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It’s a Sunday night, no schedule ahead of them until Tuesday, and Minho closes the laptop just as the movie credits begin to slide up the screen.
“What?” Jisung asks, a bit startled by the sudden darkness. Minho’s laptop was the only source of light, and now Jisung’s eyes are trying to adjust to the lack of it. The curtains aren’t all shut, and there’s some faint golden glow coming through the window. “I thought we were going to do a marathon?”
“We watched three movies, Jisungie. That counts as a marathon,” is Minho’s reply.
His voice sounds tired.
Jisung looks for his phone between the sheets. It’s almost midnight, too early for him, too late for someone who was up before the sun the previous day. Minho tends to wake up early, go to the gym, and shower, all of that before Jisung manages to open his eyes. Jisung admires that about him. Envies him, really.
“I can go if you want to sleep. It’s late,” Jisung whispers, but silently he wishes for Minho to decline his offer. It’s cold, he doesn’t feel like walking to his own dorm and they don’t have a schedule tomorrow. It wouldn’t be the first time that they’ve slept on the same bed too, it’d be far from it.
Minho shakes his head, almost immediately.
His hair falls messily over his forehead, and Jisung’s hands ache to reach out and comb his fingers through them. He fights the urge until he realises that this is Minho, his Minho, and that makes it completely okay and normal to do so.
Jisung doesn’t say anything, he just turns a bit more to his side and lifts his arm. Minho follows the movement with his eyes wide open, but nothing in his expression says that he’s startled or opposed to it.
“Sleep here,” Minho says, in that soft and sweet voice that it’s only reserved for him. It makes Jisung’s heart beat ten times faster. ”Too cold outside.”
Jisung doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath until Minho closes his eyes when he feels Jisung’s fingers on his scalp. It’s endearing. It makes Jisung want to scream.
“You’re so like a cat, hyung,” he comments.
A tiny smile founds its way to Minho’s lips and, to someone else, it could seem that Minho liked Jisung’s comment, but Jisung knows better -he likes to think he knows Minho the best-, so he prepares himself for his hyung’s next words.
“Do you want me to scratch you, Hannie?”
Jisung chuckles.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you like me too much.”
At that, Minho opens his eyes. Jisung’s gaze flickers between Minho’s eyes, his nose, his lips, then back to his eyes. Minho doesn’t miss it.
Shit.
Since when have Jisung’s eyes adjusted so much to the dark? And why is Minho so damn beautiful even when he’s not wearing makeup and he’s just lying in bed, face puffy, hair a mess?
“No, I don’t,” Minho suddenly says.
Jisung smiles, widely.
“Yes, you do.”
“I like Innie more.”
“No, you don’t. I’m your favourite, hyung.”
It’s not a secret that Jisung is Minho’s favourite. Minho knows it, Jisung knows it, the members know it. Even the fans know, as the company has pointed out to them in some of their long and boring PR meetings. “Keep it up,” they would say to them, as if Jisung and Minho aren’t just being themselves. That’s why people love them. It makes Jisung feel so, so powerful.
To know that Minho isn’t able to hide how much he likes Jisung, nor is he able to look at him without devotion in his eyes. Eight billion people on the planet, nine million in Seoul, hundreds of people in their daily life, six other members, and Minho’s attention is all his.
It makes Jisung feel invincible.
Minho huffs and shifts to sitting on the bed. Jisung’s hand naturally falls down Minho’s hair.
“I’m going to brush my teeth,” Minho says, his tone flat. He gives Jisung a quick glance before getting on his feet. “You can pick whatever you want from the closet to change into.”
“Whatever I want? Can I grab the blue hoodie then?” Jisung asks. It’s one of Minho’s favourites, and not that long ago there was an incident in which Jisung spilt coffee on it. Minho swore to never let Jisung use his clothes ever again. Two days after, Jisung wore one of Minho’s coats during the walk back to his dorm.
“Yeah, sure,” is all that Minho says before leaving for the bathroom. He misses Jisung’s tiny victory dance.
With the door open Jisung can hear a faint melody coming out of Seungmin’s room.
It’s not hard to navigate Minho’s room in the dark, Jisung’s been there too many times not to know where everything is placed. However, he doesn’t trust himself to not make a mess of Minho’s closet if he goes through his clothes without actually seeing them, so he turns on the tiny lamp that Minho keeps by his bedside table.
