Work Text:
Jisung woke up to a fantastic headache.
Gingerly, he pushed himself to a sitting position. The slats of a wooden bench beneath his palm told him that he’d fallen asleep under the gazebo. Seeing as he’d just taken a nap on public property past sundown, he was lucky that no one had called the authorities on him.
Suddenly his phone rang; he grimaced at the normally dulcet ringtone that now threatened to explode his head. Peering out onto the lake with a scowl (and too groggy to appreciate the twilit scenery), he answered with a raspy “Hello?”
“Hey, birthday boy,” came Seungmin’s muffled voice, “where are you? Changbin hyung and I have been waiting for like an hour.”
“First of all, my birthday was yesterday.” Jisung paused to let his brain buffer. “Second of all, why are you waiting for me? Aren’t you supposed to be visiting Changbin hyung’s parents?”
“Yeah, we did and came back.” Seungmin sighed. “We picked up Thai food on the way and were waiting for you to join us. We thought you’d be home by now.”
Jisung briefly detached the phone from his ear to check the time. It read a little before eight o’clock. “Shit, sorry about that. I was at the park doing some thinking... and guess I lost track of time. Anyway, I’ll be right there.”
“You okay?”
Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose as though that would lessen the sensation of his skull being squeezed by a bar clamp. “I’ll explain when I get home.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“They withdrew your job offer?!” Changbin nearly yelled with bits of fried rice flying out of his mouth. “Aren’t you supposed to start working there, like, next week?”
Jisung mindlessly picked at a shrimp on his plate, slumping at the table from the combined weight of dejection and his current migraine. “I was. Past tense.” The position had been to work in logistics for a major warehousing firm, and while not necessarily what he aspired to, it held the promise of a stable career and better pay than his current job.
Seungmin knitted his brows. “Shit, I’m sorry man. When did they drop this on you?”
“I received the notice while you guys were out. I kinda panicked, which is why I went out to get some fresh air.” It had then turned into an hour of meandering in the park, and the last thing he remembered before succumbing to a nap was tearfully feeding the ducks at the lake. (Naturally he left this part out.)
“How could they do that to you at the last minute?” Changbin’s tone rose to mirror his confusion. “Do you have a back-up plan?”
“No,” Jisung sighed heavily. He set down his chopsticks and buried his head in his hands, feeling the blood drain from his face as the gravity of the situation began to sink in. “Christ, I really thought I had it in the bag. So like a fucking idiot I already turned in my notice at my current job. I even negotiated with the landlord to end my lease early so that I could move into...” He paused to groan at his worsening headache, both figuratively and literally. “Fuck, Changbin, I’m so sorry. Without a job I don’t think I can—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Changbin assured in a softer voice. “I’ll speak to my uncle, he’ll understand.”
Jisung was doubly gut-punched, not only because he’d lost out on a great apartment in the same city as his former would-be job, but Changbin had pulled strings and convinced his uncle (who owned said apartment) to rent to Jisung at considerably below market rate.
It seemed Jisung had finally gotten his shit together in life, and all it took was two sentences from a canned HR email to undo it all.
“Where will you stay though?” Seungmin asked. “Weren’t you planning to move out next week?”
Through sheer willpower, Jisung refrained from launching into Seungmin’s arms and weeping over how phenomenally fucked his life had become in the span of one short evening. Instead he swallowed the knot in his throat and lied through his teeth, feeling as though his worth hinged upon maintaining the facade.
“I’ll be alright... I’m sure there’s a way to reinstate my lease. Listen guys, I’m sorry for bringing down the mood—”
Right away, Changbin and Seungmin assured that wasn’t the case and that they’d spend the evening however he wanted in light of the unexpected news.
Jisung appreciated the sentiment, but there was no sense in sulking, especially knowing his friends had driven across three states to spend the weekend with him. Without them his birthday would’ve been as lonely and uneventful as any other day of the year.
“Let us know if you have trouble with housing,” Changbin said. “We’ll help you in any way we can.” He and Seungmin shared a knowing glance over a plate of basil chicken. “If you want, you’re welcome to stay with us until you get back on your feet.”
The threat of grateful tears forced Jisung to drop his gaze. “I appreciate it.”
When Jisung saw his friends off the next morning, Seungmin and Changbin repeated the invitation to stay with them if ever he ran out of options. Jisung was grateful, but it wasn’t an offer he could possibly accept. The two had just gotten engaged and bought their first home together, and the last thing Jisung wanted was to travel 200 miles to become an inconvenient third wheel.
Thus he made a firm resolve to unfuck this situation on his own. He had just turned twenty-five, after all; it was time to act his damn age.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jisung gulped down his banana milk and sighed. “Alright, time to put on your big boy pants and do this.”
Taking a final sip through the straw, he set the empty carton in the cup holder and stepped out of the car, exhaling slowly. He had just finished hauling the last of his belongings to self storage, and judging by the moving van parked in front of the apartment, it seemed that the new tenant had arrived while he was gone.
He entered the building per his newly hatched plan while trying to convince himself that this wasn’t the craziest thing he’s ever done. For instance, there was that one time in college he roller skated across campus on a dare wearing nothing but a dangerously short pair of cut off jeans...
No. This was more insane, he decided as he trudged up the staircase and walked the familiar route to his apartment unit—the one he technically wasn’t allowed back in starting today.
Well... desperate times, desperate measures and all that.
His thoughts screeched to a halt when he turned the hallway corner and eyed something slink out of his former apartment; and that something was gray and furry and bounding toward him at an alarming speed.
“Dori!!!” a man called out from the same unit.
Jisung regained his wits and realized that this barrelling furball was someone’s cat, so he reflexively blocked its path and scooped it up—before he remembered that cats possessed very sharp claws. Fortunately, this one protested with a meow and kept its daggers sheathed.
A moment later, the cat was plucked from his grasp by a man dressed in a Henley shirt and joggers, presumably the owner.
“Oh my gosh, thank you for catching him,” the man said in stilted English.
Jisung stood stupefied by the sight. The stranger was slightly taller than him, with catlike eyes framed by long lashes, and Jisung was fairly certain the elegant slope of his nose shouldn’t have been humanly possible. His bangs were stuck to his sweat-sheened forehead from the exertion of moving in, and he was sweating through his shirt in places, which somehow made him more attractive.
Jisung mentally slapped himself for such thoughts.
The gray tabby, which wore a lavender collar and had white paws that looked like little socks, purred blissfully in the man’s arms as if it had lived nine lives free of sin. The man began muttering to it in Korean. “You scared the crap out of me, don’t ever run off like that! Bad, bad boy.” He gently headbutted the cat with not a trace of reproach in his tone.
“Oh—are you Korean?” Jisung said, switching languages.
The man’s eyes widened a degree. “Yes! Yes, I am. Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” he said with a short bow.
Jisung mirrored the gesture. “Hello, nice to meet you too.”
The two men stood awkwardly in the hallway until Jisung cleared his throat and willed himself to power through his collosally stupid plan that was too late to back out of now.
“I used to live here,” he said. “I just moved out of your unit, actually.”
The stranger glanced over his shoulder toward the door he’d exited. “Really?”
“Yup.”
“Oh! I see. It’s a nice little place.”
“Sure is.”
Both men shared a nervous laugh; Jisung bit his lip and jammed his hands in his pockets.
“Pardon my manners,” the man said. “Would you like to come in for a drink? It’s the least I can do after you saved my escape artist of a cat.”
And just like that, Jisung had an in.
“Oh—well, I don’t wanna impose while you’re moving in—”
“No worries, I just dragged up the last box and could use a breather. Let me put Dori in his crate first.”
With feline in tow the stranger gestured to follow him, and after jump-starting his brain, Jisung lightly jogged down the hallway to catch up. Once inside the apartment, the man disappeared into the bedroom to secure his cat. Jisung looked around and took in the surrealness; the place he’d known every nook and cranny of for the past two years was now rendered unfamiliar by scattered piles of moving boxes.
“Sorry, the furniture isn’t coming in for a few more days,” the man said when he returned with a floor cushion. He set it down on the hardwood for Jisung to sit on, then rooted through some boxes in the kitchen. “Can I offer you coffee or tea? Actually, I don’t know where I packed my tea... looks like I only have instant coffee.”
“That sounds fine,” Jisung said with a stiff smile.
“My name is Lee Minho, by the way,” said the man as he began to boil water in an electric kettle.
“I’m Han Jisung.”
“It’s nice to meet another Korean around here. I just moved here from Seoul. Trying to find my bearings and all that.”
“Ah, you’re new in town?” Jisung said in his best casual tone. “There’s a pretty big Korean community here with lots of shops and eateries downtown. I’m sure you’ll feel at home in no time.”
“I hope so too.”
Minho returned shortly after with instant coffee in a paper cup and settled next to Jisung on the floor. “Sorry, I haven’t unpacked my mugs either.”
“No worries! And thank you.” Jisung accepted the drink and noticed Minho’s smile revealed adorable bunny teeth. “Cute,” he murmured absentmindedly.
“Pardon?”
Jisung nearly spilled the coffee in his haste to explain. “Wait—no—I meant the cat is cute, not you! Uhh, not that you’re not cute too... I mean if I saw you at a bar or something I’d totally hit on you! Respectfully, of course, since I don’t know if you’re into dudes that way or...”
Minho stared at Jisung with wide, feline eyes that blinked after a torturous beat of silence. Jisung didn’t want to know what humiliating shade of red colored his face right now. Mercifully, Minho changed the subject.
“So,” he began, “I’m guessing you’re here because you left something behind?”
Jisung gulped down his mouthful of coffee. “Oh! Right, I must seem like a weirdo for coming by unannounced like this.” Something told him that his next words would only reinforce the perception. “Are you looking for a roommate?”
Minho’s smile was polite but confused. “Sorry?”
“I—I’m gonna be honest here,” Jisung said, setting his drink down. He shifted to sit on his knees and gathered his hands on his lap, bowing his head slightly and feeling his heart fighting its way up his throat. “Long story short: I’m kind of broke and unemployed, and I have nowhere else to stay beyond here. So... if you’d be so kind as to tolerate me as a temporary roommate... heck, I’ll be your manservant! I’d only need to stay for two weeks, max. Just until I can find another place to stay. As soon as I have the money I swear I’ll pay you my portion of the rent.”
When Minho didn’t respond right away, Jisung plunged ahead.
“You’re probably wondering why I can’t stay with friends or family, right?” He grimaced internally but realized he had nothing left to lose, not even his dignity. “The sad truth is that there isn’t anyone I can ask that kind of favor from... at least not around here. All of my family are in Korea and they’re in no position to help out financially, and I can’t exactly afford a one-way trip to Korea either.” He then explained how his job offer had been rescinded at the last minute, forcing him to scramble and leading him here, sitting on his knees in front of Minho.
Jisung shut his eyes to brace himself for rejection. When still no reply came, he peeked up to gauge Minho’s reaction and found the latter staring at him blankly.
“Huh,” Minho said, nodding to himself. “I see.”
Jisung met his gaze, encouraged that the other hadn’t threatened to kick him out yet. “You’ll... consider my request?”
“Yes, I’ve considered it.” Minho pulled out his phone from his pocket and began to dial a number.
Suddenly Jisung had a bad feeling about this. “Hold on, you’re not calling the landlord, are you?”
“Nope. I’m calling the police.”
Jisung sprang to his feet and raised his hands in a show of placation. “Wait, please don’t! Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out—”
“Jisung-ssi,” Minho said calmly, hovering his thumb over the phone keypad, “if you’re not out of here in approximately five seconds, I will press call.” A pause. “One. Two.”
Needing no further convincing, Jisung hustled his ass out the door before Minho could recite the next number. In a moment of clouded judgment, he popped his head back through the door and squeaked out, “Thank you for the coffee,” catching a final glimpse of Minho’s bewildered, bunny-toothed expression.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Well, that went swimmingly.
Jisung wondered what the fuck he was thinking to approach a complete stranger like that. Of course Minho would freak out. Jisung would’ve reacted the same were the roles reversed, regardless of how attractive the other man was (which was entirely beside the point).
