Chapter Text
Chan is not really sure how he ended up here.
Well – technically , he knows. There was a party, and shots, and slurred words. Then, there were cold, tiny hands and sloppy kisses. Pink pouty lips in his ear and a “Yours or mine? ” whispered with treachery.
But spiritually and cosmically? He has no idea what the hell is going on. Because as far as he knows, Lee Minhee does not do hookups. Lee Minhee dates. Commitment and what not. She monologues about emotional compatibility and moves on leaving a trail of broken hearts, all with soft eyes and clinical precision.
So, he is not really sure what Lee Minhee, serial dater and committer, is doing shirtless in his bed, tangled up in his sheets looking like a sin.
And yet.
Here she is.
His first thought is that he is hallucinating this, there is no way she’s lying in his bed. He’s never smoking something Jeongin offers him ever again. Because these are surely the side effects of recreational marihuana.
Not-Minhee stretches, so very cat-like, arm curling above her head and ribs flexing under golden skin. Chan knows she’s not real, so he allows himself to stare at her naked torso. The chain in her neck glistens under his red LED lights, and she blinks up at him.
“You have really nice sheets,” Not-Minhee says, running her hand over his bed, like she’s real.
She blinks in a very Minhee way, slow and her eyes have this mischievous glint he likes so much. He blinks back, because what is he supposed to do? She's lounging in his bed, like that's normal. Like they have done this before. Which they have, in Chan’s deepest darkest fantasies for sure.
“I think you’re a hallucination,” Great, how eloquent Christopher!
Maybe-Minhee tilts her head, lips twitching in amusement “Okay. And what exactly leads you to that conclusion, Chan?”
“You’re half naked in my bed,” he deadpans.
She hums, stretching some more, and, fuck, she has little birthmarks all over her side. Chan wants to count them, kiss them. Whatever. He lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. He grabs the nearest pillow and screams into it. Quietly. Desperately. Maybe-Minhee won’t mind.
When he resurfaces, she’s looking at him with a coy smile. “You’re not supposed to be real,” he mutters, the cotton swallowing most of his voice.
Minhee leans forward, chain glinting, eyes gleaming with something cruel. “You keep saying that,” she muses, “Starting to think you don’t want me here.”
Chan shoots up, eyes wide. “No! I mean— yes! I mean— not like that !”
She raises a brow.
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s just… you only date, not– You don’t do—” He gestures vaguely to her, to the bed, to the world. “This.”
For a moment, Minhee seems to think about it, her lips pursing and her eyes running over him. Calculating and peeling him open.
“So take me on a date,” She shrugs, like that’s that simple.
“Take you on a date?” He echoes, staring into her eyes, avoiding going down. His voice cracks a little. How embarrassing.
Minhee shrugs again, like she’s not altering his brain chemistry. “If us not dating is such a problem for you, then date me.”
Chan opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, then nods. What? Did the world expect him to say no? She’s Lee Minhee.
“Great!” She says, pleased. “Pick me up at six?”
He nods again. Sue him, he’d do anything for a beautiful woman. “Yeah, that’s great,” He is not panicking. “I’ll pick you up, yeah.”
“Good boy,” his brain melts a little. “Now, would you be so kind as to lend me a t-shirt? Jisu is picking me up.”
Jisu is Minhee’s best friend. They are almost surgically attached, always together. He’s heard Jisu say they are from the same Motherland, aliens from another planet destined to find each other on this Earth. Minhee had giggled and kissed her cheek, a blush peeking through, and their hands clasped together. They were cute. They are cute.
Chan had also giggled, Jisu was funny like that.
He rummages through his drawers, half-dazed and only wearing boxers. He tosses Minhee a shirt, a clean, black sleek shirt. “Is it okay?” he asks, worried it is not okay. What does one lend his recently acquired girlfriend?
Minhee pulls the shirt over her head, without giving him an answer. “Yeah, don’t worry,” she chirps, getting up from the bed and pulling her shorts on. “Jisu’s downstairs.” She says, popping a kiss to his cheek.
