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Minho can count on one hand the really good things that have happened to him in his life. He got his degree in architecture as a top student in his class, was accepted into his master’s program on a full scholarship, and has built a career for himself as one of the best architects his current workplace has ever worked with. However, his professional career pales in comparison to the actual best thing that has happened to him — that being the birth of his daughter.
At the time, Minho didn’t think it was a good thing. He was fresh out of college and preparing for grad school when his then-girlfriend told him the news over the phone. They had been dating for only a little over six months, and she made it clear to him that she didn’t want to keep the child but would still carry the pregnancy to full term. After that, whatever happened to the baby would be Minho’s responsibility and his alone.
They broke up before Doyeon was born, and now Minho thinks it was for the best. His ex was volatile and unpredictable at best, and to this day he doesn’t understand why they ever dated in the first place. Though, if he has to be honest, none of his relationships have lasted for more than a few months. He has long accepted that maybe he just isn’t cut out for this sort of thing. Romance, relationships.
The last best thing that has happened to him was meeting Jisung.
They meet when Doyeon is two, at a get-together at Chan’s place; it’s a quiet Friday night and Minho is tired to the bone, and he wishes he was anywhere but here. Chan insisted that he should go out, see people and just live a little, and Minho wishes life was still that simple. He wishes he hadn’t had to bring his daughter to a place full of adults, but it’s not like he had a choice. With his parents away on a trip and his lack of trust in leaving his daughter with a random nanny, bringing her along was the only thing he could’ve done if he wanted to try this socializing thing again.
He has no energy left in him, though, and he almost wishes he hadn’t come at all. Wishes he hadn’t brought Doyeon along. She’s the cutest little thing; she’s wide awake but quiet as she nurses on her pacifier, big eyes watching the world around her. And everyone who walks past them coos at her, sure, but not one person stops to talk to him other than Chan. Minho has a beer going piss warm in his hand that he knows he isn’t going to finish; he’s just waiting for it to be dinner time so he can give Doyeon her bottle and hopefully put her to sleep.
Out of all the people packed into Chan’s apartment, Jisung is the only one who approaches him despite the stroller stationed beside him. He squats in front of Doyeon’s stroller without saying hello, and with the biggest smile and the brightest eyes he says, “And who’s this cutie here?”
Minho’s hand curls on the handle of the stroller, wanting to pull it away. But Jisung’s smile is kind, bright, and disarming, and he doesn’t touch his daughter, so Minho tries to relax. Minho offers him a smile and says, “That’s Doyeon. She’s my daughter.”
Minho expects Jisung to turn and leave. To sneer at the fact that he has a kid while being so young, and with no partner in sight at that. But Jisung keeps his hands to himself, his smile unfaltering. “How old is she?” he asks, but before Minho can think the question is laced with judgment, he adds: “She seems to be about the same age as my niece.”
Han Jisung, twenty-four, Bachelor in English. Aspiring editor in the making.
It’s nice, Minho admits with ease, to not feel othered because of his daughter. Jisung sits with him all night, switches Minho’s warm beer for his ice-cold, freshly opened one, telling him that he’s allowed to have a good time as well. Minho finds that it’s easy to talk to Jisung, and when Jisung asks him if he would like to stay in touch — at the end of the night, when Doyeon has long fallen asleep and Minho is ready to go home — Minho has no problem saying yes.
Keeping Jisung around is easy when they fit together like puzzle pieces, but even more so when Minho weighs in the fact that his daughter seems to love him. Whenever Jisung is with them — out for strolls at the park, on trips to the mall, or in their home to watch a movie — Doyeon is always a delight to be with, always on her best behavior. Jisung insists it’s just that he has experience dealing with his niece; Minho thinks he’s just a natural with kids.
Jisung first offers to babysit for him when Minho is put on a work trip that he can’t get himself out of.
Doyeon is three and a half and Minho is stressed out of his mind, on the verge of tears when his mother tells him on the phone that they can’t keep her for the days he needs to be away. He understands, he swears he does — his parents have been meaning to visit his mother’s elderly parents for at least a month now, but things kept getting delayed because Minho needed them to stay with Doyeon while he was away. Now his grandmother has fallen sick, and they can’t delay the trip any longer.
Minho doesn't know what the hell he’s supposed to do. He hears Jisung letting himself into his apartment, the door softly clicking shut behind him as he slips out of his shoes. He waits until Minho hangs up the call to sit next to him, a gentle hand on his knee when he says, “Hyung, I can stay with her. I don’t mind.”
If Minho sheds tears that day, that’s between him and Jisung. Something Minho doesn’t like talking about, a secret that Jisung seems more than willing to keep. Minho goes on his trip knowing that his daughter is in good hands, and after that, it’s almost as if things start falling into place.
Time passes in the blink of an eye, and Minho wishes he had more of it in his hands. More time to get his projects done because the ten hours he spends at the firm are certainly not enough, to spend on his hobbies or simply not doing anything at all, to hang out with his friends because it’s been ages since he was last able to. Most importantly, though, Minho wishes he had more time to spend with his daughter.
He is doing what he can, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. It’s inevitable, really, that he can’t juggle all the balls at once when he’s the sole provider for their small family of two. Minho supposes that, instead of dwelling on the things he regrets, he should be thankful for the things that he has. Six years have passed since he and Jisung met — Doyeon is now eight and bumbling with energy, and Jisung insists he’s more than fine staying with her when Minho can’t. Which is frequently, but he digresses.
Every morning, from Monday through Friday, Minho gets out of bed at five-thirty. He takes a shower, shaves his beard, and then makes his way into the kitchen at six. They have about an hour until it’s time to leave; Minho gets started with breakfast while his daughter sleeps in a little longer, knowing that, at the ripe age of eight, she will have a hard time waking up earlier than six-twenty. And even then, after Minho has beat the eggs for the egg roll, put rice in the microwave, and put the beef radish soup to heat on the stove, she will still ask to sleep a little longer.
Minho often jokes that she must be spending too much time with Jisung to the point where his bad sleeping habits are rubbing off on her. Jisung doesn’t even sleep over that often, and Minho has given him explicit directions not to let her nap in the afternoon on weekdays; Minho knows that the problem is that she’s still just a child bursting at the seams with energy, a common occurrence within the family. His childhood pictures immortalizing his dark circles are proof enough of that.
When the alarm on his watch goes off, he knows it’s time to start trying to get Doyeon out of bed. It’s a routine he’s more than used to — knocking on her door, hearing her soft grunting when he cracks it open, smiling to himself at her unruly hair popping out from under the covers.
“Good morning, pumpkin,” Minho greets softly, hand still on the doorknob and only his head popped into her bedroom. “It’s time to get up.”
“Five more minutes,” Doyeon groans through a yawn, burrowing further into her bed under the covers. “Dream’s almost over.”
“Okay, but it’s only five minutes,” he says, knowing full well he will give her ten more. He always does. “Wrap it up quickly.”
He closes the door behind him and makes his way back to the kitchen. The ten minutes he gives her is the time he finishes serving breakfast — he rolls the eggs to perfection, turns off the soup heating and takes the rice out of the microwave. Minho brings the food to the table, pours them two glasses of orange juice, and makes his way back to his daughter’s room.
This time, when he knocks, the grunting is much louder. Doyeon stretches her arms over her head when he pushes the door open, finally pulling the covers down to reveal her puffy, sleepy face. Minho smiles despite himself, his heart tightening in his chest with all the love he feels for her. Doyeon sits up, turns off her night light, and opens her blinds.
“Good morning,” she greets with her voice still laced with sleep, her eyes barely open. “Is breakfast ready?”
“Yes,” he answers, even though it always is. “Come on, or else we’ll be late for class.” It’s a lie and his daughter knows that; unless either of them is sick, Minho would never let her run late for school because that would also mean he would be running late for work, and he doesn’t have enough hours in a day to afford that.
Sometimes, Minho wishes he could quit his job so he could spend more time at home with his daughter. He hates that, after dropping her off at school, he only gets to see her again at night. He knows that’s the reality of every working parent, but he wishes it wasn’t. He wishes things could be different for the two of them. To Minho, it doesn’t matter that Doyeon is growing into a well-adjusted child; he will always wish that he could do more for her.
Those thoughts are issues he has to work within himself, though. Doyeon has never once complained about it, and he’s asked her a handful of times now if she wanted him to work less and spend more time with her. He knows Jisung plays a part in how she responds to that — not only by explaining to her why her dad must be away so often, but also by making sure that she never feels lonely. Minho doesn’t know what he’s ever done to deserve having someone like Jisung in his life, but he is immensely grateful for him.
Over breakfast, he asks her what she had been dreaming about that morning — more often than not, it’s all nonsense, action-packed dreams that make Minho understand why she wakes up feeling so tired in the morning. This time, she was a bandit in the Goryeo Dynasty trying to poison the king.
“And who’s responsible for that this time around?” Minho says through laughter, brows raised high, putting his spoon down so he doesn’t choke on food. “Was it Grandma over the weekend or did Jisungie put on another one of his weird documentaries last week?”
Minho knows that the chances of the culprit being his mother are extremely high. Doyeon has just spent the weekend with his parents in Gimpo while he was out of the city for work, and he knows for a fact that his mother has been meaning to rewatch Moon Lovers for quite a while now. “They have Kang Haneul and Lee Joongi as love interests!” she had exclaimed as a means of explaining herself. Minho supposes he gets it, but he isn’t sure his daughter should be watching that as well.
“Grandma told me not to tell you,” Doyeon says, doing exactly what his mother told her not to do. Minho snorts at her ingenuity and inability to lie. “It was fun!”
Minho isn’t sure if she is talking about the dream or her weekend in Gimpo, though he has a feeling she might be talking about both. He will have to question her further later that day, though; she needs to shower and put on her uniform in the next thirty minutes so they can leave before traffic gets really bad. If they delay it any longer, they will start running late.
It’s a routine they polished to perfection the year she turned seven: they leave the house at 7:10. It’s a half-hour drive to Doyeon’s school, which gives her just enough time to settle in and chat with her friends before classes start. Minho drops her off at the gate with a kiss to the top of her head, and today he adds a yelled, “Don’t forget I’m picking you up after class!” as she rushes out of the car, ready to run towards the friend waiting for her just past the entrance.
“I remember!” she yells over her shoulder, barely sparing him a glance.
“Did you bring your—”
“Yes, Dad!” she stops, turns on her heels, and waves him off. “Love you! You’re gonna be late!”
On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, Jisung is the one to bring Doyeon home. Those are the days she’s off by four at the latest; while Minho is trapped at work, Jisung makes sure she showers and gets her homework done before she’s allowed to watch any tv. This Monday, however, things are a bit different.
Minho isn’t happy that he’s having to change their routine, but it’s not the fact that he will get to see Doyeon again earlier than usual that he’s upset about. The problem is that, for the past month or so, Doyeon’s homeroom teacher has been incessantly pestering him in every way she can; she has sent him a barrage of emails, has sent texts to his kakao talk, has even attempted to call him a couple of times. More often than not, Doyeon will come home with a folded note between the pages of her notebook from her teacher, clearly addressed to him.
His patience is running thin.
Minho isn’t stupid, he knows exactly what is going on. He sees the looks he gets from the female staff and mothers alike when he goes to the school, their whisperings less than discreet even when he’s within earshot. Besides, there is no reason why Doyeon’s homeroom teacher should be sending him notes about his daughter’s performance every other day, making the kid think she’s doing something wrong.
Doyeon is a good student and hasn’t had any major problems with her work or her grades because both Minho and Jisung make sure she stays on top of things. Minho has never wanted to put the pressure of sending her to cram school on her, and that means he has to do a spectacular job of teaching her at home. He knows their efforts have been paying off so far, which is why he knows the constant notes being sent are utter bullshit. Every time Doyeon hands him a folded piece of paper, Minho immediately throws it in the trash.
He knows that her teacher is only trying to find excuses to see him. He first noticed her change in attitude months ago, on a Monday when Jisung had to go into the publishing house in person and couldn’t pick Doyeon up after class. Ms. Jeon’s voice was shaky through her greeting, her skin reddening when she lifted her head from the bow she gave him. Nothing Minho wasn’t used to, and nothing he couldn’t simply sweep under the rug.
And then the emails started. Small updates on how his daughter was doing in class, details he hears from Doyeon’s own mouth when they sit down for dinner every night. Minho wishes she would stop with whatever she is trying to do but he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding rude, and it has been extremely hard for her to take a hint that he’s not interested.
Maybe today will be the day he puts an end to this. It has to stop, and it has to happen sooner rather than later.
When he gets to work, it’s almost too easy to forget all the problems related to Doyeon’s teacher. Being good at what he does means having little time to think about anything that happens outside the firm’s doors; time is always money, and the Korean elite has a lot of it. Minho spreads out a blank sheet for his canvas, opens his travel sketchbook, and shuts off his brain for a few hours.
He only stops when his hand starts to cramp. Minho is doing a stretching exercise when Seungmin stops by his desk, a sour look on his face. He scowls before Seungmin even gets to open his mouth, his shoulders tensing up all over again. Minho’s watch vibrates with a notification that he doesn’t get the chance to check.
“What is it now?” Minho asks before Seungmin says hello to stop him from trying to beat around the bush, even if he knows Seungmin rarely does so.
“They want you out of town again,” Seungmin says bluntly, dropping a stack of papers on his desk. Minho glazes over the project name, but the only thing that stands out is the Daegu written in small, bold font on the cover. “I tried telling them you probably wouldn’t go, but they won’t listen to me.”
Minho pushes the papers away, not bothering to give them a look. “When would they need me to go?” Not that he is even considering. He just got back home from a work trip, and he is certainly not looking forward to another one.
“Today.” Seungmin pushes up the sleeve of his shirt to look at the watch on his wrist. “In about two hours.”
“I can’t.” The answer would have been a no regardless of what Seungmin said, but it comes easier when it overlaps with something he can’t miss. “I’m needed at my daughter’s school today. You can take this one over if you want.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to talk to Bang Chan about that, then.” Seungmin leans over his desk and picks the papers back up, face settled back on neutral as he tucks them under his arm. “Apparently the client requested you specifically for this one.”
“But you—” Minho sighs, knowing that it's useless to tell Seungmin what he already knows — that he is more than capable of taking over the job, that Minho trusts him to do as good of a job as he would have if he were to go. He pushes off his chair, rubbing his eyes with a hand. “I’ll go talk to him. You should go home and pack your bags.”
The good thing about being friends with his boss is that Minho has been given opportunities that most people have to wait years for a chance to come by; he knows the privilege he has and he appreciates it immensely. The bad thing about being friends with his boss, though, is that sometimes Chan doesn’t take their word all that seriously, and today is a prime example of that: Chan pushing the limits to see how far he can go.
Minho walks into his office with a scowl still on his face. Chan is just hanging up the phone, a bright smile on his lips like Minho is supposed to have something to be happy about. He gestures at the chair across from him, urging Minho to take a seat as he breathes out, “Are you excited to go?”
Minho clicks his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sometimes you’re terrible at listening to what other people have to say.” Chan’s smile falters and falls, a long sigh escaping through his nose as he leans back in his chair. “Seungmin told you I wouldn’t go, didn’t he? Are you picking on him just for fun?”
“He said you probably wouldn’t,” Chan corrects, as if that makes it any better. As if that would make a difference. “So I told him to pass on the project to you.”
Minho presses his lips into a thin line, taking a deep breath. “Hyung, why do you think Seungmin and I work so closely and, sometimes, even together on projects?”
“Because even though you two are very different as people, you have similar work values and style,” Chan answers robotically like he’s giving the answer to a question he’s been quizzed on many times.
“Perfect. He’ll go in my place.” Minho lets his shoulders relax, hands falling on his lap. “I just got back from Daejeon, hyung. I can’t just leave my daughter like that.”
Minho knows Chan will never put up much of a fight if Doyeon is at play. When Chan first offered Minho the job, a year or so after they finished grad school, he told Minho he was free to say no to projects and work trips if he thought they would get in the way of raising his daughter. He’s known from the day they met that Minho is a single dad, after all. Minho is just glad that it’s easy for Chan to have control over the firm like that since it belongs to his parents and not someone else.
At the time, Minho made Chan write a small statement on a torn napkin with the offer. He still has it in his desk’s drawer, framed for the sake of preservation and in case Chan ever tries to go back on his word.
Chan sighs. “I know, I just thought—”
“Well, think harder next time.” It’s not up for debate or argument. “I wouldn’t be able to go, anyway. Doyeon’s homeroom teacher has requested my presence at school after class today.”
“Is everything okay?” Chan asks with a frown.
“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Minho can’t help the scoff he lets out, his eyes rolling just a bit. “Are we still up for lunch, by the way? I can’t be late.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Straightening his back, Chan pries his focus away from Minho and back to his computer screen. “I need you to brief me on how things went in Daejeon still. Can you tell Seungmin he can take over the job?”
“Already did.” Minho’s watch vibrates again, and this time he lets his eyes wander to its screen. The notification from Jisung’s kakao talk chat reads: want me to come over with dinner? mom sent me— Minho doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Chan clears his throat; when he looks up, Minho finds Chan looking at him with a raised brow. He clears his throat as well. “Anyway. Meet you outside in twenty?”
“Sure,” Chan says, lips curling into a smirk. Minho rolls his eyes, flips him off, and goes back to his desk.
Minho is, indeed, late for his informal appointment with Doyeon’s teacher. It’s half past one when he parks on the premises of the school lot; there is an uncomfortable feeling stirring in his stomach, and Minho wishes it was just bad food that he ate and not dread making him sick. He takes a deep breath and steps out of his car.
Past the school gates, Minho almost immediately spots his daughter playing tag with a friend, not seeming to mind whether her dad is running late or not. She laughs joyfully as she’s pushed around, her smile big as she regains her balance to chase her friend back; Minho smiles despite himself, his heartstrings being gently pulled one by one.
“Lee Minho-ssi?” calls a light and polite voice that has Minho turning in its direction to look. Ms. Jeon is a petite woman who can’t be any older than him, with doll-like features and black hair that falls over her shoulders in waves. She bows her head at him with her hands folded over her stomach, a kind smile stretching her lips when she looks at him again. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” he says with a polite nod of his head. “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about? I thought Doyeon was doing well with her schoolwork?”
“Ah, yes, I—” Ms. Jeon clears her throat awkwardly, losing her composure for just a split second. She forces herself to smile just a bit harder. “The school is holding a parent-teacher conference next Wednesday, and it is important that a legal guardian attends it so we can go over your daughter’s progress.”
Minho hates the unnecessary emphasis she gives to the legal guardian part, as if it isn’t known to the school board that he is the only parent Doyeon has. He also hates that this could have been an e-mail from the dozens she had already sent him, but he says neither of those things. Instead, he gives her a tight smile and a curt nod, and says, “I’ll be there,” with his skin feeling like it's being prickled with needles.
“It’s really impressive, Minho-ssi, how you have managed to raise her so well without a mom,” Ms. Jeon continues, and her words settle like acid in his stomach. He feels like he is going to be sick. “Most kids who—”
“Jeon Jihyun-ssi,” Minho says through gritted teeth, his jaw threatening to lock in place. Ms. Jeon snaps her mouth shut, her eyes widening at the way he says her name. “If we’re done here, I would like to take my daughter home now.”
He doesn’t wait for a verbal response. Ms. Jeon bows her head in what Minho reads as shame and steps out of his way when he turns on his heels to walk toward his daughter. Doyeon spots him within moments of him coming into view, her face lighting up with a smile. She says goodbye to her friend and grabs her backpack in a hurry, and she doesn’t stop running until she crashes into him in a hug.
“Hey, pumpkin,” he greets, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Sorry to cut the fun short.”
“It’s okay,” Doyeon shakes her head dismissively, running a hand through her hair to put it back in place. “We’re just leaving a bit earlier than usual.”
“Earlier?” Minho asks with a raised brow. “I thought your classes end at one?”
“They do!” she nods. “But Hyeri’s mom can only pick her up at two, so Uncle Ji usually waits until she comes so Hyeri isn’t left alone. But I know you’re busy with work, Dad, so it’s okay.”
“Oh,” he says softly, feeling embarrassed that he doesn’t know such a simple detail in his daughter’s routine, but also feeling a little upset that Jisung never told him about it. Minho looks over his shoulder, at his daughter’s friend now sitting on a bench by herself. “Well, we can stay a bit longer, then. Dad’s not going back to the office today.”
Doyeon’s eyes light up, her smile widening. “Really?” Minho nods. “Come on, then!”
She drags him by the hand to where she had just come from, and he watches as her friend’s face, too, lights up when she sees Doyeon coming back. “Hyeri-yah!” she squeals, getting behind Minho and pushing him by his lower back. “This is my dad!”
Hyeri gives him a sunny smile, bowing her head politely at him. “Hi, Doyeon’s Dad! I’m Ju Hyeri. Doyeonie has talked so much about you!”
Minho laughs, giving her head a small pat. “I’m Lee Minho. Doyeon told me she and Jisungie usually wait for your mom to come get you? Do you mind if I do that today?”
Doyeon moves on from him to her friend, dragging her off the bench by the arm. Hyeri shakes her head, her smile still nice and polite. “My mom should be here soon. Is Uncle okay?”
Uncle, even to Doyeon’s friend. “Yes, he’s alright,” he says with a kind smile. “Go on, enjoy the time you have left for today.”
Minho switches places with Hyeri on the bench and allows his shoulders to relax. As he watches the two girls play tag, he can’t help but think about how entrenched in their lives Jisung has been from day one, how Minho probably wouldn’t be able to do this without him. Things may get easier as Doyeon gets older and becomes her own person, but he dreads to think how much harder things could have been if Jisung hadn’t so willingly stayed by his side.
What if he hadn’t brought Doyeon to that gathering at Chan’s all those years ago? Would Jisung still have approached him, then? Would Minho have stayed as isolated as he did, or would he have been more willing to be social, and therefore their paths wouldn’t have crossed the way they did? Those are what-ifs that Minho is happy to never know the answers to, if he’s being honest.
He is pulled out of his thoughts by the soft thudding of heels on stone. Minho pries his eyes away from Doyeon and Hyeri to look at the person now standing next to him — a tall, elegant woman, dressed in designer brands from head to toe, her smile bright and kind. “I’m sorry, but that seems to be my daughter’s bag.”
“Oh.” Minho is quick on his feet, offering a hand. “You must be Hyeri’s mom. I’m Lee Minho, Lee Doyeon’s dad. It seems like our daughters are good friends.”