He dejectedly slurped on another banana milk and tossed the carton over his shoulder, not caring where it landed in the cramped backseat of his car. Camping out at a strip mall parking lot wasn’t exactly his idea of freedom three years ago when he’d graduated college with wide-eyed optimism. He thought the road to happiness and success was paved with a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck, but it seemed he’d grossly underestimated the luck part of the equation.
Curled up in his seat, he scrolled through the SNS feed on his phone against his better judgment. It was an endless parade of folks living their best lives—most of whom were acquaintances at best and who didn’t even follow him back.
Desperate for an ounce of solace, he opened up the group chat with Seungmin and Changbin and started typing.
Han Jisung: hello mr. and mrs. kim seungmin how are you
Kim Seungmin: wow you’re alive
Kim Seungmin: and don’t call us that -_-
Kim Seungmin: we just came back from dinner. what’s up?
Han Jisung: yeah sorry i’ve been busy lol
Han Jisung: what did you have??
Kim Seungmin: we had some pretty amazing shabu shabu
Kim Seungmin: changbin hyung is pretty drunk rn but i’ll tell him to call you when he sobers up
Han Jisung: nah don’t bother him on my behalf
Kim Seungmin: wdym
Kim Seungmin: it’s my life’s purpose to bother him
Kim Seungmin: btw how’s job search going? find something yet?
Han Jisung: not yet but i will soon!
Han Jisung: i’m taking it one day at a time for now and keeping my options open
Kim Seungmin: hwaiting~
Kim Seungmin: hyung and i can reach out to some folks that might be hiring if you want
Han Jisung: i’m good but thank u
Kim Seungmin: you sure? is everything ok?
Han Jisung: yeah dw everything’s fine!
“Everything’s fine,” Jisung quietly repeated as his eyes burned with unshed tears. He hadn’t cried about his predicament until now—he’d been too busy surviving from day to day—but it was this pitiful lie that pushed him over the edge. How badly had he fucked himself over that he couldn’t confide in his closest friends?
A knock on the car window nearly sent his phone flying from his grasp. Wiping his eyes dry, he was met with the grumpy visage of a security guard from the other side of the glass.
Jisung rolled down the window halfway. “Y-Yes?”
“All shops are closed, sir. Loitering on the premises after hours is prohibited.”
“Oh... it’s just that I have nowhere else to go,” Jisung gave his best puppy dog eyes. “Can’t I stay here just for tonight? I promise to leave before morning.”
The man sighed, “Sir, that would leave me no choice but to call the authorities, but seeing as my shift is ending, I’d rather go home to my wife and kids. I reckon you don’t wanna spend a night in jail, either.”
I’d have a roof over my head at least, Jisung mused before coming to his senses.
“Duly noted,” he said with a resigned nod. “I’ll be going now.”
“Have a fantastic night, sir,” the officer said, though his gruff monotone wished him anything but.
Jisung re-opened the chatroom and ended his attempt at socialization for the day.
Han Jisung: sorry i gotta go! ㅠㅠ
Kim Seungmin: alright thanks for checking in
Kim Seungmin: good night hannie
Han Jisung: say hello to mrs. kim seungmin for me
Kim Seungmin: (´_ゝ`)
Having run out of places to stay overnight, Jisung tucked his proverbial tail between his legs and drove back to his old apartment parking lot. He pulled in and claimed a corner spot with the small solace that he wouldn’t be out of place here, at least for now.
He stared up uselessly at the apartment building and spotted his old balcony on the second floor. A light emanated from the glass door, signaling the warmth and safety that Jisung had once taken for granted.
Fortunately the night was mild and autumn frost was weeks away, which spared him the nuisance of turning on the heat. He leaned back in his car seat and closed his eyes and tried not to ruminate on the chain of stupid decisions that led him here.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jisung had one plan and one plan only: find a job as soon as possible. Once he saved enough for a deposit on a new apartment, surely the rest would fall into place.
By day he scoured for employment on his laptop while leeching off the wi-fi at Miroh Café, his favorite coffee joint a few blocks from his old place. He found comfort in his daily chats with Jeongin, the young barista who greeted him with a dimpled smile and tolerated Jisung hogging the corner table for hours at a time.
Several days into his plan, however, Jisung was feeling pretty rank, and he didn’t need a mirror to know how gross his hair was (and he probably didn’t smell like a bunch of roses, either). So he bit the bullet and forked up twenty bucks to join a local gym membership for its shower access.
Standing under a jet of hot water and sudsing days-old dirt off his body, Jisung vowed to never take modern plumbing for granted again.
“You heading home?” Jeongin asked later that evening when it was just him and Jisung at the café. The sun was about to set and flooded the shop in golden streaks.
“Don’t despair, I’ll be back tomorrow,” Jisung winked as he stuffed his laptop into his backpack. “Have a good night.”
“Wait, Jisung-ssi.”
Jeongin furtively glanced around before he crossed the shop and handed Jisung a brown paper bag.
“It’s some extra pastries and bagels,” Jeongin whispered when Jisung eyed him with a question. “We toss out the food we don’t sell at the end of the day. I’m not supposed to give these out, but it’s such a waste otherwise, y’know?”
Touched by the gesture, Jisung was speechless at first as he peered into the bag. “That’s really sweet of you. Thank you.”
“Just don’t tell anyone, please? Or my ass is fired.”
“Then I can’t accept these—”
“I know it’s none of my business, but seeing you hardly eat anything all day—I was a little worried, is all.”
The sincere gleam in Jeongin’s eyes put an end to further protest. Jisung nodded, silent but thankful.
Jisung drove back to his parking lot and watched the rest of the sunset from his car. The pistachio-flavored macaron he nibbled on was a reminder of the small and mundane joys that made life bearable.
He paused his chewing when in the corner of his eye, the silhouette of a cat appeared against the marbled sky. It was lying on the hood of a truck a few spots down and grooming itself. Jisung squinted until a familiar gray coat and lavender collar came into view.
Apparently, it seemed that Lee Minho couldn’t contain this escape artist for long.
His first thought was to bring Dori to his owner like a good Samaritan, but his cynical voice asked why bother when Minho would likely accuse him of pulling some elaborate catnapping hoax. But being the animal lover that he was, his conscience wouldn’t let him sit by idly for long. With a long sigh, he grabbed some leftover beef jerky from his bag and made his way toward the cat.
Dori leapt off the truck when he saw Jisung approach, though not running off, training his hazel eyes on him. Jisung lowered himself on all fours; all it took was dangling a strip of jerky to win Dori’s trust.
Moments later, he was knocking on the door of his old apartment with dread buzzing down his spine and an armful of purring feline.
“If your owner gets violent with me,” Jisung whispered to the cat cradled against his chest, “I’m using you as a meat shield.”
“Mrow,” Dori replied.
“Exactly.”
Minho must’ve spotted them through the peephole because the door flew open the next moment, and he all but collapsed against the door frame in relief as if his cat had just returned from war.
“Here, I found him in the parking lot and I’m gonna go now okay,” Jisung quickly mumbled out in one breath. He deposited Dori in Minho’s arms and turned on his heel to make a hasty retreat.
“Jisung-ssi, wait!”
Wincing, Jisung peeked over his shoulder. Minho stood in the hallway nuzzling Dori against his neck, though a mild distrust was evident in his furrowed brow.
“What a coincidence seeing you here again,” Minho said.
Jisung rolled his eyes. “Don’t bother calling the cops this time. Rest assured you’ll never see me again.”
“Mrrrp?” Dori supplied.
The tense line of Minho’s body seemed to dissipate, to Jisung’s surprise. “Hey, listen—would you like to come in?”
Jisung blinked hard in a mental double take. “What? You’re inviting me into your apartment? Why?”
“It’s a simple yes or no question.”
Right on cue to further embarrass him, Jisung’s stomach growled as a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since morning, and again when he whiffed the unmistakable smell of beef short rib soup drifting from the apartment.
Well... he supposed his dignity could wait until after a full belly.
“Are you sure—”
“I’m almost done making dinner,” Minho cut him off and nodded at him to come inside.
Jisung cautiously followed him in and shut the door. As he toed off his shoes, he noticed that the apartment was properly furnished unlike last time, aside from a few moving boxes in the corner that hadn’t been squared away. A cream leather couch was the living room centerpiece with a pair of matching chairs over a plush gray rug. A massive TV hung on the opposite wall. The decor was otherwise elegant and minimalist, a far cry from Jisung’s cluttered version of the space.
Minho released Dori onto a cat tower by the living room window, showering his kitty face with kisses. “You’re a gigantic pain in the ass, Lee Dori,” he cooed with fondness dripping from every syllable. When he turned to Jisung, he almost seemed to glow in a halo of evening sunlight. “Thank you for bringing him home.”
“I... you’re welcome.”
After politely declining an offer of a drink, Jisung was ushered to wait on the couch while Minho assured dinner would soon be ready. Jisung gingerly settled down onto the plush leather, and upon making sure Minho wasn’t looking, he leaned over to sniff an arrangement of flowers on the side table next to the couch. They were fake, to his disappointment.
Meanwhile Minho busied himself in the kitchen that saw more action than Jisung ever provided in his own tenancy. The counter was crowded with a cutting board and various ingredients of vegetables and spice jars, and two pots simmered on the stove. When Minho started mincing more beef, Dori trotted into the kitchen to hang by his owner’s feet.
“I can’t believe you found him in the parking lot, of all places,” Minho said, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Jisung. “I’ve been worried sick since yesterday thinking of all the ways he could be in danger—I even took off work today to look for him!—and he was right under my nose all along.” He shook his head and chuckled weakly as he continued dicing.
Jisung snorted. “Even so, to his credit, he didn’t make a fuss when I caught him. He’s a very nice kitty. How did he escape anyway?”
Minho sighed, “I accidentally left the balcony door open overnight. Like the grade-A idiot that I am.”
Dori meowed as if to agree.
A few minutes later, Minho called for Jisung to join him in the kitchen and set two piping hot bowls of short rib soup on the table. It was surreal to see this domestic side of him after their last encounter, but Jisung’s rumbling stomach reminded him of his priorities.
After a week of surviving on convenience store food, the rich warmth of soup was a blessing upon his tongue. He glanced up to find Minho staring at him with a tinge of curiosity.
“What?” Jisung mumbled with a cheekful of rice.
“Oh—it’s nothing.”
A warm flush coated Jisung’s face. “Sorry, I must look like a slob right now. It’s been a few days since I’ve had a decent meal.”
Minho grabbed a piece of laver with his chopsticks. “So what brings you to the neighborhood again? You’re not stalking me, are you?”
Jisung nearly choked on his food and reached for his glass of water. “Listen, I know you’re joking,” he said after a gulp, “but I apologize again for last time. I was out of line to approach you like that.”
“Water under the bridge,” Minho shrugged. “Where are you staying now?”
The familiar urge to spin a lie rose from his stomach like bile. But Jisung was tired. And Minho was a stranger, so what did it matter?
Jisung stared hard into his soup and stirred random patterns with his spoon. “I’m in between housing situations at the moment.”
“What do you mean? Where do you sleep, then?”
“Rio.”
“What? As in Brazil?”
Jisung glanced up, laughing weakly. “Nope, as in my car... a Kia Rio. Ha ha ha... ha.”
Unfortunately, Minho did not share the humor and stared at him with a sober expression, prompting Jisung to retire his comedy act for the day. Both men resumed their meals in silence, save for the clinking of chopsticks and spoons against their bowls.
After thanking Minho again for dinner, Jisung cleared the table out of a need to atone, but when he reached to turn on the sink Minho stepped in from behind and gently grasped his wrist in protest. The sudden proximity of their bodies made Jisung thankful that he’d showered that day.
“You’re the guest, Jisung-ssi. No need to do that.”
Jisung stepped back, unsettled by the lingering heat on his skin where Minho had touched. He took it as a sign to wrap it up for the evening. “Well, I think I’ve inconvenienced you enough for today.” He offered a shallow bow and tried to think of parting words.