“Uh, let me walk you.” He quickly pulls on some pants himself. His mom raised a gentleman, what can he say?
Minhee giggles, he does too. Chan doesn’t need to know what they’re giggling about.
He walks her through his too messy apartment, then down the stairs. He can see Jisu’s beat-up sedan parked outside. She’s standing next to the passengers door, playing idly with her keyring that has an obscene amount of keychains, he always made fun of her because of it. Poking at the fact he could hear her from miles away with all that clinking . When she sees them, she offers Minhee a big toothy smile.
She’s wearing a hoodie Chan has seen on Minhee way too many times. She looks cute, her nose a little red due to the cold air, her body swallowed under the soft pink fabric.
Chan raises a hand in greeting, smiling the smile he gives the best friends of girls he may or may not be dating. “Hey, Jisu.”
She looks at him and her smile dies down a little. “Hi, oppa.” She looks him up and down, her eyes fixed on his neck. He suddenly feels very naked.
“Hi, princess,” Minhee appears behind him and immediately loops an arm around Jisu’s waist, pulling her close. “You look pretty.”
Her smile has gone bright again, showing pearly rows of teeth as she melts into Minhee. They are so cute. He watches it happen, undeterred due to the familiarity of whatever it is they have, used to their constant being of one existence. He stands there awkwardly until Minhee pops their bubble of peace, turning to him.
“Six,” she reminds him, pulling away from Jisu to kiss his cheek again.
Chan nods, dazed. “Six.”
And then she’s climbing into the car. The sedan disappears down the street, and Chan stands there, shirtless and confused.
What the fuck just happened?
He doesn’t have time to dwell on it too much. He’s got a date to plan, and he definitely needs a shower.
He drags himself to the kitchen, in search of water or, maybe, divine intervention. He finds neither, but he expected that.
Coffee it is.
He has four hours to figure out how to go on a date with a woman who just ruined him for everyone else. Well, he was kind of ruined the first time he met them.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The first weeks are good. Like, scarily good. Minhee is her usual self: snarky, smart and sweet in her own weird way, and Chan is happy. Really happy. Blissful even.
He is kind of waiting to discover this is some sort of coma dream induced by alcohol poisoning, but it never happens.
Instead, he gets funky, context-less photos of Minhee’s day to day. She holds his hand under the table. She calls him “baby” and denies being his girlfriend, even if they were just kissing. It’s dangerous for Chan, who has a condition called being a pathetic man.
They go out, not fancy dates or anything. Minhee doesn’t seem to care about that. They get drinks, late night street food, bad movie marathons at his place where she falls asleep on his chest halfway through, quiet hang outs at the apartment she shares with Jisu. It’s comfortable. Easy. Nice.
Jisu is around, naturally. She’s always around. And Chan doesn’t really mind it. He doesn’t mind seeing her around the apartment when Minhee invites him over, nor when she drops Minhee off. He doesn’t mind how she sometimes crashes their dates and joins them on outings.
He’s known them for a couple of years now, orbiting around each other at pretty much every social gathering. Minhee and Jisu come as a packaged deal, more often than not being Minhee&Jisu, tangled limbs, they share a single brain cell and every single thing that they eat. If you want one, you get both. That’s the deal. Everyone has to accept it. A fact, a universal truth.
And it was fine. Great, even. Jisu is funny, sharp, a little mean in her interactions, but sweet altogether. She even called him oppa. They were friends. But then things started getting… weird.
It happens slowly. Subtly.
He doesn’t even notice at first, chalks it up to a bad week. But then it doesn’t stop.
He notices first after Minhee spends the night. Nothing scandalous (well, okay, a bit scandalous), but she leaves the next morning to catch a ride with Jisu, because she refuses to learn how to drive. Much like their first night together, Chan walks her down the stairs, like a gentleman escorting a princess to her waiting chariot— or, in this case, returning her to her ever-present handler.
Except, Jisu is inside the car, pouting. Hands white knuckling the steering wheel. She doesn’t even spare a glance outside her car. Chan lifts a hand to wave anyway. The gesture goes unanswered.