“Lee Chaein.” She takes his hand, her smile brightening. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Lee Minho-ssi. I’ve heard great things about you. Is Jisung doing okay?”
Minho feels a little flustered realizing that everyone he’s talked to today seems to know Jisung well enough to be concerned with his wellbeing, but maybe that’s to be expected when he’s the one taking Doyeon home three out of five days every week. “Ah, yes, he’s doing just fine.” The muscles of his face feel awkward as he smiles at her. “Ms. Jeon wanted to see me, so I had to come in his place today.”
Chaein clicks her tongue, a knowing look on her face. Something uncomfortable stirs in Minho’s chest. “So she finally pulled it off.” She says it almost under her breath like Minho isn’t supposed to hear it, but they’re close enough that he does.
“Excuse me?” Being aware of her intentions is one thing, but realizing that other parents are aware of it as well is kind of upsetting. “Is there something I should know?”
Hyeri’s mother chuckles, but it’s obviously not out of humor. “Lee Minho-ssi, I’m sorry to say it bluntly, but you’re a hot topic in this school. It’s no secret among the parents that she has a crush on you. Which is funny, considering we barely see you around.”
“This is awkward,” Minho chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Thank you for telling me, Chaein-ssi.”
“I feel sorry that you’re in an uncomfortable position like this. If things get worse, you should consider telling the school board about it.” Minho hopes that things won’t have to come to that. He would hate to be responsible for someone getting a disciplinary action against them or, worse, losing their job. “It was nice to finally meet you, Minho-ssi. Hyeri talks about Doyeonie a lot at home.”
All Minho can do is smile as Chaein calls for her daughter, letting the girl crash into her in a tight hug despite how sweaty she is. Doyeon follows closely behind, waving at Hyeri’s mother with a bright smile as she grabs her bag again. Minho holds his daughter by the hand and takes her home.
He needs to come up with a plan.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
“Hyung, your fridge is starting to look a little sad.”
That’s the first thing Minho hears when he gets home after work the following day, Doyeon’s giggling in the background the equivalent of jabs digging at his side. Minho scoffs, locking the front door behind him and slipping out of his shoes. “Maybe if you brought some food over from time to time I wouldn’t be spending a fortune on groceries every other week, and then delaying doing it again when things start running out.”
When he walks further into the apartment, the first thing he sees is Jisung standing in his kitchen, holding up a container he very clearly brought from home. “Jajangmyeon and kimbap from the MVP in my family — my mom. How’s that for bringing food over?”
Minho sighs, his stomach grumbling. “Have you told your mom I love her?”
Jisung’s smile is cheeky. “She called earlier and Doyeon made sure to pass on the message.”
“Dad, can we eat?” Doyeon calls from the couch, only the top of her head visible from where Minho stands. “I’m hungry!”
“Have you showered?” Doyeon turns to look at him over the couch, nodding in response, but all Minho can see is the red skin around her left eye and how dangerously close it is to bruising. Minho’s heart sinks to his feet. “Holy f—what happened?!”
Doyeon brings a hand up to the bruise, wincing as her fingers graze the skin. “Got hit by a ball during practice today. I’m okay, Dad. It doesn’t hurt that much.”
Minho turns to look at Jisung again, concern pulling at his features. “Is she trying not to worry me? Were you there when it happened?”
Jisung nods, serving out portions of jajangmyeon for the three of them. “It wasn’t on purpose. She was trying to get a pass and the girl kicked the ball a bit too hard. We iced it on our way home, but I think it would be good to do it again before she goes to bed.”
“That’s gonna look so nasty.” Minho heaves a sigh, exhaustion starting to weigh heavily on his limbs. “How much time do I have?”
“Ten minutes.”
It’s just enough time for him to slip out of his work clothes and take a quick shower. Minho likes nights like this, where they get to have dinner together and catch up on what has happened throughout the day. It’s not every day that Jisung gets to stay — he may work from home and have some leeway with his hours, but he still has work that he needs to get done. Minho already takes up enough of his time by having him watch Doyeon when he can’t.
Tonight, Doyeon isn’t as chatty. Minho thinks it’s quite understandable considering that she’s injured — he knows that she’s just trying to play the bruise off because he can see the way she winces every time she opens her mouth to take a bite of her food and her muscles get pulled with it. Minho wishes he could do something about it other than send her to bed with an ice pack and a kiss on her good cheek.
“So,” Jisung starts once her bedroom door clicks shut, keeping his voice low. “Are you gonna tell me what happened yesterday at school?”
Minho shoves a piece of kimbap into his mouth, buying himself some time to think. “It was all just a setup. They’re holding a parent-teacher conference next week and I need to go.”
Jisung frowns. “Couldn’t that have been an email?”
He hums. “Yeah, one in the fucking dozens Ms. Jeon sent me.” Minho pauses, munching on another piece of kimbap before he speaks again. “I don’t want to have to be rude to her, but I feel like I’m going to be harassed to hell and back next week at this conference if I don’t do something about it.”
“Hyung, you’re willing to put yourself through that just because you don’t wanna be mean?” Minho thinks it’s a bit more complicated than that, but if he had to try to put it simply, then maybe it does all boil down to just that. Him not wanting to be mean to one of the people responsible for his child’s education. “Just make her think you’re taken, I don’t know.”
Minho laughs humorlessly. “I met Hyeri’s mother today. She said it is widely known that my daughter’s homeroom teacher has a crush on me when, mind you, I think I’ve seen her twice before today. Did you know anything about that?”
“Chaein is a very elegant woman,” Jisung starts, pressing his lips tightly together when he sighs, “but damn does she like to gossip.”
“And you haven’t been doing anything to try and stop them?”
“Hey, how is it my fault that people find you hot?” Jisung frowns. “What did you want me to do, tell them that we—”
Jisung cuts himself off, his eyes widening like he just had a brilliant idea. Minho swallows thickly, his food going down the wrong pipe.
“Wait, that’s it. Hyung, I know exactly how we’re gonna get Ms. Jeon to leave you alone.”
“I don’t like that look on your face.” A smirk creeps onto Jisung’s lips and Minho knows he is up to no good. He has been a victim of Jisung’s mischief one too many times by now to know to keep his guard up. “What are you scheming in that head of yours?”
“We can just get someone to pretend to be your girlfriend and, like, go to the conference with you.” Jisung sounds so sure of himself that Minho is sure he can’t even hear how ridiculous he sounds. Minho laughs at the absurdity of the suggestion, making Jisung frown. “Hey! Why are you laughing! It’s not like you have a better plan!”
“We can do one better,” Minho says between giggles, just riding along the wave of Jisung’s silliness. “Why don’t you come with me?”
Jisung’s eyes go comically wide. He points a finger at his face. “Me?!”
“Think about it.” Minho hums, and thinks about it too. About how it is widely known that Jisung is with Doyeon after school more often than Minho himself, how he knows as much about his daughter as her own father. How Jisung probably wouldn’t have to pretend that he cares about Doyeon because he actually, genuinely does. “Don’t you think it would be easy to fool them into thinking we’re together?”
Jisung blinks at him. “Hyung, are you running a fever?”
“I mean,” he shrugs. “If pretending is the only way I’ll get her off my back, I’d rather do it with someone I know.”
Honestly, the easiest way out would be simply telling Ms. Jeon that he’s not interested. There would be no need for him to pretend to be something that he isn’t or to put Jisung through this just because he doesn’t want to say no. But, at the end of the day, he doesn’t see the harm in it; if Jisung says yes, Minho believes their chemistry is good enough to make the whole charade believable.
“You’re so—” Jisung laughs, shoving a piece of kimbap into his mouth, his cheek rounding with it.”Ridiculous. I’m gonna be the best fake husband you’ve ever seen. You’ll see!”
“We’d have to get rings for that,” Minho laughs.
“Fine. Fake boyfriend, then. I’m gonna make her so embarrassed to try to hit on you that she will never talk to you again.”
Minho likes the confidence Jisung has with everything he sets his mind to. Even if it’s something silly like helping him make Doyeon’s teacher understand that he’s not into her by any means, the look Jisung has in his eyes — even while calling him ridiculous — makes fondness settle deep in his heart. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, Minho wonders what his life would have been like had they never met.
Jisung stays for a movie, and then a little while longer when they’re unable to stop talking after it ends. It’s late, and they both should probably be getting ready for bed already, but long nights with Jisung are always worth staying up late for. Minho wishes they could open a few beers and let the late hours of the night drag into morning, but Jisung is driving and has a meeting early the next day.
Maybe next time. Once this conference is over with and he feels like he can breathe again.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
A week couldn’t possibly pass any slower.
When Doyeon arrived at school the following day with almost half of her face colored bright red and purple from the bruise, Minho answered his first call from her homeroom teacher. He was still on his way to the firm when his phone started ringing, and before he could even say hello, Ms. Jeon’s voice blasted through the sound system of his car with some very strong, very appalled words. That was the breaking point for him.
“Why don’t you ask my daughter what happened?” was all he said before he hung up on her. An apology text followed soon after. The implications of her call, further stressed by the words in her text, wasn’t even that Minho had done something to her — but that Jisung had, seeing as he had been the one to pick her up after soccer practice.
Minho won’t allow for any misjudging of Jisung’s character like that.
Now, it’s the Wednesday of the conference and he’s still seething. Doyeon is, fortunately, still in her ballet class and won’t be out for at least another hour — plenty of time for Minho and Jisung to get this conference over with and take her home after. They’re sitting in the hallway, waiting for their turn; Minho can feel eyes on them, can hear the whispering amongst other parents. For once, it isn’t Jisung bouncing his leg nervously.
“Hey,” Jisung nudges him gently, prompting Minho to take a deep breath. “Don’t freak out.”
“I’m not,” Minho says too quickly, knowing that it’s a lie. He’s the one at fault for this to be even happening, and he knows, deep down, that there is no reason for him to feel the way that he does. But the whispers of are they and are they not are getting under his skin and making him sick. “I’m fine.”
“Mhm,” Jisung hums, reaching to hold his hand. Minho’s arm muscles twitch but he doesn’t pull away. “We both know Doyeon is doing just fine, and the other issue will get resolved today. Don’t worry, hyung.”
Minho doesn’t have enough time to put a pin on the source of his stress, anyway. The door to Doyeon’s classroom opens and Minho springs to his feet at the same time his heart goes up his throat; Chaein and her husband walk out with their arms linked and bright smiles on their lips, bowing politely at Ms. Jeon before they leave. Chaein greets him and Jisung with enthusiasm, and Minho wishes he could match her energy without feeling like he is going to be sick. Jisung, luckily, does it for him.
“Lee Minho-ssi?” Ms. Jeon calls. She turns her head toward him as slowly as Jisung gets on his feet, and Minho sees the exact moment her confidence shatters when her eyes land on Jisung. “Oh.”
Jisung doesn’t hold Minho’s hand, but he’s following him closely enough as they walk into the classroom that Minho can feel his breath on the back of his neck. They sit in silence across from Ms. Jeon on her desk; Minho watches every careful move of her hands as she organizes her papers, as she tucks her hair behind her ear and flips it off her shoulder. Her lips press into a thin line and she lets out a long exhale.
“Jisung-ssi,” she starts, her tone condescending. Minho’s stomach flips with anger. “This conference is for parents or legal guardians of the student. I understand that—”
“He’s—”
“I’m Minho’s partner,” Jisung says without an ounce of hesitation, confidence dripping from his words. Minho’s heart slams against his chest at the shock that crosses Ms. Jeon’s face. “We are both equally involved in raising and educating Doyeon, Jeon Jihyun-ssi. Don’t make this uncomfortable for any of us.”
Ms. Jeon opens and closes her mouth, her eyes flitting to Minho as if he’s going to tell her that what Jisung said isn’t true. And, honestly, only part of it is a lie; an act to get her to back off, but she doesn’t need to know that. So, Minho nods and says: “He’s staying. Can we get this started?”
“Of course.” Ms. Jeon clears her throat, straightens her posture, and starts going through her notes.
Minho knew he had nothing to worry about, and Jisung was kind enough to remind him of that. Her teacher praises Doyeon for keeping up with her work and doing well with her tests, as well as being friendly to all the students who are friendly to her. That means, or at least it implies to Minho’s ears, that maybe things aren’t as great with all students, but Ms. Jeon makes no mention of anything of the like.
“Are there any subjects she has been struggling with in class?” Minho asks once she slows down, crossing his legs.
Ms. Jeon takes a quick look at her notes. “Not exactly. There are times she struggles a bit with biology, but then she comes back with perfect homework and fully grasping what she couldn’t in the previous class. I wouldn’t point that out as a reason for worry.”
Minho glances at Jisung, who has a wide and proud smile tacked on his lips. He can’t help but smile, too, knowing that Jisung is the one who makes her understand what her teachers fail to.
“She’s also impressively good at math, far better than her peers.” It’s good to see and hear that, at the very least, Ms. Jeon can still keep this professional despite whatever personal feelings she may have, the flirting undertone in her voice long gone. “I would encourage you to put her in a cram school to stimulate her brain even further.”
“Thank you for the advice, Jihyun-ssi,” Minho tries to be polite when he smiles, but the twitch of her lips makes him believe that he is anything but. “Unless that is something my daughter asks for herself, however, I will be doing no such thing.”
“But I think—”
“Jihyun-ssi,” Jisung interrupts, a fierce smile on his face. Ms. Jeon is reluctant to redirect her attention to him but ultimately does anyway. “Right now, Doyeon likes playing soccer and doing ballet. She sings the entire way home and even as she does her homework. By encouraging her to do the things she likes and not just what she has to do, we’re allowing her to have a say in her life choices from a young age. I would certainly hope you’re not trying to tell Minho how to best parent his daughter.”
“Of course not.” Color rises to her face, clearly flustered that Jisung would even suggest such a thing. Minho bites the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling. “Of course you know what’s best for Doyeon. She is doing well enough to not need it. Anyway, uhm—has she expressed any desire to learn more from school?”
“She has mentioned not getting enough work for her English and Japanese classes,” Minho says. His daughter has been keen on both languages because of the songs and animations he and Jisung play for her every day, has expressed frustration over the need for subtitles she still struggles to keep up with. “Which I agree. We don’t get nearly as much homework for that as we do for regular subjects. Is there any way we can increase the load on those?”
Ms. Jeon writes something down on a small piece of paper. “I will talk to the language teachers and see what can be done.”
“That’s great,” he smiles, still doing his best to be nice. “Is that all for today?”
“No, there’s one more thing.” It’s Jisung who says it, and he isn’t smiling. Jisung scoots closer to the edge of his seat, just enough so he can lean his forearms into Ms. Jeon’s desk. “Jihyun-ssi, please stop contacting my boyfriend under the guise of speaking about Doyeon. Everyone knows what you’re up to and, honestly, it’s a little embarrassing. If you insist, I’ll have to report you to the school board for the harassment of a parent. Are we clear?”
Minho feels his face getting as red as Ms. Jeon’s. Unlike her, though, he doesn’t bow his head in shame; he keeps it high as she apologizes, even if his heart slams against his ribcage. He had never known Jisung to be this bold or forthcoming — even if it’s all a lie, a ruse with a purpose, Minho didn’t think Jisung would go as far as saying the things he didn’t want to say himself.
When they leave the classroom, Jisung’s fingers are curled into the crook of his elbow, his chest puffed and shoulders wide, but his face is at ease. He only lets go once they are out of sight and earshot of the other parents, halfway to the dance studio where Doyeon should be wrapping up her class. Jisung sighs, running a soothing hand over his chest.
When he turns to look at Minho, it’s with a bright, blinding, heart-shaped smile. “How did I do?”
“I think you did great,” Minho says with a small smile, his face still feeling warm and his heart still rabbitting in his chest. “Thank you. I think that’s gonna work.”
Eyes on them. Whispers, speculations every time they are seen together like this. Minho is used to it, and it’s easy for him to brush it aside when he knows none of that is true. Usually it’s easy, at least; today, however, the whispers worm their way into his brain and hold onto him like parasites. Still, he doesn’t push Jisung away when he stands shoulder to shoulder with him, or when he leans in to show him a funny video on his phone.
The door to the studio opens to the excited screams of the girls inside. Minho sighs out of relief, his heart finally starting to beat at a slower pace again as a bunch of little girls rush past them. Doyeon is the last one to come out, as she usually is; her once-tight bun is now a loose ponytail, the pins that kept it in place barely hanging onto her hair. With the fading bruise on her face, she looks like she went to a brawl instead of her ballet class.
“Oh?” she exclaims as soon as her eyes land on Jisung, making a detour to hug him instead. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, where’s my hug?” Minho huffs, pulling her by the stap of her backpack until she stumbles into him. “We were at the conference with your teacher.”
Doyeon grabs the straps of her bag and pulls them down, an anxious look on her face. “Am I in trouble?”
“Not at all.” Jisung’s hand is gentle as he cradles the back of her head, his smile confident and encouraging. Doyeon’s eyes light up almost instantly. “You’re doing great, baby. Should we go home now?”
“You’re coming with us?” she asks, sounding hopeful.
Jisung exchanges a sad glance with Minho. “No, pumpkin, Jisungie still has some work to get done,” Minho says, offering his hand for her to take. She does it with a pout, her shoulders slumping. “But you’re still seeing him tomorrow, and we’re taking you to the pool this weekend, remember?”
Jisung was the one who suggested it, saying that they need a break in their routine, that taking her to have some fun in a place she doesn’t usually go to could be helpful to her studies. Minho thinks Doyeon is the one behind the scheming, but he will let it slide this time. He’s sure it will be fun, anyway; it’s been too long since they last had an outing like that.
They drop Jisung off at his place, much to Doyeon’s sadness and Minho’s unhappiness. He wishes they’d had more time to talk outside of the school — outside of their scheming, away from the prying ears and eyes of others. They’ll have to talk about it some other time — maybe tomorrow after Minho gets home from work, or maybe on the weekend when they’re able to relax a little more.
The real surprise of the day comes when they’re at home. They’re just finishing dinner to get started on homework when Doyeon says, as casually as she can, “Dad, I don’t think Ms. Jeon likes Jisungie all that much.”
Minho’s chopsticks stop halfway to his mouth. It takes him a second to process her words; bringing the cutlery down to the table, Minho closes his mouth and takes a deep breath through his nose. He straightens his back and swallows thickly to clear his throat. “Why do you say that, pumpkin?”
“Well, she doesn’t seem happy whenever I talk about him,” she says through a mouthful of rice, shrugging. Minho’s forehead creases with a frown. “And she said only you should go today.”
“She said that to you?” Doyeon nods despite the rise in pitch in his voice. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me that?”
“I told Jisungie,” she explains. Minho’s heart sinks in his chest. “He told me not to tell you.”
“Honey, you can’t keep stuff from me like that,” he says, his tone firm. His heart is back to beating quickly, his jaw clenching. He will have to talk to Jisung about this some other time. “Even if it’s Jisung asking you, okay?”
“But he said it would upset you if I did,” Doyeon reasons and, yeah, he’s fucking upset. He’s so upset that he thinks he won’t be able to finish dinner. “And I don’t want you to be upset.”
“That’s not for you to decide, pumpkin.” Minho isn’t going to lash out at his daughter, especially not when she thought she was doing something good. Jisung was right to think he would be upset if he knew, and the way he felt when Ms. Jeon tried telling Jisung to leave the meeting because he supposedly didn’t belong there was proof enough of that. It doesn’t make him feel any less nauseated, though. “How does Ms. Jeon make you feel when she acts like that?”
Doyeon pauses to think, poking at her rice. “I think it makes me sad,” she says, nodding in satisfaction at her answer. “You love him, don’t you, dad?”
Minho should consider himself lucky that he’s no longer eating, or else he would have choked on his food with the sharp inhale he takes. His daughter is looking at him with nonchalance, like she hasn’t misspoken and like she means what she said. And it’s easy for him to admit that he does — Jisung has been a part of their lives since she was two; Minho wouldn’t trust his daughter with just anyone.
There’s just something about the way she says it, though. Like there’s more to her words than what’s on the surface. Minho tries not to overthink it. She’s only eight, after all. “Of course I do,” he answers softly.
“I do, too,” she says very matter-of-factly. “So why can’t he live with us?”
Minho chuckles, taken aback by the question. “Jisung has his own life to live, pumpkin.”
“But he spends most of the time with us,” she counters. Minho’s heart stammers in his chest, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. “Wouldn’t it be easier if he didn’t have to go back and forth?”
Minho doesn’t know how to explain to her that that’s not how things work, that life isn’t that simple. So, he doesn’t. He pushes off his chair and takes their plates off the table, asking, “Do you still have homework left to do?” as a means of distraction. Doyeon easily falls for the bait, jumping off her seat to rummage through her school bag for the material she failed to go through before her ballet class started.
Later, when he’s in bed and ready to unwind from such a crazy day, Minho can’t fall asleep. He can’t stop thinking about Jisung’s expression at the conference, at the way he spoke to Doyeon’s teacher and stood his ground when she tried to brush him off and push him away. He thinks about Doyeon’s words at dinner and how she made it sound so simple — both their life and his feelings.
Minho stays up all night, overthinking. Does his daughter know something that he doesn’t?
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Taking Doyeon to a public pool has got to be, hands down, one of the stupidest things Minho has ever decided on. Not because of the long line at the entrance, or because of how hot it is outside and how it feels like the sun is burning through his scalp and skull; the problem is that he doesn’t know how to swim, and while Jisung is slightly better at it than he is, he’s still not great at it. Minho doesn’t have a problem letting his daughter get into the water on her own because she’s a better swimmer than he will ever be, but the lifeguards at the pool have a different opinion from his.
That greatly diminishes the places Doyeon can be in without a responsible adult with her, but that doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She leaves her flip-flops with them and rushes into the water, jumping headfirst into the pool and then breaking through the surface with a smile. She waves at them, and from their safe spot on the ground, Minho and Jisung wave back at her.
“She’s going to be fine, right?” Jisung asks through gritted teeth, afraid of letting his smile drop.
“I believe so,” Minho says even though his stomach twists uncomfortably. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Hyung, what’s there to regret?” Jisung leans back against his chair, his shoulders relaxed. “We’re out of the house, the weather is nice, and Doyeon is already making friends to have fun without us. Give yourself a moment to breathe.”
