made for some very entertaining nights. He was usually guarded, but without his inhibitions he was carefree to a degree he didn’t normally let himself be. There existed a very incriminating video on someone’s phone of Jeongin declaring his love for Seungmin in no less than 300 words, his hyung pink-faced and giggling, and Minho had half a mind to pull his own phone out in case he’s privy to anything embarrassing in the next thirty minutes.
He didn’t. It was nice, to have Jeongin to himself. Alone together in a quiet bubble where Jeongin let Minho take care of him and Minho allowed himself to greedily savour every second to feast on in the moments he wasn’t free to. Only so much of his desire to care for him could be disguised otherwise, and under the cover of night it’s easy. Not easy enough that Minho would forget himself.
“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked when Jeongin’s head nodded forward, almost asleep. Jeongin shifted, blinking slowly back from wherever in his head he’d disappeared to. “Was it fun?”
“Lots of fun,” Jeongin replied distantly. Minho retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge, venturing back into the living room to push it into Jeongin’s limp hands. On second thought he took it back, unscrewing the cap, returning it to Jeongin’s frozen hands. Jeongin doesn’t look up at him, instead directing his gaze right at the floor beneath Minho’s feet.
“Drink that. Tell me about it,” Minho instructed, retreating to the safety of the kitchen. Only once he’s positioned back at the stove does Jeongin jolt, lifting the bottle to his lips to obediently drain half of it in one gulp. Minho does not watch his Adam’s apple bob. The water hasn’t boiled yet.
“I cried,” Jeongin said eventually. He wiped the back of his palm over his mouth, momentarily distracted staring at the drops of water there. “Uh- during the vows. Doyoungie started bawling the minute Minhee-noona pulled out her little piece of paper, and Hansol-yah and I were laughing at him for it because where we were standing he had his back to us, right? So all we could see where his shoulders shaking.” Jeongin imitated it, his smile a little wobbly. “But then Youngchul was trying to pass me tissues behind my back and I realised I was crying too. It was so embarrassing. And it’s gonna be on the video, too, me crying like a baby. But I really was just so happy for him, and it was like I completely lost control of all my feelings at once.” He mimed an explosion with his hand, fingers splayed. “I hope they stay together forever, but also I hope that none of the other boys ever get married, because I will lose my shit.”
“A lot of people cry at weddings,” Minho said, not trying to mask amusement at his loose-lipped maknae. Jeongin gave him a wry smile.
“Ah. But not you, huh, hyung?”
“I don’t cry when I’m happy.”
Jeongin hummed, crinkling the plastic water bottle in his hands. “I know.” He looked up again, eyes sparkling from across the room. “Have you been to lots of weddings, hyung?”
“Three,” Minho replied, after some thought, “but only technically. One was my aunt’s, and one was Minseok-hyung’s. The other one would be my parent’s wedding, but I was only there technically because they were pregnant with me and just hoping no one would do that math on why I was born six months after and not nine.”
Jeongin giggled. “This was my second.”
“Wait. Really? What about your brother?”
“Nope. Hyungie eloped,” Jeongin discarded the now empty water bottle on the table. “My first ever wedding was Minseok-hyung’s. Weird, huh? A manager before my brother or any of my friends.”
“How did your parents react to your brother eloping instead of doing the big Catholic thing?” Minho asked curiously, and Jeongin laughed even as his face creased dramatically. Minho whistled between his teeth. “Fuck. That bad?”
“So bad,” he agreed, slumping against the back of the couch. “Eomma was furious.”
“I can imagine. She loves tradition.”
It’s then that something in Jeongin flickered- brief, but there. He turned his face away from the kitchen, reaching for a pillow to pull into his lap. He started to tug at the design sewn into it, and Minho frowned.
“It was really nice, y’know?” Jeongin’s voice was soft, a little scratchy. Minho had to strain to hear him over the bubbling behind him. “Seeing Doyoungie so happy. Minhee-noona really loves him. Made me feel…” he trailed off, and Minho could see him biting on his bottom lip. “I dunno.”
