Work Text:
😼 LINORING HYUNG
i just finished working out
i regret i woke up
sent: 8:48 a.m.
ㅋㅋㅋ
why would you do that to yourself
sent: 8:49 a.m.
clearly i am out of my mind
on a day off????
i should’ve stayed in bed
sent: 8:49 a.m.
so is that your plan for the day?
staying in bed?
sent: 8:54 a.m.
hopefully
i need to find that thing you put on the door
the ‘do not disturb’ sign
and i’m not leaving that bed unless they drag me out!
sent: 8:55 a.m.
hm
do you perhaps
want some company?
sent: 8:58 a.m.
why would i want my members in my bed
sent: 8:59 a.m.
no
i mean me
sent: 8:59 a.m.
and what are you gonna do? ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
teleport yourself here?
sent: 9:00 a.m.
planes exist hyung
sent: 9:01 a.m.
i know that it sounds crazy
but i just want to see you
sent: 9:05 a.m.
are you being serious?
sent: 9:05 a.m.
haha
i don’t know?
sent: 9:05 a.m.
han-ah
sent: 9:06 a.m.
i mean
i have a few days off
and it’s been a while since i’ve been to japan
and if by chance you’re also there
then why not just go
you know
sent: 9:07 a.m.
you are unbelievable
sent: 9:07 a.m.
should i buy the ticket?
there’s a plane leaving at 11
sent: 9:08 a.m.
fuck
yes
don’t even think of looking for any hotels
you’re staying with me
sent: 9:09 a.m.
i was hoping you’d say that
see you soon hyung-ah
sent: 9:09 a.m.
🍥
Jisung is on a romantic high, alright, and he’s long past the stage of pretending he doesn’t have a giant crush on Minho. He’s fallen victim to his charms a while ago, maybe two years now. But back then it was that sort of sunbaenim, you are the coolest person under the sun kind of crush. He thought it would fade away, as those things most often do.
And then they finally met.
And here’s the thing: he and Minho had never spoken before that day, had only ever seen each other in passing, exchanging bows of respect on stage. Jisung didn’t know if Minho even had a clue of who he was. But then one day he was struggling with the vending machine in the SBS building, and that stupid energy bar wouldn’t come out, and he heard a voice coming from behind him, a slightly amused, “You have to punch the button hard. Just pressing it won’t work.”
He looked up, and there he was. Lee Know of VENOM. The dancing gem with an angelic voice. Lee Minho. The man of his drea—
Their eyes met, and perhaps it was the flush of embarrassment or the thrill of an upcoming performance, but something in Jisung burst into flames.
He must have not made any effort to move, because Minho came closer and pushed the button on the vending machine himself. He did it with enough force for it to finally work. No matter that Jisung had been battling this demonic piece of crap for the past three minutes and debated saying goodbye to his energy bar. A damsel in distress, that was how he felt.
But Minho smiled, dipping down to retrieve the snack, and handed it over. “Here you go,” he said. “But make sure that’s not the only thing you eat today. I’m sure you need lots of energy after that fire performance.”
“You saw our performance?” Jisung could only ask, even though he wasn’t sure if Minho wasn’t just saying that as lots of other people before had. He had stepped out to buy the energy bar — he didn’t think he would miss 3RACHA’s turn to be broadcasted.
Minho said, “It just ended,” and jutted his lip out in a pout when he realized Jisung missed it. “But it was really good. You’ve got a lot of charisma.”
Jisung’s heart stuttered, that pathetic thing. “Ah, sunbae,” he whispered, bowing his head low. “Thank you so much.”
Minho was in the middle of telling him about how he would add the song to his playlist later when his manager came looking for him, exasperated in that familiarly fond way, tugging him away for the interview on Inkigayo. So they had to say goodbye.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Maybe Jisung’s crush would have evaporated if that had been the end of it.
Their promotions overlapped, and next time around Minho was the one who willingly sought him out. He came to 3RACHA’s dressing room and asked Jisung if — by any chance — he wanted to do the TikTok challenge for his group’s song. Jisung had to ask his manager for permission, but he would have begged on his knees until she said yes.
Minho taught him the choreography to Silent Cry in a secluded corner of the MBC building and complimented Jisung on his dancing until he was all red in the face. That day he also told Jisung to call him hyung and gave him his number.
Literally. Sneakily.