He keeps on texting Minhee throughout the day, small little things, and she texts back. He asks if everything is okay with Jisu, because she seemed mad in the morning. Minhee sends him a cat sticker, but doesn’t say anything else. He takes it as a Everything is alright . He knows they’re having their girl’s night, so he stops sending texts at about six. He respects his girlfriend's time. His mom raised him right.
He doesn’t expect a goodnight text. Not really. He hopes for one, but he won’t be mad if he doesn’t get it.
They’re having their girls night, whatever that means. He knows they’re probably curled up in Jisu’s room, several bottles of soju in. Tangled limbs and soft blankets, peach and floral scents everywhere.
He finds it funny how even if they share an apartment, the only inhabited places seem to be the youngest's room and the common spaces. The first time he was over, he couldn’t help but notice how barren Minhee’s room was.She had said that she just didn’t have much things, but the living room and kitchen are full of little trinkets.
But even then, he pictures them in Jisu’s room, in oversized sweatshirts of dubious ownership, because they are both serial clothes stealers. So, he doesn't expect a text. But around midnight, his phone screen lights up.
It’s a photo. No caption, no context. Much like all Minhee’s texts.
Minhee in the center. Her hair is messy, eyes glassy, lips red. Not lip-tint or cherry ice-cream red. But kissed-red. Jisu is half-draped over her, her lips equally swollen, she has a little small grin.
Chan stares at it. Blinks.
Okay.
Yeah.
Sure.
That’s fine.
He knew they enjoyed some recreational making out.
He’s open minded like that.
His phone buzzes again. Missing u . He texts back, as a reflex, Miss you, too honey. She likes the message. Sends another photo, this time of the cats curled up at their feet.
He goes back, hearts the first picture, then the one of the cats.
It’s fine, he’s not one of those jealous boyfriends, he’s fine with that.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Chan is not jealous. He’s not jealous.
He repeats it in his head. Because he is not.
He doesn’t get jealous. He’s cool. Chill. Well-adjusted. Emotionally mature.
Jealousy is born out of insecurity, and Chan is very secure in his relationship. He’s a grown man with a skincare routine and a dentist he sees twice a year. He’s fine.
So, yeah, he’s not jealous.
But he cannot help but tighten his grip on his glass as he watches Minhee and Jisu dance.
Well. Dance is a generous term. Whatever they’re doing teeters somewhere between a mating ritual and lowkey foreplay. Minhee’s head is tipped back in laughter, her hands pressed firmly in Jisu’s teeny tiny waist, they’re singing the lyrics to something Chan does not have the mind to recognize. He’s across the room, watching them attently. He wants to feel that well-known ping of jealousy, but he doesn’t. He does not feel the urge to run to them and make his place known, because he’s not jealous.
They’re not even drunk. Tipsy, maybe. But this cannot be blamed on the alcohol. This is just them. Tangled, loud and best friends. Minhee runs her hands over Jisu’s body, and she laughs, a delighted glint in her eyes. And when they share the same drink, lipstick smears and too close whispers, he doesn’t feel possessive.
He isn’t surprised, not really. He’s seen them like this before, countless times.They are from the same Motherland, Jisu had said so, destined to meet. But then again, he’d never been Minhee’s boyfriend. Still, he cannot feel jealousy.
He knew Jisu is Minhee’s favorite dance partner, leaning in to mouth something in her ear, giggling and grinding close. It’s fine.
Chan is not jealous.
He is not jealous when he makes eye contact with Minhee and she gives him a big smile, her beautiful front bunny teeth visible. He isn’t jealous when he makes eye contact with Jisu, and she smiles devilishly as she leans closer to Minhee, almost kissing his girlfriend. She doesn’t, but she could.
The party is at its fullest, people everywhere, and Chan is quite literally five seconds away from leaving. He doesn’t. Instead, he sits, watching his girlfriend curl around Jisu’s side as they chat with the people in the room.