Minho swears he’s trying, but the screaming of children that get drowned out by the sound of rushing water makes him feel anything but at ease when he knows he likely won’t hear Doyeon if she calls for help, even if he has his eyes on her. At one point, sometime when Doyeon was around four, he wondered if the worrying would ever go away, or if, at the very least, it would get easier to deal with; now, years later, he’s sure that it won’t. His mother had told him as much.
The woes of being a parent, he supposes. No matter what happens, he will always be Doyeon’s dad. It’s not something he can — or wants to — change or take back.
“Hyung.” Jisung’s sunglasses hang low on the bridge of his nose, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his shoulders. “Don’t you ever think about getting yourself out there?”
Minho blinks behind the tinted lens of his glasses, taken aback by the question. “I don’t, actually.”
“Why?” Jisung isn’t looking at him, but rather at the huge pool ahead.
“Why do you ask?” he counters.
Jisung shrugs. “I think you’re hot, funny, and incredibly charismatic. Doyeon is getting older and, y’know, I could stay with her if you wanted to go out. Sometimes I feel like I take up too much of your time, and it makes me feel bad.”
“I don’t really miss being with other people like that,” Minho chuckles, but the taste on his tongue is bitter. It took him so long to come to terms with it that now it’s easy for the words to roll off his tongue. “I never felt a deep connection with the people I’ve been with. Even with Doyeon’s mom… I don’t know, it just felt like I was getting through the motions because I had to.”
Jisung’s bottom lip juts out with a pout, turning to look at him. “That’s a little sad, hyung. If I ask you something, do you promise not to be upset with me?”
Acid in Minho’s stomach. “Of course.”
“Have you ever tried being with guys?”
They have been friends for long enough that there is very little Jisung could say that would genuinely upset him. This isn’t one of those things, but it still catches Minho off guard. They’ve never discussed those things in-depth, and it’s mostly because Minho didn’t think it mattered much. Jisung knows of the few girlfriends he’s had in the past, and Minho knows that Jisung has hooked up with plenty of people but never got into a serious relationship with any of them.
Minho knows Jisung likes men, too. It never really mattered much, and it never made him think of it as something that could be true for him as well. Now, though, Jisung’s question gives him pause.
“I haven’t,” he admits quietly. Minho takes a deep breath and traps the air in his lungs until they start to hurt.
“Do you think you’d ever want to explore that?”
Minho has to look away. He lets out a long breath, feeling lightheaded as he tries to breathe normally again. Would he ever want to? Minho isn’t repulsed by the idea and maybe that could be enough, so, really, he doesn’t see why not, other than: “Jisung, I’m thirty-two and a dad. Don’t you think it’s a bit too late for that?”
“You’re a dad, not dead.” Jisung sounds entirely unconvinced. “And I didn’t ask if you thought it was too late or not. If you want, we can do something about it.”
“I don’t know, Sungie,” he says, heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest. Not at the suggestion, but at the idea of putting himself out there again. Of being vulnerable and getting hurt, especially when it’s not just him he has to think about now. It’s easier to say, “What about Doyeon? Are you going to stay with her while throwing me out to the lions? I don’t think I could do it,” because it’s not an excuse; it’s just one reason of many.
“But do you want to, is what I’m asking,” Jisung insists, nudging Minho with a foot until Minho looks at him again. Minho feels heat creeping up his face and pooling around the neckline of his sun shirt. “Why are you embarrassed?”
“I’m not embarrassed.” He really isn’t, but he can’t give a reason for the palpitations of his heart and the way his blood boils under his skin. He can’t tell Jisung why he feels so tongue-tied when he, himself, doesn’t know either. “I guess I could try, but—”
“Great! No buts or ifs.” Jisung’s smile could rival the scorching sun above their heads right now. “If your parents can’t stay with her, then we can—I don’t know, enlist Seungmin for babysitting duty or something.”
Now that is something Minho is pretty sure will never happen. Not because he wouldn’t trust Seungmin with his daughter, but rather because he doesn’t think Seungmin is all that tactful with children.
“Hyung, should we go into the water?” Jisung quickly changes subjects, not giving Minho enough time to process or question just why he’s so excited to get him out there again. Is it excitement, actually, or is it something else? “It’s hot as balls and I’m starting to sweat horrendously.”
“Hot as—” Minho laughs, unable to bring himself to repeat Jisung’s words. “We don’t know how to swim, Jisung.”
“We can just go into the kiddie’s pool.” Jisung is already on his feet, pulling his t-shirt over his head by the hem. “Let Doyeon humiliate both of us with her spectacular swimming skills.”
Minho keeps his sun shirt on but follows Jisung to the pool. Doyeon seems delighted to see them approaching, but she doesn’t break away from the new friend she’s made for the day; she only waves at them from a distance, and as they are waving back, Minho notices the mother of the child his daughter is with smiling politely at them from the deep end of the pool.
“This is embarrassing,” Minho says to Jisung through gritted teeth, sitting in the shallow pool. Water comes up to the middle of his torso.
“But it’s refreshing, isn’t it?” Sitting next to him, Jisung perches his elbows on the edge of the pool, his eyes slipping shut behind his sunglasses as he tilts his head up to the sun. “I needed a break like this.”
“How’s the editing going?”
Jisung’s head rolls on his shoulder, his eyes still closed. He heaves a sigh. “It’s going well grammatically-wise, but I’ve spotted some plot holes that might be a bitch to fix, which means we’ll need more time to work it through.”
“That’s good though, isn’t it?” Jisung’s skin glistens gold under the sunlight. Minho tries not to stare. “I mean, the longer you stay on a project the more they’ll have to pay you, right?”
Jisung hums. “It’s good in theory, but they’re pushing me into another project and I’m not sure how I’ll find the brain bandwidth to do that. But I’ll work it out.”
“Oh,” Minho softly says, guilt immediately pooling in his stomach and making it sink. It isn’t hard to put two and two together and realize that he and his daughter have been taking up most of his time. “I’ll call my mom and see if she can c—”
“Hold on.” Jisung opens his eyes to look at him, his forehead creasing with a frown. “That’s not necessary.”
Minho frowns, too. “But you’re gonna need more time to work on your stuff.”
“Looking after Doyeon has never once gotten in the way of my job, Minho.” Jisung flicks water at his face, and Minho feels like a cat being attacked with a spray bottle. He may not hiss at Jisung but he still flinches when the water hits him. “The time I spend helping her with homework or with studying is a much needed break for me. I can’t only work during every waking hour of my day.”
Sighing, Minho splashes Jisung with water as well for the sake of retaliation. “Fine. But if you do need time and can’t make it— just let me know. I’ll make arrangements.”
“Don’t worry, hyung.” Jisung runs a wet hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Minho feels like the sun burns just a bit hotter, or maybe there’s something wrong with him. “The publishers know not to schedule stuff last minute with me. If push comes to shove and we can’t worm our way around it, then I’ll just bring Doyeon along. If that’s fine with you, I mean.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll love to see a little behind-the-scenes for your job,” Minho chuckles. “I’ve had to bring her to the firm a few times when you were busy and you’d think I was giving her diamonds. Or telling her unicorns were real.”
“Ah, the childhood wonder,” Jisung says with a dreamy sigh. “Being an adult sucks sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”
Being an adult may come with its downsides — paying bills, filing taxes, natural distancing from friends because everyone is busy —, but Minho wouldn’t change it for a thing. The path he has walked on may have been rocky in the past; he never imagined he would be a dad so young (or at all, if he’s being honest) or that he would have to raise a kid on his own, but the things he’s been through brought him to where he is today. Minho has a good job that he likes, a daughter that he loves, and he gets to have Jisung along with them for the ride.
Besides, Minho doesn’t miss the feeling of never fully understanding who he was. Too young to understand the world but too old to be naive, too weird to feel like he fit within the group of people he called friends. Back then, Minho always felt like he was putting on an act, pretending to be something he wasn’t even sure he was simply because it’s what was expected of him.
Now, he doesn’t have to pretend anymore, but he still isn’t entirely sure he knows who he is.
Lee Minho, 32. Architect and loving father.
But is that enough? Minho isn’t sure.
“Oh, hyung, don’t get me wrong. I feel like I’m gonna love my thirties.” Jisung’s lips curl into a smile. “Just hate that life seems like a perpetual cycle of cooking and doing the dishes.”
Minho laughs. “You hardly cook.”
“Hey, just because I suck doesn’t mean I’m not trying!” Jisung says through laughter. “Come on, I can’t be good at everything. Gotta have something I’m mediocre at to keep the balance.”
“Woah, easy on the inflated ego,” Minho jokes, splashing him with water again. “It might get to your head and make it so big it’ll explode, and I’m not cleaning up your brain matter.”
“Don’t lie, you like my head perfectly big as it is.”
Minho tries to remain serious, doing his best to harden his expression, but laughter escapes through the corners of his mouth without him meaning to. It’s easy to laugh when Jisung does as well, blood rising to his face as his shoulders shake. When he splashes Minho with water this time, Minho doesn’t flinch or retaliate.
“Dad!” Doyeon yells as she rolls over from the deeper pool into the kiddie’s, one of the floaties on her arm now down to her elbow. She tries to push her soaked hair away from her face, and Minho already dreads the work that is going to be detangling it. “I’m hungry. And thirsty.”
“I saw you taking mouthfuls of pool water not too long ago.” Jisung’s smile is playful as he gently pinches her leg, and Doyeon’s laugh is loud as she tries to dodge his attack. “Don’t do that, that’s nasty. You’re going to be sick if you do.”
“Hehe, I wasn’t drinking it.” Her smile is cheeky and her eyes scream liar! , but neither Minho or Jisung comment on it. She grabs Minho by the shoulder. “We brought food, right? Can we eat now?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” Minho groans as he gets on his feet, his knees cracking with it. Both Doyeon and Jisung giggle at him, but Jisung’s joy is short-lived as his knees do just the same when he gets up.
“You two are old,” Doyeon pokes fun at them, snickering. She pats Minho’s butt before hunching over and, in a crackly voice, saying, “We should get you a cane, old man.”
Minho picks her off the water with only a little bit of struggle, grunting as he perches her on his hip; Doyeon is getting too big and too old for him to be doing all this, but the delighted laughter she lets out as he hauls them off the pool makes the effort more than worth it.
“If you think I’m old at thirty, what does that make your grandma?” Minho questions, tickling her side and making her thrash in his arms.
“Oh, she’s aaancient,” Doyeon drags out the word for emphasis, her cheeky smile never faltering. “Pretty sure she was around in the dynasty eras. Do you think she had a pet dinosaur?”
Minho cackles. “I’m so telling her you said that.”
For the remaining hours they spend at the pool, things aren’t as bad as Minho thought they could be. Doyeon stays within view, never wandering too far off on her own; Minho is just glad she’s able to make friends easily to keep her entertained when he and Jisung can’t. They don’t go into the water again — they shiver like hell when they come out of the water, and Jisung is less than willing to go through it again a second time. Minho is more than happy to sit with him at their table.
Minho likes that he can just sit with Jisung in silence. He likes that the quiet moments between them are never awkward, that Jisung feels comfortable enough with him that he doesn’t find the need to fill the space with meaningless words or small talk.
When it’s time to go home, Doyeon passes out in the backseat of his car two minutes into the ride. She is sunburnt and exhausted, but Minho is glad that she was able to have a good time out. Jisung, on the passenger seat next to him, is barely hanging on by a thread; his eyelids are heavy and his response time seems to be at 0.75 speed. Minho gives up talking ten to fifteen minutes into the ride.
He doesn’t really mind it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jisung resting his head on the window, and then he, too, is out within moments. Minho lowers the volume of the radio and hopes they make it home safely.
The remaining hours of daylight are quiet. Minho doesn’t drive Jisung home, and instead insists that he unwinds from the sun at their place with him and Doyeon; Jisung doesn’t even try to put up a fight, though Minho suspects he wasn’t going to try in the first place.
As night begins to fall, Minho makes them popcorn and puts on a movie. They last as a unit for the first half hour of Lilo & Stitch when the first soldier goes down; Doyeon goes limp against his arm, and Jisung puts the popcorn bowl aside so Minho can lay her down on his lap. Jisung lasts a little longer, but he doesn’t make it to the one hour mark. Stitch is wreaking havoc at the beach on the screen when the light snoring starts, and Minho can’t help the fond smile that overtakes his lips.
Carrying Doyeon to her bed is a little difficult without help. She’s heavier while asleep, and it’s even harder to do it when he’s simultaneously trying not to wake Jisung up as well while getting off the couch. Minho puts his daughter in bed, pulls her blanket over her, and kisses her goodnight even if she doesn’t feel it.
The movie is running the last of its course when Minho goes into his room to grab a pillow off his bed and a clean blanket. Jisung is slumped against the back of the couch, lips parted, the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose sunburnt from his refusal to reapply sunscreen. Minho sets the pillow where he had been sitting, shuts off the tv, and crouches in front of Jisung.
“Jisungie,” he whispers, shaking Jisung’s leg so lightly that Minho doubts he feels it. “Let’s go to sleep.”
Jisung awakens with a deep breath, his eyes barely opening to look down at him. He looks like he’s moving in slow motion; his head slowly turns to the side as he looks at the cushion once taken by Doyeon, then the next one over where Minho had been not long ago. Jisung looks at Minho then, blinking slowly as he processes the words in his sleepy brain, and then finally, with another deep breath, he nods.
“Have I told you how much I love your couch, hyung?” Jisung mutters as he lies down, snatching the blanket off Minho’s hands. Or taking it gently, really. His reflexes are less than stellar right now. “I know you paid a fortune for it but… it’s just so comfy… so worth it…”
Minho chuckles. “You say it every time you sleep over.”
“Well, it’s true.” Jisung’s voice trails off into a whisper, consciousness already slipping away from him again. “Thank you for letting me take it.”
“Of course. Good night, Jisungie.”
“Good night, hyung.”
Minho gets in bed not long after, and he wishes sleep would take him as quickly as it did the other two people in this apartment. The difference is that, despite how tired he feels, down to his bones from being out in the sun all day, he can’t fall asleep. Minho tosses and turns all night, his mind racing.
He blames Jisung for this. For the things he said and asked at the pool and the places he is now making Minho’s mind wander to, so many hours later. Has Minho been just extremely oblivious all along? Was the reason why all his attempts at a relationship failed in the past simply because he has been looking the wrong way all along? It’s not like he’s completely turned off by the idea of women; he doesn’t think he would have been able to lie to himself that much.
Minho doesn’t think he is going to be able to fully rest until he tests Jisung’s theory. He texts his mom sometime after three, asking if she’s available to look after Doyeon the upcoming weekend. And then he texts Seungmin as well, asking the same, just to be safe. Just so he already has a backup plan lined up in case his mother is unable to. He knows he won’t be getting answers until the morning, but with that out of the way, Minho is at least able to close his eyes and take a nap.
The most confusing part, he thinks, is when he wakes up a few hours later. It’s just a little after eight when he gets out of bed; his brain is still foggy and he can barely keep his eyes open, but Minho still forces himself to walk outside and see what the situation is. Doyeon’s bedroom door is still tightly shut, meaning she’s either still asleep or has chosen seclusion for the first hours of the day; he doesn’t knock to check.
Instead, Minho walks down the hallway and into the living area, and his breath catches like a snag in his chest. Jisung is in the kitchen, leaning into the island with his hands, Minho’s coffee machine running to his left. His eyes are closed and his lips are set into a soft pout, his face still puffy from sleep. A scene that Minho has seen countless times by now but, somehow, feels different today.
Maybe the tachicardia is from a lack of sleep. Maybe he should go back to bed and pretend this moment never happened.
Just as his luck would have it, though, Jisung chooses the moment Minho decides to leave to open his eyes and spot him standing across the room from him. Jisung’s smile opens slowly, like it’s hard for his body to do what he tells it to.
“Oh, hyung, you’re up?” Jisung’s voice is deeper when laced with sleep. Another thing Minho already knew but that feels like cannon balls settling in his stomach today. He definitely needs to sleep.
“Do you know if Doyeon is up already?” The coffee machine beeps. Jisung grabs the steaming mug and brings it to his lips but doesn’t take a sip.
Jisung hums, eyes slipping shut again. “I gave her a bowl of cereal and peeled an orange for her, and then she went back into her room. Think she’s gonna sleep some more.”
Minho nods, though Jisung can’t see it. “Did you sleep alright?”
“I’m telling you, hyung.” He tries to take a sip of his coffee and immediately gives up when the beverage likely burns his tongue. “Best couch ever.”
“Okay,” Minho softly says with a chuckle, forgetting why he even got out of his room in the first place. “I’m—going back to bed. Call me if I’m needed?”
Jisung nods. Minho turns around and tries not to dash back to his room, his heart beating in his throat when the door clicks shut behind him. It’s going to be even harder to fall asleep now, he just knows it.
Minho is never going to talk about the dreams he has that morning. It feels worse than committing a sin.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
It has been, admittedly, far too long since Minho last went out on a Saturday night. He’s fine with it most of the time; he likes spending time with his daughter and he knows that his years with her before the teen angst hits — and Doyeon subsequently starts hating him — are counted. He really doesn’t mind.
Tonight, however, Minho is more than just a little excited to go out. He is fresh out of the shower and going through his clothes, trying to pick something that won’t scream Absolute Dad at anyone who lays eyes on him, but it’s hard. Even his tightest-fitting jeans aren’t tight enough to go clubbing.
It doesn’t help that even his daughter is critical of him. Doyeon is sitting on his bed, watching Minho pull out shirt after shirt and shaking her head disapprovingly at every single one of them. “Those are not party clothes, dad,” she says after the fifth rejection. Minho is starting to wonder if she wants him to go out covered in glitter.
“Well, you could try helping me instead of just saying no to everything I grab.” Honestly, what has his life become? Asking for fashion advice from an eight-year-old. Minho could just call Jisung and ask for help, but the mere thought of that is, somehow, worse than this.
“You have that really pretty one,” Doyeon says, climbing off the bed and paddling over to where Minho is standing in front of his closet.
He raises a brow at her. “Which one?”
“The black one,” she says, confidently pushing him aside. Doyeon sifts through his clothes like she’s done it a thousand times. “The one that’s shiny. You know which one it is.”
In the time it takes his brain to process just what the hell his daughter means by shiny, she pulls down one of the hangers and shows the piece off to him. And, oh, it’s been years since he last wore this one — the last time he did was when Doyeon was six, and he was going to her winter recital.
Minho grabs the silk blouse and tries it on. He feels silly looking at his reflection in the mirror, but as he tucks the blouse into his pants and buttons it up, he thinks that maybe his daughter was onto something. Minho turns to look at her, puts his hands on his hips and asks, “How do I look?”
“You look great! But you’re gonna fix your hair, right?”
Minho huffs, looking at himself in the mirror again. “What’s wrong with it?”
Through the reflection, he sees Doyeon rolling her eyes. “You look like this every day, dad. Don’t be boring.”
Before he can refute his daughter’s boring allegations (he wouldn’t be able to if he tried, honestly), the doorbell rings. Minho curses under his breath, glancing at the watch on his wrist before rushing outside, Doyeon trailing after him. He unlocks the door to find Seungmin standing on the other side of it, dressed in a matching tracksuit, backpack slung over his shoulder. Nothing like what Minho is used to seeing at work.
“Oh, wow,” is Seungmin’s greeting, brows disappearing behind his bangs.
“Don’t start,” Minho says with a sigh, stepping aside to let him in. “Thank you for doing this.”
“I was promised a fridge raid and beers.” Minho is also paying him for his time, but he’s glad that Seungmin doesn’t mention it in front of his daughter. Seungmin slips out of his shoes and looks just past Minho, waving in greeting. “Hi, you must be Doyeon.”
Minho turns around just in time to see her nod. “Are you a friend of my dad’s?”
“Mm, you could say that. We work together.”
“Pumpkin, can you show Seungmin around?” Minho asks with an affectionate pat to the back of her head. “I need to finish getting ready. Jisungie will be here soon.”
It’s not like his apartment is huge or like his daughter is shy. Minho trusts she will give Seungmin a tour of every nook and cranny of their place while he tries to style his hair in a way that isn’t lame and so dad-like.
Going into his bathroom, Minho spreads hair pomade on his hands and pushes his bangs out of his face, not bothering with the thin strand that falls on one side. He washes his hands and applies a tinted moisturizer — it’s the closest thing he has to makeup and while it isn’t nearly enough to cover up his dark circles, it will have to suffice for tonight. He’s spraying on his perfume when the doorbell rings again, and his heart feels like a stupid acrobat in his chest.
He doesn’t immediately rush out even though he wants to. Minho puts a delicate chain around his neck and a couple of rings on his fingers, earrings dangling from his earlobes. Accessories he seldom wears and feels a bit weird putting on tonight, but he will live. Jisung’s voice is muffled through Minho’s closed bedroom door, yet it still makes Minho’s heart race faster.
He chalks it up to just nerves of going out after so long. The idea of dating now — though he figures going to a club and hooking up doesn’t necessarily fit into the dating criteria — feels so foreign to him that he doesn’t know what to expect. The last time Minho went to a club was before Doyeon was born; before he even started dating her mother, really. Before his entire life turned upside down.
Minho doesn’t know what the dating scene looks like these days, but even if he knew, he’s sure that his reference would be useless. They aren’t going out so he can try and pick up girls at the bar. Everything about tonight is just different.
A soft knock on his bedroom door makes Minho freeze in his suite. He opens his mouth to say he’s coming, but the door opens before he gets the chance to. Jisung comes into view in slow motion, freeze frames that burn behind Minho’s eyelids and in his brain. Dressed in skin-tight jeans, an equally tight cropped top and a mesh shirt underneath, Jisung looks like everything Minho has been trying not to dream of in the past week.
Holy shit, Minho thinks to himself as his eyes rake over Jisung’s pecs being hugged by the tight shirt. Trying not to make things weird, Minho flits his gaze to Jisung’s face, but it’s hardly any better on his brain — Jisung’s eyelids are a glittery peach, brown liner smudged across his lash line, his lips just a bit redder than they usually are.
Minho asks, “This isn’t enough, right?” at the same time Jisung says, “Too much?”
They both giggle, the sudden tension between them shattering like glass. Minho tries to not get cut by the shards. Jisung steps into the room, the door softly closing behind him. He shakes his head. “You look great, hyung. Now I feel like I’m overdoing it.”
“I mean.” Minho tries to smile, but his lips feel crooked as he does. He steps out of the bathroom and crosses some of the distance between them. “Between you and me, you’re the one who’s in the know of Itaewon’s scene.”