The thing is, after they exchanged signed albums for promotional purposes, Jisung came home and — after giving in to his curiosity and paging through the contents — found that Minho had written his damned phone number on a sticky note in the copy he gave him. There was a silly face drawn in, too — whatever it was, it was cute — and the few words that made Jisung’s stomach swoop: add me on KaTalk.
He didn’t know if he should. Logically, he knew that if a cute guy gave him his number, clearly with an intention to at least hang out, he should hold onto it. But Jisung had always had the tendency to overthink the simplest things to get to the bottom of them to the point even the most sensible ceased being logical.
A few days passed since then, and they bumped into each other again. Jisung saw Minho’s face, remembered the post-it note stuck to the surface of his desk under a pile of notebooks, and felt both embarrassed and guilty for having dismissed it.
“You still haven’t texted me,” Minho had pointed out immediately. “Did you not see the note?”
He looked like he knew that Jisung had seen it, but Jisung couldn’t tell what he thought about that. Did he think Jisung didn’t want to get closer? Was he disappointed? Or did he think nothing of it?
“I saw it,” Jisung confirmed. “I just hesitated. I’m not sure what you’re after.”
Minho said, “I just want to get to know you better,” and that was really all it took for Jisung to give in. The sincerity in his voice, the unabashed curiosity — the cat-like smile on his face, with just the corners of his mouth curled-up.
Jisung doesn’t remember much from the beginning of his relationship with Minho. The first time he came over to his apartment and met his cats is hard to forget, but they’ve hung out so many times over the course of a few months that it’s hard to keep track of everything.
But he remembers how the nervousness slowly melted away each time they saw each other, until all that was left was that damned crush, a rush of serotonin coursing through his body every time their hands brushed or every time Minho said his name in that sweet, sugary tone. Han-ah.
Jisung has grown confident when it comes to him, too. He has pushed and pulled and learnt just how much his words and actions can affect cool, cool Minho.
And of course he remembers that one night over at Minho’s apartment, cheeks flushed red from alcohol and fingers itching to just do something, when Minho looked him right in the eye and asked if he was going to finally make a move or if Minho is the one who has to initiate everything.
He remembers the way Minho tasted that night. Of strawberries and wine and cherry chapstick.
Chan and Changbin love teasing him about Minho. Whenever he steals Jisung away to kiss the life out of him against the bathroom wall backstage, or whenever he texts or calls and Jisung is leaving the apartment with a giant grin on his face even though he had insisted just moments before that all he wanted was a night in his bed.
Those four months have been enough to pull Jisung under. He’s gone for Minho. Completely and utterly and wholly gone. That’s precisely why he’s catching a flight to Japan on a stupid whim — because he’s crazy for this guy, and Minho has been abroad for the past two weeks, performing at concerts and festivals so far away, and Jisung is missing him so much it’s debilitating.
He buys the tickets, grabs his go-to bag already packed for his next schedule abroad, and shoots a quick text to his group chat with Chan and Changbin. I’m going to Japan. I’ll be back in two days. Love you. He doesn’t wait long enough to read their response, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. They’re at the gym, so they probably won’t see the messages any time soon, anyway. He makes sure all the lights are turned-off and windows are closed shut, and locks up the apartment.
As he waits for the taxi to take him to Gimpo, he calls his manager. She isn’t furious upon hearing about his spontaneous trip, or anything like it, but the sigh coming from the other side of the line tells Jisung he’s in for a scolding when he comes back. He gets it, he really does. After all, if it was him in her shoes, he would go out of his mind. All he gets is that caring reminder of Be careful. Stay safe. Text me when you land. Cover your face. Don’t get in trouble. He’s very grateful for it.
He’s careful not to be recognized by anyone at the airport and deems the mission a complete success when he finally gets on the plane without a single camera flash thrown in his direction.
He takes a picture through the plane window and sends it to Minho, receiving a heart-eyed penguin sticker and a text of Have a safe flight in return. Just before Jisung puts his phone away, Minho also sends him details about the hotel and asks if Jisung needs someone to pick him up. Jisung declines. Don’t get lost, then, Minho texts him, to which Jisung replies Only in your eyes with a red heart emoji. Minho leaves him on read, and Jisung has to stifle his own laughter.
🍥
The door to Minho’s hotel room swings open seven seconds after Jisung sends the text message letting him know he’s standing right in front of it. And there he is, the reason behind Jisung’s cardiological problems and all his rash decisions.
