Chapter Text
Jisung had spent a little over 6 years observing Minho.
He knew what the older boy liked to eat, how his skin looked when he slept badly, where his eyebrows would come to rest on his face if Jisung said something he was trying not to laugh at. Jisung supposes he could guess, with great certainty, where the sweat would land if it dripped off the tip of his nose at practice.
It was a type of closeness and comfortability you receive in waves; like little presents throughout a long friendship. Years in and Jisung would still find himself noticing something new every now and then.
A gift, Jisung thought. To still be noticing.
This was not a gift. This deep-seated, unrelenting, love that Jisung carried with him everyday. The love that clouded his better judgement; that which made him a clumsy dancer, an unreliable friend, a mope.
This love that made him so sad, and got him out of bed every morning.
It was July.
Jisung didn’t remember it raining this much last year. Not that he minded the rain, if anything he loved the swell of the river and the way the street lights reflected off of the puddles in the road. And it was green, so green that it tinted the bare white walls of his room when he left his blinds open. He left them open often.
The dorms were a flurry of activity. Amid all this movement and unrest, Changbin lingered in Jisung’s doorway. The story he was telling wasn’t particularly interesting to Jisung; he was busy holding up two bottles of spray deodorant, both opened and half used.
He hated this brand, it made his underarms burn and itch unpleasantly and it smelled like licorice.
“Why did I buy two of these?” Jisung mumbled, unable to stop himself from leaning in for one last whiff before tossing both into the trashcan.
“How are you not further along with this?” Minho brushed past Changbin into the green tinted room, eyes scanning over a mess of boxes, half-used spray deodorant cans, and carefully stacked journals.
Jisung found himself following Minho’s gaze. It made him uneasy, seeing the walls of his room so bare. It made the space seem small and unfamiliar in a way that messed with his senses, made him feel like a stranger in the dorm he’d lived in for the last few years.
“I’ve never seen a person move slower,” Changbin offered from his place in the doorway. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Jisung is putting off moving in with you.”
It was a joke, one that he laughed off until Minho tilted his head accusatorily at him.
“Oh yeah, listen to him.” Jisung huffed, “He’s been standing there distracting me for an hour and he hasn’t even started packing yet.”
“The kid never listens.” Changbin tsked, pushing off the door frame and out of Jisung’s sight.
“They won’t move into their place until after the first leg of the tour.” Minho explained, picking up on Jisung's confusion. “Hyunjin has that sponsored shoot and won’t have time to move before we leave. Guess they’re both just waiting.”
A moment passed. Jisung returned to packing. Minho watched him. They chatted about this and that, about nothing at all.
The toiletry bag in front of him didn’t matter. He had found it shoved into the back of the cabinet under the bathroom sink. He hadn’t seen the contents in at least a year. He scanned from product to product, trying to remember why he hadn’t just thrown it away then instead of shoving it to the back of the cabinet to deal with later. A long silence passed between them.
“Why don’t you want to live with me?”
__________________
When the group had renegotiated contracts earlier in the month, they had been sure to secure new living arrangements as part of the deal.
It wasn’t that they were unhappy with their current living situation, but they all agreed that maybe they had outgrown the four members to a dorm arrangement. In fact, they had outgrown the dorms all together.
Jisung had missed living with Minho since they moved out of their first dorm. Of course they still spent time together, but Jisung often found himself longing for the late nights they had shared in the living room all those years ago. It was then that he first started observing Minho. When he began to figure out which nights Minho would be most likely to stay up late and then strategically place himself in the living room, trying his best to look indifferent as he waited for Minho’s head to poke out of the crammed bedroom door.
On the nights he guessed wrong, he would sit alone on that uncomfortable leather couch. He never put anything on the tv, never listened to music, never wanted to miss the sound of a door hinge or a floor board. He would only give up once the sun began to shine in through the sliding glass door.
“You look tired,” Minho would always say to him the next morning.
When the eldest members approached the rest of the team and asked if moving was something they’d be interested in, Jisung was the first on board. When Minho asked Jisung if he wanted to live together, Jisung couldn’t say yes fast enough. He thought about the meals they would share, the late nights on the couch, the freedom they would have in that two bedroom apartment.
He had never felt so excited to leave a place he loved so much. In truth, he had begun packing weeks ago. He had carefully sorted and stacked his journals, his favorite books, his lucky knickknacks. He had let his mind wander before bed; picturing what decor they’d hang on the living room walls, how’d they split fridge space, what scent Minho would pick for their bathroom soap dispenser.
And now the day to move had crept up on him. His room was full of half full boxes. His bed was covered in the clothes that once filled his small closet. Minho’s expectant eyes were locked onto him.
And he was terrified to leave.
“What?” Jisung laughed a little, a hurried attempt to mask his surprise at Minho’s sudden confrontation. “Why wouldn’t I want to move?”