Jisung rolls his eyes but the corners of his mouth tug up into a smile. “You make me sound like a party monster.”
“No,” Minho says with a light shake of his head. “You just go out more often than I do. Even one is bigger than zero.”
“God, you’re such a loser.” Stepping into his personal space, Jisung brings his hands to his silk blouse. Minho feels like he can barely breathe, Jisung’s fingers slowly working the first three buttons open, leaving the skin of his chest exposed. “There. That’s better.”
“Scandalous,” Minho jokes, pulling another giggle out of Jisung. “You sure I don’t look like a dad trying to fit in with the young crowd?”
Jisung frowns. “Hyung, stop that. Being a dad isn’t a bad thing and you’re not old, no matter how much Doyeon wants to make you believe that you are. You look great and I’m sure you’re going to be fine. We’re just—we’re going so you can try to figure things out, yeah? No pressure.”
Sure. Way easier said than done, but Minho can try.
Walking out, they find Seungmin cozying up on his couch with Doyeon next to him, flipping through the Netflix catalogue in search of something to watch. Knowing that his daughter will be well taken care of eases the burden on him just a little.
“There’s dinner ready in the fridge,” Minho tells Seungmin, who pries his eyes away from the tv screen to look at him. “We usually eat in half an hour, but if she’s not hungry you can delay it a little. She needs to be in bed by eleven; don’t let her begging eyes deceive you.”
Doyeon turns to look at him as well, her nose wrinkling as she pulls a face at him.
“Yeah, you heard me!” he says with a chuckle. “Bed by eleven. I don’t know what time I’ll be back, so if you get tired and need to sleep, there’s a pillow and a blanket on my bed for you to take.”
“We’ll be fine, Minho,” Seungmin assures him with an easy smile. “Go enjoy your night out.”
Minho takes a deep breath and traps the air in his lungs. “Doyeon-ah, listen to Seungmin, okay? Behave.”
“Yes, dad.” She waves a hand at him, not even looking at them, her focus back on the tv. “Have fun!”
Minho’s idea of fun in the past eight years has been staying home, ordering food, and watching something entertaining. His daughter is always with him during those times — at least until she falls asleep, that is — and, more often than not, so is Jisung. Now, they’re not sitting on his couch and eating takeout food. They’re in a bar in Itaewon, pregaming for the long night ahead, and Minho feels weird. Out of his element.
“Hyung, I know we didn’t meet before Doyeon happened to you but come on.” Sitting next to him at the bar, Jisung pushes Minho’s cosmopolitan a little bit closer to him. “Don’t be so lame. I know you’ve got that dog in you somewhere.”
“I do not—” Minho scoffs, snatching his drink and taking a sip. Too much vodka. Minho almost wants to ask the bartender to do it again. “Whatever that means. What more do you want from me?”
“Loosen up!” Jisung straightens his back and squares up his shoulders. His cropped top rides up just a bit, but Minho isn’t staring. Jisung’s lips jut with a pout. “The way you are right now it feels like I’m dragging you here and like you don’t actually want to do this.”
“Promise that’s not the case.” Another sip of his drink burning down his throat. God, he used to be so much better than this. “I’m just—a little nervous, I guess. Cut me some slack.”
“I promise you really don’t have to be.” Sipping on his margarita, Jisung looks far more confident about this than Minho feels. “You’re, like, the hottest person in this room.”
Not true, Minho wants to say. Look at yourself.
He doesn’t open his mouth, though. He drains his drink and asks for a negroni. Minho regrets the other just as it leaves his mouth, but he doesn’t take it back. And maybe it’s a good thing; as the bartender slides his drink over the bar, someone approaches them with a high-pitched, “Han Jisung? Is that you?”
Pretty woman, cat-like features, a smile so bright that it could blind the entire bar. Jisung seems taken aback by the call for his name and the hand on his shoulder, almost choking on his drink as the hand pulls him back and turns him around. Jisung’s eyes are big as he blinks her into focus.
“Oh my god, hey!” It only takes him a few seconds to recognize the person approaching him, his smile stretching big and his cheeks rounding up. “It’s been so long!”
“Yeah, since we graduated!” The woman sits on the stool next to Jisung and orders a shot of liquor from the bar. Her hand doesn’t leave Jisung’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, shit.” In the process of turning to look at Minho, Jisung shakes the woman’s hand off his shoulder. Minho’s lips twitch against his better judgment. “Hyung, this is Yeji. Yeji, this is Minho. He’s my—friend.” Minho wonders if he imagines the pause Jisung does before he calls him a friend. Was Jisung going to call him something else? Put a different label on him for whatever reason? Still looking at Minho, Jisung says, “Yeji and I went to university together. She went into teaching whilst I went into editing.”
Yeji leans over Jisung and offers Minho a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Minho-ssi.” Minho shakes her hand but lets go of it quickly. She doesn’t seem to notice or care. “How did you two meet? You didn’t go to school with us, right?”
“Ah, no, we met—”
“At a house party,” Minho finishes off even if he knows Jisung wouldn’t have said anything different. It’s the truth, after all; he just doesn’t want to risk anything about his daughter coming up. “We didn’t study together, I don’t believe.”
“Oh, thank god.” Yeji’s smile is just as pretty as she is, Minho has to give her that. “This is my second bar tonight and I’m more than a little tipsy, so my memory isn’t reliable right now.”
Jisung raises his eyebrows at her. “Shouldn’t you slow down with the shots, then? Have some water.”
Yeji brushes Jisung off with a light shake of her head. “It’s fine, this is my last one. Gotta be sober enough to see my girlfriend play, eh?”
Minho lets out a secret sigh of relief. He takes a sip of his drink while Jisung blinks his eyes rapidly at her. “Are you still with…?”
Yeji shows off her left hand, wiggling her fingers and making the huge diamond ring on her ring finger glimmer under the bar’s lights. Jisung gasps, grabbing her hand and bringing it close to his face so he can inspect the ring. “She asked me to marry her last summer. Would you guys like to come tonight? I can get you in for free.”
Jisung turns to look at Minho with his eyes full of expectancy, almost begging. “Should we, hyung? Ryujin is infamously good at what she does.”
Minho shrugs. “Sure, whatever you want. You know this better than I do.”
Yeji cocks a brow and smirks at him. “A newbie to the Itaewon scene? That’s rare.”
Minho feels blood rushing to his face, but before he can try to defend himself (he doubts he would be able to), Jisung shoves her lightly, his brows set in a light furrow. “Don’t bully him, he’s had his reasons.”
She gives Jisung a funny look. Minho can see there are words on the tip of her tongue that she doesn’t say, but her smile tells more than words ever could. “Well, okay. Lemme make a couple of calls and put you guys on the list, yeah?” She looks at Minho. “What’s your full name, handsome?”
“Lee Minho.” Another sip of his drink. His skin tingles with the rushing of his blood.
“Wonderful,” Yeji says with another one of her blinding smiles. “Once you leave the bar, you go down the street and take the first right, okay? Club’s the second door to your left. See you guys in a bit?”
She doesn’t wait for them to answer. Just as suddenly as she had appeared, Yeji is gone with the wind, her face buried in her phone as she weaves through patrons. Minho drains his drink, already feeling exhausted before their night has even started. Jisung finishes his margarita and doesn’t order another one.
“We used to be good friends in college,” Jisung supplies without Minho having to ask. He isn’t sure he was ever going to ask Jisung about her, so the unprompted information feels nice. “Went through the whole thing together. I, uhm, kind of had a crush on her during our first semester.” Under the bar’s lights, Minho can’t see the blood that rushes under Jisung’s cheeks, but he can see the embarrassed look he puts on. “She started dating Ryujin before I could make a move, though.”
“What a shame,” Minho says, but his words are the most insincere they have ever been. He doesn’t want to think about why he doesn’t feel an ounce of pity over Jisung’s failed crush. Jisung doesn’t seem to notice his flat tone — or, if he does, he doesn’t seem to care.
“Nah, it’s whatever,” Jisung shrugs, looking unbothered. “I could never be sad over it when they’re so happy together.”
Minho thinks this is going to be a long night. They leave the bar after doing a round of shots, and while Minho is still moderately stable on his feet, his muscles are starting to feel like play-doh inside his body. The good thing, he thinks, is that he doesn’t feel as apprehensive as he originally did about leaving himself open to chance; the fun energy that surrounds them as they queue for the club is more than enough to make him forget about any possible worries. Jisung’s hand on his lower back just happens to be a bonus.
For the past week, Minho has felt weird. Jisung’s question about his sexuality at the pool should have been a good thing — and it has been, for the most part. Minho has easily come to terms with the fact that maybe he hasn’t been as honest with himself as he should have been; the bad thing about it — the worst side effect that could’ve happened — is that now, every night, he has been having inappropriate dreams with his best friend as the protagonist.
Jisung gives their names to the bouncer at the door and Minho wishes he could forget every single image of him that his dreams have conjured up. Most mornings, Minho will be haunted by the phantom feeling of Jisung’s hands on his body and his lips where they shouldn’t have been. Tonight, Jisung’s hands on him are real, though it isn’t quite as what Minho has been imagining. Thank god.
The loud music pumping from the speakers courses through Minho’s veins like a rush of adrenaline. The DJ booth is still empty, which means that Yeji’s girlfriend isn’t here yet. He wonders if he will stay sober enough to catch a glimpse of her. Jisung drags him through the place like he knows it like the back of his hand; Minho doesn’t want to think about how many times he’s done this before. Doesn’t want to give further fuel to his improper imagination.
It doesn’t take him long to realize that Jisung has shoved him into a booth away from the dance floor while he orders them drinks at the bar. Minho watches as Jisung walks in his direction with drinks that look dangerously blue, and when he takes the first sip, Minho is surprised that he doesn’t drink battery acid from a glass.
“Another one for good luck,” Jisung screams over the music, knocking back his glass.
Minho chugs his drink as well, the alcohol burning down his throat. “Why aren’t we dancing?”
Jisung’s cheeks bunch up with a smile, his eyes slitting into crescents. “We usually wait for people to come over.”
“That’s fucking boring,” Minho says, starting to feel restless. “I wanna dance.”
“Yeah?” Jisung’s giggle is a thousand decibels higher than the music. “Okay. Let’s get you on the dance floor.”
It’s awkward, Minho has to admit. There aren’t enough people crowding the place to make him feel comfortable enough to let loose like he wants to, but he will push through the discomfort by sheer willpower—with the aid of the alcohol in his system, of course. It may have been years since Minho last went partying, but it seems like his body still knows what to do. His heart pumps harshly in his chest, blood rushing quickly in his veins. Minho sways his hips and Jisung presses against his back. His mouth runs dry.
Minho notices the moment the beats change; they get harsher, the drops get sicker. He glances at the DJ booth and sees a girl with short black hair running the table, and figures that must be Ryujin. There’s sweat starting to dampen the hairs on the back of his neck, his heart beating to the rhythm of the music in his chest. He thinks he should have another shot of whatever Jisung had given him, but he doesn’t want to move from where he is. Doesn’t want to miss Jisung’s warmth against his back.
There is a slight chance that Minho is setting himself up for failure at this very moment. The dance floor is starting to fill up with people, and he can feel the eyes on him. He is sober enough to tell when the smiles are directed at him, but not enough to have the initiative to do something about it.
That’s until Jisung pushes him forward and right into some guy’s arms. He’s shorter than Minho but incredibly handsome, muscular and with a nice smile. Minho smiles at him, feeling his cheeks warming up. When he asks what the guy’s name is, it’s hard to hear him over the music, and all Minho catches is the, “—bin,” at the tail end of his name. He figures that, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter what he’s called.
They dance for a bit, and the feeling of the guy’s hands on his body is nice. Minho feels like a livewire, dynamite ready to explode. He puts a hand on the guy’s neck and the guy doesn’t pull away. A shot of bravery is all he needs to close the distance between them. Minho’s breath feels caught in his throat.
The guy leans in and kisses him. Minho wishes he could say it's an earth-shattering moment, but it isn’t. It feels like every other kiss he’s shared in his life, save for the stubble that rubs against his face and that the hand grabbing him by the back of the head isn’t as delicate as the ones he’s gotten used to. The guy is a good kisser, Minho has to give him that, but the kiss doesn’t make him feel what he thinks he’s supposed to feel.
To test his theory, Minho breaks the kiss with this one guy and moves to the first one he sees, through hazy eyes, looking back at him. No dancing, no questions, no names. Just Minho grabbing him by the neck in a drunken stupor and kissing him because he wants to. Pretty guy, a terrible kisser. Minho huffs when they break, and he tries again with someone else.
Third time isn’t a charm. Pretty, tall, a good kisser, but still Minho feels nothing. He doesn’t apologize when he pushes the guy away, nor when he stumbles into people as he makes his way to the bar. He asks for a shot of gin and swallows it without a chaser, the alcohol tasting like perfume on his tongue and feeling like fire down his throat. He needs to find his way back to Jisung. He needs to do something about this night.
Or maybe he doesn’t. Jisung finds his way to him instead, a silly smile on his lips as he approaches Minho at the bar, his words slightly slurred when he asks, “So, what do you think?”. His hair is matted to his sweaty forehead, the brown liner smudged on his eyes starting to run down the sides of his face. He looks a mess, and yet Minho thinks he’s fucking gorgeous.
“I don’t hate it,” Minho screams over the music, throat feeling sore. “But they’re not—”
He can’t bring himself to say it. Jisung looks at him with his pretty doe eyes, searching his face. There must be something wrong with him.
“They’re not what?” Jisung asks.
Minho grabs Jisung’s face and crashes into him. There’s a brief moment where Jisung freezes and Minho thinks he has ruined everything; his fingers curl into Minho’s shirt, but he doesn’t push him away. Instead, Jisung angles his head and parts his lips for him, and— oh, this is exactly what Minho had been expecting the first time around. The ground shakes under his feet and time stops around them; for a moment, all Minho can hear is Jisung’s breathing and the sound of his tongue gliding against his.
Jisung tastes like liquor and every wrong decision Minho will ever make in his life. He tastes like fruit punch and the best thing that has happened to him after the birth of his daughter. The worst thing that will happen to Minho tonight is finding out that Jisung fits perfectly against him, and the best thing will be knowing that Jisung doesn’t want him anywhere but here.
Minho is in no condition to think properly. He drops his hands from Jisung’s face to his ass, digging his nails into the flesh and groping him hard, making Jisung gasp into his mouth. Maybe if he hadn’t drank so much he would care that they’re in public, but right now all he cares about is the way Jisung sounds when he pulls him closer, crotch to crotch. Electricity zaps down Minho’s spine. Oh my god.
“Holy shit,” Jisung croaks out, intended like a whisper but coming out as a broken gasp, hips rolling into Minho’s. Fire settles in Minho’s stomach. He kisses Jisung’s jaw, his neck, trying to resist the urge to mark his skin with a hickey. “Hyung—we can’t—not here.”
Which means they can elsewhere. Minho whips his head around, looking for a sign for the bathroom, heart now beating in his throat while all his blood pumps south. This has got to be the craziest night of his life. Jisung pushes him away just so he can grab him by the hand and drag him down the club. Minho is in a daze as they run into people, apologies failing to fall from his lips when he allows his eyes to wander down Jisung’s body and to his ass. It feels like a blindfold has been lifted from his eyes and now he sees everything in a different light.
He will have to ponder over it when he’s not drunk and isn’t stumbling into a public bathroom with Jisung, though. Jisung stops in the middle of the room, letting go of his hand and turning to look at him as if to ask, now what? Minho doesn’t want to waste a second of this night.
He shoves Jisung into the nearest stall, not bothering to lock it behind them. It doesn’t really matter that he doesn’t when he pushes Jisung against its door and kisses him again, urging to feel his taste on his tongue and his body against him. Minho doesn’t know what takes over him to do what he does — for his hands to find the button and zipper of Jisung’s jeans and undo them. He doesn’t know what takes over Jisung for him to allow it to happen. He starts counting his blessings.
Minho may never have been with another guy before, but he’s a guy himself. When he shoves his hand into Jisung’s underwear, he wants him to feel good. He’s determined to make it happen even if he fumbles it a little, even if it’s awkward. In the week that has passed, Minho has dreamed of a moment like this for three nights in a row before his dreams took a wilder turn; it was never this public, never this risky, but he doesn’t want to wait until they’re in a more private space. Doesn’t want the alcohol to wear off and his confidence with it.
Jisung moans into his mouth when Minho wraps his fingers around him. He’s already half hard, and when Minho strokes him once and rubs his palm over his cockhead, he feels precum wetting his skin. Minho sighs, a shiver coursing through his body as he quickens the pace just a little. The space they’re in isn’t ideal; the stall is cramped and disgusting, and Minho wishes he could try to do a better job than he does right now, but Jisung doesn’t seem to mind. He rolls his hips into Minho’s fist and begs for more when he breaks the kiss.
Has Jisung also been dreaming of a moment like this? For him to have accepted Minho’s kiss so easily, to have dragged him to this bathroom, he must have. For how long, he wonders, has Jisung been keeping this a secret? It doesn’t matter, but Minho wants to know. Tonight, though, he isn’t going to ask.
Minho pulls his hand away just so he can spit into his palm. The glide then is much easier, pulls the prettiest moan out of Jisung when he thumbs at his slit. They can’t drag this on forever, but with the way Jisung’s legs start to shake, he doesn’t think they will have to. Minho quickens the pace of his wrist, tightening his fingers on every upstroke and loosening as he goes back down to the base, again and again until Jisung can no longer kiss him.
Against his better judgment, Minho sinks his teeth into the crook of Jisung’s neck, licking over the salty skin and feeling the marks his teeth left behind. Jisung grabs him by the arms, nails digging into his flesh through the silk of his blouse, but instead of telling him to stop, he whispers, “I’m gonna come.”
Minho feels like he’s being thrown into the flames of a burning fire. He slows the pace of his wrist to a gentle caress, instead focusing on thumbing quickly at his slit. Jisung oozes on his fingers, his moans quickening and going up in pitch, his head slamming against the door of the stall with a metallic thud. It takes one, two rubs of Minho’s thumb for him to unravel, his jaw slackening and a deep moan sounding from deep within his chest as he spills into Minho’s hand.
And, holy shit, this is so fucking hot. Minho gently strokes Jisung through his orgasm, kissing him again to swallow his noises, feeling himself throb in his pants as Jisung’s warm spunk coats his fingers. When Jisung tells him to stop it’s with a hand on his shoulder, lightly pushing him away. There’s no way Minho can pull his hand free without making a mess, but he tries. Even if he fails.
He’s grabbing a handful of toilet paper when Jisung asks, “When’s the last time someone sucked you off?”
Minho looks at Jisung like he can’t believe what he’s just heard. His skin is burning. “Y’know it’s been too long,” he answers through the shame.
“Would it be cool if I did it?”
Minho’s cock hurts so much that it’s kind of sad. He wants to give Jisung a proper answer, that he’s more than fine with it, but right now all he can do is wipe his fingers with shitty toilet paper and nod. With his pants still unbuttoned, Jisung crowds into him, lifts a leg and kicks the toilet seat closed. He plants his palms on Minho’s chest and pushes him back, making him stumble on his feet and fall on the closed lid. Minho wants to tell Jisung not to kneel on this disgusting, piss-covered floor, but there’s really only one way this can happen right now.
Jisung’s fingers are deft as he works his pants and pulls his cock out. Minho shudders at the touch, his stomach tightening with so little. It’s just been too long since the last time it wasn’t just him and his hand; Jisung strokes him a couple of times and Minho swears he is already seeing stars, and it’s even worse when he leans in and spits on his cock before wrapping his lips around him.
Swirling his tongue around the crown, Jisung looks up and holds his gaze as he pushes down his cock, so slowly Minho almost thinks he’s doing it to torture him. He’s horrified and incredibly turned on to find out that Jisung can fit all of his cock in his mouth; he takes him down to the base, breaking eye contact as his nose brushes against his trimmed pubes. Jisung hums around him and Minho swears he sees a slice of heaven.
The bobbing of his head is messy, there isn’t a set pace to it, and Minho fucking loves it. Spit dribbles past the corners of Jisung’s mouth and pools at his groin, his tongue flat on the underside as he takes him down to the base with every movement of his head. Minho isn’t going to last long, and he isn’t ashamed of it. Maybe if he were sober he would be, but right now he just grabs Jisung by the hair and takes what he has to give.
This has to be the most turned on Minho has been in a decade. Jisung puts his hands on his thighs, his nails digging into the flesh as he takes Minho deeper and deeper, the vibrations of his throat when he moans feeling like shocks to Minho’s system, wrapping around his guts like a vice, pushing him closer to the edge every time his nose brushes his pubes.
Minho can’t look away. He can’t believe that this is real, that this is Jisung on his knees and between his legs, with his lips wrapped around his cock in a dirty bathroom in the middle of Itaewon. Yet, comes the startling realization, there is no one else he would rather be doing this with.
His orgasm creeps up on him in small waves. Jisung pulls back to catch his breath, and the first wave hits Minho when he looks up and makes eye contact again. Jisung’s lips are red and swollen, spit-slick, shining under the shitty lights. The next one happens when Jisung circles his tongue around the crown of his cock, as he kisses the tip and laps at the precum that oozes past the slit.
The moan that leaves his mouth is unintentionally loud. Minho bites his lip to try and keep it quiet, but it’s useless. Jisung quickens the flicking of his tongue, working his fist on the length, and Minho feels the pressure coming. His fingers tighten on Jisung’s hair, vision fading around the edges, his toes tingling with his impending orgasm. “Jisung,” is all he needs to say in a hurried whisper for Jisung to know what he needs.
Wrapping his lips around his cock again, Jisung takes him all the way to the base, Minho’s cockhead hitting the back of his throat. Jisung swallows around him, hollows his cheeks, and Minho comes down his throat with a soft cry of what’s supposed to be his name. Jisung takes it better than any other person Minho has ever been with, and that is an awful thought to have right now, as he pulls back but leaves his lips wrapped around the head, swallowing every last drop of his release until the waves stop coming.
Pulling off with a soft gasp, Jisung wipes his mouth with the back of a hand, a smile curling his lips as he tucks Minho back into his underwear and fastens his button and zipper. Minho feels drunk on more than just the alcohol; he’s drunk on the feeling of Jisung’s lips on his and the taste of his tongue in his mouth, he’s drunk on how it felt to wrap his fingers around Jisung’s cock and also on how Jisung’s lips felt wrapped around his.