“Hi,” he says, lips parting in a smile that he can’t quite hold back.
Minho shakes his head and says, “I can’t believe you really flew all the way here on a whim.”
“What can I say?” Jisung shrugs, resting his hands on Minho’s shoulders to push him, make him walk backwards into the room. “I missed you.”
Minho’s gaze softens as he reaches out, fingers curling into the fabric of Jisung’s hoodie. He doesn’t repeat the sentiment, but Jisung can see it in his face, in the darkening red flush adorning his neck. “You’re cute,” he says, and kicks the door shut.
Jisung’s duffle bag slips off his shoulder and falls to the ground with a thud that comes of no interest to either of them. He winds his arms around Minho’s neck and grins just before closing the distance between them and connecting their lips in a sweet, unhurried kiss.
Minho hums against his mouth, turning them around so that he can be the one to push Jisung back now. It’s in the direction of the king-sized bed in the center, Jisung knows, but although Minho pulls away and it’s a warning, he still isn’t prepared for the final push. He falls against the mattress with a gasp of surprise.
Minho doesn’t let him recover from the fall, either. He immediately kneels on the edge of the bed and crawls up until he’s practically straddling Jisung, his hands on either side of Jisung’s head.
His long, dark hair is falling into his face, the neckline of his T-shirt dips to reveal his flushed chest, and his mouth is twisted in a sickeningly attractive grin. He’s so beautiful, Jisung wants to devour him whole.
“You like me so much, Han Jisung, it’s hilarious,” Minho says in a low voice, sounding so very amused and looking even more pleased when Jisung’s hands travel to his thighs. “So embarrassing for you.”
Jisung grins right back at him. He says, “I know you like me just as much. You can admit it. It’s okay to be a little embarrassing sometimes.”
Minho shakes his head immediately; of course, he loves appearing all calm and collected, forcing himself to zone out whenever he’s faced with something that might fluster him. But Jisung knows better.
“I kinda like it,” he tells Minho. “Being embarrassing when it comes to you. Because I know that when I say things and do things and all of them for you . . . you get shy. You get all red and flustered and you pretend it doesn’t affect you at all, but I know you too well to be fooled.”
Minho’s mouth parts like he can’t believe Jisung is even daring to say something like that to his face. Jisung, who could barely hold eye-contact with him a few weeks ago; who hesitated to text him first because he didn’t want to be annoying; who got all wide-eyed when Minho called him Hannie.
Now — “Just admit it,” Jisung says, biting down on his lower lip to hold back a smile. “I already know, but you . . . you will feel better once you say it out loud, too.”
Minho huffs, but then Jisung laughs under him, and his resolve breaks.
“Maybe,” he ends up saying, “maybe it’s not as one-sided as I’d said.”
Jisung rolls his eyes. “That’s hardly an admission,” he says. “Just say it. Repeat after me. I’m happy that you came all the way here to spend time with me because I like you so, so much.”
Minho takes a second to think about it like he’s battling some inner demons, and then — to Jisung’s utter surprise — he actually repeats, “I’m happy that you came all the way here to spend time with me because I like you so, so much.”
And although Jisung prompted him to do it, the way Minho is looking at him, with those sparkling eyes that hold the Milky Way in them and that smile that turns Jisung’s brain into a pathetic pile of mush, still steals air out of his lungs.
He sounds a little wound-up when he asks, “Was it that hard?”
“Awful,” Minho says, and then decides he’s had enough of talking and dips down to capture Jisung’s mouth in a kiss. Time stops moving, and there’s just them, in Minho’s hotel room in Japan, making out until their lips hurt and until the smiles fighting their way to their mouths start preventing them from actually kissing.
It’s a wonderful day, if anyone were to ask Jisung, and it’s only two in the afternoon. He’s got his cheek pressed against Minho’s shoulder, staring at the screen of his phone as Minho scrolls through various articles titled Things to do in Osaka that touch on more or less the same things.
They decide they’re too lazy to walk too much and settle on visiting the Osaka Castle and enjoy the afternoon in the park, and then take the metro to eat dinner somewhere in Dotonbori. Jisung isn’t here for sightseeing — he’s been to Osaka a few times already, too — but to spend time with Minho. So as long as they’re together, he doesn’t really care what they’re going to do.