“I think you want to move,” Minho countered. He let his eyes wander around the room. Jisung was grateful for the reprieve. “Or maybe you don’t, I don’t know. I thought you did when we first talked about it. Now I’m not sure.”
Minho had always been able to read him like this. For the most part it was convenient. It was nice to have someone able to predict his wants and needs. But right now, it just felt frustrating.
Minho knew that something was wrong, that Jisung felt some hesitation about moving. He likely thought he knew why too, or at least some inkling of why. In truth, Jisung himself barely understood why.
This used to scare him. This idea that Minho could understand him better than he understood himself. He was afraid one day they would look at each other too closely and Minho would see the way he really felt. He couldn’t help this intense fear that his eyes would give it away, his posture, his eagerness, his smile.
He hadn’t felt that fear in years. The one that kept him from being so close to Minho, so open. In the days leading up to the move, he felt it come roaring back all too easily. And the guilt. The guilt of allowing himself to play house knowing Minho did not share his affections. The guilt of hiding this love under his nose for nearly a decade.
Minho wouldn’t get it, couldn’t get it. This fear and guilt that muddied even his best intentions, his favorite moments. How could he tell his best friend that he was wrong, that he didn’t understand and that he could never really know, because Jisung would never let him know. What could he do but grit his teeth and fall back on some safe half-truth.
“I’m a little anxious maybe,” An understatement, as good as a lie in how drastically it underrepresented the truth. “But I want to live with you hyung. I promise.”
Minho did not believe him, Jisung knew at least that much. But he didn’t push. Likely sensing that Jisung didn’t want him too. Or maybe he just knew he wouldn’t get anywhere even if he tried.
“Okay Jisung.”
______________
The move itself was a blur.
Jisung watched through dazed eyes as the movers drug his things through the elevator, a truck, another elevator, and a few hallways before dropping it in the middle of his new room.
He didn’t have much big furniture, and what he did have wasn't enough to take up half the space in the room.
A few thank yous were exchanged and Jisung was alone.
The emptiness was unbearable.
He was a stranger here. The windows here were too far above the trees for them to have any influence over the blank walls. White, overwhelming white.
And empty.
His face got hot, his heart sank into his stomach.
The panic that had built over the last few days finally consumed him.
He felt like a fool for thinking this could work, for believing that he could do this.
Jisung didn’t dare speak, didn’t think to. If he had he was sure the words would tumble around the empty space, every echo a reminder of how much had changed from this morning to now.
“What do you think?”
No echo.
He turned to the boy in the doorway. Minho looked nervous, expectant. Maybe a bit excited. But mostly he looked like Minho. The same Minho he had waited for every night on that uncomfortable couch. He hadn’t changed in the 5km car ride from their old dorm to here.
For the first time in a month Jisung exhaled.
Before he could answer, Minho closed the short distance between them. He pressed the back of his hand against the younger boy's face, his curiosity piqued by the flush on his cheeks. Jisung knew it only worsen as Minho's skin brushed his own.
He pulled back out of Minho’s reach, leaving his hand resting on the air where Jisung’s cheek had been a moment prior.
Jisung cleared his throat. Turned his attention back to the state of his room before Minho could react or say anything to worsen his embarrassment.
“I like it.” Jisung could see Minho shift in the corner of his eye. He didn’t look; just hurried his speech, which was already rushed and unnatural. “I think I’ll like it more when I put all my things in their little homes.”
“Is there anything you want to talk about, Jisung?” His tone was light, almost teasing, but his eyes betrayed his worry.
“No.”
“It feels like you want to talk about something”
“I don’t.”
“It feels like you’re right on the edge of telling me.”
“I’m not.”
“God, it’s overwhelming how badly you’re dying to say it.”
“You’re unbearable.”
“It’s pure desperation, honestly.”
Jisung laughed, exasperated.
“I win,” Minho giggled to himself, and Jisung realized it was the first time he had smiled since he had begun packing this morning.
Sincere fondness ripped through him. He caved. He always did.
“Go away, I have to unpack.” Of course, Jisung didn’t mean it. It was one of those things people say to test a situation. A way to say ‘I hope you’re here because you want to be here - not because you feel like you have to.’ Without saying much at all.
Minho groaned.
“Can we do the fun stuff first?” He threw his head back, his hands in his pockets like a petulant child.
“What fun stuff?” He knew he should stay and unpack. He knew what it would feel like to leave and come back to this mess when it was darker out, when he was tired and missing the familiarity of the old dorm. No matter how rational he knew that thought to be, he couldn’t stop himself from jumping at the first opportunity to delay unpacking.
“I don’t know,” Minho kicked his foot out at a nearby box, turning it until he could read the word bathroom scribbled on the side in permanent marker. “Let’s go pick out hand soap or something.”