Minho crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter, his brow furrowed in seemingly deep thought. “What does a manservant do exactly?”
Jisung blinked. “Wh—pardon?”
“You said before that you’d be my manservant if I let you stay here.”
Jisung silently cursed Minho’s sharp memory. How desperate had Jisung been to have blurted out such a thing? (The answer was apparently very.)
“Oh god, please forget everything I said that day.”
“I’m kidding,” Minho said dryly, though his ears were turning a faint shade of red.
If there was any mercy left in the world, the floor would have opened up and swallowed Jisung whole. Regrettably for him, the ground beneath his feet remained as solid as ever, leaving the two men to navigate the thickening tension on their own.
“Two weeks,” Minho finally broke the silence.
“Two weeks...?”
Minho gripped the edge of the sink behind him and shrugged. “You can stay here for two weeks like you asked. If you still want to, that is.”
Raising a brow, it took Jisung a moment to gather his words. “You’d... be okay with that? Seriously?” He was interrupted by something bumping his ankle; he looked down to find Dori walking in a figure eight through his legs.
“Only because Dori trusts you,” Minho said with a light smirk.
“Holy shit,” Jisung exhaled, feeling like he could breathe for the first time since the day he received that fateful email. He instinctively stepped forward and opened up his arms for a hug but stopped himself before he could give the other man a reason to call the cops again. “Thank you, Minho-ssi,” he offered where he stood. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
Minho averted his gaze as if to deflect Jisung’s sincerity. “Feel free to bring in your stuff when you’re ready. There’s plenty of space in the living room.”
A buzzing sounded from Minho’s pocket, and upon checking his phone he promptly excused himself, saying that he had to meet someone. He fetched a spare set of keys from the other room, almost dropping it in a distracted state before handing it to Jisung. He told Jisung to help himself to the dessert in the fridge and rushed out of the apartment, firmly shutting the door behind.
And then Jisung was left alone in the apartment he once had free reign of; now simply breathing in it felt foreign. The whirlwind of an evening made his head spin.
Out of curiosity, he peeked in the refrigerator and spotted a slice of chocolate cake: three layers of velvety decadence waiting to be devoured. He quickly shut the door, reminding himself to be the perfect house guest from now on.
He returned to his car and brought back essential items only: a suitcase full of spare clothing, toiletries, his laptop, and a blanket. For dessert he ate his last pack of Twinkies, swiping some of the cream filling for Dori to lick from his hand.
Jisung was dozing off in a chair when Minho came home. Before Jisung could utter a greeting, he caught the blur of Minho’s harsh expression as the latter made a beeline to his room without a word. He closed the door shut, leaving behind the smell of stale cigarettes.
Picking up on Minho’s don’t-bother-me-don’t-even-breathe-on-me mood, Jisung washed up and got ready to turn in for the night.
Now to decide where to sleep. The leather sofa was out of the question as it was brand new; he wasn’t worthy of the privilege, not yet at least. So he laid out a towel on the hardwood floor and balled up his jacket into a makeshift pillow.
Lying in darkness that was both familiar and not, Jisung curled up under his blanket, though at first slumber eluded him. He stared at the sliver of light leaking under Minho’s door and vaguely wondered what—or who—could have upset him so much.
A warm weight settled next to Jisung on the blanket, and the soothing rumble of a purr finally lulled him to sleep.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The sun on his face coaxed him awake the next morning.
Blinking the sleep away, the first thing he saw was a pair of pretty eyes staring at him from above. He then made out an equally pretty nose and familiar bunny teeth peeking from under a plump upper lip.
“Don’t move,” Minho whispered.
“Huh?”
Thwack.
Something that felt like rolled-up paper lightly smacked Jisung across the forehead. He mumbled a curse, feebly swatting at Minho’s choice of weapon. “What was that for?!”
“There was a spider on your face.”
The shriek that Jisung emitted could’ve shattered glass as he scrambled to his feet. Meanwhile the offending spider scuttled up the nearest wall looking none the worse for wear.
“There’s coffee and cereal,” Minho said, walking to the kitchen. He was already dressed for work in a three piece suit and tie, and his hair was styled like that of a proper professional, leaving half of his forehead exposed. Truthfully, Jisung would’ve admired the view were he not disoriented from the (literal) rude awakening.
Suddenly a mugful of coffee was shoved under his nose. He accepted, though feeling embarrassed about his bed head and shirt that said “STUD MUFFIN” next to a cartoon muffin flexing its biceps.
“I strongly suggest you sleep on the couch,” Minho said, sounding vaguely irritated for some reason. “Unless you like having spiders crawl up your nose at night.”
“Isn’t that how Spider-Man got his powers?” Jisung attempted to jest. But when it was met with an unamused stare he could only guess that Minho’s sour mood from last night had carried over.
“Wi-fi password’s on the fridge,” were Minho’s last words before he slipped a granola bar between his teeth and made his exit, the scent of aftershave lingering in his steps.
After finishing breakfast, Jisung planted himself in front of his laptop and began the tedious task of job hunting. He spent the morning submitting his resume to site after site until his grumbling stomach signaled lunchtime.
He couldn’t possibly take food from the kitchen—he’d already eaten Minho’s cereal, for which he was feeling borderline guilty, even if he was offered it. He rummaged through his backpack and found his half-eaten bag of beef jerky.
Dori, who had been critter watching from the window until now, came bounding to Jisung’s side.
“Oh, so now you notice me, Your Highness?” Jisung said, dutifully feeding him a small piece of jerky.
After finishing the rest of his “meal” which wasn’t fulfilling at all (but what was in life?), he scoured employment listings for another hour before the weight of futility bore down on his shoulders.
He closed his laptop and eyed a tumbleweed of cat fur by his feet, then at the vacuum cleaner across the room that seemed to glare at him with a challenge.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Numbness crept up his arm from what felt like hours of scrubbing. His knees were sore and his lower back was killing him.
Bent over the bathtub’s edge, he’d been attacking a stubborn patch of mildew to no avail. He regretted not taking care of it when the stain had formed weeks ago. (Admittedly, his cleaning habits left much to be desired.)
“Die, villainous scum,” he murmured through his teeth, spraying more solution onto the tile. “Why can’t I kill you?!”
“Who are you talking to?”
With a startled yelp, Jisung lost his grip against the tiled wall and tumbled forward, barely avoiding face-planting in the tub.
“Minho-ssi,” he said as he rose to his feet, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Minho stood in the doorway with arms crossed, looking slightly more disheveled than when he’d walked out of the apartment that morning.
“This wasn’t part of the deal,” he said, annoyance etched on his face as he loosened the knot of his tie.
Jisung was taken aback by his bluntness. “Huh? I had some free time on my hands, so I figured I should make myself useful. I tidied up the living room and kitchen, and I cleaned Dori’s litter box too. All in a day’s work of a manservant,” he added to lighten the mood. Then he stammered to add, “B-But I swear I didn’t step foot in your room.”
Minho sighed and gave his tie a frustrated tug. “I didn’t ask you to do any of this, Jisung-ssi. From now on, consider no strings attached to our... arrangement. I only ask that we respect each other’s space and privacy for the next two weeks. Deal?”
It seemed that Minho was in a bit of a mood, but whatever, his words were more than reasonable. Jisung removed his cleaning gloves and held out a hand to shake on it, but Minho merely glanced at the offering and walked away.
“Fine, Mister Poopy Pants,” Jisung whispered at the other’s audacity to leave him hanging.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jisung was in no position to let pride cloud his judgment. And yet.
He refused to be lured by the sizzling of pan fried fish that Minho was preparing that evening. Minho hadn’t explicitly asked him to join him for dinner, but the two sets of plates laid out on the kitchen table made his intent fairly obvious.
The contradiction baffled; hadn’t Minho literally suggested that they ignore each other for the remainder of the two weeks? Yet he was apparently fine with dining together? At the same table? (The potential awkwardness was bad enough to trigger a full body cringe.)
“Minho-ssi,” Jisung said, lingering by the kitchen counter, “there’s no need to cook for me. I’ll take care of my own meals.”
Minho replied with a vague noise of acknowledgment.
Well, that was that. Jisung supposed it was back to the life of soggy convenience store food and the occasional freebies from Jeongin.
As he laced up his sneakers to head outside, he could feel Minho eyeing him from the kitchen, though Minho didn’t question where he was going. (And why should he have? It was Jisung’s business and his alone.)
Zipping up his jacket against the autumn wind, Jisung trekked across several blocks until he arrived at Miroh Café.
“Everything bagel with cream cheese, and honey lemon tea?” Jeongin asked preemptively.
“Wow, Jeongin-ssi. So you’re a psychic on top of being the best barista in town,” Jisung said, relieved to see a friendly face.
Jeongin responded with a good-natured eye-roll and began preparing the order.
After stopping by the café (where Jeongin was kind enough to throw in some extra canelés) and ordering another tea to go, Jisung made a detour to the park, seeking solace in old habits. He stood under the lakeside gazebo and was soothed by the trees whispering in their phantom language, and he remained peering over the moonlit water long after his tea had turned cold in his hands. It had been awhile since he fed the ducks; he made a mental note to come back in the morning with fresh sunflower seeds and their favorite berries.
It was almost midnight when Jisung returned to the apartment. Minho was presumably asleep as no light escaped from his room tonight.
As he tiptoed to the bathroom, he noticed that an empty plate on the kitchen table had remained in place, with a pair of chopsticks and a spoon set to the side. A small note was tucked under the plate:
Dinner’s in the fridge. Please clear the table when you’re done.
Jisung scowled in confusion. Had he not made his earlier rejection clear enough?
Nonetheless he resisted the beckoning of the fridge and quietly cleared the table.
After washing up, he slept on the floor and once again ignored the plush expanse of the leather couch.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The rest of the week unfolded in the same pattern: Minho left for work before Jisung woke up, and Jisung spent the day glued to his laptop looking for employment.
They stuck to their agreement and avoided each other if it could be helped, exchanging bare greetings when they crossed paths. Occasionally Jisung noticed that Minho would come home late with his crisp suit marred by creases and an unease thrumming beneath those dark eyes. Jisung was tempted to ask about the cause of his distress, but his desire to keep the peace overrode his curiosity.
But what confounded most of all was that Minho continued to place an extra dinner plate on the table each evening; a silent invitation that Jisung refused each time. He gave up trying to understand Minho’s reasoning, though he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in his chest whenever he put away an empty plate.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“Dear Mister Han,” Jisung read aloud, his face bathed in the artificial glow of the phone screen, “we regret to inform you that the position you’re seeking is no longer available... Thank you for your interest and we wish you best of luck in your professional future endeavors and kindly suck on deez nuts.”
(He paraphrased the last bit but only because he’d grown sick of the mind-numbing platitudes in these rejection emails.)
He set his phone aside to pick up a pair of scissors and began cutting another sheet of paper into thin strips.
Plagued by insomnia in this late hour, Jisung was seated at the kitchen table and had buried himself in the task of folding origami lucky stars, aiming to make at least one hundred. Apparently that was the number needed to make a wish, but he did it not so much for luck but because he was soothed by the monotonous act of folding paper.
After tossing the last star into the pile in his disposable cup, he began rooting around for more bits of paper he could use, peeking into the kitchen drawers and careful not to disturb the organized cutlery and odd cooking tools he couldn’t name.
“Ow!” he yelped when he jammed his finger in a drawer that had closed too quickly. He tensed up and held his breath for any signs that Minho may have been disturbed; silence was his answer, to his relief.
He then came upon a plain-covered notebook inside what was essentially a junk drawer of loose change, pens, keychains and the like. A quick perusal showed most of the pages were unused. Perfect. Surely there would be no harm in helping himself to a few.
He pulled out the book and flipped it open in his hands, gasping when several photographs slipped out of the pages and scattered to the floor. Crouching down, he fumbled to pick up what had fallen. Upon cursory glance they looked to be family portraits of a couple posing with their child. He squinted through the dim lighting, and in one of them he recognized Minho as a young child, no more than five or six years old, standing next to the man who was presumably his father. Minho was holding up a wooden spoon and the man a metal whisk. They sported matching grins and flour stains on their shirts.