“Holy shit,” Minho echoes Jisung’s words from earlier, feeling winded. “I think I want to go home.”
“Yeah?” Jisung doesn’t sound like he’s going to argue or protest. He pushes himself to his feet and offers Minho a hand, pulling him off the toilet. “Last round of shots at the bar and then we go?”
Minho leans in and kisses Jisung, groaning when he tastes himself on his tongue. Stumbling out of the stall, they can hardly contain their smiles as they walk up to the sink, washing their hands thoroughly before going out to the club again. They’re lucky, Minho supposes, that there’s no one at the urinals to witness the scene of their crime and the aftermath of it.
A round of tequila as a send-off and Minho calls them a cab. He’s light on his feet with Jisung hanging off his arm on the sidewalk, his chest feeling as warm as his face. In the cab, Jisung’s head is heavy on his shoulder and his hand even more so where it rests on his thigh, his touch scorching through his pants, nails feeling sharper than they are supposed to be as Jisung kneads the flesh. Minho is trying his very best to be normal, but Jisung makes it almost impossible for him to be.
They need to be quiet when they walk into Minho’s apartment. It’s a half past one, and the last thing Minho wants is for them to wake both Doyeon and Seungmin up as they stumble into the small foyer. The lights are off and the place is deadly silent; still, Minho shushes Jisung as they slip off their shoes and tiptoe into the apartment.
The efforts are almost in vain, though. They’re two steps in when Minho sees the light of Seungmin’s phone illuminating his face where he’s lying on the couch, and he looks up at them as soon as they come into view.
“Why are you two sneaking around?” Seungmin asks, his voice low but not a whisper. “You look like fools.”
Jisung giggles but tries to pull a straight face immediately after. Minho rolls his eyes, his shoulders relaxing. “Sorry that we didn’t want to wake you up.”
Reaching the kitchen, Jisung flips the lights on. Seungmin sits up, stretching his arms over his head. “Does this mean I’m free to go?”
“Yeah, you can go,” Minho says instead of the ‘ you should’ that sits at the tip of his tongue.
Tonight, Jisung isn’t going to take the couch. Minho knows they should take a shower before falling into bed, but Jisung has his hands on him again the moment he’s out of his clothes, and he’s suddenly very unwilling to wait for this a second longer. They fall into bed like this is where they have always belonged, and Minho’s heart starts beating wildly in his chest when Jisung straddles his hips to kiss him again and again and again.
“Would you want to try going further?” Jisung asks between kisses. He doesn’t need to spell it out for Minho to know what he means. And he’s nervous about it.
“Yeah,” Minho whispers, mouth going dry, “but—”
“Some other time,” Jisung finishes for him like he knows exactly what Minho was thinking about — that he doesn’t want their first time to be like this, while they’re both so intoxicated. Minho isn’t sure how much of this night he’s going to remember in the morning; he can only hope he won’t forget a second of it, but he doesn’t want to risk something happening when they’re both so drunk. “If you still want it when you’re sober.”
It sounds like a good compromise. Minho sees the chance of asking Jisung if he’s been thinking about this for long but doesn’t take it; instead, he kisses Jisung until sleep starts pulling them under, until they’re too tired to get their lips to move and for their hands to do much other than slip past the waistband of their boxers.
This may not be the first time they have shared a bed before, but everything about tonight is different from what they have always been. Tonight, Minho falls asleep spooning into Jisung’s back, his nose buried into his nape and his arms wrapped around his middle.
All he can do is hope that regret won’t come in the morning.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Minho wakes up before Jisung does with a throbbing headache and an ill feeling in his stomach. He quietly gets out of bed on wobbly legs, wincing as the door handle to his bathroom clicks loudly as he pushes it down and then again as the door clicks shut behind him. His reflection in the mirror looks worse for wear — his hair is a nest on his head, his dark circles looking even darker under the soft light of the morning, his cheeks almost looking gaunt from how ill he feels.
The memories of last night are a movie playing in his head, rolling in 4k. Minho remembers every drink that went down his throat, every failed kiss and the hands on his body until he found his way back to Jisung. He remembers how Jisung tasted on his tongue and every little noise he let out — in the club and in the bathroom. He remembers with startling clarity what Jisung looked like when he came all over his fingers and when he wrapped his lips around his cock.
Minho leans into the sink and sighs, but it’s not out of regret. If he could, he would go back in time and do it all over again, maybe a bit more sober the second time around, if only that meant they wouldn’t have passed out so soon after getting home. He also dreads to think of how Jisung will feel about what happened when he wakes up.
Showering the night away is the only thing he can do right now. Rub the sweat and grime off his skin, every place where Jisung has touched him, the traces of his touches washed down the drain. Minho slips into clean sweatpants and a tee and sneaks out of the bedroom, his heart heavy as the door closes behind him. He takes a deep breath, heaves a sigh, and makes his way to the kitchen.
Doyeon startles the shit out of him by materializing herself on the couch — or, rather, Minho startles himself to find that she’s already awake, a bowl of dry cereal in her lap as she looks away from the tv and at him as he walks into view. Minho immediately feels his cheeks warming up, heart quickening in his ribcage like he’s been caught red-handed.
“Hey, pumpkin,” he greets, voice thinning at the end. Minho clears his throat and straightens his back, pretending that everything is fine. As far as Doyeon is concerned, nothing happened. Nothing at all. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she greets back with a soft smile, grabbing a handful of cereal and shoving it into her mouth. “Was it fun where you went?”
Minho’s cheeks burn with the heat of a thousand suns. She doesn’t know. “Yeah, it was fun,” he answers with a tight smile. “Did you have a good time with Seungmin?”
“That ahjussi is weird,” she says with a scrunch of her nose, and Minho tries to suppress a laugh. “But I like him. It was fun.”
“That’s good. Do you want me to make something for you?”
She shakes her head, shoving another handful of cereal into her mouth and bringing her attention back to the tv screen. Quietly, Minho sighs, his shoulders slumping as he allows himself to relax. He pours himself a glass of ice cold water and pops an aspirin, hoping that the difference in temperature will shock him out of whatever weird state he’s in right now, but ultimately it does little to help. And it isn’t the water’s fault, not quite.
Jisung appears at the end of the hallway dressed in Minho’s clothes, his hair a mussed mess and his face still puffy with sleep. He drags his feet in a way that Minho knows is telling that he didn’t want to get out of bed so early, and Minho almost wishes he hadn’t. He wishes he was given more time to prepare himself for the way his stomach twists and turns at the sight of him, how his mouth runs dry despite the tall glass of water that he drinks so fast that he almost chokes. Minho wishes he had been given more time to figure out why he feels the way he does.
Doyeon doesn’t acknowledge Jisung as he walks past the living room and he also doesn’t acknowledge her through his mostly closed eyes. He walks straight into the kitchen, pushing into Minho’s space so he can get a glass of water himself. Minho feels like his feet are glued to the ground, his heart slamming uncomfortably against his ribcage.
“Good morning,” Jisung greets, trying to blink the sleep off his eyes and failing miserably. His voice is deep with sleep, and it does awful things to Minho’s insides. Minho can feel himself shiver.
“Morning,” he whispers, afraid to raise his voice any higher lest he says something stupid or attracts Doyeon’s attention to the kitchen. “How are you feeling?”
“I should be the one asking you that, hyung.” Jisung’s words are slurred, and if he wasn’t responding to his questions right now, Minho would think he isn’t actually awake just yet. “Considering…”
Minho slams his glass on the counter and slaps a hand over Jisung’s mouth, his heartbeat quickening as his head whips around to look in the direction of his daughter. Doyeon is none the wiser to the conundrum in the kitchen, her head disappearing behind the back of the couch as she lies down. Minho pulls his hand away with a horrified gasp when Jisung licks his palm, Jisung’s brows drawn into a frown.
“What the fuck, Minho,” he hisses, massaging his cheeks like the slap actually hurt. “I’m not gonna say anything indecent in front of your daughter.”
“Sorry, sorry, I know.” Minho is quick to apologize, guilt tugging at his guts. “I just—”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
It’s the responsible, grown-up thing to do, Minho knows that. He lets out a long breath through his nose. “I think we should.”
They go back into his room after Minho figures there is no harm in leaving Doyeon alone for a little while longer. She isn’t a little kid anymore, and she knows not to use the stove without supervision. A few more minutes on her own won’t hurt, he’s sure.
When they sit on his bed, Jisung doesn’t look any less tired but he’s definitely more awake. Minho knows he has no reason to be nervous, but his stomach still stirs uncomfortably and his jaw aches with how hard he clenches his teeth. Jisung reaches to hold one of his hands, and Minho has to fight his knee-jerk reaction to pull it away.
He doesn’t regret what they did last night. He has no reason to be acting this way.
“So, by the mouth slap you just gave me out there, I’m assuming you remember what happened last night. What we did,” Jisung starts, too serious and composed, the way he speaks not quite matching with the way he looks right now. Minho nods just once. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” he says softly. “Of course not.”
Jisung seems almost relieved when he smiles. “Okay, that’s good. Do you think you… managed to figure things out?”
“Well, I certainly figured something out.”
Jisung licks his lips, his chest swelling with the deep breath he takes. Minho finds that he’s urging to kiss him again. “And what is it?”
“I didn’t like kissing guys as much as I liked kissing you.” He figures there is no other way of getting through this if not being straightforward. Jisung’s hold on his hand tightens. “None of them felt like you did.”
Minho hears the way Jisung’s breath stutters. “And how was that?”
Earth-shattering, life changing. Like everything he never knew he wanted.
“It just felt right,” is what he ends up saying, his ears flaming with how embarrassed he feels to have those words leave his mouth so bluntly like that when he’s no longer under the influence. “And I think that’s making me a bit nervous.”
Another squeeze to his hand. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” Minho frowns. “Jisung, you’re—you’re my best friend. You are a part of Doyeon’s life. If anything happens—”
“Hyung, you’re thinking ten steps ahead,” Jisung says softly, his smile ever so kind. He scoots closer to Minho, their knees knocking. “Don’t you have anything to ask me?”
Minho thinks back to last night and how easily Jisung had fallen into his kiss. He thinks about Jisung cursing under his breath, licking into his mouth, and pulling him to the bathroom. Blood rushes to his face and he prays that it doesn’t also run south.
“Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Because I was selfish,” Jisung answers, and Minho can’t see how that could be when he was the one being selfish not even twelve hours ago. He was the one who acted on his thoughts, who grabbed Jisung by the face and smashed their lips together when Jisung had given no indication that he wanted it as well. But then Jisung says, “If that was my one chance to know what you tasted like, hyung, I was going to take it.”
Minho’s lips part in mild shock and he’s afraid that his heart might leap out of his mouth as it quickly crawls up his throat. Jisung chuckles, bumping a gentle finger on his chin to get his mouth to close.
“I’ve been around for six years, Minho.” He doesn’t sound like he’s chastising Minho, or like he’s making a mockery out of him. Jisung is gentle with his words, patient as he tries to make Minho understand. And Minho can hardly process the words in his brain. “I’ve been raising your daughter with you. And if that was all I would ever get… I would’ve been more than happy with it.”
“Jisung,” Minho whispers. The twisting in his stomach is starting to make him feel sick, and it’s not because he’s feeling hungover. “What are you saying right now?”
“I’m saying.” This is the first time Jisung’s voice shakes, that the hold he has on Minho’s hand loosens. Minho is the one to tighten his fingers this time, refusing to let him go. “I’m saying that if you want to keep figuring things out, we can. We can go at your own pace.”
Minho’s breath shakes when he exhales. Worry flashes in Jisung’s eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes.
“It’s fine if you don’t,” Jisung is quick to add, not sounding as sure of himself. “We can just go back to normal, and—”
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? There is no going back to normal after this. After last night. How can Minho go back to living his life as usual when he now knows what Jisung tastes like on his tongue? What he sounds like when he’s being touched and how his lips feel wrapped around him. How is Minho supposed to go back to normal when he knows he enjoyed every second of it, but he’s just scared of ruining everything? If things don’t work out between them for one reason or another, he’s going to be devastated.
Minho has only once in his life wished he could go back in time and do things differently, and that was when his ex told him that she was pregnant. The thought hasn’t occurred to him again ever since he first laid eyes on Doyeon, not even once. Not about a single aspect of his life. Right now, it’s no different. Minho doesn’t want to go back, but rather to move forward.
“Ten steps ahead?” Minho gently says. Jisung visibly relaxes, his face softening when he smiles. “If you’re sure you’re okay with it, then we can keep going.”
Jisung’s hand is as gentle as his smile when he cradles Minho’s jaw, his thumb soft when he runs it over Minho’s sharp cheekbone. Minho’s heart trips in his chest, the air around them thin and making it hard for him to breathe. Jisung starts leaning in, and Minho closes his eyes, waiting for the moment their lips will touch now. Sober, and not on impulse.
A knock on the door has Jisung pulling away from him like he’s been burned. Minho’s eyes snap open, heart beating nervously in his ribcage.
“Daddy,” Doyeon’s voice softly calls, the door creaking on its hinges right after as she pushes it open. “I don’t feel so good.”
Minho springs to his feet, rushing to where she’s hanging off the doorknob; Doyeon is pale and nothing like she had been just a few minutes earlier when he last saw her on the couch. He crouches before her, pushing her hair away from her face. His palm gets sticky with sweat.
“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Her body is cold to the touch. Minho feels his stomach sink. “What are you feeling?”
“My tummy hurts.”
“Your tummy hurts?” Doyeon nods, letting go of the doorknob to hold onto his arms. She sounds so weak Minho is afraid she’s going to faint. Just what in the hell happened in the short time he wasn’t looking after her? “Did you and Seungmin eat anything weird last night?” She shakes her head softly. “Jisung, can you—”
“Daddy—”
They don’t get enough time to move an inch. Doyeon’s fingers curl into Minho’s arms as she leans forward and vomits all over his leg. Minho’s jaw slackens in shock, and it takes his brain a few long seconds to kick his body into action. There’s no use in moving away from her line of fire, so instead Minho grabs her hair and pulls it away from her face, the other hand rubbing up and down her back.
Jisung quickly walks into the bathroom, going through the cabinet under the sink and rushing out with a towel in hand. Minho opens his mouth to tell him to get the one he’d already been using, but the words go back down his throat when another colorful, disgusting jet comes out of his daughter’s mouth. He knows right then that the cereal is the culprit.
“Honey, how much have you eaten this morning?”
Jisung presses the towel into his lap, rubs the top of Doyeon’s head gently, and whispers, “I’ll go make some tea.”
“Not a lot,” she says, but Minho knows it’s a lie. He isn’t going to scold her right now, though, not when she heaves a third time and immediately starts crying. “I’m sorry, daddy.”
“No, honey, you don’t have to apologize for being sick.” Minho waits to see if she’s going to vomit again, and when she shows no signs of doing so, he pushes to his full height. “Let’s go brush your teeth and get in bed, yeah? Jisungie is making some tea for your tummy.”
Sniffling back her tears, Doyeon nods, wiping at her eyes and cheeks with the long sleeves of her pajamas. Minho is definitely going to need another shower, but that’s of little importance right now. He waits for her by the bathroom door, weary that she might be sick again, but she manages to get through brushing her teeth just fine.
Minho tucks her in bed and closes the door behind him with a heavy sigh. His sweatpants stick uncomfortably to his leg, and he doesn’t want to look down at it again and risk getting sick himself. Jisung looks up from where he’s covering a porcelain cup with a bamboo lid to follow Minho with his eyes as Minho walks past him; Minho pushes the laundry area door open and strips off his clothes, shoving them, along with the soiled towel, into the washing machine with another sigh and immediately starting a cycle.
“Not the circumstances under which I wanted to see you strip,” Jisung jokes, and though worry sticks to the walls of Minho’s stomach, he chuckles. “Do you think she’s going to be sick again?”
Minho opens the cabinet where they keep the cereal box and takes it out, looking inside it only to realize that the thing is almost fully gone. It’s only been a couple of days since he bought it. He tosses the entire box in the trash and tells himself he’ll never buy it again.
“I hope not,” he says, but he can’t be certain. He should leave a bucket next to her bed just in case. “She just ate too much. Too much sugar, too. I’m sorry about—”
“Hey, don’t.” Jisung is gentle even when he cuts him off, his hand going back to where it had been before they were interrupted. “It wasn’t your fault. Or hers.”
Jisung is leaning in, going in for the kiss they missed, but Minho stops him with a hand on his chest and an apologetic smile. “Not right now. I smell like vomit.”
“Go shower, then,” Jisung encourages with a light tap to his cheek, turning his focus back to the teacup. “I’ll take care of her and clean the floor while you’re washing up.”
“Jisung, you don’t h—”
“I want to.” Minho feels like his lungs are being constricted, stopping airflow to his brain. “Don’t be difficult about it. You never stopped me from helping before and you won’t start doing it now.”
Minho lets out a long breath. “Okay.”
There’s a lot here for Minho to consider. When he gets under the spray of the shower for a second time that morning, he thinks about the way Jisung fits in his life like he’s been there from day one. Not only his, but his daughter’s, too. How he’s so willing to do the things Minho, at times, is embarrassed or too prideful to ask for. How he doesn’t have to be doing any of this — making his daughter tea because she’s sick, cleaning up her vomit off the floor — and yet he does, despite Minho telling him not to.
He thinks of Jisung’s gentle hands on him, a contrast to the urgency he touched Minho with the night before, and how much he wishes they could’ve closed the gap. And, still under the hot spray of the shower, Minho wonders why his heart is beating so fast.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Nothing screams bonding experience quite like a trip to the hospital.
Doyeon is hardly feeling any better by Monday morning, and no matter how much Minho insists that Jisung shouldn’t come with them — he has work to do, for christ’s sake —, Jisung sits in his car and refuses to leave. So, Minho drives the three of them to the hospital, and while he hates to see his daughter hooked up to IV drips while the doctors run a few tests on her, he has to admit that it is a little more bearable to get through it with Jisung by his side.
It’s great that his daughter is a little brighter with him around, too. Minho is too sick with worry to be a distraction for her while she’s trapped in the hospital bed, and the crying in the pediatric wing is grinding on his nerves; he can’t help the frown that creases his forehead and tugs his lips downward. Jisung, on the other hand, doesn’t stop running his mouth, coming up with the most absurd stories about his childhood that, sincerely, only a child would believe.
At least Doyeon is properly entertained until she passes out from exhaustion — and also probably the meds they’re giving her.
“Almost eaten by a crocodile?” Minho says with a tired laugh. “Seriously? Where do you get all this creativity from?”
“Hey, it’s true!” Jisung scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll call my dad right now if you don’t believe me!”
Minho chuckles, shoving him lightly. “Keep it down, will you? Don’t wanna wake her up.”
“Hey, she’s gonna be fine,” Jisung whispers gently, laying a hand on his knee and squeezing it lightly. Minho finds comfort in such a simple gesture. “She’s very strong, yeah? Besides, we’ve been through worse.”
“Oh god, please don’t remind me.”
Minho still has nightmares about it. Doyeon was five at the time, and while on a day out with the two of them at the park, she fell and hit her head on the iron pole of a swingset. Minho hurried to her aid immediately, trying not to panic, while Jisung ran into the nearest GS25 to get some ice. The sound of her wailing still haunts him, even though she’s older now, as does the swelling she got on her forehead.
At the time, she was very fussy after the accident. Minho thought it was just the painful discomfort, that she would calm down after a day if they just kept on icing the huge bump on her head. But then she started running a fever, and when it didn’t go down after three days, Minho panicked. He was in hysterics with Jisung on the phone, catastrophizing the events that hadn’t even happened yet, begging for him to come over because he was in no condition to drive.
Minho can now see that he was overreacting just a little bit, but it was hard to keep his composure when he didn’t know what was wrong with his daughter. In the end, the two events were unrelated — her hitting her head and the fever she was running. Everything had been fine with her brain, or so the doctors said, and the fever was just one of the symptoms from an unrelated flu she’d gotten, likely at school.
Just a bad time all around. It took a little over a week for Doyeon to fully recover from her ailments, and while she’s been sick again after, nothing has been quite as scary as that. Right now, Minho knows he worries just for the sake of worrying.
“I’m just saying she’s going to be okay, hyung. Try to relax a little.”
Minho only starts to believe Jisung’s words when the doctor stops by to give them an update on her exams. She doesn’t seem to have caught anything, they say, and the likely culprit was, as Minho suspected, how much cereal she ate at once.
“Try reducing her sugar intake as much as you can,” the doctor says, offering Minho a kind smile. “Her bloodwork is fine now, just her sugar levels are still a bit high. Your daughter should be feeling well again by tomorrow at the latest.”
Minho sighs in relief. Oh, thank god.
“After she’s done taking the IV drip, you can take her home. I’m prescribing her the same nausea medication we’re giving her here, and it will probably make her very sleepy, just as she is right now. Offer her plenty of liquids, as it’s likely that she will refuse to eat out of fear of getting sick again. But if she asks for food, don’t hesitate to give it to her. She needs some nourishment as much as she needs hydration.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Jisung says, bowing his head. The doctor’s smile seems strained, and Minho wants to believe it’s just from being on duty for so long. “We’ll take good care of her.”
It’s startling to realize how much Minho relies on Jisung in his life. Not that he didn’t already know that, but noticing how at ease he feels from a squeeze on his hand and a smile does things to his heart. Minho wants to believe that this is just who they always were and how he always felt, but how can that be? How could he have been so ignorant to the way his heart beats, and for so long at that?
Minho feels like he’s drowning in his own thoughts as they drive home, hours later. In the backseat, Doyeon is struggling to keep herself awake — she hasn’t stopped talking since the nurse took her off the drip, but her words are slurred and nothing she says makes sense. Jisung is, at least, making an effort to keep up with her, but Minho’s fingers are gripped tightly on the steering wheel and the only thing he can think about is getting them home safely.
And how lovely Jisung is with his daughter, but he can’t let his thoughts linger on that right now.
When they get home, Doyeon falls asleep again on the couch before Minho can finish making her porridge. He still goes through with the recipe, deciding that he can just heat it up later if she feels like eating. She has her head on Jisung’s lap and Jisung’s hand softly petting her hair; a scene Minho has seen a thousand times but that today makes him feel like the floor is opening up beneath his feet.
Doyeon is getting too heavy to be carried, but Minho still picks her up off the couch and takes her to her room, ignoring Jisung’s snickering at the way his back cracks when he straightens up. He tucks her in bed and under her blanket, feeling only remotely at ease knowing that nothing is seriously wrong with her health. When he walks back out, Jisung is waiting for him with a smile on his lips.