“Are you going to come to the concert tomorrow?” Minho asks, plugging his phone into the charger. They will leave in half an hour.
“Do you want me to?”
“Well,” Minho says, clicking his tongue, “I won’t really have much time for you if you don’t because of rehearsals and all that, so. Yes, I want you to.”
Jisung smiles, throwing his leg across Minho’s hips and snuggling up closer against his side. “Then I’ll come,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to see you perform on a big stage.”
“You didn’t tell me that before.”
“Hm? I thought it was obvious.” Jisung draws his brows together. “Anyway, I was planning on coming to the show in Seoul even if you didn’t invite me.”
That makes Minho laugh. “What, you would try the ticketing?”
“No,” Jisung says. “That would be scary. I would just ask my managers if they could fix a ticket for me.”
“Instead of just asking me?”
“Don’t judge me,” Jisung whines, hiding his face in Minho’s shoulder. “That would’ve been my last resort.”
“You’re silly,” Minho says, but he sounds so fond. “You demanded that I admit I liked you, but you are too embarrassed to tell me you want to come to my concert? Ah, hilarious.”
The truth is, Jisung still hesitates to ask Minho to do things with him or for him, because despite all this time they spend together and the kisses they share, neither of them has made a move to put a label on what’s between them. He doesn’t really mind — he does what feels right without caring much if this is what friends or lovers should do. But perhaps if Minho was his boyfriend and not something in between, he wouldn’t have to jump through hoops trying for a chance to see his concert and support him. It would be obvious that he wants to.
Jisung pushes himself up to his elbow and musters the best puppy-dog eyes he possibly can. “But now that you know, you’ll get me the ticket, right, hyung-ah?”
Minho shrugs. “I don’t know. What will I get in turn?”
“A kiss?”
“You think that’s enough?” He lifts his eyebrow in that menacing way he’s the absolute master of.
Jisung decides to entertain him and pretends to be deep in thought just before proposing, “A thousand kisses?”
“Mooore,” Minho drawls.
“My lips are going to fall off,” Jisung laughs, because although they’re just bickering a bit now, he knows for a fact that Minho is crazy enough to count every single kiss Jisung gives him until they get to his desired number. “Hyung, please.”
“A thousand and twenty-five, and we have a deal,” is all Minho offers him. Jisung groans. In response, Minho puckers his lips, and when Jisung doesn’t make a move to get closer, he says, “Come on. Kiss number one, and we’re going out.”
Jisung sulks for approximately three seconds before giving in. What else can he do, really? Minho is a bit too persuasive and a lot too cute not to kiss, after all.
🍥
When they come back to the hotel, it’s around eight in the evening. Quite early for the lifestyle they lead, but it’s been quite an eventful day that they’re both exhausted. And despite that, Jisung still doesn’t want to go to sleep. Falling asleep would mean losing all those precious hours he has with Minho until god knows when.
But he’s feeling so comfortable with sheets pooling around his legs and Minho’s hand under his sleeping T-shirt, fingers ghosting over his spine back and forth. Minho has a concert tomorrow and has to get up early, so there’s no conversation about staying up late, either. The need to see him well-rested wins over Jisung’s selfishness.
He just scoots over closer for a second to press his mouth against Minho’s, kissing him, albeit a little clumsily. When they part, he asks, “What number was it, remind me?”
“Five,” Minho replies, pleased that Jisung is going through with their deal. “You gotta hurry up if you wanna make it on time, Han-ah.”
“I’ll fulfill my promise diligently,” Jisung assures, lying back down on his side of the bed, cheek squished against his palm as he stares at Minho, marveling at the way the shadows of the night sharpen his features. He’s so pretty Jisung hates him for it.
Minho’s hand travels from the small of his back to his butt, and the corners of his mouth twist upwards as he gives it a few pats. Jisung doesn’t even react. He likes when Minho touches him, likes how much Minho likes it, and it happens so often that he barely bats an eye anymore. It affects him, of course, but he just doesn’t get as easily caught off-guard by Minho’s wandering hands as he did in the beginning.
Feeling beyond comfortable and happy that he gave in to the temptation and jumped onto the plane to be here, Jisung closes his eyes. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep just yet, but when he opens them again, it’s to the early morning sun shining right into his eyes.