The next photo he grabbed showed young Minho and the same man sitting at a table; Minho was holding an eggshell that had been split in two as he beamed proudly at the camera, his eyes crinkled into crescents. A caption of “Perfect Egg Crack!” was written on the bottom. Jisung chuckled at the cuteness.
“Jisung-ssi?”
Startled, Jisung nearly dropped the photos and he looked up to find Minho standing in the kitchen in his night clothes, though his expression was wide awake. It seemed Jisung wasn’t the only one whom sleep eluded tonight.
Minho’s face darkened when he eyed what Jisung was holding, then at the scattered mess on the ground.
“Where did you get those?” The words were more an accusation than a question.
“Oh... I found a notebook in a drawer and these pictures fell out from the pages.” Jisung quickly gathered up the remaining photos but before he could slip them back in, they were seized from his grasp.
A scowl claimed Minho as he shuffled through the pictures. “And might I ask why you were going through my stuff in the first place?”
Jisung swallowed and rose to his feet. “This will sound stupid, but... I was looking for paper to make origami stars with, that’s all.”
Minho’s scowl deepened, casting a harsh shadow across his face. “When I asked that we respect each other’s privacy, I thought it was clear that it also meant respecting each other’s property.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” Jisung was anxious to explain himself, “but I had no idea these pictures were in there. I didn’t mean to pry. Like I said, I just wanted to—”
“You can make a million origami for all I care,” Minho spat, his words clipped but his eyes glossed with a strange hurt. “All I ask is that you stay out of my goddamn business.” He stressed each of the last words, harsh and deliberate, as if Jisung wouldn’t get it through his head otherwise.
Jisung shut his eyes for the length of a deep breath. It was late, he was fucking exhausted from running on fumes for the past 48 hours, and he had zero energy left to deal with Minho acting as though Jisung had just pissed on his ancestor’s grave. This was not the hill he wanted to die on.
“Alright, fine,” Jisung huffed out in resignation. Feeling acid rise up his throat, he tossed the cup of origami stars in the trash. He wouldn’t have been able to finish them and they’d mostly turned out like crap anyway.
A shadow of regret seemed to seize Minho for a moment. He took a step forward and opened his mouth to say something, but Jisung wanted none of it. All he wanted was to shut off his brain for the night and not think about whatever transgressions he may or may not have committed against Minho among the myriad of his other failures in life.
In a brusque motion he excused himself to the bathroom, having nowhere else to escape to.
He turned on the shower but made no move to step inside, instead dropping to the floor with his back against the bathtub. The steady hiss of hot water drowned out his thoughts, and for a few blessed moments, he was free from the maddening puzzle that was Lee Minho.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It was awkward the next day to say the least.
The problem with two people sharing one bathroom was that crossing paths in the morning was damn near unavoidable. Jisung had stepped out of the shower with a towel around his waist and sopping hair obscuring his vision, and the second he opened the door, he collided firmly with Minho’s torso. He tumbled sideways, holding onto his towel (and modesty) for dear life instead of using his hand to break his fall, thus landing with a comically loud thud.
Minho stood over him with mouth agape and extended a hand for him to take. Jisung glowered through his wet bangs and rose to his feet, pointedly ignoring Minho’s gesture of help and the likely bruising on his own hip.
They tiptoed around each other until Minho left for work looking more disheveled than usual. The dark circles under his eyes somehow worked favorably with his complexion, which only served to irritate Jisung more.
Jisung had zero will to be productive today, choosing instead to become one with the couch. Then the evening ushered in a thunderstorm as if he needed another reason to brood over the pitfalls of existence.
Curled up like a sad comma under the blanket, Jisung looked up from where he lay and saw a spider—the same one that had traversed his face—diligently spinning a web under the window sill. Unlike Jisung, it had made itself useful by catching other bugs and keeping the apartment pest-free. And unlike Jisung, it had a purpose in life.
Han Jisung’s self-esteem had reached a new low.
And as if things couldn’t get worse, Minho walked through the door that very moment looking like an obnoxious jetsetter with perfectly mussed hair and sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he carried his vintage leather bag. Petty anger curdled under Jisung’s skin. Needing an out, he laced up his shoes as soon as Minho had removed his, and he abandoned the safety of the apartment for the raging rainstorm outside.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Scorching deserts; tropical beaches; Satan’s asshole in the deepest pits of hell.
Desperate to quell his body chills, Jisung squeezed his eyes shut and visualized the warmest places imaginable. For the past twelve hours or so he’d been shivering under his blanket and enduring bone-deep aches that had him cursing the mutiny against his own body. He’d lost track of time, drifting in and out of foggy consciousness.
At some vague point that evening, he felt the press of a cool, damp cloth against his cheek.
“Have you taken medicine?” came Minho’s voice. The edge of the couch cushion dipped with his weight.
“What do you care?” Jisung scoffed, throat burning raw.
The cloth moved to his forehead. “You look like shit.”
“Good, ’cause I feel like shit.”
“Listen, I know you’ve been rejecting my meals, which is your prerogative. But I’m asking you not to do that today, Jisung-ssi. I spent over two hours making pine nut porridge for you.”
Jisung pried open a wary eye. “You what?”
“Take this first,” Minho said, holding up two medicine capsules and a bottle of water.
With herculean effort, Jisung sat up and begrudgingly accepted the offerings, grimacing at the pain when he swallowed the medicine.
“This is what happens when you go out in the cold pouring rain wearing only a t-shirt and fashionably tattered jeans,” Minho chided gently.
Jisung’s attempt at a sneer came out more as a whimper. “Excuse you, the holes in my jeans were formed organically through years of wear and tear.” However, it didn’t change the fact that Minho was right and that Jisung should’ve exercised more caution two nights ago. He peeked sideways at Minho and softly spoke the next words. “Seriously though, why do you care?”
“I have to step out for a while,” Minho stood up, avoiding the question. “Please drink plenty of fluids in the meantime. The porridge is in the kitchen.”
“Whatever,” Jisung said under his breath, flopping back onto the couch and yanking the blanket over his head.
Stupid Minho. Why is he so concerned all of a sudden? He should mind his own stupid business. Stupid handsom—Stupid Minho.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
When Jisung next awoke, he vaguely wondered if he’d died and ascended to the afterlife, sensing that he was floating on a literal cloud.
His hands grasping onto bed sheets put that notion to rest.
His eyes sprung open to a darkened room save for the “3:57 A.M.” glowing on a nearby alarm clock. With a confused gasp he propped himself on his elbows and shifted back until his head hit the plush headboard.
He was in... Minho’s bed???
What the fuck? He lifted the duvet he’d been tucked under and could make out that he was in the same clothes—a sweatshirt and lounge pants—except his feet were clad in a pair of fuzzy socks that definitely were not his.
He still felt like death warmed over. Soreness plagued every inch of muscle and his throat was on fire, but the chills had subsided for now.
With a grimace he rolled out of bed, needing to take a piss. He shuffled from the bedroom and spotted Minho asleep on the couch, still dressed in his work clothes after having presumably come home late. His suit jacket was draped over the armrest.
A mix of guilt and gratitude froze Jisung in place as he watched Minho in slumber and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. (He definitely wasn’t staring at his exposed collarbone from one too many shirt button undone.) With his normally sharp features softened by the dark, Minho looked uncharacteristically peaceful—which was kind of screwing with Jisung’s mind.
After snapping out of it and answering the call of nature, Jisung considered waking Minho to switch places, but he had a feeling that Minho would be annoyingly honorable about it. So he grabbed the jacket from the armest and draped it over its owner like a blanket.
Crawling back into bed, he tried to ignore the gnawing ache in his bones and the scent of Minho’s cologne embedded in the sheets.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“Dori, get off of him!”
Jisung’s eyes blinked open to a whispering voice... and a faceful of fur.
“Mrrowoww.”
Instinctively, Jisung’s hand came up to pat said lump of fur. It seemed Dori had snuggled up against his chin while he was asleep, except the cat’s rear end was pressed rather ungracefully to his cheek.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Minho said as he drew open the curtains to let in the sun. Before Jisung could unfog his brain, Minho was pressing the back of his hand against Jisung’s forehead. “Hm, looks like your fever broke.”
The good news was offset by a headache now joined by a hacking cough that spooked Dori off of him.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Jisung croaked when his coughing fit subsided.
Minho sat on the bed and huffed through his nose. “You sound almost disappointed. It’s a Saturday, if you weren’t aware.”
Jisung stared up groggily. Minho smelled of soap and cloves, and the shirt he wore was emblazoned with the words “Stay PAWsitive” next to a cat giving a thumbs-up. His face showed traces of stubble and his hair was a tad frizzy with dampness from the shower. He looked... fluffy?
This odd train of thought was derailed when Jisung tried to hack up his lungs again. Minho offered another set of pills which Jisung downed with equally poor enthusiasm as the first time.
“Ugh... how am I not dead yet?” he said, tearing up from the coughing spell. He curled in the fetal position under the covers. “Minho-ssi, promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a gazebo overlooking the lake by the park. If I die... scatter my ashes from there.”
“I dunno, Jisung-ssi. I feel like Dori might eat your corpse first.”
Jisung snorted, “That’s fucking dark.”
“I’m not the one preemptively planning my own funeral.”
“I’m being practical.”
Minho hummed. “I see. Do you have any other requests should you meet an untimely end?”
“Yes. If Dori does end up eating me, please season my remains first.”
For the first time since they’d met, he heard Minho laugh a genuine laugh, a light and clear sound. Perhaps the prior fever had pushed Jisung to delirium, but he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the accomplishment—which was promptly deflated by his growling stomach.
“Err,” he began sheepishly, “I guess I’ll have some of that pine nut porridge.”
“Good,” Minho said, extending a hand to help him out of bed.
“What do you do, Jisung-ssi?”
Jisung was on his second bowl of porridge when Minho joined him at the kitchen table. He quickly swallowed his food as the other’s interest took him by surprise.
“Huh, me? Well... I used to work for an optometrist, selling glasses to patients and helping with lens fitting and stuff like that.”
“I see.” Minho picked at his muffin and snorted after a beat. “No pun intended.”
Jisung snorted back. “No worries, I have a very thick skin when it comes to puns—and questionable humor in general.”
“Good to know,” Minho said, raising an amused brow. “So what did you study, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Business with a minor in psychology. Honestly I wasn’t sure of what career path to take, so I picked something that would let me cast a wide net. Except since graduating I haven’t come closer to knowing what I want.”
“No childhood aspirations?”
Jisung let out a wry chuckle as he stirred his spoon around the bowl. “I loved drawing when I was a kid. I wanted to be a comic book artist but my artistic skills left a lot to be desired, so I gave that up pretty quick.”
He explained that he’d considered grad school to gain an edge in a tough economy, but due to financial pressure he’d taken the first job that hired him.
“As much as I’d like to put my degree to use,” Jisung continued, “rent and student loans don’t pay themselves, y’know?” He hoped he didn’t sound as embarrassed as he felt.
“You helped people see better. That’s nothing to scoff at,” Minho said.
Warmth seeped into Jisung’s face and he pressed his knuckles to his cheek, wondering if his fever had returned. Why was Minho being so... nice?
Regardless, Jisung didn’t want to jinx the moment and went with the flow of whatever it was that had sparked between them.
To his surprise, their conversation went on long after he finished his last bowl of porridge. They opened up and shared their birthdays, birth towns, where their families lived now. Jisung was born in Incheon and emigrated when he was in middle school; meanwhile although Minho was born in Gimpo, his family moved to the U.S. when he was a baby where they stayed until he was five.
“Then my parents split up,” Minho said, handing Jisung a mug of herbal tea. “My mom and I moved back to Korea while my dad stayed here for his business.”
Jisung thanked him for the tea and cradled it in his hands for warmth. “And what made you come back to America?”