He’s nursing his third drink, tuned out of Felix’s and Hyunjin’s conversation. “Guys, am I Jisu’s sister wife?”
Felix pauses mid sentence. He gives a look to Hyunjin, then they give him a pitied look.
“Hyung, I think we need to talk,” and he’s suddenly reliving his parents divorce.
“Did I walk into a throuple and no one told me?” Hyunjin laughs, actually cackles, loud and attracting wandering eyes.
“I mean—” Felix also looks like he wants to break into laughter, but he’s holding it back. Barely. “They are not dating, hyung. Not officially.”
Chan blinks slowly. “But they are together?”
“In between seasons,” Hyunjin says, like that makes any sense. He’s looking at them, close and whispering with their noses practically touching. They look like a couple. But then again, they have always looked like that. And it had never bothered him.
Felix leans forward. “Okay, do you want us to be honest?”
He nods, eyes glued to his girls.
“Minhee likes you, like, a lot.” Hyunjin nods along, “But her heart is Jisu shaped.”
“Like, in her head, her cats and Jisu spin around, and when they hit corners, she forms a thought.” It’s a fair analogy, he thinks. Minhee’s life can be summarized in those simple words. “They’re like…”
“A two-headed dragon,” Felix supplies.
“Yeah, like that,” Hyunjin agrees. “They’re soulbound or whatever.”
Chan exhales slowly. “So am I in a throuple or am I being cheated on?” The first option he likes more than the second.
Felix winces, “I think that’s up to you to decide.” Felix is smart, when he wants to be, and when he’s not stoned. “Hyung, hadn’t you noticed they do not keep boyfriends for very long?”
Hyunjin cackles again.
Chan finishes the rest of his drink in one go.
The music shifts, and he’s found himself with his arms wrapped around Minhee’s waist as she lazily grinds against him, a low bassline R&B plays. Minhee is trapped between him and Jisu, her head now thrown over his shoulder as her hands cling to Jisu’s waist like a lifeline. She hums into his neck, unaware and uncaring of the complete circus going on in Chan’s head.
He meets Jisu’s eyes by mistake. There’s fondness there, real and steady. He doesn’t know what he expects, but it isn’t that. Chan doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He doesn’t know how long they dance. Just that when the song ends, Minhee spins out of their arms, tugging Jisu with her, laughing and leaving him standing in the middle of the room with more questions than answers. He’s out of words. And his composure is long gone.
He drives them home that night.
Minhee refuses to ride in the passenger seat, climbing in the back still tangled with Jisu like they’re one conjoined creature, giggling at something he didn’t catch. Minhee tries to explain it to him, but her laughter swallows it, meaning lost between wheezes. Were they different people, the ride would have been uncomfortable, but it’s them, and he just smiles. Happy that they’re happy.
At the apartment door, Minhee kisses him breathless. She tastes of peach lip balm, and smells like Jisu. She pulls him in by the collar, drags them to her room in between kisses and whispered promises.
He doesn’t notice when Jisu disappears from Minhee’s side, nor when she locks herself in the room next to Minhee’s.
He’s too lost in the way Minhee seems desperate to pull off their clothes, clawing at his shirt like it’s personally offended her. The way she bites his lips like she wants to eat him alive. The way she guides his hands, specific and controlled, like she’s tracing over someone else’s touch.
Minhee is not a quiet person, never has been.
She moans and gasps, uncaring of her sleeping roommate next door. She calls out for him, loudly, hides her face in his neck, sucking dark bruises and biting down.
He falls asleep, pressed to her naked body, soft and pliant against his side. She runs her hands over his arms, tracing shapes and figures he cannot fully understand. He lets himself sway to dream land, safe in her arms.
But sometime in the night, her weight in the bed disappears. He feels her move around, kicking off the covers. He must make a noise because she shushes him quickly. He hears the door open, and the light in the hallway flicks on, she whispers something to the cats, and then he hears another door click shut.
She doesn’t come back.