When he blinks the sleep away, he notices that Minho is still in bed, but he’s not asleep anymore, just scrolling through his phone. With a groan, Jisung scoots over closer and presses himself against him, feeling Minho’s chuckle vibrate through him.
“What time is it?” he asks groggily.
Minho wraps an arm around him properly and pulls him even closer, until their legs are tangled under the duvet and warm skin is pressed together. Tells him, “Seven. We should eat breakfast soon.”
“Ugh. Don’t wanna.”
“Me neither, but we should still eat,” Minho says. “Let’s just get one serving of pancakes and share?”
Jisung nods, his nose brushing against Minho’s cheek. Minho tells him to unglue himself from him, then, so that he can call and get them room service. Wanting breakfast even less after hearing that, Jisung groans and moans and protests. Minho doesn’t budge, so he’s forced to give up. He sits up against the headboard as Minho moves to the edge of the bed and orders their pancakes. He sounds unnecessarily attractive speaking Japanese; Jisung doesn’t think he will ever get over that.
As they have to wait for their food, they decide not to waste time and hop into the shower. And not to waste water, they also decide to do it together. For convenience, of course. For the well-being of the planet.
Jisung steals one of Minho’s T-shirts — for his own well-being this time around — and pulls on his black skinny jeans (that he definitely didn’t shove into his bag because he knows his ass looks good in them) before plopping back down on the bed and watching Minho dry his hair in the ensuite bathroom.
Their food arrives just as he walks out of there, and he — like a complete gentleman — heads for the door to retrieve it without even being asked to.
He lifts the lid off the breakfast tray with a cute ta-da! and tells Jisung to start eating because he needs to change out of his robe. He joins him on the bed just a moment later, already dressed in sweatpants and an oversize T-shirt, demanding that Jisung feed him. (He does, of course. Minho is too cute to be denied anything, especially a strawberry with whipped cream that Jisung can kiss off of him.)
“We’re gonna be heading to the venue soon,” Minho says after they’re done eating their sweet breakfast. “I take it you wanna tag along and hang out backstage instead of coming later, right?”
Jisung gives him a look and says, “I can’t believe you’re even asking me such a stupid question.”
“Clingy,” Minho teases, poking him in the side. As if Jisung hasn’t flown over to Japan to see him. Jisung knows he’s clingy, alright.
“Discovery of the year.”
Minho opens his mouth to say something, but the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand disrupts the process. He reaches for the device and picks it up, speaking in that cute, soft manner to whoever is at the other end of the line. Most likely one of his managers.
“We should get going,” he says, confirming Jisung’s suspicions. “They’ll be waiting outside in five minutes.”
Jisung nods, but before either of them move from the bed, he leans in and kisses Minho again. It’s addicting, having him near. Jisung isn’t sure if he could ever handle a period of withdrawal.
Minho smiles into it, his fingers curling into the fabric of Jisung’s T-shirt — his T-shirt — and it makes Jisung think he feels the same way.
Once they step out into the hotel hallway, they are greeted by two managers and Hyunjin — one of the members of VENOM. Felix seems to still be on his way.
They’re the same age as him, and although Jisung doesn’t know them well — only from Minho’s stories and greetings in passing — he knows they’re nice and friendly.
“I didn’t know you would be coming to the concert,” Hyunjin says, fixing the long strands of hair slipping from under his red bucket hat. “Hyung didn’t say anything.”
Minho and Jisung share a look.
“It was spontaneous,” Jisung tells him. “I just had a few days off and thought, Why not? and now I’m here.”
“Ooh, that’s cute,” Hyunjin coos, more at Minho than at Jisung. “We’re glad you came.”
Minho stops glaring at Hyunjin and gives Jisung’s hip a squeeze like he’s echoing his bandmate’s words. His face is obscured by a mask, but Jisung can still tell he’s smiling.
Jisung is surprised by how laid-back VENOM’s managers are. They don’t bat an eye at Minho bringing his almost-boyfriend to the concert, don’t mind them sharing a hotel room. When they’re about to start a game of rock-paper-scissors to determine who will pay for the coffee, one of them even tells him he shouldn’t even play because he’s a guest, let alone volunteer to just buy it for everyone, but Jisung insists.
(He gets a thank-you kiss from Minho, so it’s whatever.)