Minho shrugged and stirred the tea bag around in his own mug. “I work for an electronics manufacturer, and they branched out to the States this year and needed a marketing team. Since I knew a modicum of English, the higher-ups recommended me, and I really wasn’t in a position to refuse.”
“I don’t mean to assume, but you don’t sound too thrilled about it.”
Minho’s lips curved in a rueful smile. “No, you’re right. I was anxious about moving and it didn’t help that my personal life turned... complicated as soon as I arrived here.” He paused, letting a more solemn expression settle as he nervously fiddled with the mug handle. “I’m ashamed to say I let it affect me—I started behaving like an ass who couldn’t trust anyone else... and for that I apologize. Especially the way I reacted over the photos, when you did nothing wrong.” His eyes carried a certain heaviness as he glanced up. “I’m sorry, Jisung-ssi. You deserved better from me.”
Guilt churned in Jisung’s stomach seeing as he hadn’t been the paragon of maturity himself, either. “I’m sorry too. You were right that I shouldn’t have touched your stuff without permission.” He reached across the table and lightly tapped the back of his hand to Minho’s. “But hey—you’re practically a saint, all things considered. You took me in when I had nowhere else to turn to. Hell, I could’ve been a serial killer, or worse, a catnapper! But you took a chance on a complete stranger, and that says a lot.”
“Yeah, that I was out of my mind,” Minho softly snorted.
Jisung scrunched his face in mock offense before giving into a chuckle. “I don’t disagree.” He took another long sip of tea to soothe his throat. Feeling a bit braver in their newfound cordiality, he blurted out, “Can I ask what changed your mind?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve been pretty distant till now, so... I guess I wanna know what brought me the privilege of sharing tea with you today.”
Minho focused intently on the tabletop and rubbed his nape, his ears beginning to color. “It’s true I kept my distance because I was struggling with personal matters. I was also afraid you’d think I expected something in return from our arrangement, when that was the last thing I wanted. Then I realized—”
When Minho trailed off, Jisung spoke up gently. “Realized what?”
“It’s—nothing. The point is, when you ran out in the pouring rain that night, it felt like you were running away from me. Which wouldn’t have happened if you’d trusted me in the first place. And seeing you in this condition—” He vaguely gestured to Jisung, again struggling for his next words and reluctant to meet his eyes.
“Hey, it’s not your fault I got sick.”
Minho’s ears turned a brilliant shade of scarlet.
Jisung lifted his mug and smiled over the rim, and he extended a fist toward Minho across the table. “So we’re cool?”
With the tension between them now relieved, Minho rolled his eyes but returned the fistbump anyway with a smile of his own. “Yeah. Like ice or whatever.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
After another day of rest and plenty of Minho’s homemade porridge, Jisung was well on his way to recovery. He still fought a nagging cough but was well enough to be out and about without feeling like a zombie.
Then he realized that tomorrow was the deadline of their living arrangement, and his job prospects weren’t looking any better. Resigned to his fate, he tried not to dwell on it; he was grateful to be ending his stay on a positive note at least.
In the afternoon he made his usual trek to Miroh Café, splurging on an iced Americano and cheesecake despite his ever shrinking wallet.
Jeongin’s thoughtful gaze lingered on him as he handed him the change.
“Am I that pretty?” Jisung said with a slight laugh. “I’m gonna have to charge if you keep staring.”
“Jisung-ssi,” Jeongin finally said. “Can I ask you something?”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The apartment smelled of smoky marinated meat when Jisung walked in, courtesy of Minho stir frying spicy pork for dinner. Jisung’s mouth watered, knowing that he didn’t have to avoid Minho’s cooking anymore.
He placed a box of cheesecake slice on the counter; he’d bought it on a whim as a token of gratitude.
“For you, Minho-ssi.”
(Why was his heart pounding? He should’ve laid off the caffeine from earlier, he figured.)
“For me?” Minho glanced back from the stove and raised his voice over the roaring exhaust fan. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t have to take me into your home, either.” Jisung folded his arms over the counter, breathing out slowly. “I got a job today.”
Minho turned around from mixing sliced onions into the pan. “You did? That’s great news, Jisung-ssi.”
“It’s at a coffee shop not far from here. The barista I know there is quitting in two weeks and he vetted for me to take over. It’s not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take anything that pays.”
It was a bittersweet milestone to lose Jeongin in his daily life while gaining this opportunity. Nonetheless he was grateful and swore not to squander the chance.
Over dinner, Jisung steeled himself and addressed the elephant in the room.
“So,” he began, poking his chopsticks into his bowl of rice, “I guess tomorrow—”
“You can stay longer,” Minho quickly chimed in.
The farewell speech that Jisung had rehearsed vanished from his tongue as Minho spoke on.
“I know we agreed on two weeks, but you just got the job today, right? I’d assume you’ll need more time to save up.” Minho stared down at his plate, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “But it’s up to you, no pressure.”
Overwhelmed, Jisung repeatedly asked if Minho was truly okay with this, and Minho repeated yes more firmly each time.
“Wow, that’s...” A million words blurred through Jisung’s mind until he settled for a sincere, “Thank you.”
(In the meantime, he really wished his heart would calm the hell down.)
“Would another month be okay with you?” Jisung dared to ask.
“Yeah, sounds great—sounds fine. I mean, whatever works for you.”
Dori cut in with a sad yowl as he’d been patiently waiting at their feet for his freebies.
“Sorry, Your Highness.” Jisung laughed and hand-fed Dori an extra plump piece of meat.
“Cute.”
Jisung looked up in time to catch Minho’s gaze on him. “What?”
“What—huh?” Minho blanched. “I meant Dori’s cute. Yes, my cat is cute and I can say that because he’s my cat and cats are cute, especially mine.” He stuffed a lettuce wrap into his mouth, effectively shutting himself up.
Amused, Jisung smirked around a spoonful of rice.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The two weeks that followed flew by. Jeongin took Jisung under his wing and trained him in all aspects of running the café, from operating the brewers and grinders to managing supplies to opening and closing the shop. During busier hours, Jisung shared his shift with another new hire, Felix, a friendly Aussie expat who was working his way through grad school and happened to be an expert at latte art.
The long and irregular hours meant that Jisung often came home after Minho did. It was exhausting, but the pay was surprisingly decent, and at this rate he’d be able to pay his portion of back rent and save up enough for a security deposit within a reasonable time frame.
And throughout all this, he and Minho settled into an easy rapport. They shared household chores without fuss and without any rules set in stone unlike their previous attempt at cohabitation. Jisung contributed what he could toward their grocery budget despite Minho not keeping tabs. If Jisung noticed that Minho had come home extra tired, he cooked them ramyeon to give the older a break for the evening, and vice versa (though there was no question as to who was the superior cook, so Jisung kept his culinary attempts to a minimum.).
Each day seemed to reveal some new aspect in which they matched; their food preferences, the movies they enjoyed, even the dumb memes they shared over chat. They somehow found themselves in a competition to outdo each other with the best (worst) cringey jokes.
Lee Minho: hey
Lee Minho: i ran into an old friend at the furniture store
Han Jisung: you did?
Lee Minho: yeah
Lee Minho: the recliner and i go way back
Lee Minho: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Han Jisung: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Han Jisung: you win this round
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Unlike Jeongin, Jisung had no qualms about smuggling—no, rehoming food that had gone unsold at the end of the day. He was grateful for his co-worker Felix always turning a blind eye.
But really, it would’ve been a cardinal sin to discard perfectly good gourmet pastries, and if he and Minho reaped the benefits of the good deed, so be it.
One evening after a weekend shift, Jisung brought back “orphaned” cheesecake to enjoy with Minho for their movie night. (Minho had crashed Jisung’s viewing of Howl’s Moving Castle one late night, nudging at him to make room on the sofa, and from then on it had progressed into a regular thing.)
The two having settled on the horror flick du jour, Jisung dimmed the lights and joined Minho on the couch with Dori faithfully nestled in the spot between them.
Then Jisung noticed something different about the room: a dazzling bouquet of carnations boasting red, pink, lavender, and cream colors had replaced the fake flowers on the side table.
His jaw dropped. “Whoa, these are beautiful! I didn’t know you had an admirer,” he said as his fingertips skimmed the petals.
“I don’t,” Minho said.
“Then who are these from?”
“Me.”
Jisung gasped and splayed his hand over his chest, playing flattered. “No way! You bought flowers for moi?”
Minho clicked his tongue. “What? You wish. I bought them for the living room decor. Also ’cause I got tired of hearing you complain about the fake flowers.”
To say it was complaining was a stretch; Jisung had offhandedly mentioned the value of real flowers over plastic ones, maybe twice at most. Nonetheless he was pleased with the upgraded decor, and he practically face-plunged into the bouquet to inhale its scent.
“You gonna watch the movie or snort flowers up your nose all night?” Minho nagged.
Jisung whipped around with an expert pout. “Whatever, Mister Poopy Pants. Pass me that glass.”
They each enjoyed their cheesecake with a glass of wine, but even more so, bouncing their cheeky commentary back and forth as scenes of grisly horror unfolded on the TV screen.
“This is good cheesecake, but I think I can make better,” Minho said, scraping his fork over the crumbs on the plate.
“Oh-ho-ho, don’t speak lightly of Miroh Café’s famous baked goods! But you’re welcome to try.”
Minho waggled an eyebrow. “Challenge accepted.”
They resumed the movie without interruption until Minho spoke up after a predictable plot twist. “Have you found a place to stay yet?”
Jisung froze mid-sip. The wine that had warmly coated his stomach was replaced with dread as he wondered if it was time for that conversation—the one he’d avoided thinking about till now. “No, not yet...” he muttered.
“I know you’ve been really busy with your new job,” Minho said as he scratched Dori behind the ears, keeping his eyes on the screen, “so I understand if you need more time. Even if you do find a place, I imagine the security deposit alone will take a big chunk of your pay.” He threw a glance at Jisung and cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to say is, you can stay until you’ve saved up well enough. No rush.”
Relief washed over Jisung so fast he thought he might cry. When the wave subsided, a new rush of warmth seeped into his face and spread down his neck, joined by an accelerating heart. He swirled the wine in his glass and dismissed what he was feeling as symptoms of Asian flush.
“Are you sure?” he said when he found his voice. “I don’t want to keep being a bother—”
“I promise that you’re not,” Minho gently assured.
Jisung downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, willing himself not to get emotional. “You have my word that I’ll move out as soon as I can. Until then... thank you for letting me stay.” He reached into the space between them and squeezed the top of Minho’s hand, though not brave enough to turn the act into a handhold.
Judging by the reddening of Minho’s neck and ears, it seemed Jisung wasn’t the only one who couldn’t process alcohol very well.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jisung’s lungs might have burst from his chest if he ran any harder.
His feet thumping against the pavement, his breaths came in short gasps as he jerked open the door to the bakery. He sighed in relief seeing he’d arrived just as the shop owner was about to flip over the “OPEN” sign on the window.
After apologizing for his lateness, Jisung picked up his order and headed home with burning calves and sore feet, but the pain would be worth it for the look on Minho’s face alone.
Except the apartment was empty when he arrived.
He placed the box on the kitchen table and lavished nose kisses onto an attention-starved Dori, then turned on the lights and said hello to Steve the spider chilling in its favorite spot under the window. (Yes, he’d grown attached enough to the creature to name it.)
He thought about texting Minho to ask when he’d be home, but it wasn’t uncommon for the older to be held up at work, so Jisung left it alone. Laying on the sofa, he tuned in to a nature documentary and dozed off to the narrator droning on about the dietary habits of the Himalayan pika.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
A thud followed by a jangling noise startled Jisung awake.
“Ow—fuck!”
Jisung sat up and turned toward the source of the minor commotion. Minho was gripping the edge of the console table by the entrance, hopping on one foot after apparently having stubbed his other foot on the table. Hissing more curses through his teeth, he stepped into his slippers—or attempted to—and stumbled to the floor when his foot missed the mark.
Jisung rushed over to Minho’s side. “Are you okay?” he said as he wrapped an arm around Minho to help him up.