In the morning, he’s woken up by soft music and the sounds of a lived-in house. The clink of dishes, the kettle boiling. Famished meowing, even if he knows the cats are fed on schedule.
He sits up slowly, blinking against the light slipping through the curtains. Minhee is still not there, the bed is cold, the room doesn’t smell like her. Not like the rest of the house does. He finds his shirt from the night before, folded on the chair.
He pulls it over his head, runs his fingers through his hair, and makes his way out. His head running a thousand miles a minute, what does one say to his girlfriend and his girlfriend’s not-friend, not-girlfriend but a third secret thing.
He hears them before he sees them, just outside the kitchen, hidden behind the half-wall.
“Lix said he asked them if we were dating,” Jisu says, small and meek. Minhee hums, but does not say anything more. “They told him what they tell everyone, we’re a packaged deal.”
“That we are,” He hears Minhee’s smile.Her voice is light, amused. Like it’s obvious.
Chan doesn’t know why it makes his stomach flip. He is not jealous of Jisu, he really isn’t. They’re a package deal, she came with Minhee, just like the cats, the dangly earrings and the apartment with the broken heater. They were a set, like those Sylvanian Families Jisu collects. And he had known that going into the relationship.
He just wasn’t aware of how much of a set they were. He thinks of one of the many keychains Minhee and Jisu share, Sylvanian Families figurines, a little squirrel and a rabbit Jisu customized to look like them.
Last year, on his birthday, Jisu gifted him a wolf one dressed like him, it hangs proudly next to the keys to his car. She had extended it to him with a light blush on her cheeks and a soft whisper: Happy birthday, Channie-oppa.
That’s why, when he enters the kitchen, he’s taken aback with how eager she seems to want to escape his presence.
“Uh, I have a class,” she pushes Minhee from between her legs as she jumps off the counter. She teaches children in the rec center down the street how to play guitar. He knows she doesn’t have a class until three, and it’s not even one.
He doesn’t say anything, lets her duck past him, her fluffy slippers scuffing along the floor. He watches her go as Minhee hops on the counter, taking the space Jisu previously occupied.
He leans against the doorway, watching her with a smile.
“So.”
“So,” She looks beautiful. “Slept well?”
“Yeah,” he nods, she makes grabby hands at him. He goes to her, entranced by her beauty, “Missed you, though.”
He feels her tense as he shuffles between her thighs, much like she and Jisu were minutes ago. Minhee curls her arms loosely around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. She butts her head into his chest, like a cat. “You’re warm,” she murmurs.
He lets her pull him close, lets her kiss his neck, gentle and slow. He gets drunk on her scent, perfumeless and so her. He hears shuffling behind them, but her tight grip on his neck deterred him from turning.
“Bye,” Jisu’s voice travels in. “Do not fuck in the kitchen, please.” And it’s light, and airy. Minhee laughs, against his neck, making shivers run down his spine.
“Have fun, Jisu-ah!”
They fuck in the kitchen.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
He hasn't seen Jisu for a few days. And it’s just as weird as seeing her on every single one of his dates.
He misses her, he supposes. Misses her tiny giggles and bitey words. The way she looked at him with this look full of doubts, but didn’t say much. The way she seems to forget she’s mad at him when they begin talking about music.
He debates on asking Minhee about her, but would it be too weird? He doesn’t know what kind of boyfriend that makes him. He and Minhee talk, and talk a lot, about everything and nothing. Their childhoods and undergrad days, about their work and the shows they’re watching.
He thinks he should ask, try to figure out if three is actually a crowd or if he’s just misinterpreting things. Read the room wrong and they are just friends.
Before he can dwell on it some more and consider just leaving the face of Earth, the passenger door gets pulled open. “Hi, baby!” Minhee says, grabbing his cheeks and kissing his pout.
She tastes like peaches and something a little floral, she and Jisu have a passion for weird chapsticks, he wonders if Jisu tastes the same way. He melts into it anyway, letting his hands settle on her thighs when she climbs in.
“Oh, did you miss me, honey?” she teases, saccharine sweet.