“Better?” he asks, patting the empty space next to him. Minho’s feet carry him over before he gets the chance to tell his body to. He sinks into the couch and straight into Jisung’s arms. Minho is finding that he likes this subtle change in their relationship.
“I’m exhausted.” Minho sighs, slipping his eyes shut. Jisung lifts Minho’s head with a gentle tap under his chin, prompting Minho to open his eyes again. He’s so close that Minho can feel his breath against his face, warm with every exhale. Jisung’s eyes flit to his lips for a split second before he looks Minho in the eye again. He brushes Minho’s hair away from his face. “Thank you, really. For yesterday and today.”
“You don’t have to thank me, hyung.” He’s so close. All Minho would have to do is strain his neck a bit to kiss him.
“If I don’t, how will you know that I’m grateful?”
Jisung’s eyes shake. In a whisper, he asks, “Is this okay?”
Minho’s nod is short, his breath stuttering as he exhales. Jisung leans in, finally pressing their lips together again. Now, as he’s fully sober, Minho realizes how perfectly they fit together, how nice Jisung’s plush lower lip feels as he takes it between his lips, how lovely he sounds when Minho slides his tongue in and he gasps into his mouth. This is nice. Minho thinks he could get used to it.
Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this in the living room, where his daughter could walk out of her room and catch them in the act any second, but Minho has a hard time caring about it right now; she’s just fallen asleep, anyway. Jisung shifts so he isn’t straining his neck, and for a moment Minho thinks he’s going to climb into his lap. He wishes Jisung would.
He doesn’t, though. Even as he deepens the kiss, as he licks further into Minho’s mouth, Jisung stays where he is, with his hand firmly holding him by the back of his head. It’s Minho who has to grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him closer, who has to maneuver him until he finally gets a hint and throws a leg over his lap, sitting on his thighs. They shouldn’t be doing this here, but Minho can’t bring himself to stop.
“Don’t you have work to get done?” Minho whispers before Jisung dives in again, hoping that he will say no. That he can have him for a little longer.
“It can wait.” Their lips brush when he speaks. Minho’s hands find home on Jisung’s hips, fingers squeezing him lightly. “This can’t.”
“No?” Minho chuckles, and Jisung shakes his head, closing the hairsbreadth of a distance between them again. It’s so much better like this, when the angle is just right, when Minho can tilt his head and Jisung’s tongue slides deeper into his mouth. He likes that it wasn’t just his drunk self that enjoyed kissing Jisung so much.
“Do you think this is appropriate of us?” Jisung whispers into his mouth, hands framing his neck.
“Not at all,” Minho admits, though he doesn’t think Doyeon is going to burst through her door anytime soon. “I think this is indecently scandalous of us, actually.”
“Wanna go somewhere more private?” And Minho is taken back to Saturday night, to the strobing lights of the club and the loud music, the dirty bathroom Jisung dragged him into. Minho might not be in the mood for that right now, but when Jisung says, “Let me help you get your mind off things,” he finds that it’s easy to say yes.
“Just—keep it tame, yeah?” His voice shakes with how fast his heart is beating. Minho doesn’t have to mention his daughter for Jisung to understand why he asks what he does.
It’s scarily easy to fall in bed with Jisung. Minho lies against his pillows and Jisung lies over him like a weighted blanket, and it’s nice. It’s easy for their lips to find each other again, for Minho’s hands to come to a rest on the slope of Jisung’s ass. He wishes he could hear what Jisung sounds like when he moans again, but this isn’t the time for it. It also isn’t the time for Jisung to be rocking his hips, but Minho doesn’t stop him. Of course he doesn’t.
“Hyung, can I ask you something?” Jisung mutters along his jaw. Minho makes a sound that is supposed to be a yes but resembles very little of the word. “Have you been thinking about kissing me or was that night a spur of the moment thing that you just happened to like?”
Blood rushes to Minho’s face so fast that it feels like Jisung has spit fire on him. He could easily lie to Jisung and say that it was the alcohol that made him do it, but he can’t take back the conversation they had the morning after. Minho can’t take back any of the words he said, and he doesn’t want to.
“The day at the pool,” he says, freeing Jisung’s shirt from the waistband of his pants so he can slip his hands under it, running them up the smooth expanse of his back. “You kind of sent me into a bit of a crisis.”
“Did I?” Jisung pulls back to look at him, his brows dipping. “I’m sorry.”
Minho shakes his head lightly, scraping his nails down Jisung’s lower back. “Nothing to be sorry for. I really… I hadn’t considered, I guess. That maybe I wasn’t just broken.”
“And it’s me you were thinking about?”
Jisung doesn't sound teasing or condescending. Intrigue laces his voice instead, and it feels like he’s trying to poke his fingers into Minho’s ribcage to pry out his deepest, darkest secrets from him. Minho thinks he would let Jisung split his chest in half and break all of his bones.
“I don’t know why, Jisung, I—”
“I’m glad.” Minho’s breath gets caught in his throat. He can tell that there’s more to this that Jisung isn’t saying, and he’s afraid to ask about it. There’s more to what he has already told him. “Does it live up to your imagination?”
Minho chuckles out of surprise, but the noise dies down quickly as Jisung drags his lips to his neck, teeth scraping over the skin like he wants to bite him. He doesn’t, though, even though Minho wishes he would.
“It’s much better,” he admits, a gasp escaping his lips when Jisung tugs the collar of his shirt down and nibbles on the skin over his collarbone, leaving a kiss to soothe the bite right after. “Jisung, don’t—”
“I know.” Trailing his lips back up, Jisung kisses him on the lips again, and Minho doesn’t wait for him to ask to part his lips and let Jisung slide his tongue in. Minho likes kissing Jisung, and he likes it even more when Jisung fits a hand between their bodies and palms it over his crotch, his fingers shaping out the outline of his cock. Minho gasps into the kiss, hips bucking up into his touch, and before he can even think to say anything, Jisung repeats: “I know.”
Jisung rolls off him and lies next to him, a heavy sigh escaping his lips when he throws an arm over his eyes. Minho feels guilt sink in his stomach along with the fire he swallows. He sighs, too, rubbing a frustrated hand down his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His ears are hot and ringing, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.
“I should be the one apologizing. Your daughter is sick, and I—I’m over here being selfish again.”
“No, Jisung.” Minho rolls on his side to look at him again. Jisung doesn’t shift positions, but his head rolls on his shoulder so he can look at Minho as well. Minho cups his cheek and Jisung leans into the touch. “You’re not being selfish. I want it too, I do, it’s just—she could get up and see something that she shouldn’t. She knows to knock before coming in, but…”
Jisung’s smile is sad but understanding. Minho doesn’t know how to navigate all the feelings drowning him when he sees the emotion in Jisung’s eyes, so he dives in headfirst. He doesn’t know how to reconcile with the fact that his best friend is the one he wants to be in bed with right now, the one who’s the cause for his heart to be feeling the way it does.
“It’s okay, hyung.” Jisung covers Minho’s hand with his own. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” Minho repeats, hoping the stressing on it gets through Jisung. “What I don’t want is risking my daughter seeing you with your hand on my dick.”
Jisung giggles, and Minho almost feels like he’s seeing him for the first time. Now he notices the heart shape of Jisung’s smile a bit more, pink gums on show with the force of it. The roundness of his cheeks, the slitting of his eyes into crescents. Minho feels like a fool. He has seen Jisung countless times — it’s been six years, for christ’s sake. How can this be the first time he’s noticing all of this? All the small details that stitch Jisung into who he is?
“Hyung,” Jisung’s voice drops to a whisper, his smile still lingering on his lips. “Do you think we could get another weekend off?”
Minho’s heart expands in his chest and crushes his lungs. He can hardly breathe.
“Not this one,” he regretfully says, trying not to eat his words and taking back what he just said when Jisung’s lips jut with a pout. “I promised Doyeon we’d go to the movies. But maybe the next? I could call up my mom and see if they can keep her.”
Jisung’s eyes sparkle with hope. It does terrible things to Minho’s heart. “Would you, really?”
“Yeah,” Minho breathes. “I’m sure my mom won’t mind, they love having her over. Do you wanna make plans?”
Jisung hums, lips stretching mischievously. “I’m sure you can guess what it is.”
Minho might be driving himself into an early heart attack. He isn’t sure he is going to survive the next two weeks.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
The hour-long drive to Gimpo is almost torture to Minho tonight. Doyeon is passed out on the backseat of his car, still dressed in her ballet uniform and the gel on her hair barely keeping her bun together, and the soft noise of the radio isn’t enough to keep Minho’s anticipation at an acceptable level. Sure, he could have chosen not to put himself through the awful night traffic and done the trip early on Saturday morning, but he was unwilling to wait. All it took was Jisung telling him he would be free on Friday for Minho to push his plans forward by half a day.
It has gotten considerably harder for him to have any semblance of rationality whenever Jisung is around. And it's concerning, considering Jisung is a part of their daily life, and Minho doesn’t know how to tell his daughter that he and Jisung are something more. Not that they are, at least not officially, but things have changed. Things aren’t what they used to be, and Minho thinks he needs a little more time to figure out how to tell her that. Just a little more time to see if whatever they have right now is going anywhere.
It worries him most nights that they are doing something wrong. When Jisung isn’t with him, Minho worries that they’re taking a step in the wrong direction; that if things come crashing down for one reason or another, they will be throwing away years of friendship over Minho’s stupid urges that he couldn’t control. He would like to think that their bond is stronger than that and that they’re better than this, that they would be able to bounce back from such a mishap with little consequence, but with every day that passes Minho gets even more entangled in his mess of feelings.
He’s already accepted that he has messed things up; now, he’s going to see his entire world burn to ashes until the very end.
Five minutes away from their destination, Doyeon awakens from her nap and starts asking if they've arrived yet. Minho is more than a little glad that he’s pulled away from his spiraling thoughts by the scruff of his neck. They may not be there just yet, but he’s glad to have company for the last few minutes of the ride.
When he parks in front of his parents’ house, Doyeon barely waits for him to kill the engine to open the backseat door and jump off the vehicle. She doesn’t wait for him, doesn’t help unloading the bags from the trunk, but it’s not like Minho was expecting anything other than this. She might be a well-behaved child, but she’s still a child at the end of the day. One who loves her grandparents almost as much as she loves him.
“Grandma!” Doyeon squeals, ringing the doorbell a thousand times per second. “It’s me, Doyeonie!”
Minho’s mother opens the door in under a minute, and the cats come rushing out before any of them can blink or take a breath. Minho knows they’re not going to run away, but seeing Dori rush up to him still makes him take Doyeon’s bags out of the car a little faster, makes him lock up the doors and crouch down to pet the tabby cat as it greets him with loud meowing and affectionate rubs against his legs.
“Hi, baby,” Minho greets with an affectionate scratch behind Dori’s ear and his voice going up two octaves. “Have you been terrorizing your brothers as you should?”
“Minho-yah, come inside.” His mother ushers him in like it’s the dead of winter and not like they’ve been skirting summer for weeks now. Minho puts Dori under his arm and does as she says, bending at the door so she can place a wet kiss on his cheek. “How was the drive here?”
“Same as usual,” he answers, putting Dori down so he can slip out of his shoes. Lowering his voice, though he doubts Doyeon would hear it as she rushes over to his father, he says, “Thank you for keeping her this weekend.”
His mother hits him on the shoulder with a heavy hand, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know we love having her over. Are you staying for dinner?”
“No, granny,” Doyeon calls loudly from what sounds like the other side of the house, putting Minho on blast. “He has a date with his boyfriend!”
His mother’s eyes go as big as his probably does. Minho starts sputtering in a desperate attempt of refuting his daughter’s ridiculous statement, flustered to hell and back, but his mother beats him to the race with a scoffed, “What?” of disbelief.
“Lee Doyeon!” Minho ends up yelling, heart beating in his ears. “What are you talking about! Jisung isn’t my boyfriend!”
“Jisung?” his mother questions. “Han Jisung? Our Jisung?”
“Mother, it’s not—”
“Yes he is,” Doyeon insists as she walks her way back to the entrance, crossing her arms over her chest with all the sass an eight-year-old can have. “You have been holding his hand a lot lately, dad. Didn’t you tell me that lying is bad?”
Oh, god. He hasn’t even been that obvious in front of her, and the times he did hold Jisung’s hand — hardly in public, usually only at home — he was sure she wasn’t looking. Minho was sure that he was being sneaky enough, and it’s not even that he’s trying to hide something from her. He just needs a little more time.
“Pumpkin, it’s not like that—”
“Honey, can you go upstairs with Soonie? We got them a new tower, you should go see it with him,” his mother says to Doyeon in a tone that drips with honey, but that Minho has been alive for long enough to know it’s all a façade.
Doyeon frowns, but she knows better than to argue with her elders. She may argue with him and Jisung every now and then, but she listens to her grandparents very well. Scooping Soonie up in her arms, she climbs up the flight of stairs as Minho’s mother grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the kitchen, her brows set in a confused frown.
“What the hell is she talking about?” she presses without preamble, crossing her arms over her chest just like Doyeon had moments ago.
“Mom, I swear, it’s not like that—”
“What is it like, then?” Minho swallows thickly. Dry. His heartbeat falters, and he feels his knees weaken. His mother’s frown eases just a bit, but the confusion doesn’t fully go away. “Baby, it isn’t a problem if—if you’re—I hope you know that. I hope your father and I have built a home safe enough for you to know that. Just let me in?”
Minho sighs, leaning into the kitchen counter because there is nowhere else he could run to. “We’re not dating,” he stresses, running a hand through his hair. “But we’re—uhm. Trying to figure things out?”
“Oh, honey.” His mother’s features finally soften, and she takes him into her arms in a warm hug. “Took you long enough.”
“What… what do you mean?”
“Oh, dear,” she laughs like it’s the funniest thing Minho has said in his entire life. He can’t bring himself to laugh with her at all. “It’s always been so obvious. I don’t know why you kept trying to look the other way.”
Minho is looking at his mother and he can’t believe what she’s saying. If she’s talking about him or about Jisung, he isn’t really sure, and he’s too afraid to ask. He doesn’t want her to keep talking, but she does anyway.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad you gave us Doyeon. I just wish that didn’t come at the cost of your happiness.”
It’s Minho’s turn to frown. “I’m very happy with my daughter, mom. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Minho, that’s not what I’m talking about,” she chastises. “You were never happy with your exes. I thought you would come to your senses sooner than at thirty-two.”
His frown only deepens. “You always thought that I…? And you never offered me any guidance?”
“Honey, you were already grown by the time I realized.” To her credit, his mother does look regretful right now. “You were a very moody teenager. I didn’t want you to think I was butting into your business.”
This is a lot to unpack. This is, in fact, too much for Minho to process right now, especially because he knows Jisung must already be on his way to his apartment after having ordered them food and bought drinks at the store. Minho doesn’t want to think about the years he spent thinking that there was something wrong with him only for his theory to be completely off base.
He was never broken. He just wasn’t looking where he needed to.
“And Jisung?” she asks softly, her hand gentle as she runs it down his arm and holds his hand. She gives it a comforting squeeze. “How does he fit into all that?”
“It just happened,” he breathes softly. “One thing led to another, and he… he just means a lot to me.”
“I always thought he was very good to you.” His mother’s smile reaches her eyes with ease, bright like the light of day. Minho feels like there are vines wrapping themselves around his heart, pulling tight. “And to Doyeon, too. Someone like that doesn’t come by often, Minho. If something happens, how are you going to explain to your daughter that he won’t be coming around anymore? It’s easy to tell that she loves him a lot.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen.” Nothing wrong can happen. He’s unwilling to lose Jisung over something so stupid. If push comes to shove, Minho is sure that they can be mature enough to work through things.
“Are you seeing him tonight?” Blood rushes to his face, warming up his skin. “Is that why you brought her here?”
“Yeah,” is all he can say through the embarrassment.
“Well, I hope you have fun.” With one last squeeze, his mother lets go of his hand. “And remember to be safe, yeah?”
“Oh my god.” Minho steps away from the counter, his ears ringing as they go up in flames. “We’re not doing this right now—”
“Well, as your mother, it is my duty to remind you of the importance of practicing safe s—”
“Mom!” Minho doesn’t mean to yell, but his voice comes out louder than he expected. The outburst prompts his mother to burst into laughter. “Enough! We’re done here!”
In the living room, his dad is none the wiser to his wife’s hijinks, too immersed in a book to care, and when Minho goes to say hello before he leaves, he doesn’t comment on Doyeon’s incriminating statement. At least he doesn’t have to go through the embarrassment twice.
Doyeon comes down from her brief exile soon after, covered in cat fur, with Soonie stomping down the stairs behind her. Minho almost wishes he could stay a little longer. Maybe he could come a bit earlier on Sunday and have lunch with them, enjoy the last few hours they’ll have before life gains traction again on Monday.
“Listen well to your grandparents,” Minho reminds Doyeon as she buries herself into his chest with a hug. “Behave. I’ll call tomorrow night, okay?”
“Don’t miss me too much,” she says, but she’s the one refusing to let him go.
“I will always miss you, pumpkin.” Minho may need some time for himself, but that doesn’t mean he will ever stop missing her when they’re apart. He may have other plans for the weekend, but his heart already aches from being away from her.
Once he’s back in his car, Minho dials Jisung’s number. He waits until Jisung picks up to back out of his parents’ driveway; his voice blasts through the speakers of Minho’s car, and suddenly Minho’s heart is beating three times as fast as it usually does. Anticipation.
“Hey,” Minho greets, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “I’m leaving the house right now.”
Jisung hums. “How long do you think you’ll take?”
Minho glances at the GPS route on the center console. “It says it should take me a little less than an hour. Did you make it home?”
A slip of Minho’s tongue. His home isn’t Jisung’s.
“Yeah, I got here about half an hour ago. Drive safely, yeah? I’ll be waiting.”
Jisung doesn’t correct him; he just answers the question, and as a consequence makes Minho’s heart skip a few painful beats. If he could speed down the highway and magically make it home in fifteen minutes instead of almost an hour, he would. But speeding will be useless, if not downright impossible, with the volume of cars still on the streets.
He will make it home safely, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be patient about it.
Minho’s palms are sweaty as he unlocks the front door of his apartment. He can hear the faint noise of whatever show or movie Jisung is watching as he waits, and Minho can’t lie to himself and say he isn’t nervous. He hasn’t had alone time like this with Jisung since the plans were made almost two weeks ago; between work and spending time with Doyeon, they’ve barely had time to breathe.
In a way, it isn’t much different from how life was before that Saturday night. Only that their touches linger now and Minho’s heart grows fonder. And his daughter, apparently, has seen it all.
As soon as he opens the door, the apartment goes quiet. From where he’s standing, as he takes off his shoes, he can see that the tv is still on but is now muted, can see the back of Jisung’s head and the tense line of his shoulders.
“Hey,” he greets softly, the word sticking to the back of his throat and almost refusing to come out. Jisung shifts on the couch, head turning just slightly, like the change in angle is going to make him hear Minho better. “Sorry it took me a while.”
Jisung shakes his head, turning to face the tv again. He still doesn’t unmute it. “I got us pizza.”
Worry starts gnawing at Minho’s insides. It’s not that Jisung is giving him any sort of cold treatment right now, but this isn’t how he usually greets Minho when he gets home. He’s hesitant to walk his way over, but it’s not like he can just hover by the front door until Jisung decides to stop acting weird.
Jisung has his legs crossed under his body and a pillow on his lap, his knuckles white from how tightly he grips it. Two unopened pizza boxes sit on the coffee table. He sits next to Jisung and Jisung’s grip on the pillow tightens. Minho frowns.
“Is something wrong?”
Jisung’s chest shakes as he breathes out. He shakes his head. “I’m just—trying to be sane for the sake of us getting through dinner.”
That explains so little that Minho’s frown only deepens. “What do you mean?”
Jisung licks his lips. Minho can’t help but follow the movement of his tongue with his eyes. “It means that I’ve, uhm, been thinking about you a bit too much. About tonight. And I’ve been trying to calm down, but…”
It takes Minho a few seconds to process what Jisung is saying, but then it clicks. The convenient placement of the pillow, Jisung’s refusal to look him in the eye, the flush on his cheeks and his ears, bleeding down to his neck and coloring his honeyed skin in a lovely shade of pink. Minho feels his mouth going dry.
“O-oh…” is all he manages to let out at first, his own face warming up. He wonders how quickly it will take for blood to rush south. “I, uhm—”
“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Jisung interrupts in a rushed breath, finally looking at him. “I’m just—I’m getting ahead of myself, I know, but—”
Minho cups Jisung’s cheek and stops his spiraling thoughts. His skin is warm against his palm, his chocolate eyes shaking. Minho tries to smile, but he knows he’s nervous, too. Brushing a gentle thumb over the apple of Jisung’s cheek, he leans in and kisses his lips softly.
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he says, and Jisung relaxes under his touch. “I’ve been thinking about tonight a lot, too.”
He isn’t going to mention what Doyeon said before he left. Minho thinks he can leave that for later, when the tension between them isn’t as high. When they’re able to think about something other than what’s bound to happen shortly. And, honestly, Minho isn’t even that hungry right now.
Shifting so he’s facing Jisung with his entire body, Minho cradles his jaw with the other hand, and now there’s nothing holding him back from fully leaning in. He had almost forgotten what Jisung tastes like, but this is a good reminder. To have Jisung licking across the seam of his mouth to be let in, to have him slowly laying down on the couch as Minho climbs over him, almost desperate to deepen the kiss.
“Just so we’re on the same page,” Jisung mumbles into his mouth, fingers curling into the front of Minho’s shirt. “We’re not having dinner?”
“Don’t mind doing it later.” Minho thinks they were made to wait for too long. Now that he’s got Jisung here, like this, just as eager as he is, he doesn’t want to wait a second longer.
Jisung laughs, but he sounds winded. “Oh, thank god.”
Minho grabs the pillow between them and tosses it on the floor, fully lowering himself over Jisung. He doesn’t have to look between their bodies because he can feel Jisung’s cock pressing against his hip, already so hard when Minho has just gotten home. Not that it will take him long to get him there, too, if he’s dependent on how hard Jisung kisses him again, messier, how he grinds against him.
He wants to touch Jisung so badly, but he needs to have some restraint. Minho doesn’t want to move too quickly and end up doing something he will regret — though, he figures, he has already touched Jisung in that way before. He supposes there would be no harm in doing it again right now, but he wants Jisung to be the one to make the first move.