“Nope,” Minho said, trailing into a fit of laughter. The flush in his face and smell of booze told Jisung all he needed to know.
“Terrific,” Jisung winced.
It was half past eleven, so Jisung assumed Minho must have been roped into a company outing and made an early escape, or maybe he had gone drinking with friends after work. For now he refrained from asking questions and focused on not falling over with Minho’s full weight bearing on him.
With some effort, he guided Minho to his room and deposited him onto the bed, the older sprawling out bonelessly on the duvet. Seeing that Minho’s once-crisp suit had bunched up under him, Jisung pulled him up to a sitting position to tug off the jacket, except he couldn’t get it past Minho’s shoulders because Minho wasn’t being a very cooperative drunk.
“Hold still,” Jisung said as Minho whined and fidgeted. Jisung leaned in to tug off the suit sleeve but stilled when Minho’s arms circled his waist, pulling him in till they both tumbled backwards onto the bed. Barely holding himself up by the hand, suddenly Jisung’s face was hovering exceptionally close to Minho’s.
“Huh, you’re not as bony as I thought you’d be,” Minho said as his hands traveled up Jisung’s sides.
Jisung yelped at the tickling sensation and collapsed onto Minho with a laugh, though he was quickly silenced by the warm press of their bodies. He rolled off Minho and the two men lay on the bed shoulder-to-shoulder.
Quiet settled in the room long enough that Jisung thought Minho had fallen asleep.
“Han Jisung-ssi,” Minho piped up, proving him wrong.
Jisung turned his head to him and hummed in acknowledgement. Minho stared up at the ceiling with glistening eyes.
“Did you know it’s my birthday today?”
“I did,” Jisung said, prying his gaze from the other’s profile and back up at nothing in particular. I bought a surprise cake for you and everything.
“Well, do you know who didn’t? My own father.”
Jisung frowned in momentary confusion. He pushed himself to sit upright on the edge of the bed, though not knowing what to say in return.
“Do... do you—” Minho stammered on, fighting his heavy tongue, “do you remember the day we became roommates? And I ditched you after dinner and didn’t come back till late?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“That night, I saw my dad for the first time in nearly a decade. Ten fucking years. And do you know the first thing he asks me? Not about my life, or my job, or anything about me as a person.” A soulless laugh left Minho. “No—he asks me for money.”
Unprepared for this impromptu confession, Jisung stared down at his hands on his lap. “That’s... I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I gave him all the cash I had on me because I knew if I didn’t, he’d ask my mom and she’s too kind to say no. So, yeah. That’s why I’d come home late sometimes. My old man would ask me to meet him in some shitty dive bar and buy me a beer in exchange for the chance to beg me for more money.”
So that explained the handful of times Minho came home reeking of... well, a shitty dive bar. Jisung drew his brows together, still not sure what consolation to offer despite the aching sympathy in his chest. But it did shed some light onto why Minho had reacted the way he did that night when Jisung found his family photos.
Family could be complicated, to say the least.
“But why should I be sad over a deadbeat like him, right?” Minho continued. “So tonight I threw myself a party for one and had a merry ol’ time.”
Jisung suspected the merriment came in the form of liquor shots.
Minho scrubbed his face with both hands and released a shaky breath. “But do you know the worst part of it all? Deep down, I still want him to give a shit about me—to treat me like his son.” He laughed bitterly and pushed his hair back, briefly tugging at the strands in frustration. “How pathetic is that?”
Without thinking, Jisung reached out for Minho’s hand before pulling back in last-minute caution. “I can’t say I know what you’re going through,” he admitted quietly, “but I don’t think it’s pathetic at all. It’s human to want a parent’s love. But I also think you deserve better than what he’s been to you.”
Minho made a noncommittal noise and worried his lower lip between his teeth. After fumbling to push himself up, he clumsily shifted his position to sit next to Jisung on the edge of the bed.
“You’re a good egg, Jisung-ssi,” he said, turning to face Jisung and his blinks slowed by the alcohol. “You know... I’m still waiting for the catch.”
“What catch?”
“Sometimes I look at you and I’m like. Wow. Are you really real? When you saved Dori on that day we first met, I thought: here I am all alone in a new town, and a cute guy falls from the sky to come to my rescue? Okay, maybe I had a lucky day. But when you came back and saved Dori a second time—” He paused with a confounded chuckle. “There’s no way that should be possible... right?”
Heat flared up in the pit of Jisung’s stomach. What was Minho trying to get at? And why was Minho looking at him like that?
“Oh my god,” Minho said with eyes wide, “you’re a ghost, aren’t you? Here to bring reckoning for my past sins.”
Jisung couldn’t help his awkward huff in response. “Uh. Boo?” was all he could muster when every inch of his face felt like it was on fire.
Minho swayed forward in a giggle. “You’re silly. But cute. Just like this lil’ mole right here.” He poked Jisung’s left cheek with a forefinger, then booped Jisung’s nose, though it took him a few tries to land on his target due to his dulled motor skills.
“And you’re drunk, Minho hyung—” Jisung inhaled sharply before correcting himself, “—I mean, Minho-ssi.”
The laughter faded from Minho’s lips as he looked up, locking the younger in an intense gaze. Jisung’s heart buckled at the sight of Minho who had no business looking this beautiful in his current state; a pretty flush painting his cheeks and the feline glint of those big, brown eyes.
“What did you say?”
“What?”
“What you just called me. Say it again.” Minho inched closer along the edge of the bed till their knees bumped.
Jisung gulped at his earlier faux pas. “Ah, I shouldn’t have said—”
“No. I like hearing it from you.” Minho erased what little distance remained between their bodies, cupping Jisung’s face in his hands and leaning in with a dazed half-smile. Jisung could feel the puffs of Minho’s breath on his own lips with the next words. “Say it again for me. Please.”
A strange request, but Jisung obeyed in a soft exhale. “Minho hyung.” With his heart thundering in his ears, he closed his eyes and let himself imagine Minho leaning in that last fraction; to idly wonder if those lips felt as plush as they looked against his own.
Wait, no—this was neither the time nor place to entertain such thoughts.
But before he could pull back, Minho’s hands had fallen away from his face, followed by a muffled thud against the sheets. Jisung’s eyes opened to find Minho passed out peacefully on the bed.
Jisung swallowed, surprised by the taste of disappointment on his tongue though the thought evaporated as quickly as it was formed. He stood up from the bed and decided to call it a night.
For the older’s own safety, Jisung re-positioned Minho on the bed and gently rolled him onto his side, tucking a pillow behind him. In the same motion, he brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen over Minho’s face, his palm resting a beat too long on Minho’s forehead.
“Mrrrp?” Dori jumped up and trilled from the foot of the bed.
Jisung brought his forefinger to his lips and shushed him. “Don’t worry, your owner will be fine.”
“Wrrrao.”
“My bad—your butler.”
A glance at the clock revealed five minutes remained before midnight, which meant it was still the 25th.
“Happy birthday,” Jisung whispered as brushed back the last strands of hair from Minho’s eyes. He turned off the lights and quietly shooed Dori out of the room, leaving Minho to sleep off his demons for the night.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jisung awoke the next morning to a faceful of fur—again. In general he was extremely fond of Dori’s snuggles; not so much from this angle in which a feline derriere was pressed against his face.
After prying Dori off, Jisung rubbed his eyes until Minho standing before him came into sharper view. The older was wearing a shirt with a kitten dangling from a tree branch, which would’ve been fine if not for the “Hang In There” printed in terribly spaced Papyrus font right above it.
“Good morning,” Minho said, looking way too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for someone who should be at the mercy of a hangover. “Let’s cut the cake, shall we?” He gently gripped Jisung by the wrist and began dragging him to the kitchen.
“Wait, wait,” Jisung rasped. “My bladder needs a word with the toilet first.”
After taking care of his morning business, he joined Minho in the kitchen and slumped forward on the counter with a yawn. It looked as though Minho had found Jisung’s surprise in the fridge: a cake shaped like a cat’s face with its features decorated on mocha buttercream frosting and several Pepero sticks jutting out as whiskers.
“Thank you for this,” Minho said as he cut into the cake with a knife. “It’s very cute.”
“Yer welcome,” Jisung mumbled. “I asked if they could make it look like Dori but they didn’t have the right color frosting.” He stared blearily at Minho who was passing him a slice on a plate. “No candles? Shouldn’t we sing happy birthday?”
“Nope. That was yesterday. Today’s a new day, right?”
Jisung struggled to match the drunk version of Minho from last night who oozed candor and vulnerability, to the man now standing in the kitchen in a hideous t-shirt and humming a tune as though nothing had happened.
Nonetheless Jisung dug into his cake as Minho hummed in the background, until he perked up at the familiar tune of Park Wan Kyu’s “Love of a Thousand Years.” Licking the frosting from his fork, Jisung quietly hummed along. Minho broke into a smirk. They carried on a sweet duet until they exploded into lyrics at the chorus.
“Even if a thousand years pass, I can't forget you~ because I loved you~~” they belted in unison. Minho sang into a Pepero stick while Jisung poured out his soul into his fork. The final refrain had Jisung kneeling before Minho and channeling the desperation of a drunken karaoke singer.
Minho burst into laughter, the bright and infectious sound curling around Jisung like a warm embrace.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Han Jisung: oooh you’ll never guess this one
Han Jisung: what’s brown and sticky?
Lee Minho: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Han Jisung: a stick
Han Jisung: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Han Jisung: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Lee Minho: i’m blocking you for 24 hours
Han Jisung: (｡•́︿•̀｡)
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“Well, shit.”
A cloud of despair hung over Jisung as he crouched down and stared into the abyss—aka the washing machine full of the wet clothes he’d forgotten to remove last night. Unfortunately, the soggy pile included his dress shirts for work.
From the living room came the sound of Minho muttering a curse of his own. “Hey, have you seen my keys by any chance?”
“Check Dori’s toy bin,” Jisung said with a dejected sigh, poking through his clothes. “I think I saw him playing with them yesterday.”
After some rustling and jangling noises, Minho exclaimed an “A-ha!” signaling he’d found what he was looking for. “Got ’em! Thanks, Jisung-ah.”
Then an idea came to Jisung. Not his finest, but he swallowed his pride and called out to Minho. “Hey hyung, can I borrow a shirt just for today?”
“Orrkay,” Minho mumbled around the granola bar in his mouth right as he vanished out the door.
Already late for work, Jisung sprinted into Minho’s room, yanked open the closet door and picked out the first button-down shirt he saw, a blue striped one. After throwing it on he realized he was practically swimming in it, so he hastily rolled up the sleeves and hoped it didn’t look too ridiculous.
He retrieved his backpack from the living room and swiped his phone from the table. In doing so, he did a double-take at the fresh vase of carnations that had replaced the previous batch that had begun to wilt. Was Minho planning to replace them every week?
Regardless of the impracticality of such upkeep, Jisung had to admire the man’s dedication to a decorative theme.
Once again he plunged his face into the bouquet and breathed in its lavish scent, feeling the velvety petals tickling his cheeks. He left the apartment with a considerably lighter heart.
The entrance bell jingled, signaling an incoming customer.
“Welcome to Miroh Caf—” Jisung’s greeting was cut off when an unexpected yet familiar face appeared. “What are you doing here?” he said, a shy huff leaving his lips.
Minho approached the counter, all sleek silhouette in his slim coat over a suit vest and tie. It was in moments like these that Jisung was reminded of the visual power Minho could wield—but that was neither here nor there.
“I heard this place has good coffee,” Minho said with a hint of a coy smile.
“We sure do,” Felix chimed in with a megawatt grin.
Minho gave Jisung a once-over and commented, “Nice outfit. I like this gainfully employed version of you.”
Instinctively, Jisung straightened his apron and adjusted the beret on his head. One less-than-thrilling aspect of his job was the quaint uniform he was required to wear—plus there was the added embarrassment of being caught in Minho’s shirt today (though he had to admit the blue stripes complemented the barista outfit).
But what was he self-conscious for, anyway? It was only Minho. Besides, Jisung had babbled on about work enough that his friend’s visitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise.