He hangs around the backstage arena of the dome with the members of VENOM, and it’s all familiar to him, the rush of the upcoming concert, a completely new performance. He watches the soundcheck from the audience, blending in with the managers as Minho completes his rehearsal and interacts with fans, all handsome and perfect.
In the waiting room, his stomach serves as Minho’s pillow when he lies down to unwind and play Candy Crush. Then, he watches Minho stretch and warm-up his voice again, and when Minho starts rolling his shoulders right before the show is meant to start, Jisung instructs him to sit down and gives him a massage — quite amateur, but still full of care.
When they’re given a ten-minute call, Minho turns around to face him and asks, “A kiss for good luck?”
They’re in the dressing room alone — well, except for Hyunjin and Felix putting on their mic packs — but Jisung still looks around to make sure, still pulls Minho behind the open door to hide them behind any prying eyes in the hallway. And then once he’s sure no one can see, he finally kisses him. Again once they part, just leaving a peck on his mouth.
“Good luck,” he says. “You look gorgeous and sound beautiful and I know you’ll smash it, so just have fun.”
Minho ducks his head with a smile and gives Jisung’s butt a light pat. “I’ll look for you in the audience.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to hear me scream,” Jisung tells him.
Two minutes later, one of the managers leads him to his designated seat so that he can enjoy the show properly. The red glow of the visuals and the giant text saying Poison Tour in a dripping font, the murmurs of fans and the tension, as if everyone in the venue is holding their breath, leave Jisung feeling dizzy.
And when the concert finally starts, he just about passes out from excitement. He’s mesmerized, having the time of his life singing along to his favorite songs and watching Minho shine on stage like he was born to be up there. He enjoys Hyunjin and Felix, too, of course, but it’s Minho that steals the entirety of his attention — from the group stages, to the solo segment, and even during the ments in between songs. He takes a few pictures, films a video or two, but most of the time he sits there and watches with his mouth wide open.
He didn’t think he could like Minho any more — he’s seen him perform before, after all, so he didn’t think it would feel like this — but a whole concert in such a big venue is just . . . something else. Jisung adores him.
After the lights go back on and the concert ends, there’s a layer of sweat on his forehead from dancing around in his seat and his heart is refusing to calm down. Returning to the backstage, he tries to avoid getting caught in the frame as VENOM’s staff film things for the group’s content, but Minho still jogs over the moment he sees Jisung coming.
Although he must be tired from entertaining the crowd for three hours, he’s still grinning from ear to ear, eyes sparkling in the post-performance glow. The first thing he does when there’s just a few inches of space between them is ask, “Did you like it?” as if there was even a possibility of Jisung not enjoying himself.
Jisung winds his arms around Minho’s neck, pulling him closer until Minho takes the hint and puts his hands on his waist. “Tried my best not to scream, but when you started singing Limbo I kind of blacked out, so I’m not sure if I was successful,” he says, growing pleased at the sight of Minho’s already flushed neck turning a deeper shade of red. “You guys were amazing.”
“But me the most, right?”
Jisung bites back a smile and pretends to think about it. “I don’t know,” he says, just to be a little shit. “I really liked Felix’s dancing.”
Minho detaches himself from him with a scoff. “Maybe you should go ask Felix if he’ll let you sleep in his bed tonight, then,” he throws over his shoulder, and starts walking in the direction of the dressing rooms. Slow, deliberate steps, because he’s just kidding — and he wants Jisung to follow.
Attaching himself to Minho from behind, arms locked around his waist, Jisung laughs. “Don’t be so grumpy,” he coos, hooking his chin over Minho’s shoulder. “You know you’re my number one.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart, jagi.”
Minho sighs exaggeratedly and turns around in Jisung’s embrace until they’re almost chest-to-chest again. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says.
Jisung grins. “I’m lucky that a cute guy like yourself thinks I’m cute.”
“Hm,” Minho agrees. “That, too.”
His eyes fall to Jisung’s mouth and without preamble, he kisses him, short and sweet. There’s no one around, the hallway empty, but Jisung’s heartbeat still spikes. They haven’t really been subtle these past two days. At all.
“Hyunjin and Felix want to go out and eat with our managers,” Minho tells him. “What do you think? I honestly just want to shower and lie down, but if you wanna go, we can.”
“I’m sure it would be fun, but if you want to go back to the hotel, then let’s go back to the hotel.” Jisung cups the side of Minho’s face with his hand, feels the warmth of his skin under his fingertips, and smiles. “Some other time?”