He hums, dazed and drunk on her. Minhee is surely from another world, because he feels high on her presence. “Are we waiting for Jisu?”
“Nope, she’s at work.” She sighs, “She’s meeting us there.”
“Oh, okay,” If there's disappointment laced into his words, Minhee doesn't comment on it. He drives them both to Minhee’s childhood home.
The car ride is light. Minhee plays DJ, doesn’t let any songs come to an end, sings along to the wrong lyrics and complains about her shift in the bar. Her voice is sunshine, and her words and laughter wrap around his ribs like vines.
Jisu is in almost every sentence, in every story, a constant. It makes him ache a little.
By the time they’re pulling into the driveway, he’s pretty sure he’s never been more nervous than right now. He’s heard countless stories about Minhee’s mom and her childhood, being only them and Jisu eventually. He’s scared that she won’t like him.
Ms. Lee is waiting on the porch, wrapped in a soft cardigan and the same smile he loves seeing on Minhee. Her hair is greying, but her face is youthful, her hug strong.
“You must be Chan,” Ms. Lee says warmly, pulling him in before he can finish his bow. “You sure are handsome.”
Minhee whines somewhere in the background, “Thank you, ma’am,” he mumbles. “I know where Min gets her stunning looks from.”
She laughs, charmed. “Oh, you’re a sweet-talker, huh?” She pats his cheek, “But no, Minhee was a pretty ugly baby, I’d never claim that.”
“Mom!”
“All red and scrunched up and angry-looking!”
Chan giggles, all three of them do. The house is warm, the walls covered in photos and the smell of food travels through the house. Jisu’s face is there just as much as Minhee’s. Damn, maybe he does miss her.
Lunch is half prepped, and after a quick house tour, Chan’s given a knife and a pile of green onions and other various vegetables to slice. Minhee giggles beside him, picking and prodding at every dish she gets her hands on.
“Lee Minhee, stop picking at the food!” Her mom chastises, “What a bad habit that one.”
Chan giggles again, because it is a habit of hers, one he’s noticed as she cooks for him. There’s a rhythm to it all. The way Minhee dances around the kitchen, how her mom swats her hand but lets her do as she pleases anyway.
“Where’s my Jisu?” Ms. Lee asks.
“Work,” they both say in unison.
She hums, “Say, Chan, how did you manage to date Minhee?” Minhee has left the kitchen, busying herself with setting the table.
“Sorry?”
“You know, Jisu may look all innocent, but that girl is possessive.”
Chan almost nicks his thumb. He blinks at Ms. Lee, slowly, unsure of what to say. She’s grinning at the soup, giving it a gentle stir.
“I— uh.” He clears his throat. He really is such an eloquent man.
“You know, she’s never brought a boy home,” she tells him matter of factly, “Minhee either, they date here and there, but never brought anyone back.”
He thinks back to his conversation with Felix and Hyunjin. He’s not sure what she’s getting at. He isn’t sure he’s still alive.
He swallows hard under her intense stare. Minhee has that same type of look, dark eyes that say too much but also nothing at all. “Well, uh, I guess I just got lucky?” He asks.
She laughs like he’s the funniest person alive. He knows he’s not. Still, he goes along.
Jisu arrives at some point in the middle of their conversation, walking into the kitchen like she owned it. “You already have him cooking?” She asks without a previous greeting.
“Well, he’s gotta pull his weight,” Ms. Lee answers, pulling her in for a hug. “Have you gotten skinnier? Is Minhee not feeding you well?”
“No, she has abandoned me,” she throws herself over Ms. Lee, but Chan can see it’s not her whole weight, “Left me to fend for myself, can you believe it?”
“You haven’t fend for yourself a day in your life Han Jisu,” Ms. Lee says, all bark and no bite. Just like Minhee.
Jisu grins like the cat that got the cream, nestling further into Ms. Lee’s side, before pulling away to set her bag down. She pulls out ice cream tubs and wine, because she cannot cook to save her life.
“Hannie, did you bring wine again?” Minhee asks, popping out of nowhere.