Felix’s unsubtle elbow to his side brought Jisung to his senses. “Oh! Hyung, this is my co-worker Lee Felix. Felix, this is my... uh, roommate, Lee Minho.”
The two men exchanged cordial greetings before Minho stepped up to order his drink.
“I’m usually an espresso kind of guy, but I think I’ll try the caffè latte.”
Felix completed the transaction while Jisung got to work preparing the drink. He’d handled the machines for weeks now and was comfortable fielding just about any order, so he couldn’t understand the slight tremor that possessed his hands over a simple latte.
Nonetheless he carried on, pouring steamed milk into the espresso with precision and placing the finishing touch: a heart-shaped layer on top.
“Et voilà,” Jisung said, handing the cup to Minho.
Minho’s lips curled into a smirk at the art. “A heart for me?”
“Tch, don’t flatter yourself! It’s the only shape I know how to make right now.”
“Mmhmm.”
The teasing lilt of Minho’s voice sent a tingle down Jisung’s spine, serving to worsen his frustration over his current flustered state.
Fortunately Minho stepped aside to let Felix handle the next customer in line and settled at a nearby table to finish his drink. Framed by soft lighting and sipping on his latte in his impeccable suit, he looked like he had walked straight out of a coffee commercial.
A few more orders took up Jisung’s attention, and by the time his eyes landed back on Minho’s table, Minho was gone.
Felix elbowed Jisung again. “Wow, your friend could be an actor.”
“Please,” Jisung rebutted as he wiped down the steam wand with a cloth. “Don’t let the fancy clothes fool you. The man walks around at home wearing ugly cat shirts with zero irony.”
“I dunno, that kinda makes him more attractive.”
Gross. Jisung playfully swatted the cloth at Felix who in turn laughed and pleaded for mercy with hands raised.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Calm down, I don’t have the hots for your roommate, okay?”
“Feel free to have the hots for him, I don’t care.”
“Somehow I doubt he’d be interested in me.”
Jisung blinked. “Why not?” Admittedly he didn’t know Minho’s type, but Minho would’ve been a fool to reject Felix and his gorgeously freckled face and fairy-like charms.
Felix raised his brow at Jisung’s question. He opened his mouth to speak up but closed it just as quickly.
“What,” Jisung prodded, suspicion pooling in his narrowed eyes.
“I mean, it’s just that... well, Minho kept staring at you the whole time he was sitting there.” Felix nodded toward the table that had been occupied. “I thought he might burn a hole in your head. But like, in a loving way.”
Speaking of burning, that was exactly the state of Jisung’s face right now. He leaned back against the counter for support, feeling a touch lightheaded. “Don’t be silly. He was probably gawking at my goofyass hat.” Jisung laughed weakly and pointed at his beret.
Felix crinkled his nose. “If you say so.”
The entrance bell rang again, and Felix pivoted to greet the new customer with a smile, leaving Jisung with a question he definitely didn’t need to be turning over.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The moon hung in exquisite brightness on this clear night and the air buzzed with the murmurs of passersby huddled together and distant notes of jazz music. Despite the frigid temperature biting every inch of exposed skin, as Jisung walked down the street flanked by his two good friends and sharing in random conversation, he hadn’t felt this warm in a long time.
“Fungi?” Felix blinked owlishly. “Trees talk to each other through an underground network of fungi? That’s wild.”
“It’s a symbiotic relationship called mycorrhiza,” Jisung said.
“Don’t let that impress you, Felix-ssi,” Minho said, bumping his hip to Jisung’s. “This guy watches a few nature shows and suddenly thinks he’s David Attenborough.”
“Sorry if my big sexy brain intimidates you, hyung,” Jisung sighed. “You’re not being a very fun guy.” That earned a synchronized groan from his friends. He puffed out his chest, but it was difficult to act cocky while engulfed by a long padded jacket and wearing a knitted hat with ice skating penguins on it.
“That’s my ride,” Felix waved at a sedan pulling up to the curb ahead, his teeth slightly chattering. “Thanks again for dinner. You guys okay to walk home in this cold?”
“Yeah, our place is just a few blocks away,” Minho said.
Our place. Jisung’s stomach did a strange flip at that, which he promptly ignored. “We’re gonna look at the Christmas decorations and get some hot chocolate on the way.”
“Bleugh,” Felix pretended to gag. “You guys are so romantic.”
Jisung and Minho turned to each other in sync and shared a confused look.
After saying goodbye to Felix, they walked arm-in-arm down the street, pacing themselves to admire the pretty colored lights and holiday decor framing the shop windows, at one point doubling over in laughter at an elf figurine that looked more like a demonically possessed Victorian doll in a pointy hat.
Jisung then stopped in his tracks to fish out something from his jacket pocket—a small box wrapped in shiny red and gold paper. He held it out to Minho who stared back in suspicion.
“We agreed not to buy each other gifts,” Minho said.
“I know. I didn’t buy this.”
Hesitant at first, Minho took the offering and slowly unwrapped it. He opened the box to reveal a small piece of paper inside.
“What the—is this a check?”
Jisung nodded. “It’s the total back rent I owe for the past three months. I added a bit more for utilities and stuff.”
Minho sighed, releasing a steamy cloud of breath, and he held out the box for Jisung to reclaim. “I told you that you don’t have to do this.”
“And I’m telling you that I do,” Jisung insisted. He crossed his arms with lips drawn in a firm, stubborn line (though he hoped his penguin hat didn’t undermine his resoluteness).
Minho sighed again and stuffed the check into his inner coat pocket, earning a satisfied nod from Jisung, and they resumed walking side by side.
“It’s freezing cold, why aren’t you wearing gloves?” Minho suddenly nagged.
“Tch, you’re not wearing any either. Give it here.”
Jisung reached for Minho’s hand to share warmth, but winced when his palm was met with icy fingers. Alarmed, he sandwiched Minho’s hand between his own and blew several hot breaths onto it while lecturing the older on the dangers of frostbite. (He noticed Minho’s hand was ridiculously soft even in its frozen state.)
As Jisung lowered their linked hands, Minho wriggled his grasp until their fingers were firmly interlaced. Unable to hide his answering grin, Jisung turned to the sky and pretended to be entranced by the moon.
Rapid footsteps and mirthful laughter echoed in the hallway. Jisung stumbled into the apartment with Minho on his heels.
“FIRST PLACE!” Jisung cried with arms raised, then shrieking when Minho poked his armpits. The commotion sent Dori scurrying up his cat tree with a displeased meow.
“It doesn’t count,” Minho huffed as he kicked off his boots and peeled off his coat. “I had the disadvantage of heavier shoes.”
Jisung readied a retort to defend his honor but nixed it when he noticed something on the ground just beyond the doormat: a plain white envelope. It looked as though it had been slid under the door.
He picked it up—it was thicker and heavier than he’d expected—and eyed the handwritten words on it: To my son.
Wordlessly, he handed the package to its intended recipient. Minho narrowed his eyes to inspect it before he paled in realization.
“I... sorry, excuse me for a moment.”
Minho tossed his coat and scarf onto the couch, disregarding the coat rack in his haste. He disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door shut.
Over an hour passed with no sign or sound from the bedroom. Worry started to set in, so Jisung held his breath and gently knocked on the door. To his relief it was answered by a muffled “Come in.”
He opened the door ajar and found Minho sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, his hands loosely holding an open letter in his lap—the letter presumably from Minho’s father.
“Can I get you some tea?” Jisung asked softly.
“No thanks.”
Jisung’s hands fidgeted where they hung at his side. “Want some company?”
The answer came in a small smile despite the stress Minho was under, as evidenced by the gleam of his red-rimmed eyes. “Sure.”
Jisung sat down next to Minho on the floor and mirrored Minho’s pose by stretching his legs out in front of him. He waited patiently for the other to speak.
A small stack of cash peeked out from the envelope that Minho held up. “First your rent check, and now my dad sends me money. Had I known I’d be this lucky, I would have bought myself a lottery ticket.” His wry tone undermined the joking nature of his comment.
“Did he pay back the money you gave?” Jisung asked.
“Yeah—part of it, anyway. He says he’ll pay back the rest but I won’t hold my breath.”
Jisung gently bumped shoulders with him. “In the meantime, you can use the money to buy those German chef knives you’ve been eyeing.”
Minho snorted, fiddling with a corner of the letter. “Speaking of which, did I mention that my dad used to be a chef?”
Jisung attempted a smile. “No, but I guess that makes sense since you’re a great cook yourself.”
“Psh. My old man may be a piece of work, but he’s a better cook than I could ever be.”
“I dunno, hyung. Your skills are pretty damn legendary. I’d rate it five Michelin stars.”
Minho arched an amused brow. “But the maximum is three.”
“Exactly. That’s how good you are.”
“Thanks, Jisung,” Minho said, briefly leaning into the younger’s side. “But I have to give credit where credit’s due. Other kids grew up idolizing comic superheroes... I had my father.”
Jisung’s voice was gentle and low. “He was that talented, huh?”
“Yeah. In my earliest memories of him, he was actually a pretty great dad. Everything I love about cooking... I inherited from him. I used to follow him around in the kitchen asking him about this ingredient and that, and he was always so happy to teach me. I learned how to crack an egg before I could read or write.”
Minho’s smile was tinged with melancholy and in that moment, Jisung saw in him the same five year-old from the family photos.
Minho’s expression was sober again as he spoke on. “He ran his own restaurant here, but when it went under, it fucking broke him—he was never the same after that. Not that it excuses his absence over the years. He’s admitted as much in this letter.” His eyelashes thick with tears, Minho looked down at the handwritten piece of paper—such a fragile thing that carried a heavy weight. He turned away to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palm.
“One apology doesn’t undo years of hurt,” he continued, a subtle break in his voice, “not even close. But—it’s a start. That’s what I hope for, at least. Is it foolish to hope?”
Ideally, Jisung would’ve liked to believe the best in people, but he also knew the risk that entailed. He wasn’t sure if he’d be so forgiving were he in Minho’s shoes.
The truth was that Jisung didn’t know how to answer the question, so he did the one sure thing he could do and clasped his hand over Minho’s, squeezing it in reassurance. In turn he felt the soft weight of Minho’s head on his shoulder as Minho squeezed back and interlocked their fingers for the second time that night.
Belatedly, Dori trotted into the room and made a beeline for his owner’s lap. Jisung had heard somewhere that a cat’s purr had the ability to heal, and watching Dori purr up a storm against Minho’s stomach, he hoped that it was true.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Trekking up the apartment stairs, Jisung cradled a paper bag in his hands as if it were precious cargo.
His mind flashed back to earlier that morning in which Minho lamented that he’d run out of black garlic cloves, and when Jisung volunteered to pick some up after work, Minho had reacted with, “Bless you! I could kiss you right now!”
It was hyperbole of course, but recalling the tenderness with which Minho had cradled Jisung’s face as he spoke, Jisung could almost believe it was sincere. Warmth remained imprinted on his cheeks all day.
“Hyung,” Jisung called out as he burst into the apartment. “I had to search like three stores but I found...”
He trailed off at the unexpected sight that greeted him: Minho sitting on the couch with a male stranger. The man’s arm was draped over the couch cushion behind Minho, and the two were engaged in casual conversation (judging by Minho’s relaxed smile).
They turned around to Jisung’s abrupt entrance, their voices tapering off as they zeroed in on him. Jisung couldn’t help but feel like an intruder.
“Oh,” he breathed out, lowering the bag onto the floor. “Sorry hyung, I didn’t know you had company.”
A better angle of the stranger revealed a handsome face framed by black hair just shy of chin length. The bouquet of carnations he sat near suited him well; he looked like the love interest of a shoujo manga come to life, if Jisung were being honest.
“Jisung, you’re back,” Minho said, looking a bit surprised. He then gestured to the man next to him. “This is my dongsaeng friend and colleague, Hwang Hyunjin. We work in the same department.”