They’re on the same page for more than just dinner, it seems. Jisung slips a hand between their bodies and pulls a gasp out of Minho when he cups him through his jeans. Jisung’s touch lights fire to his skin even through his clothes — and, honestly, Minho doesn’t know what’s going to be of him once there’s nothing between them.
“How much have you been thinking about this, hyung?” Trailing his lips to Minho’s jaw, Jisung sounds like he’s verging on desperate as he mumbles against his skin, hand working on the outline of his cock. Minho can almost feel the blood rushing through his veins. Rushing to his cock too quickly.
“An inappropriate amount,” Minho admits, reaching between them so he can touch Jisung just like he touches him. Jisung’s moan that follows rumbles low in his chest.
“Have you touched yourself thinking about me?”
Jisung is a flame dancing dangerously close to gasoline. Minho tried not to, but there was little he could do to fight against his thoughts when they would keep him up late at night. The couple of times he did, guilt weighed heavily in his stomach, and shame always followed his release. It’s hard for him to admit that out loud, so he nods instead.
“Me too.” Jisung doesn’t seem to have any such reservations, words rolling off his tongue with ease. Minho’s cock twitches at the thought — Jisung in his bed, sleep weighing heavily on his lids but his hand slipped past the waistband of his sweatpants. Minho has been desperate to hear him moan again; to hear him clearly this time, without the loud, muffled noise of the nightclub. “What did you think about?”
Jisung works his button and zipper with deft fingers. Minho chokes on a gasp as Jisung palms him over his boxers, and it turns into a moan when his warm fingers trace the elastic waistband and dip in. The clarity that comes with being sober is something Minho isn’t going to forget — not that he had forgotten what Jisung’s hand felt like wrapped around his cock, but right now Minho has every one of his senses attuned to him.
“Jisung,” is all Minho can say, a warning. He can’t bring himself to tell him the things he’s been thinking about.
“Okay, I’ll go first.” Oh, god. This is not what Minho meant or wanted, but maybe it’s exactly what he needs — not that he needs any help getting anywhere right now. He’s already pretty hard under Jisung’s grip. “I’ve been thinking so much about sucking you off again, hyung. Thought about taking you apart with just my mouth, taking my time. Having you comfortable in bed or on the couch, not on a stinky toilet. And I thought about you sucking me off too, how you probably wouldn’t be great at it. And I wouldn’t mind if you weren’t. It turned me on so much.”
Minho’s hips stutter, fucking his cock into Jisung’s fist. He can’t hold back his moan, the images Jisung is painting now vivid in his brain.
“And then I thought, hyung, about us in bed. With you over me just like you are right now, but I kept wondering how deep you’d go.” Precum beads past the slit of his cock, and Jisung runs his fingers over it. Minho needs Jisung to shut up as much as he needs him to keep talking. “And I felt so guilty, Minho, I did, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. I had to take the edge off.”
Sliding his hand further down, Jisung cups his sac, gently massaging it.
“Hyung.” Jisung drops his voice to a whisper like there’s people around to hear him when he asks, “Do you wanna find out how deep you’ll go?”
What a way to ask if Minho wants to have sex with him, honestly. Though, he figures, there isn’t a graceful way to ask such a thing, and it’s far better than whatever Minho could come up with. It’s Jisung’s way of making sure that Minho wants this — a way of getting verbal confirmation instead of just letting things naturally run their course.
“Yeah,” he says through a choked moan, and the answer would have still been yes even if Jisung hadn’t asked him in the first place. “God, Jisung, yes. Please.”
Minho hasn’t felt this insanely attracted to anyone before, and while he has already accepted that it was because his attraction didn’t fully lie within girls, the way Jisung makes him feel is just crazy. Minho feels crazy with every drag of his fingers across his skin, every kiss Jisung presses against him, every glide of his tongue in his mouth. And maybe, he thinks, things are so much better like this because of the emotional connection they have. Instead of ruining everything like he was afraid of, their bond just makes everything better.
“Should we go to your room?” Jisung mutters into the curve of his jaw, right at his ear. “Or do you wanna fuck me on your couch? Is that something you’ve fantasized about?”
“Jesus Christ, stop talking.” Jisung laughs at the way his words come out as a whine, but the stuttering of his hips betray the intention of what he says. And because he has nothing to lose but his dignity, Minho says, “Yes, I’ve thought about fucking you on the couch. I’ve thought about fucking you on almost every surface of this apartment. There, are you happy? Do you find pleasure in my embarrassment?”
“Oh, hyung, don’t take me for a meanie.” Big words from someone with a hand on his cock. Minho thinks he’s doomed with the way his face feels so fucking warm. “I just love to see the way you blush. Makes you look so much prettier.”
Minho mourns the loss of his touch when Jisung pulls his hand off his underwear, but the sentiment won’t linger. Jisung sits up with Minho still all over him, grabs him by the back of his neck, and kisses him again. For a moment, Minho forgets what it’s like to breathe.
At least Jisung seems to be done talking for now. He coaxes Minho off his lap, gets on his feet, and extends a hand that Minho takes with his heart racing. Jisung doesn’t need to do this, Minho knows how to navigate his own home, but he still lets him lead the way to the bedroom. There, Minho notices Jisung’s bag neatly placed by the foot of the bed.
“I took the liberty to come prepared,” Jisung says, letting go of Minho’s hand to fall on the mattress. His cheeks blush like the delicate petals of a rose. “I, uhm, thought you wouldn’t… y’know. Have it.”
Honestly, Minho’s involuntary celibacy is embarrassing at this point. Minho stares at Jisung’s bag and all he can feel is glad. Jisung kicks the bag forward, as if urging Minho to come closer and open it, and though Minho’s legs feel like they’re weighed by lead, he does. There isn’t much inside it — Jisung’s wallet, gum, the notebook he carries everywhere he goes, but none of that matters right now. At the bottom, under the notebook, there’s a sealed bottle of lube and a strip of condoms.
Jisung undoes the button and zipper of his pants but doesn’t do much else, like he’s waiting for Minho to be the one to do it. And Minho wants to; god, he wants it so much. He stands between Jisung’s spread legs, sets the lube and condoms aside, and grabs Jisung’s shirt by the hem. Minho’s not in a hurry when he starts lifting it, and neither is Jisung as he raises his arms above his head so he can pull it off.
Reaching out, Jisung runs his hands under the fabric of Minho’s shirt, over his stomach, pushing it as far as his hands will reach. Minho is the one to undress himself, but he doesn’t mind. His ears are ringing with how tense the air feels around them, his palms starting to sweat again as he pushes a knee up on the bed and Jisung crawls back, eyes never leaving him.
Surely, it should feel weird to be this close and personal with Jisung. To have his heart flutter when Jisung lays his head on his pillows and the only thing Minho can think is just how pretty he looks like this. It should be weird, but Minho leans in, kisses Jisung, and it isn’t. It doesn’t feel weird to have Jisung’s hands on his naked torso, or to be the one feeling up Jisung’s body. It’s easy to remember that this isn’t wrong when Jisung pleads to be touched with mumbled words into his mouth, and swallowing them feels like drinking poison.
Minho pulls Jisung’s pants and underwear off at once, slipping out of his own pants before climbing into bed again. Jisung is burning up as Minho runs his hands up his thighs, as he spreads his legs so Minho can comfortably fit between them. Minho can’t lie and say he isn’t at least a little bit nervous; he hopes the slight shake of his hands isn’t noticeable as he feels up Jisung’s chest, every ridge of his ribcage. He hopes he can mask it well as he takes Jisung’s lips in yet another kiss, as he brushes his thumbs over his budding nipples.
It’s just as he expected; Jisung’s moans are low but he sounds beautiful, body rolling into Minho’s the longer he teases and doesn’t go where he’s supposed to. Luckily for Jisung, Minho is a little impatient today, and though he doesn’t rush because he wants to savor every second of this, he starts making his way down his body.
It’s different, Minho can’t deny it. Jisung’s body doesn’t yield as easily with the muscles he’s built under his skin, he doesn’t have as many soft curves, but Minho doesn’t mind. He likes the way Jisung’s pecs feel under his lips as he kisses down his chest, likes the way he feels Jisung’s abs contract under smooth skin as Minho kisses down his stomach. Minho likes the definition of his Adonis belt under his hands and how Jisung almost seems to shake as he gets dangerously close to his cock.
Minho considers his possibilities for a moment, thinking of what Jisung told him in the living room. He wraps his fingers around Jisung’s cock and Jisung’s hand immediately flies to his hair, gripping the locks tightly and pulling his head back before Minho can even make a move.
“You don’t have to,” Jisung says in a rushed breath, blood rushing from his face to his chest. “I was—I was just talking. You don’t have to, hyung.”
“You said you wouldn’t mind if it was bad.” Stroking Jisung’s cock, Minho can feel it twitch when Jisung gasps, can feel the way he leaks at the tip as he rubs a thumb over the smooth skin.
“Yes, but I— ah.” How beautiful he sounds. If he’s like this when Minho only has his tongue on his cock, he can’t wait to hear what he’ll sound like once he has his lips around him. “Hyung, seriously—”
Minho never thought he would have a dick in his mouth, and it’s weird. He tries to remember what Jisung did to him in the club, what his previous partners have done to him, but his mind seems to draw a blank. He swirls his tongue around the crown of Jisung’s cock and pulls a beautiful cry out of him, his grip on Minho’s hair loosening but never letting go. The only thing Minho can remember as he tries to bob his head is to not use his teeth, and even that he finds he’s not very skilled at.
But just as Jisung had said, he doesn’t seem to mind. His cock is hard in Minho’s mouth, and the smoothness of the skin against his tongue, along with the lack of air getting to his lungs, makes Minho gag. He pulls back to breathe, face burning with embarrassment, but he doesn’t give up just yet.
The second try isn’t better, but it’s not like Minho expected it to be. He does the best he can, fisting what of Jisung’s cock he can’t fit in his mouth. He has to admit, though, that the noises that roll off Jisung’s tongue are doing incredibly terrible things to him.
“Minho hyung— ah —please,” Jisung cries out softly, easing his grip to comb his fingers through Minho’s hair instead. “I can’t—I can’t come in your mouth.”
You can, Minho wants to say, but he knows what Jisung means. He pulls back with a soft gasp, and he can’t take his eyes off the way Jisung’s cock glistens with his spit, an angry shade of red. Minho quickens the flicking of his wrist, running his thumb over the slit over and over again, Jisung’s moans settling like fire in his stomach and his groin.
Jisung comes over his fingers with a low moan, his body trembling, fingers curling into the back of Minho’s head.
“Sorry,” Jisung quickly apologizes. The word feels misplaced and makes Minho frown. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—I was so turned on already, hyung, I—”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Minho says as gently as he can, letting go of Jisung’s dick once he’s sure he’s done coming. He considers wiping his hand clean on his boxers, the bedsheets, but he waits until Jisung makes eye contact again, cheeks crimson red, to bring it up to his face instead. If Jisung isn’t going to come in his mouth, he may as well get what he wants one way or another.
Jisung’s jaw goes slack when Minho rolls his tongue out and licks from his thumb to his pointer finger, the back of his hand, middle and ring fingers. Minho takes his fingers into his mouth, and sure, Jisung’s cum tastes fucking disgusting, but watching him watch Minho in shock is fun. He thoroughly licks his fingers clean, and once he’s done, Jisung’s cock is no longer softening.
“Minho, what the fuck,” he chuckles, but his eyes tell a different story. “This has to be my shortest refractory period ever, this is so embarrassing.”
Minho grins. “Well, I think that’s quite flattering. Though, I have to admit, that was disgusting.”
Jisung laughs, pulling him by the back of his neck to kiss him. Minho can’t think about anything other than the fact that Jisung must taste himself on his tongue.
“You get used to it after a while.” He laughs again when Minho’s nose wrinkles in further disgust. “You don’t have to get used to anything that you don’t like. You didn’t—you really didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to try it.” Minho reaches for the lube but doesn’t break the seal just yet. “You seemed to enjoy it a lot at the club.”
“Oh, hyung,” Jisung’s face softens and his smile is kind. “That’s because I like giving head. That doesn’t mean you’ll like it too. It’s okay if you want to keep trying, and it’s also okay if you decide it isn’t for you. Go easy on yourself.”
Minho breaks the plastic seal on the lube cap when Jisung rests against his pillow again. His chest feels tight with anticipation and his stomach from how turned on he is right now; coating his fingers with more lube than would probably be deemed necessary, Minho takes a deep breath and settles between Jisung’s legs.
“Don’t overthink it,” Jisung says gently as if reading Minho’s mind before the thoughts even occur to him. “I’ll let you know if it hurts in any way.”
It’s a lot of trust that Jisung puts in his hands. It’s terrifying, in a way, the intimacy leap Minho is about to take; he runs his clean hand up Jisung’s thigh and his heart beats so hard in his chest that he can feel it in his throat. Jisung holds his legs up for him by the back of his knees and waits. Minho thinks that tonight might be the night that he loses his mind.
Jisung’s moans are like melodies as Minho works him open. One, slowly and gently, trying not to hurt him, not wanting to rush things. Jisung’s walls are tight around his finger as Minho works it in, then out, curling the tip just so he can hear Jisung moan a little louder. Two has Jisung’s hold on his legs faltering, but he’s beautiful with his head thrown back, the long column of his neck exposed. He sucks Minho’s fingers in, clenches tight when Minho tries to scissor them open, his body trying to fight against the intrusion.
Not once does Jisung open his mouth to complain, only to gasp and moan.
Three fingers is where Minho stops and gives him time. Jisung doesn’t say that it hurts or that he’s uncomfortable, but he hisses at the addition and Minho knows he shouldn’t try to push through it. Even if Jisung doesn’t say it, Minho can tell by the way his eyebrows ease on the frown that he’s grateful for it.
Minho pulls on Jisung’s left leg with his free hand and puts his calf on his shoulder, pulling a loud gasp out of Jisung likely at the stretch of his muscles. Minho tries to make the run of his hand down Jisung’s leg as soothing as the kiss he presses to the plush of his calf. It’s a few moments longer until Jisung signals that it’s okay to keep going.
He can’t take his eyes off where their bodies connect. Minho is completely entranced by the way Jisung stretches around him, how he, though not so easily, accommodates to him. If he feels this tight around three fingers, Minho can’t even begin to fathom what he will feel like around his cock.
It’s a while before Jisung tells him that he’s ready, a while where all Minho hears are his whines and moans, the heavy panting as Minho stretches him as best he can. And when he does, oh he sounds so beautiful. He cries out Minho’s name, and his hand is a vice on Minho’s wrist, and Minho wonders if he could make Jisung come a second time just like that.
He won’t, though. He really wants to see Jisung come on his cock.
Minho’s heart is pounding as he slips out of his underwear, his hands shaking when he rolls the condom on his dick. The shaking must be visible when he grabs the lube, because Jisung sits up and holds his hand steady. There’s a concerned look on his face that only makes Minho’s heart beat harder.
“Hyung, are you sure you want to do this?” Jisung gently asks like Minho has come this far to give up now. Like Minho hasn’t been dreaming of a moment like this for two entire weeks. “Are we going too fast?”
Honestly, Minho would dare say they aren’t going fast enough.
“It’s just… I’m just a little nervous.” Minho is confident in a lot of the things he does. He seldom gets nervous over things, and he prides himself on having a good head on his shoulders and being rational more often than not. This, though — being in bed with Jisung like this — has completely derailed his sense of normalcy. Minho can’t be normal about this. “But I want it, Jisung.”
Jisung brushes Minho’s hair away from his face. Too delicate. “What are you nervous about? It’s just me.”
And Minho laughs, his chest tightening.
“It’s because it’s you.”
There’s weight to his words. There’s meaning behind them, and there’s history. It’s everything they’ve built up across six years culminating in this very moment. Minho isn’t nervous out of fear that it won’t be good, he’s nervous because it’s Jisung he’s doing it with. He’s nervous because he wants this too badly when not too long ago he didn’t even know he wanted it at all.
“Hey,” Jisung calls softly. “If you want it, I want it too. I know you’ll be good to me, hyung.”
Aligning his cock with Jisung’s hole makes nothing better. Minho doesn’t think there are enough reassuring words in this world that will make him less nervous, and it’s worse when he has Jisung looking up at him with his pretty doe eyes. The initial push makes Jisung wince, his eyes screwing shut with discomfort, and the reaction makes Minho’s heart sink.
He knows it isn’t supposed to feel good from the start. Minho may have never slept with men before, and he may have never done this with his exes, but he’s not ignorant. He still kisses Jisung in hopes that he will ease some of his discomfort, wishing that he didn’t have to be in pain and that his nails weren’t glass shards running over Minho’s shoulders as he tries to ground himself.
“Sorry, baby.” The pet name slips out of his mouth without his permission, but Jisung doesn’t seem to mind. He shakes his head and takes a deep breath.
“It’s okay.” Even if his face and breathing says otherwise. Jisung’s rim catches under his cockhead and Minho feels dizzy with how tight he is. He doesn’t move, and he can hardly breathe. “A moment is all I need.”
Minho will give Jisung as many moments as he needs. He kisses Jisung gently, slowly, licking into his mouth and swallowing every soft whine that Jisung lets out. It helps somewhat; Jisung’s grip around him eases little by little, and Minho doesn’t move too harshly, but it’s easier to slide more of his cock in. Jisung gasps with every inch that goes in.
It takes a minute for Jisung to fully relax, for his body to remember that he wants this and finally allow his muscles to relax. It’s only then that Minho manages to slide all the way in, burying himself to the hilt in Jisung’s ass and reveling in the loud moan that Jisung lets out as he’s filled to the brim. Minho almost wishes there wasn’t a layer of latex between them, that he could feel all of Jisung on him, but he isn’t going to be picky. This is more than good enough.
“Holy shit, hyung,” Jisung moans, body sinking deep into the mattress but his hands holding tight onto Minho’s shoulders. “So much better than what I imagined. So perfect for me.”
It isn’t hard to notice that it’s the size of Minho’s cock Jisung is talking about right now, talking about how perfectly he fits inside him. Minho has to agree that they do fit nicely together, but the way Jisung runs his mouth makes him feel insane. How can he just say those things without feeling like he’s going to explode out of shame? Or maybe Minho is just out of practice. Maybe, with time, he will be able to voice his thoughts just like Jisung does right now.
“You’re so tight.” Minho’s voice is strained, and it’s taking everything in him not to fuck Jisung hard into the mattress. Jisung deserves better than that. “Feels so good, Jisungie.”
“Yeah?” Jisung brings a hand to his head and threads his fingers through his hair, gently pulling on it. “Then make me feel good too.”
Minho moves his hips nice and slow, feeling the drag of his cock against Jisung’s walls and savoring every second of it, letting every moan that Jisung lets out shake him to his core. He keeps the pace until what little resistance Jisung still has is gone, until Jisung wraps his arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a bruising kiss, his legs wrapping around Minho and his heels digging into his lower back, urging him to keep going. Almost begging him to go faster.
Holding himself steady on Jisung’s thighs, Minho quickens the pace of his thrusting just slightly, a rush of pleasure running down his spine and settling in the pit of his stomach. Desire licks through his veins like fire with every clench of Jisung’s walls and every roll of his tongue in his mouth. Minho, too, thinks this is far better than his imagination.
Every snap of his hips tightens the coiling in his stomach, every moan and every plea that falls from Jisung’s mouth pushes Minho closer to the edge. He isn’t sure he’s going to last long; it’s been a while since he was last intimate with someone, sure, but the way Jisung works his body along with him just makes everything worse. Minho doesn’t want to think they were made for each other, but he can’t deny the fact that they do work perfectly together.
“Hyung,” Jisung whispers between pants, pulling Minho down until their bodies are flush against each other. “Can I do something?”
Jisung doesn’t wait for Minho to respond. He tightens the grip of his thighs around his body, holds him just as tight by the shoulders, and when he twists them around and shifts their positions, Minho gasps. His cock slips out with the movement, but Jisung remedies the situation in a few quick seconds.
And, god, Jisung is unreal. He sits on Minho’s cock, hands splayed on his chest, and Minho is sure the way Jisung looks down at him with his eyes glazed and his lips red from kissing, spit-slick, is the spitting image of a deadly sin. Minho isn’t well-versed in the bible, but he thinks that what he feels and what Jisung looks like right now is what lust must be like.
“Ah— Minho, this is so good,” Jisung breathes out, sounding a little desperate. Minho places his hands on top of Jisung’s thighs, fingers digging into the flesh, and Jisung begs, “Touch me.”
Minho wraps his fingers around Jisung’s cock just as he lifts himself on his knees, and it’s easy to keep a rhythm with his bouncing. A moan gets punched out of him every time his ass collides with Minho’s hips, and Minho can tell that he goes deeper like this. That, with the rising volume of Jisung’s noises, he must be hitting Jisung right where he likes it.
Precum oozes past the slit of Jisung’s cock with every flick of Minho’s wrist, making the glide easier when Minho rubs his palm over it and spreads it down the length of his cock. Minho can feel the pressure of his orgasm building, can feel it in the tightening of his muscles, and as he quickens the pace of his wrist, he hopes that Jisung is close, too.
“Hyung.” Jisung leans back, slowing the pace of his hips as his body arches like a bowstring. “Are you close?”
Minho presses his thumb under the glands of Jisung’s cock and pulls a beautiful moan out of him, his tip dribbling sticky fluid.
“Yes,” Minho chokes out.
Jisung’s smile is almost sick. “Me too.”
Jisung doesn’t complain when Minho lets go of his cock in order to grab him by the hips instead. He just wraps a hand around himself and jerks himself off as fast as Minho thrusts up into him. It really doesn’t take much from there; the tingling on his toes is a telling, and the clenching of Jisung’s walls around his cock and the bones of his ass crashing into his hips is what pushes Minho over the edge.
He spills into the condom with a long moan, body shaking with the force of his orgasm, and then it takes Jisung two quick flicks of his wrist for him to come, too, his moans broken as he coats Minho’s stomach in white. Minho’s cock throbs and his balls are tight, and he starts seeing white as Jisung slows his bouncing, milking the both of them through their orgasms.