Minho’s heart doesn’t break, but another hairline fracture does make itself known. He ignored it. Of course Jeongin would have mixed feelings about weddings- it’s something he can’t have in this moment. Not without risking his entire career. Minho could relate to that, in a way.
“Did it make you jealous?” Minho teased lightly, trying to lighten the mood and reach the problem at once. He cocked his hip against the counter, watching Jeongin tug a little more deliberately at the pillow. Bullseye. “Dating ban is up, Innie. If you’re sneaky you can find yourself a wife.”
“Nah,” Jeongin answered dully. “I’ll never get married.”
“Why’s that?”
Jeongin sighed, a great heaving thing from his chest as he stared sullenly forward at the wall. The pillow fell out of his lap, unattended. His eyes were unfocused as he said, “Can’t. Not allowed.”
“What, is your eomma extra strict about it after your hyung? Does she have to pick you a nice Busan girl? I’m sure they’d be lining up for you, y’know.”
“No.” Jeongin sounded frustrated now. “I’m not allowed.”
“You’re too young to get yourself down like this. Stay will forgive you if ten years from now you’re married, Jeongin-ah. You don’t have to be baby bread for forever-”
“No. Hyung.” Jeongin sat up, jaw set. “I can’t. It isn’t legal.”
Minho’s mouth snapped shut, eyes going wide, and suddenly Jeongin’s gaze was challenging. Minho met it head-on on autopilot, but there was no strength to it. Only shock. Horror. He felt like a deer in the headlights in the face of Jeongin’s two-tonne confession flying around a breakneck corner, powerless to move, frozen in place and unable to do anything but watch it hit him. Jeongin is gay. They’re off the path. They can’t talk about this. Minho hadn’t prepared for this. Not in the slightest, he’d never let himself- he couldn’t do this. He wanted to take a step back, to wall himself away, but Jeongin’s eyes keep him pinned.
“Jeongin,” Minho forced out, mouth dry. He couldn’t say anything else if he tried. Jeongin. Jeongin. Jeongin.
“I’m gay.” Jeongin bulldozed on and Minho felt himself tense all over, hackles rising. “I’m gay, hyung. I can’t get married. I might never be able to.” Minho couldn’t speak, and Jeongin made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, glittering fingers clenching into his fists over his knees. “Say something, Minho.”
“Why are you telling me,” Minho asked levelly. To Jeongin’s credit he didn’t waver, even as the inherent cruelty of the words poisoned the air between them. Minho felt them lash back against his own skin, a double-edged sword already dug deep beneath his ribs where it had belonged for years, ever since he realised, ever since he accepted. Minho had been careful all this time, building himself around the wound. He never meant for Jeongin to be close enough to see it, let alone fall victim to it, but here they were. Alone together. A bomb had gone off without either of them realising, and now they could feel the sharpnel. Or maybe Jeongin had dropped it deliberately- maybe he’d had enough. Maybe he wasn’t as weak as Minho was.
“You know why I’m telling you,” Jeongin replied, face blank. Minho bleeds. “I have to tell someone, and you’re-” there it was. The tiniest break between syllables forced into evenness, breath hitching. “You care. You won’t be mad at me.”
“Of course I’m not mad,” Minho scoffed. “I just- I don’t know what you gain from telling me this.” Don’t do this to me, he meant. Begging and pleading inside his mind as Jeongin stood up, wobbly on his feet. Minho couldn’t stop his approach but he could turn his back, hands shaking as he reached for the ramyeon packet. He split it open, hastily dropping it into the pot. Jeongin was at his shoulder now, close enough for Minho to feel his breath when he exhaled, hot and heavy, skin rising in goosebumps at the sensation. He could smell the soju, and Jeongin’s usual scent underneath it.
“Hyung.” He shivered. “Hyung, I- I can’t just… it hurts. All the time.”
Minho stared down at the pot. At the ramyeon bubbling away. His knuckles were white where they had wrapped around edge of the counter.
“You’re drunk,” Minho replied, once he knew his voice wouldn’t break. He could hear and feel Jeongin’s sharp inhale at once, and combined it’s like a knife. “You’re drunk, Jeonginnie. We can’t- don’t do this.”