Hyunjin stood up (he was blessed with height too) and approached Jisung with a polite handshake and greeting which Jisung returned. The man was even prettier up close, with flawless skin and pouty lips and a mole under an almond-shaped eye. The plates of cheesecake crumbs and empty wine glasses on the coffee table indicated that they’d been conversing for a while.
“Hey, I finally made cheesecake,” Minho proudly declared. “As the resident pastry connoisseur, come have a taste and tell me if it’s decent.” He walked toward the kitchen and waved Jisung over.
Objectively, Jisung should have jumped at the chance since whatever Minho made was bound to be delicious.
Yet he was frozen in place and unable to look away from the pair of wine-drained glasses. He hated that he felt slighted by Minho sharing his homemade cheesecake with someone else first and not him. He knew he was being stupid and that his emotions were twisting the scene into something that it wasn’t, but it didn’t quell the bitter taste on his tongue.
His rational side finally stepped in, reminding him that Minho had every right to invite whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and that Jisung’s presence in the apartment had probably hindered Minho’s social life. Did he ever stop to consider the ways he had unwittingly troubled Minho—all the times Minho couldn’t invite friends over, or even dates, due to lack of privacy? All the times Minho might have been too tired to cook or join him for movie nights but indulged him out of pity?
“Jisung-ah?” Minho called when the younger hadn’t budged. “You good?”
Was he? The air in the room was stuffy and Jisung’s ears burned under Minho and Hyunjin’s combined stares. Suddenly he felt incredibly out of place.
“Sure, hyung. I just remembered that I... have to go to the gym. To meet Felix.” Instant regret hit him like a ton of bricks, but before Minho had a chance to call his bluff, Jisung stammered a goodbye and stumbled out the door.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Maybe Jisung was taking the ‘stationary’ in ‘stationary bike’ too literally. For the past half hour he’d been seated on the exercise machine while scrolling on his phone, occasionally pumping the pedals to give the illusion of burning more than five calories.
He had told Minho that he was going to the gym, so here he was, totally not being a liar at all. (Okay, he was half a liar since he hadn’t planned to meet Felix. Still better than a full-fledged one.)
In any case, walking in on Minho and Hyunjin’s... get-together? Date? Was the wake-up call he needed. He’d become so comfortable with and reliant upon Minho’s friendship that he lost sight of his goal of independence; plus, at this point he more or less had enough saved up to move out of the apartment.
It was time to move on.
As he continued to imitate a lump while perusing housing options on his phone, he was immune to the judgy looks thrown his way. At least his thumb was getting a good workout.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jisung leaned against the gazebo railing and stared out at the lake. The latest cold spell had partially frozen the surface, breaking up the moon’s reflection, and winter had stripped the surrounding trees bare. Yesterday’s snow lay undisturbed and blanketed well-worn trails. No other soul was around at this hour, but neither the bitter cold nor the unknown harbored by darkness could stop him from admiring the view.
With both hands he held a coffee cup filled with the lucky stars he’d folded over the past few days. They turned out quite nicely as he’d used proper origami paper this time.
On a whim, he’d brought them here to make a half-assed wish on (it was a beautiful night boasting a full moon after all), but he became distracted by a text message bearing the good news he’d sought for months: approval for an apartment lease. It was for a studio unit on the outskirts of town which meant commuting to work would be slightly more of a pain, and it had fewer amenities than he was used to, but all things considered he couldn’t complain.
Except there was one small problem. He was in love with Lee Minho.
In other words, he was screwed.
He didn’t know when it started; maybe it was the moment he first laid eyes on Minho who looked unreasonably gorgeous with sweaty bangs and pit stains on his shirt; or maybe it was last weekend, when Jisung had passed him a water bottle, and Minho looked up from the couch with such fondness he felt the earth shake beneath his feet.
His head understood that he couldn’t lose someone who wasn’t his to begin with, but his heart couldn’t deny the domesticity they had carved out over the past few months that teetered on something more. And he was going to miss everything that came with it. How would he begin his mornings without Dori’s butt nuzzling him awake? He was even going to miss Steve’s reliable presence by the window. The chillest spider he’d ever known.
And now all he was left with was a constant, dull ache in his chest that was either: (a) the slowest heart attack of all time or (b) the side effect of an unrequited love. He was leaning toward the latter.
“What noise does a frightened squirrel make?” came a voice from behind.
Emitting a squeak of surprise, Jisung whirled around to a silhouette emerging from the shadows followed by a familiar face.
“Correct answer,” Minho said.
Jisung pressed his hand over his chest and exhaled sharply. “Jesus, you scared me.” The initial scare jump-started his heart into a frenzy, but Minho’s amused smile kept it going.
Then Minho stepped into the moonlight, revealing a dark wool coat and a cashmere scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, and a red carnation adorning the breast pocket of his coat. He was devastatingly handsome tonight, even more so than usual, and it was doing no favors for Jisung’s fragile heart.
“You ditched me on movie night,” Minho said, forming a pout. “I had the popcorn ready and everything.”
“Tonight was—? ”Jisung fished out his phone and saw several missed texts from Minho. “Ah shit, I totally forgot. Sorry about that. I’ve been distracted by something all night.”
“And that thing was more important than watching Paddington 2 with me?”
Jisung gasped, his eyebrows angling upward in mild despair. “Nooooo I freaking love that movie! We definitely have to watch—” He paused when his brain caught up to the present. “Wait—how did you know I was here?”
Minho slipped his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Seeing as you want your ashes scattered in this lake, I figured this place must be pretty special. So I took a shot in the dark.”
“You should’ve stayed home, hyung. It’s freezing cold!”
“I could say the same to you. What are you doing out here alone, anyway?” Minho stepped up to the wooden railing and stood beside Jisung, casting his gaze out on the serene water.
“Just enjoying the view,” Jisung said, though fully aware he was admiring Minho’s profile instead. “I come here sometimes to empty my head. As clichéd as it sounds... I like looking at the moon’s reflection in the water. And during the day I like to watch the ducks swim by.”
“It is a nice view.”
Jisung breathed deeply for the next words, coughing when the icy air stabbed his lungs. He pulled his scarf tighter around him. “I have good news, by the way. I got approved for a new apartment. They said I can move in by the end of the month.”
“Is that so? Congratulations,” said Minho, turning a fraction to Jisung and gently bumping shoulders. “Have you signed the lease?”
“Not yet, but I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
“I see.” Minho then nodded at the paper cup in Jisung’s hand. “What’s that for?”
Jisung glanced down at the colorful pile of origami; a strange melancholy imbued him as he spoke. “Ah, this? I finally managed to make a hundred lucky stars. I was gonna make a wish, but... seeing as I already have a job and an apartment now, it would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” Overcome by a warm buzz, he held out the cup for Minho to take. “Here, hyung. Make a wish.”
Minho accepted with both hands, though reluctance was written on his face. Jisung insisted by firmly covering Minho’s hands with his own.
“I can wish for anything?” asked Minho.
Jisung hummed in affirmation as he folded his arms against the railing.
“I guess there’s...” Minho trailed off in thought and set the cup down near Jisung’s elbow. “There’s this guy that I like. A lot. I... wish I could tell him how I feel.”
And there it was: the final blow to Jisung’s heart. But contrary to what he’d imagined, his heart did not explode into a million bloody pieces or dissolve in flames. It carried on pumping in his rib cage, as sad and bruised as ever.
Deep down Jisung supposed this moment was inevitable. Minho deserved someone of his own to love, and to be loved; plus there was no way he would stay single for long with a face like that.
“Sounds easy enough. Why not just confess to him?” Jisung hoped his smile was convincing.
“Easier said than done. We’re around each other a lot so I worry I’ll make things awkward if he doesn’t feel the same way. Besides—I wouldn’t know where to even begin.”
So it was someone at work? The image of Hyunjin and Minho huddled on the couch persisted in the back of Jisung’s mind. Hyunjin was a beautiful man and surely had no shortage of salient qualities to wax poetic over.
Despite his throat threatening to clamp shut, Jisung did his best to play the role of supportive friend. “What are your favorite things about him? Maybe you can open with that.”
“Well... he’s very cute, for one.”
Okay, that was a safe start.
“He’s shorter than me but walks into a room like he’s eight feet tall,” Minho continued, biting his lip to suppress a smile.
But wasn’t Hyunjin taller than Minho? Maybe Jisung’s eyes had deceived him.
“He’s kind, thoughtful, and funny... Well, he may not be the funniest person I’ve ever met—his humor can be downright questionable—but I think he makes me laugh more than anyone else. He doesn’t always believe in himself the way he should... but I can tell he sincerely tries his best in anything he deems worth doing. I find that admirable.”
Minho glanced at Jisung as if to gauge his response, then pressed on, his ears coloring a brilliant red. Jisung couldn’t tell if it was shyness or the cold’s doing.
“He has these endearing quirks, like how he stuffs food in his cheeks when he eats, or the fact that he picks out green Skittles from the bag because he’s convinced they’re cursed. Or when you give him flowers, his first instinct is to literally dunk his head in them. The way his right pinky is a little more crooked than his left. Small things like that.”
Drawing his brows together, Jisung unconsciously rubbed his right pinky with his thumb. He refused to entertain the notion that his racing pulse was getting at because—surely Minho wasn’t implying that—no, it would be ridiculous.
“Oh, and one of my most favorite things about him?” Minho said. “He has a cute mole...”
Under his eye, Jisung’s brain supplied.
“...right... there.”
The featherlight poke to Jisung’s cheek was all it took to short circuit his brain. He could only stare back, stupefied under Minho’s expectant gaze, and any attempt to form words escaped his lungs as a cloud of breath.
(Surely this had to be a dream?)
Minho’s face began to fall at the prolonged silence. “Oh... I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” he said, shoulders tensing. “If you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay—”
“What if he wanted to kiss you right now?” Jisung cut in breathlessly when at last his heart pumped the blood back to his brain. “Hypothetically speaking.”
It was Minho’s turn to be speechless, until the corners of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. The hopeful gleam in his eyes bloomed into wonder, and a hand came up to gently tip up Jisung’s chin.
“I’d do this,” Minho whispered, “hypothetically.”
(Minho was real, and this was not a dream at all.)
And then his lips were on Jisung’s and all else faded away. The kiss landed as a series of gentle, tentative pecks at first, until Minho parted his lips just enough for a shy puff of breath to escape, sending a tingling rush down Jisung’s spine. Jisung answered with a smile and surged forward to leave no doubt as to his desire.
Initial clumsiness gave way to more heated presses, and soon their mouths were exploring and molding to each other in new angles, pausing for little gasps of air before they dove right back in. Minho’s lips were slightly chapped from the cold but they were incredibly hot and slotted perfectly against Jisung’s—and that’s all that mattered.
The moment they drew apart, a new hunger sparked Jisung to grip Minho’s scarf and pull him in for another kiss.
“So does this mean he likes me back?” Minho asked when they came up for air. Their lips shone in the moonlight from their fervent efforts.
“I dunno, I think he’ll need a few more kisses to be sure,” Jisung teased with feigned innocence, though the lingering heat of Minho’s mouth left him heady and his heart was pounding up a storm in his chest.
Minho laughed as he plucked the carnation from his pocket and tucked it behind Jisung’s ear. “Our lips will freeze off! We can resume this hypothetical scenario when we get home. Sound good?”
Home, Jisung silently repeated.
His grin was broader than the moon as he gave Minho’s scarf one last tug. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Lee Minho: jagi-ya
Lee Minho: did you know we wear the same shoe size?
Han Jisung: yes hyung, that means we’re sole-mates
Han Jisung: i could see that one from a mile away ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Lee Minho: jagi-ya
Lee Minho: did you know we both have beauty marks?
Han Jisung: .............
Han Jisung: yes we’re mole-mates too
Lee Minho: jagi-ya
Han Jisung: k i think it’s time to call it a night
Han Jisung: come to bed, baby~
Lee Minho: psh
Lee Minho: you don’t appreciate my jokes
Lee Minho: i’d rather sleep on the couch
Han Jisung: i’m wearing that blue striped shirt
Han Jisung: and nothing else 😘
Lee Minho: be right there 😘