Minho nods. “I’ll just grab my stuff then, and we can go.”
In the dressing room, as Minho makes rounds around the place making sure three times that he isn’t leaving anything behind, Jisung doesn’t forget to congratulate Hyunjin and Felix on the great concert as well. He bashfully ignores it when they point and laugh and tell them to not get them kicked out of the hotel with their shenanigans when they say they won’t be joining them for late dinner, because Minho threatens to strangle them with his bare hands.
The road to the hotel is long because of traffic, and although Minho stays awake, he grows visibly somnolent and rests his head against Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung lowers the volume of the music playing in the earbuds they’re sharing despite the sound of protest Minho makes in the back of his throat.
Jisung pays him no mind and keeps the playlist mellow and quiet until they reach the hotel. Minho comes back to the world of the living when they get out of the car, but it’s only a shower that truly wakes him up — with Jisung, of course, and Jisung’s hands making him feel good until he’s falling apart against the tiled wall.
When they’re already in bed, Minho shoves his phone into Jisung’s face and asks, “Scroll, and tell me which one is the best.”
Jisung blinks, focusing on the picture in front of him, and, upon realizing it’s one of the selfies Minho took before the concert, complies, taking the device into his hands as Minho watches him attentively.
And, god. Jisung wants to shoot himself in the face — that’s how good he looks in all of them.
“Only one?” he asks. Because there is just no way to choose one.”
But Minho doesn’t intend to relent. “Yes. Or I won’t send any.”
“I hate you for making me do this,” Jisung says, but he starts scrolling back up to the first one. He ends up choosing one where Minho is making a kissy face and throwing a peace sign, but that comes from his own embarrassing selfishness. Perhaps he’s a bit possessive and doesn’t want thousands to millions of people looking at his almost-boyfriend’s sultry expression. So what?
“Great choice, jagi.”
Shaking his head, Jisung gives Minho his phone back and watches out of the corner of his eye as Minho opens the Bubble app and starts typing out a message he doesn’t manage to read. But the best — and most surprising — thing is that when Jisung shifts his attention to his own phone, he gets a message from Minho himself. All the selfies he’d just shown him, and the pictures they took when they went out the day before.
“Happy?”
Jisung grins at him. “Very.”
Unsurprisingly, in response to his selfie, Minho gets bombarded with messages from fans. He reads a few of them out loud, acting out the cuteness and annoyance at how pretty he is, clearly content to be showered with praise.
“Now, please be quiet for a second, I’ll record a voice message,” he tells Jisung and waits for him to seal his mouth shut and throw away the key. Once that’s done, he puts the phone super close to his mouth and says, “I’ll go to sleep now. Goodnight!”
Jisung coos before he can stop himself.
Minho instantly whips around to say, “I didn’t manage to pause!”
The annoyance is clearly exaggerated for teasing purposes, but Jisung knows he finds it a hassle to do things a few times, especially when he’s feeling a lot tired and a bit lazy. Still, he plays into it.
“And how is that my fault?” he asks, drawing his eyebrows together and pouting the way he knows he looks fatally cute. “You stopped talking. I thought you stopped recording, too!”
Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He’s a shit actor, really. Or maybe Jisung is unusually attentive to each and every one of his quirks and gestures.
“Okay. Let’s try again,” he says. “Be quiet now.”
Jisung bites his tongue. Nods, and watches Minho go back to the app. But instead of sending the same message he meant to send before Jisung interrupted him, he sends a series of them. A goodnight message in ten variations — and he wants Jisung quiet for all of them.
Jisung listens, alright. Even when Minho looks him right in the eye as he records those messages like he’s expecting him to start screaming just to piss him off. But Jisung just smiles, sweet like an angel.
And when Minho finally puts his phone down and regards him with a long look, head tipped back against the headboard, he says, “I was good. I behaved myself.”
Minho quirks an eyebrow. “You behaved yourself?” he repeats, and Jisung’s throat goes dry when he pushes himself up, and does the thing he does best. Climbs onto his lap, and pushes his shoulders down against the mattress, caging Jisung in with a wicked grin, gorgeous and cute and everything Jisung could ever want in life. “Hm? You want a reward for it?”
“Uhm,” Jisung starts, “I didn’t mean it that way before, but suddenly I am very turned on.”