Minho expects Jisung to collapse on top of him once he’s done coming, but he doesn’t. He sits on Minho’s softening cock for as long as it takes him to catch his breath and then some, his clean hand balancing himself on Minho’s chest. Minho looks up at Jisung and it’s the first time he’s seeing him all over again, the tips of Jisung’s hair drenched in sweat, falling over his eyes. He wonders how many times he’s going to feel like this, like it’s the first time he’s seeing the man who’s so familiar to him.
“I think I forgot how to move,” Jisung says with a light laugh. Minho’s heart is beating in his ears. “Holy shit, hyung.”
Minho coaxes Jisung off him with a hand under his ass and another on his hip, hissing in oversensitivity as Jisung’s walls drag on his cock one last time before it slips out. And instead of lying next to him, Jisung blankets himself over Minho instead, uncaring of the sticky mess on his stomach and chest, a lazy smile on his lips as Minho scrunches his nose at him.
“Can’t we clean up before we—”
“Nope,” Jisung says through a smile, popping the p, his chin perched on the back of his hands. “Let me bask in the glow for a while longer.”
Minho feels sweaty and sticky and a little bit disgusting, but he’s not going to argue. If Jisung asks for the moon, Minho thinks he will find a way to get it for him. So, he wraps his arms around Jisung and allows himself a moment to breathe, a moment for him to also bask in their post-orgasm glow.
It’s crazy, everything about this night. Everything about what they’re becoming and what they will be. Minho is in bed with his best friend. He has, in fact, just slept with his best friend, and it’s the best sex he’s ever had in his life. Jisung is looking at him with his heart-shaped smile stretched wide, and Minho knows there’s nowhere else he would rather be. No one else he would rather be with.
Minho realizes that he’s catching feelings for Jisung. Or maybe they were always there, and he just refused to look at them for what they were. Jisung kisses him and his heart races. When he holds Minho’s hand, Minho wishes he would never let go. Right now, as Jisung leans in to bump their noses before he pecks his lips, Minho wishes to have this every day for the rest of his life.
They need to talk about it, but it may not happen tonight. At least it won’t be happening right now, as Jisung finally gets off him and gives him room to sit up. Minho is pulling the condom off when Jisung is already halfway to the bathroom, looking over his shoulder like he’s expecting Minho to follow. He doesn’t hesitate to get on his feet.
Things don’t get hot and frisky in the shower, but hands wander and lips linger. They’re wasting water, Minho is well aware of that, but what is he supposed to do when Jisung presses him against the shower tile and refuses to let go of his lips?
He wants to get used to this. Minho wants to have Jisung dressed in his clothes like they’re his own. He wants to have Jisung walk around his place like this is his house, too — though, in a way, it already is. It has been for years. Jisung has been part of his life and his daily routine for so long that this feels natural now.
The pizza has long gone cold by the time they’re back in the living room, but it’s fine. Minho doesn’t care. What he cares about is the weight of Jisung’s legs on his lap and the warmth of his skin, and how his smile not once leaves his lips. If this is what falling feels like, Minho hopes to never stop.
“My mom knows about us,” Minho spurts out as Jisung flips through the Netflix catalogue, making him choke on the bite of pizza he’d been chewing on. It’s the first time since they got out of bed that Jisung’s smile falls. “I didn’t mean to tell her, but— Doyeon thinks we’re dating.”
Jisung goes tomato red in the face and it isn’t from choking. His eyes widen in surprise. “What?”
“She saw us holding hands at some point and thinks that’s definite proof of dating.” Minho shrugs, and he’s relieved when Jisung breaks into laughter, his smile returning to his face. “She said that in front of my mom, and then I was cornered. Couldn’t lie my way out of it.”
“Oh, hyung.” Jisung is trying to wipe the smile off his lips, but he can’t seem to help himself. Fondness blooms in his chests like a blossoming flower. “I know I said we could take it slow, and truly, do things at your pace, but… if you want to, we can.”
Minho blinks. He blinks several times, Jisung’s words refusing to sink in.
“I mean, wasn’t I a great pretend-boyfriend? I’d do even better as the real thing.”
“Jisung,” Minho whispers, throat feeling dry. “Do you… like me?”
The words sound stupid the moment they leave his mouth. Of course Jisung likes him, that much is obvious—but does he like Minho like that? The heart-racing kind of like? The kind you lose sleep over? Does Jisung like Minho in the way that Minho is starting to realize that he likes him?
“Minho hyung, I love you.” Jisung says it like it’s the easiest thing for him to say. Like he isn’t reaching into Minho’s ribcage and squeezing his heart with his bare hands, so hard that it hurts. It’s a confession that comes too easily when it probably shouldn’t. And he doesn’t shy away from it; he lays his feelings and his heart bare for Minho to pick apart and do as he pleases. “And I’ll still love you even if you say no. I’ll pick up the shards of my broken heart and feelings, and I’ll learn to live with it as long as I don’t lose you. I can’t lose you.”
It shouldn’t be this easy. It can’t be this easy, can it? But then again, is it any different from what they’ve been doing so far? Jisung isn’t just a glorified nanny, for christ’s sake. He’s Minho’s best friend, and the only person apart from his parents with whom he would trust his daughter blindly. Jisung has woven himself into his life long ago with golden, unbreakable threads. Even if he wanted to, Minho doesn’t think he would be able to tear apart the fabric of their lives that was so carefully sewn together.
And he doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want Jisung to go anywhere.
Minho holds out a hand, and Jisung takes it with ease. Everything has always been so easy with him.
“You know I’m still figuring things out,” he says, squeezing Jisung’s hand. Jisung does the same back. “But if you’re willing to be patient, then we can. Feelings aren’t my forte, and I think it’ll still take me some time to realize that I’m not—broken somehow, but I know that I like you. I like you in ways that I can’t explain.”
“Oh, I can wait.” Jisung’s smile is cheeky, his confidence overflowing. Minho loves that about him. “I can be so patient, hyung.”
“What really gets me, Jisung, is that you love my daughter.” There is no other word for it. Minho can see it in the way he talks to her, in how he takes care of her when Minho is away and also when he’s around. Doyeon could easily pass off as Jisung’s own daughter to the unknowing eye, and that’s what gets to him. “For six years, you’ve treated my daughter like family. You didn’t have to do any of the things you did and still do to this day, you didn’t have to stay for as long as you did. And yet you did, and you still do. And that has always made me feel inexplicable things, but I think that now I’m finally able to put a name to it.”
“I still remember the day we met, y’know. At Chan’s. You looked like you didn’t want to be there, and when I approached you, I could swear you’d try to bite my head off for even acknowledging your daughter. But she was so cute, and you were so handsome and so young to have a baby with you like that. When you didn’t push me away, I wanted to try to stay, and you let me.”
Minho doesn’t think his heart has the capacity to hold any more feelings, and yet Jisung manages to, somehow, push more of them in. It feels like he’s overflowing.
“You have a really handsome but really mean face sometimes, hyung,” Jisung says, and Minho doesn’t take offense in it. He laughs. “You were nice to me when you didn’t have to be, and I think we just… clicked? No?”
That’s a core memory to Minho at this point; it’s one he treasures and cherishes, a day he hopes he will never forget.
“So I’ve stayed because you let me stay,” Jisung concludes with a gentle smile and a lovely blush on his face. “And we can be more if you want. More than… this. Whatever we’re doing right now.”
Catching feelings, Minho wants to supply but keeps his mouth shut.
“Do you think Doyeon will understand?”
“Hyung, she already thinks we’re dating,” Jisung reminds him with raised brows, and Minho laughs. That’s true, isn’t it? “I don’t think there will be much explaining to do. It’s not like much is going to change for her other than… me staying over more often?”
“Certainly,” Minho says instead of telling Jisung he never wants him to leave. That would be crazy. “Speaking of which. Would you like to come to Gimpo with me for lunch on Sunday?”
Jisung’s face gets redder. “At your parents’?”
Minho blinks twice. “Where else?”
“Right, uhm.” Jisung pulls his legs off Minho’s lap and sits up. “Yeah, sure.”
He frowns lightly. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“No, I want to,” Jisung is quick to correct, though his face and neck are far too red. “I’ll come. I mean, they already know, right?”
“Jisung, you don’t have to be nervous.” Minho’s face heats up when he realizes he’s saying the exact same thing Jisung had told him in bed about an hour prior. “They already know you, and they already love you.”
“Ah, hyung, don’t massage my ego like that,” Jisung chuckles with a shy smile. “I might do something terrible like fall in love with you even harder.”
Minho doesn’t think that would be terrible at all. He grabs Jisung by the neck, pulls him in, and kisses him. Jisung now tastes like grease, cheese, and tomato sauce, and Minho thinks he’s perfect. If a future with him is what Minho has to look forward to, then Minho is sure he’s going to love every second of it.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Minho can tell by the constant bouncing of Jisung’s leg on the drive to Gimpo that he’s nervous. He really has no reason to be; Jisung has gone to Minho’s parents’ house countless times with him and Doyeon by now, and he’s on very friendly terms with them. Minho’s parents adore Jisung like he’s part of their family.
But things are different now, he supposes. The best weekend of Minho’s life is coming to an end, and some things aren’t what they used to be. There are marks of Jisung’s teeth littering his skin under his clothes, and Minho thinks it’s impossible for him to stop thinking about the way his hands feel against his body, how they fit so perfectly together. Minho now knows what kissing Jisung feels like and he knows what being inside him is like. He looks at Jisung and everything is the same but so, so different.
“Hyung.” Jisung is looking out of the window instead of at him when he calls his name, biting his thumb to keep himself grounded. Minho wonders if it’s working in any way. “What did your mom say when you told her?”
Minho can’t keep his eyes on Jisung for too long. The highway isn’t too busy, but he needs to get them to Gimpo safely. “She said she always thought you were very good to me,” he answers honestly. “And to Doyeon.”
He can hear Jisung’s breath coming out shaky. “That’s all?”
“About you? Yes,” he says.
Jisung’s head snaps so fast it must give him whiplash. “What do you mean?”
“Well, she kind of told me that she’s known for a while,” Minho swallows thickly, palms sticky on the steering wheel. “That I wasn’t—well. Straight. Whatever.”
“Oh, that’s… something.” Jisung frowns. “And she never talked to you about it?”
Minho shakes his head, still facing the road ahead. “Said she didn’t want to butt in on my business. I surely would’ve appreciated some enlightenment…”
Minho shifts lanes so he can take the next exit, and then they’re just a few minutes away from his parents’ house. A few minutes until Jisung finishes spiraling into his early demise, probably. There isn’t much more Minho could say that would make him feel better; so, he places a hand on Jisung’s thigh, squeezing it lightly. It may not do much to his frayed mental state, but at least the bouncing of his leg stops.
Parking in the driveway makes Jisung let out a long breath. Minho doesn’t even try telling him that things are going to be fine anymore because he’s spent at least half of the drive (and even longer back home) telling him just that; he just leaves Jisung to deal with his nerves in the best way he can. He still makes sure to hold Jisung’s hand before they go in, to squeeze it reassuringly before he unlocks the front door.
Another deep breath in, and Minho feels like he’s throwing Jisung to the lions.
Minho’s family isn’t exactly waiting for them, but Doyeon screams as soon as the front door opens, and she comes barreling into them without a care in the world. She crashes into Minho first, hugging him by the waist, but it’s obvious the star of the day is Jisung. She jumps into his arms and Jisung picks her up with only minimal grunting, tickling her side as she throws her arms around his neck for a hug.
Minho’s mom has a knowing look on her face when she comes into view, but the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth is extremely telling. It takes a minute for Jisung to see her, and when he does, he puts Doyeon down and bows too perfectly at her. The deepest he’s done in years.
His mother rolls her eyes at the unnecessary level of politeness, but still comes over and takes Jisung in her arms. They don’t say anything incriminating just yet because Doyeon is still around, but Minho can tell that there’s a lot his mom wants to say. He can see it in the teasing tug of her lips and squint of her eyes as she keeps Jisung in her arms for a few moments too long. Oh, they’re never going to hear the end of this.
“I made bugeoguk,” she says once she lets go of Jisung, her smile never faltering. “We’d have prepared something bigger if Minho had told us in advance that you two were coming over for lunch.”
“Ah, I’m sorry, eomeonim. I didn’t want to impose, but Minho insisted I come.”
Minho glares at Jisung for the blatant lie; he had asked Jisung if he wanted to come, and he said yes. He could have said no and Minho was very explicit about it. His mother only waves him off like she doesn’t want to hear any of his excuses.
“You’re always welcome in this house, Jisung,” she says, and there’s insurmountable weight and meaning to her words. “Don’t ever feel like you’re imposing.”
Minho loves his mom. He has always loved her, has always been a mama’s boy of sorts, and right now he loves her even more. For being so understanding and accepting, for not shunning them and kicking them out of her house. This, right here, is the biggest act of love his mother will ever do for him.
Doyeon doesn’t open her big-small mouth to say something inappropriate, but just like her grandmother, as they walk to the dining area, Minho can tell that she wants to say something. It’s almost like his entire family is out to get him, ready to catch him red-handed in his drowning mess of feelings for Jisung.
At this point, Minho thinks, all they have to do is ask. One question from any of them and he will just start unraveling.
But they get through lunch mostly fine. Only that Doyeon latches to Jisung’s side and refuses to move for the entire meal. She sits on the chair next to him, and Minho has no choice but sit next to his mom, facing Jisung from across the table. He knows she isn’t doing it out of jealousy — she’s always been like this, if he looks back at their history of sharing meals, and it’s not like he is jealous of his own daughter.
Things have just changed, and they haven’t told anyone yet. At least not officially.
This is nice, though. To have all the people who matter the most to him gathered in one place, having a nice talk and just generally being good for each other. This is the only outcome Minho could have hoped for his and Jisung’s kind of sudden predicament, and once it’s time to do the dishes, Minho gets the chance to ask Jisung if he’s happy.
“Well, surely your mother has something to say,” Jisung says under his breath as he scrubs on a bowl with too much force. “Can’t you just get her to say it, hyung? The suspense is killing me.”
“Oh, she’s gonna find the right timing to say it. Just this past Friday she pulled me into this very kitchen to interrogate me. Trust me when I say that Park Sujin has a perfect timing for everything.”
Maybe Minho shouldn’t say his mother’s full name like that, because right now it feels exactly like summoning the devil. She appears in the kitchen doorway without Doyeon in tow, and Minho knows this is the moment. This is where everything will go down for better or for worse.
She crosses her arms over her chest and raises a challenging brow at them, not daring to say a word just yet. It’s almost like she wants them to crumble under the force of her gaze, like she wants to inflict shame upon them when they have nothing to be ashamed of. Minho knows that last part is just his mind running in circles, though. His mother would never shame him over anything.
“So, are we expecting an extra plate on the table every time you come over to visit now?” Her words may make it seem like she’s annoyed, but her tone is anything but. “Is this finally official?”
The bowl Jisung has in his hands clatters loudly in the kitchen sink when he drops it. He can’t turn to look at her, and Minho can hardly make eye contact with his own mother, his face on fire. He knows that not saying anything is only going to make things worse.
“Eomeonim—”
“I don’t mind.” She doesn’t let Jisung get another word in. “If the two of you are happy, then I’m happy too. As long as you don’t hurt each other or Doyeon in the process, you have my support. So, is it official?”
“I’m not going to hurt your son.” Jisung is picking at the skin of his thumb, nervous despite his mother’s clear support. “And I know he’s not going to hurt me. Thank you, eomeonim, for letting me be a part of this family.”
“Oh, Jisung, don’t be silly,” she smiles. “You’ve always been a part of our family. Thank you for making my son and granddaughter happy all these years.”
Jisung lets his guard down, his shoulders relaxing. Minho feels like he can finally breathe again.
“Thank you, mom,” Minho says, and his mother waves a hand dismissively at him. “We should get going soon, though.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll get Doyeon’s stuff.”
Jisung almost collapses against the counter once his mother leaves, and Minho can’t help but chuckle at his dramatics. He knew everything was going to be okay, but seeing it through puts his heart at ease. He walks over to Jisung and takes him in his arms, kissing his temple. And maybe he shouldn’t have, because of course Doyeon chooses that very moment to walk into the kitchen, catching them red-handed.
She freezes under the doorway, and Minho freezes where he holds Jisung. For a moment, no one moves.
Doyeon squints, pointing an accusatory finger at them. “Dad, you told me you weren’t dating.”
“Uhm, we weren’t.” They weren’t two days ago. Minho wouldn’t lie to his daughter like that. She puts her hands on her hips, and she looks adorable when she frowns. “But we are now. Is that okay with you?”
“Does anything change?” Minho still isn’t used to her being able to use critical thinking like this. She’s growing up too fast.
“No, nothing does,” Jisung says, and he doesn’t try to set himself free from Minho’s hold, instead allowing himself to sink further into his arms. “But I might stay over more often?”
Doyeon’s eyes light up at that. “And then we can play more?”
Jisung laughs, beckoning her with an extended arm. Doyeon runs straight into him, wrapping her arms around the both of them. “Yes, honey. We can play as much as you want.”
Minho’s heart is overflowing. He holds them in his arms and he’s certain that what they’re choosing to do isn’t wrong. Nothing is going to change, but so much already has. Their lives blend seamlessly, and Minho wouldn’t have it any other way.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Minho’s job for the day is picking Doyeon up after class and bringing her straight home. She’s going to miss soccer practice, but her coach is already aware of that. It’s her birthday, after all, and she deserves a little break. At least for today.
After cooking her seaweed soup for breakfast, Minho promised he would give her his present after class. She had been more excited than usual that morning, but that was to be expected. Doyeon loves her birthday, and that’s because Minho always makes sure to make it special for her. She deserves to experience all the joy in her life.
Today, though, things are going to be a bit different. Minho is sitting in his car, waiting for the school bell to ring, and Jisung is back in his apartment setting everything up. Minho knows how to keep a secret, but he’s terrible at lying to his daughter. The party is supposed to be a surprise, and he hopes she will stop asking if she’s going to see Jisung today before he tells her about it and ruins everything.
He leaves the car at exactly one to wait for her at the gate. It doesn’t take long for Minho to see Doyeon’s figure sprinting down the school grounds, a big smile on her face as he holds onto the straps of her backpack so it doesn’t fall in her hurry. Minho doesn’t have time to tell her to stop running before she crashes into him in a crushing hug.
“Well, someone looks happy to skip practice today,” Minho says with a laugh, trying to pet the messy strands of her hair back in place.
“Dad, look what Hyeri gave me!” she squeals, reaching into her bag and pulling a stuffed unicorn out. “Isn’t it so pretty?”
“Oh, pumpkin, it’s so cute. Did you thank her properly?” Just as the words leave his mouth, Minho spots Doyeon’s friend walking over hand-in-hand with her mother — or, rather, it looks like she’s pulling her mother along. “Oh, Chaein-ssi.”
“Minho-ssi,” Chaein greets brightly, laughing when her daughter won’t stop pulling her by the hand. She almost stumbles on her heels. “Congratulations. Doyeon-ah, happy birthday!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lee!” Doyeon is so excited that she’s bouncing on her heels, full of energy. “I love the gift Hyeri gave me. Thank you so much!”
A lot calmer than his daughter, Minho says, “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” Chaein dismisses him. “It really wasn’t much. Look at how happy she is.”
“Thank you,” he repeats.
“Of course. Send Jisung my well wishes, will you? I hope you and Doyeon have a great day ahead.”
“Hyeri-yah, thank you for spending Doyeon’s birthday with her,” Minho says directly to his daughter’s friend, and Hyeri smiles just as brightly as her mother. To Doyeon, he says, “Shall we go, pumpkin?”
Jisung is waiting for them, after all. They part from her friend with pleasantries exchanged, and then it’s time to go home. He texts Jisung just to be sure that everything is ready, and Jisung replies with a picture before Minho can even start the car. He thanks the heavens that Doyeon is in the backseat and none the wiser to what’s happening in his phone.
All he hopes for is that she’s going to like it.
Minho texts Jisung again when they’re in the elevator, just as they’re about to reach their floor. He doesn’t get a reply this time, but he wasn’t expecting one. He takes his sweet time unlocking the door, making sure he makes as much noise as he can so Jisung can hear them on the other side of the door. When it finally creaks open, Jisung is the first thing that comes into view.
He has a party hat on his head and the brightest smile on his lips as he starts singing Doyeon happy birthday. The cake Minho ordered is in his hands and the nine candles are already lit. Behind him, the tacky and colorful decoration of balloons and tinsels is an eyesore in Minho’s home, but it’s perfect.
Doyeon squeals and almost doesn’t get out of her shoes before she runs to him, stopping just short of barreling into Jisung and dropping the cake. “Come on, dad, hurry!” she demands, but by the time Minho makes it to them, the song is already over. She looks back at him with expectant eyes, her hands clasped together.
“Go on, Doyeon-ah,” Jisung says, his smile so wide. “Make a wish.”
Doyeon shuts her eyes tightly, stays still for a few seconds, and then blows off the candles. Minho pulls her into another hug, kissing the top of her head. She takes the cake off Jisung’s hands and, very slowly and carefully, brings it to the dining table. Minho takes the moment to finally greet Jisung, pulling him in with a hand on the small of his back and pecking him on the lips.
“Thank you for this,” he whispers, and Jisung scrunches his nose as if to tell him that he doesn’t have to thank him. Minho turns to his daughter, who’s starting to pull the candles out of the cake, and asks, “What did you wish for, pumpkin?”
Doyeon puts the unlit end of the candle into her mouth, licking the frosting off the wax. “For the three of us to be a happy family forever and always. And for a pony!”
Minho laughs, his heart expanding in his chest. He exchanges a look with Jisung and finds that Jisung must be carrying all the emotions known to man in his eyes. If Minho gets teary-eyed, he’s not going to shed those tears, and Jisung doesn’t comment on it.
“I don’t know about a pony, but the other wish can be arranged,” he says, squeezing Jisung’s hip tightly before letting go. They have a cake to cut and presents to hand out, and Doyeon is growing impatient.
Minho now needs two hands to count the good things that have happened to him. Being with Jisung and allowing himself to be loved has made him realize that there was never anything wrong with him, and that he deserved to be happy with someone by his side. Having Jisung as his partner and as a member of his family makes Minho feel like his life is finally complete.
They still have a long way down the road, and there’s still a lot they need to navigate, but Minho thinks that they will be able to get through it like a breeze. It’s easy now for him to say that he loves Jisung; it’s the plain and simple truth. He loves Jisung, and he loves to be loved by him.
If Minho once felt like he was standing on a crossroad when deciding if what he was doing was right, now he knows that he has easily found his way home.