“So what if I did?”
“She already insulted my baby photos,” Minhee announces, looking betrayed. “You’ve gotta defend me, I was a cute baby.”
Jisu pops the cork and smirks, “Auntie always said not to lie.” She shrugs, kissing Ms. Lee’s cheek as she walks out of the kitchen. “Channie won’t mind if your babies are a little ugly, right?” She says, sipping on her glass once they are left alone. Chan chokes on his saliva.
Minhee turns scarlet. “Oh my god, Jisu—!”
“What?” Jisu blinks, all faux-innocence, and the look in her eyes tells Chan that she might know too much about his sex life. “Your babies might be ugly, but you’d look so cute pregnant, don’t you think, oppa?” She lies a hand over Minhee’s lower tummy, and Chan’s head conjures up images that he regrets but might revisit later. Alone. In his room. At night.
Chan coughs harder, face turning red and he thinks he might as well be dead.
Minhee lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a shriek or a laugh, pushing Jisu away, but not really. “I am never telling you anything ever again.” Chan wants to be mad, and wants to be embarrassed about his business being aired out, but he really is more ashamed about the fact that he cannot defend himself.
They look at him and he’s flushed and sweating. It’s really hot there. Ms. Lee, bless her heart, calls them out to the dining table. He runs out of there, flustered and trying to rid himself of thoughts of a small house out in the suburbs, three coats hanging on the door, and keychains with little critters.
Dinner is a loud affair, Minhee and Jisu are in their element, entirely comfortable, and he lets himself admire them. Quiet and attently, he listens to all of Ms. Lee’s stories about their younger selves. About the day they met, Minhee introduced Jisu, pronouncing her her best friend for ever and ever. About the time they fought in the seventh grade and didn’t speak to each other for a week, only to be back in each other’s arms after one teary phone call. About the quiet moments they had, where they just sat there.
After dishes are done, Ms. Lee retires to her room, muttering about being glad they’re out of her hair now, and reassuring them it’s fine if they stay the night. Minhee pulls him to her childhood room, giggling excitedly as Jisu follows them closely.
“Okay, do not judge me.” She whines before opening the door.
“I won’t judge you, baby,” Jisu makes a puking sound.
When the door is open, he understands the plea. The walls are plastered in boy band posters, and her sheets are Hello Kitty. It's like a time capsule, stuck sometime ten years ago. Both his girls step in, Jisu runs towards the bed, making herself comfortable in it.
“I never understood why we didn’t take this mattress back to the apartment.” She says against the pillows. “It’s better than the one we had the first few months.”
Chan steps in, looking around in awe. He’s not sure what he expected, but this is so Minhee. There are several bunny plushies over the bed, tiny drawings in the wall, and different notes stuck to the desk. A combination of pinks and whites covers the room.
His eyes get caught on the polaroids hung over the desk, all of Jisu and Minhee, some with Hyunjin and Felix. Smiles with braces, prom pictures and them just being there. He tries not to touch anything. For him, the room is a museum, filled with the knowledge he wishes to acquire of his girlfriend, he wants to know everything, be told all the stories and fill in the blanks in his mind.
“It’s weird seeing you here,” Jisu says, Minhee has moved and is now sitting at the feet of the bed, Jisu’s sock clad toes digging under her thighs.
“Why?” Chan asks, trying not to sound nervous.
“Dunno,” she shrugs, playing with the edge of the blanket. “Never had a boy in here,” she mumbles into a pillow. Minhee runs a hand over Jisu’s bare thigh, her skirt riding up and leaving miles and miles of honey skin. Chan has to avert his eyes, has to ignore his girlfriend’s tiny hand and baby pink nails tracing over the tattoo in Jisu’s leg. He’s seen it many times, a chrysanthemum. Minhee’s birth flower.
“C’mon, oppa,” Minhee pats the bed and she knows what she’s doing calling him oppa. “Or are you going to just stand there?”