“I’m not making it up.” His voice was low. Broken.
“I know- I know you aren’t making it up. It’s just… fuck,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Hyung.” It was forlorn, and Minho’s fingers cramped. “Will you look at me, please, hyung?”
Minho can’t help it. He turned slowly, jaw set, but it melted away the minute Jeongin’s shiny eyes met his. He was still close, all but crowding him against the counter, and when Jeongin’s shaky hands bracketed him to lean further into his space, braced against the counter, Minho stopped breathing. If he breathed, all he’d be able to smell is Jeongin, and it was already hard enough having him be all he could see. Up close the smudge of his eyeliner blended with the bags under his eyes. There was a drop of blood on his bottom lip where he had bitten it raw. Minho’s hands quivered at his side with the urge to smudge it away, to- to do something. Anything. With one hand Jeongin switched off the stove.
"Your food."
"I don't care about the food," Jeongin said.
"You haven't eaten."
"Hyung," He snapped. His voice was brittle, and Minho fell silent. Jeongin's gaze was searching, and Minho had no idea what he'd find.
There was a pregnant pause before Jeongin spoke again. “I’m not sorry for it,” he said meekly, with the tone of someone new to the concept, still testing it out. “I can’t change it.” He looked cowed, like he was expecting to be scolded, or to have Minho explode. Like this was misbehaviour. Not like he was digging his fist directly into Minho’s chest and twisting, twisting.
Minho couldn't breathe if he tried. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
It was about the delusion of chance. Jeongin being attracted to men didn’t make him attracted to Minho. Even if he was, he couldn’t. What could they do about it? They were idols, coworkers, dormmates, friends, and Minho had already accepted that was the best he would get. Closeness from an arms length. Affection, but just a dip of the toe in the shallow end of the absolute pool of love he feels for Jeongin. Jeongin can never know the true depth of it. Minho would drown. He would drown the world and drag Jeongin down with him.
“I’m not stupid, y’know.” Minho’s head snapped up from where he was unaware he had let it dip. Jeongin’s eyes were half-lidded, gaze startlingly clear, lips pursed in a weak smile decades too old for his face. He looked worn out. Tired. Grown up. “I see the way you look at me. It’s why I knew I could tell you, even if- even if-”
No. No. No. No. “Jeongin-ah.”
“It’s the same. Same as how I look at you, but you’re better at it. Sneaky. I’m sorry I made you get used to it.”
“Jeongin.”
Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this to me.
Jeongin sighed through his teeth, head lolling to the side. His hand lifted lazily to Minho’s hip, and Minho shook under his touch as Jeongin toyed with the fabric of his shirt, so close to his skin. Minho wanted to beg. Minho wanted to cry. He does nothing. There’s nothing he can do. “I know.” There was no mistaking the clear resignation in his voice, but paired with the serene expression now on his flushed face it sounded almost abstract. “I know we can’t. It doesn’t stop me from wanting, though. I don’t think anything will. I tried, I just… I can’t get rid of it.” Jeongin probed his fingertips against his own breastbone, as if he was looking for his heartbeat. Checking, maybe, if something caged was trying to get out. How did Minho miss this? “Maybe I’m not trying hard enough.”
It was so much easier to just disregard his own feelings. But how could he knowingly hurt Jeongin? How was he supposed to continue pretending, having but not having, when he knew now that Jeongin had the same wound? He’d only ever wanted to keep him safe but he’d been hurting him, all along, he was-
“I’d still pick this.” Jeongin smoothed his palm up Minho’s waist, burning a trail towards his ribs, eyes vacant. “I don’t think you’d look at me twice if we were normal people. At least this way I get to have you close.” His lips curled into a wry smile. “It’s enough, yeah?”