“Too bad,” Minho drawls. And instead of staying sat on his thighs, he full-body lies down on Jisung, weighing him down until he’s squirming and begging for mercy.
“Hyu-ung!” he cries. “My body isn’t meant to endure the weight of another human being.” Minho just hums, tucking his face into Jisung’s neck. And it feels good, great even, but he wishes they could cuddle in a position in which his lungs aren’t on the verge of a collapse. “Hyung-ah, please, you’re gonna kill me.”
“Serves you right.”
“You’re an awful human being,” Jisung whines, only for Minho to elbow him in the ribs and make him cry out again.
“I would like to remind you that you are staying in my hotel room, and if I kick you out, you will have to spend the night under the bridge.”
“Do you think there’s a chance for Felix to take me in?”
Minho does exactly what Jisung thought he would: rolls off of him, and then again until he’s almost hanging on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Jisung allows himself a tiny little grin before he’s plastering himself to Minho’s back, pouting and saying sorry and pretending he can’t see the way Minho is trying really hard to hold back from smiling too.
“You know I’m only kidding,” he says, resting his cheek against Minho’s arm. “You know I only like you.”
“Only me?”
“Only you,” Jisung tells him, and although he doesn’t mean to sound so sincere, he’s not even lying. “No matter how silly you get. Just you.”
Minho is quiet for a moment. Just when Jisung starts thinking he’s going to have to come up with something else to say, Minho takes him off-guard completely and says, “Then go on a real date with me.”
Jisung’s heart rate skyrockets. He wonders if Minho can feel it where his chest is pressed against his side. The force of every punch is so hard Jisung grows nauseous.
“Are you trying to tell me none of the ones we went on were real?”
Minho offers him a crooked smile. “That was the getting to know each other period.”
“And now, what is it?” Jisung asks. But his brain immediately supplies: the falling in love period. Minho looks at him like he’s thinking of the same thing. “Where do you wanna go?”
Minho turns to lie on his back, and Jisung maneuvers to fit snugly against his side, so close that his nose is almost touching Minho’s cheek.
“I’ll come up with something nice, but it’ll be a surprise.”
Jisung can barely act normal and contain his happiness when he says, “I’m sure it’ll be fun no matter what we do.”
“Even if we stay at my place and watch shitty movies with gross, microwave popcorn?”
“Jagiya, you should know by now that it’s exactly my kind of fun.”
Minho smiles and cranes his neck just that tiny bit to press his mouth against Jisung’s. “I know, but let’s leave that for the second date. Or the third.”
“For multiple dates, I hope,” Jisung tells him. “I’m lazy.”
Minho laughs, but Jisung knows he’s just as lazy. And for a good reason — they both work almost non-stop. It’s a miracle they still manage to get to spend time together, but they want to, so they make it work.
Jisung is already hoping for one of their nap dates when Minho comes back to Korea in a few days, just a whole day spent on sleeping and regaining energy before they go out. Absolutely perfect.
“What time’s your flight?”
“At ten. I gotta wake up early,” Jisung says.
Minho lets out a hum of acknowledgement and doesn’t say anything. But he wraps his arm around Jisung, pulls him closer, and surprises him with a kiss on the forehead.
In the morning, Jisung finds it particularly hard to leave Minho’s embrace — especially when Minho does everything to keep him in bed, going as far as pinning him down with his own body again. He’s even worse than Jisung.
“I’m gonna miss the flight.”
“Great. You can come back home with me.”
Jisung would love that — he really would. But this trip has been possible only because of his short vacation, and he needs to be back in Seoul before that vacation ends. Minho knows that, so he finally lets go. He watches Jisung shove clothes into his bag, and comes out to the bathroom so that they can brush their teeth together, and doesn’t bat an eye when Jisung steals his hoodie out of his suitcase and pulls it on.
Once he’s ready to go, he comes up to him, takes his face into his hands, and says, “Can’t wait for our date. Have fun here until then and come back safely.”
Minho nods, and then kisses him, sweet and short. Jisung can still taste the toothpaste on his tongue. It makes him smile.
“Text me when you land,” Minho says when Jisung already has his hand on the door. “Stay safe.”
Jisung looks back at him and asks, “We’re very dramatic, aren’t we?”
Minho grins. “Yeah. But I like that about us.”
🍥
On the plane ride back home, Jisung writes a song.