The small bulb bathes the room in a warm glow, and Jisung drags himself out of Minho’s bed to stand in front of his closet.
He opens it and quickly spots the blue hoodie he asked about, neatly folded under a couple of sweatshirts. Jisung’s technique isn’t the best when it comes to grabbing his clothes with care, but he tries his best to not disorganise Minho’s closet. Just as he’s mentally congratulating himself for pulling the hoodie out successfully, something falls from between Minho’s clothes, a piece of paper that lands right between Jisung’s legs.
Jisung bends down to grab it.
When he realises what he has in his hands, Jisung’s heart skips a beat.
It’s one of their four-cuts photos, one that they haven’t shown in any v-lives or bubble. And it’s funny because they are used to sharing stuff like this, to tell the stories behind them, post it on their social media for the world to see, but the one that Jisung’s holding right now hasn’t seen the light, and it probably never will.
Of course they hadn’t talked about it. They didn’t need to, to know that they couldn’t possibly post this, because in the last photo Minho’s eyes fall entirely on Jisung’s lips.
Jisung remembers the exact moment when it happened, when between loud laughs and camera flashes they both had turned to look at each other, and Minho had slowly but surely directed his gaze from Jisung’s eyes to his lips.
At that moment, Jisung didn’t know if Minho was about to kiss him. It looked like it; it felt like it, and most importantly, Jisung had wanted it.
It would’ve felt right, at that moment, to have Minho’s lips on his.
It’s not a thought that Jisung has entertained since, because it felt bound to that specific moment, caged between the walls of an old photo booth on some back street.
The flash had startled them both, had broken the spell they found themselves under, and when the four-cut photos had fallen off the printer Minho had taken it and he had placed it inside his wallet quickly.
Neither of them has acknowledged that moment since.
Jisung hadn't feel the need to do it, not right until this moment, that is. As he holds the picture in his hand like a dirty secret, Jisung feels like he needs to scream about this, he needs to talk to someone about it just so it makes it real, like it actually happened.
“Jisung?”
Jisung jumps at Minho's voice. He didn't hear Minho coming into the room and locking the door behind him. He turns, like a deer caught in headlights, and meets Minho's eyes.
Minho is clearly about to ask what’s wrong, if something happened, because his face is full of worry, but then he notices what Jisung is holding in his hand and all of his concern turns into something else.
“Jisung,” Minho says, but nothing follows. Either Minho is too afraid, or too ashamed.
Jisung, however, feels like they've been dancing around this exact moment for far too long.
Months, maybe. Years, most likely.
Jisung drops the hoodie and takes a step forward, smiling shyly when Minho doesn't take a step back. Jisung lifts one of his hands, the one that isn't holding the four-cut picture, and places it right over Minho's chest, the left side. It's admirable, really, the way Minho's expression remains calm when his heart is beating like it wants to get out of his chest.
“What are you doing?” Minho asks. He sounds completely lost and hopeful, a combination so impossible it would make anyone else go mad.
“I don't know,” Jisung replies, because he isn't thinking for once. He’s not thinking about the weight of his action or its consequences, doesn’t allow himself to, because the moment he stops feeling and starts thinking reality will crumble all over him.
Their noses bump, softly, a prologue of what's to come.
This can’t be happening, says a part of Jisung’s mind that’s overwhelmed by anxiousness and fear.
This is happening, Jisung’s heart fights back.
When their lips meet it feels like every step they've taken during their lives was meant to bring them here, to this exact room, in this exact moment.
Jisung doesn't remember closing his eyes, but he's closed them, and everything feels multiplied. Minho's hands on his waist -when did they get there?- burn so pleasantly is maddening, and the hand that Jisung held against Minho's chest has somehow moved to hold Minho's nape.
And just like in every other aspect of their lives, everything fits. Their lips move, slow and unsure, but filled with nothing but honest devotion and desire.
It was meant to be like this. Jisung is sure.
When they part, Minho hugs Jisung closely, and buries his face in the younger neck. Jisung is both disappointed and relieved, the first because he wanted to see Minho's lips red and glossy because of him, and the second because- well, he and Minho kissed.
He and Minho kissed.
Holy shit.
“Hyung,” Jisung calls him,
“Mm?” Minho doesn't move, but he responds to Jisung's voice.
“That means I’m your favourite, right?”
Minho laughs. His arms grow tighter around Jisung’s waist.
“Yes, you are.”