“I would,” Minho breathed out, and Jeongin blinked at him, mouth dropping open. “I’d- I’d look twice. I’d like a million times. I wouldn’t ever let you out of my sight, if I had you like that.” He felt like his ribs had cracked open, a tidal wave of feelings he could barely hold back. He has to hold back, but just this- just this little bit, or else he would overflow. Just this. “You don’t- you have no idea. And that’s why we can’t, Jeongin-ah. I can’t. If I start I’m not going to be able to stop.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Nothing is fair. We don’t get fair.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Minho begged, desperate, and Jeongin’s face fell. “It will get easier. You just have to get used to it.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m really sorry, hyung.”
All of the words inside Minho were choked up in his throat. I’m used to it because I love you and this is the safest way to do it. This is better for us, I promise. I’ll always wait up for you. I’ll always make you your favourite food. I’ll always protect you. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry, Jeongin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
“I’m drunk, hyung.” Jeongin’s voice was thick. “I’m drunk and I don’t know what I’m doing, yeah?”
Minho swallowed. He pressed an arm protectively over his own stomach, trying to hold himself back even as he itched all over to hold Jeongin. He wanted to pull him into the empty cavity of his heart that he’d left clear for him all these years and hide him away. Jeongin was so close. Minho could see in detail the faint acne scars on the apple of his cheeks, the glitter stuck in his eyelashes, the smouldering look in his eyes threatening to burn Minho to ashes. Nothing new but somehow unfamiliar in this proximity, the air around them heavy.
Minho became aware of how quickly he was breathing suddenly when his eyes started to sting, his fingertips buzzing and out of control as he weakly grasped Jeongin’s dress shirt. He could feel the heat of Jeongin’s stomach, bare skin separated by thin fabric, and Minho was drowning.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jeongin murmured as their noses brushed. “It’s just because I’m drunk.”
It’s Minho who closed the gap between them, pressing their mouths together gently. A brush of lips that quickly becomes something hungrier, deeper, running on time they don’t have. Jeongin’s lips were chapped, bitter with sweat and salty from tears. His tongue was hot as he licked into Minho’s mouth like he would eat him whole if he could, and Minho shuddered to his toes when their teeth clicked, too hasty, too hungry. It’s messy and uncoordinated, the two of them desperate to take as much as they could, but when Jeongin’s large hand slipped under his shirt it’s that touch - fiery, burning, real - that has Minho jerking backwards. They separate with a gasp and Jeongin goes pliantly, pupils blown. His lips were swollen now. Minho did that. Minho can’t breathe. Minho can never do that again.
All he can taste is Jeongin, and he knew he would never be able to taste anything else. He was ruined. He was drowning.
“Innie-yah.” Jeongin trembled, eyelashes fluttering as Minho lifted a hand to parse through his hair, cupping his head gently. Holding him close as he pushed him away. Jeongin’s face scrunched up, so devastated, hurting, and Minho could only watch as he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his expression to smooth out.
“Don’t cry, hyung,” he whispered, even as he trembled. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”
Minho inhaled wetly, breath trapped in his chest as Jeongin swiped twin thumbs under his eyes, brushing the tears off his cheeks. “You- you shouldn’t be the one apologising,” he said, shoulders shaking. “I was supposed to protect you. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“It didn’t. It’s okay. It didn’t happen, yeah?” Jeongin laughed weakly. “We can just- forget about it.”
Minho laughed despite himself, letting his hand slide down to Jeongin’s nape. He squeezed once and then forced his hand away, returning to his side where it clenched into a fist. His skin buzzed where Jeongin’s silky hair had brushed against him, and he didn’t let himself step forward when Jeongin took a concentrated step backwards, the mere space of a tile between them that yawned on for miles. Minho could feel himself rapidly going numb, the severity of what had just happened descending over his head like a fog.
They both know they can’t forget, the same way they both know they have to. Anything more and Minho won’t be able to contain his greed. Anything more and denying Jeongin will kill him.
“Make me haejangguk in the morning, hyung,” Jeongin said, forcing a smile. His dimples pop.
“Of course.” Minho replied stiffly. “Anything.”
Anything. He meant it. It’s a lie all the same, and that was love.
And I, yeah, I still need you, but what goods' that gonna do?
Needing is one thing and getting, getting is another
Needing/Getting - OK GO, 'of the blue colour of the sky'