He obeys, crossing the room in a few slow steps, careful not to brush anything off a shelf or scruff the too-pristine rug. Jisu rolls over in the bed, leaving open the space as she presses closer to the wall. When he sits on the edge, still too careful, the bed dips under his weight.
Minhee leans into him instantly, looping her arm around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because it is. They are dating, and constantly over each other, but here, he feels like an intruder.
“I’d offer to put on a movie but someone broke my TV,” Minhee says.
“It was the both of us, we had already settled this, unnie.” Jisu whines. Nuzzling more into the sheets, “We were both running.”
“Fine,” she concedes, lying next to Jisu, inviting Chan to do the same.
He hesitates, but not enough to stop moving. There’s barely any room, not with Jisu sprawled across half the mattress and Minhee pressed close beside her, but Chan fits himself in anyway. Minhee quickly lies half her body over his, and now his arm is pressed to Jisu’s back.
Chan allows himself to relax as he hears a TikTok video play softly from Jisu’s screen. Minhee digs out her own phone and they entertain themselves for a while.
They fall into a comfortable silence, each locked into their own bubble of stillness. Minhee starts tracing slow circles on his stomach, just in the sliver of skin left uncovered by his shirt. It’s subtle at first, just fingers. But then they dip lower, and lower. Her phone’s screen has long gone dark, and her breath is warm against his neck when she speaks again.
“So, what did you think of my mom?” she asks, quiet, her lips brush against his skin, and peaches drown out everything else.
Chan swallows. “She’s nice.”
“Nice?” Minhee giggles, the bed shakes a little and she noses into the space below his jaw. “That’s all?”
“You’re both terrifying, actually.”
That earns him a soft laugh. “Good. She likes you.”
“Not as much as she likes me,” Jisu sing-songs, her voice laced with sleep, reminding Chan they are not alone, but he finds he does not care. The bubble of comfortability still surrounds them, allowing them to giggle.
He can feel the smile on her lips when she says it, but he cannot bring himself to look down on them.
“She told me I have good taste,” Minhee whispers, moving herself, her thigh slides over his.
His breath stutters, “Baby…”
She hums, nipping at his neck. Then, “I missed you. Wanna kiss you.”
It’s not a question. “Ji—”
“She’s out.” Her voice is barely a whisper as she slides completely into his lap. The bed frame complains, but Jisu still doesn’t move. Her breathing is even and calm.
Her lips find his. He forgets about everything. His mind is only able to pick on Minhee’s warmth and her sweet lips. Jisu doesn’t stir. Or maybe she does, Chan cannot bring himself to care as Minhee deposits her whole weight over him.
Minhee’s mouth is on his neck now, lips brushing over his pulse point, sucking deep purple marks. His eyes wander, falling over Jisu, her short brunette hair is tied into a low ponytail, and her back seems tense. Her floral scent washes over him, combined with Minhee’s ever present peach.
“She won’t care,” Minhee whispers, her teeth grazing his skin and he cannot bite back the gasp.
Her eyes are wide and she’s entirely breathless. “She’s asleep,” she insists, quieter as her hand slips to the waistband of his jeans.
He hesitates, not because he doesn’t want it, Minhee looks beautiful. Her soft pink glittery eyeshadow and berry lip tint, and she is his , here in his lap, asking for his attention. But Jisu is right there. And she’s asleep.
“Minhee,” he says, voice low, unsure if it’s a warning or a plea.
She kisses the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then lower. “Please,” she murmurs, and he’s so close to giving in, so close to saying yes.
“Baby,” he says, bringing her eyes to meet his, “Not now, not when she’s asleep.”
It doesn’t bother him that Jisu is there, but the fact that she’s asleep irks him a lot. He wouldn’t want to put her in an uncomfortable position were she too wake up in the middle of them doing anything.
Minhee sighs, lips lingering against his skin. “Why are you so polite?” she groans. He knows she’s not angry. “Fine,” she wiggles, down his body, resting her forehead against his collarbone. “I just missed you, that’s all.” Her voice is small, and Chan wishes he could give her everything she asked for right now.
“I know, Min,” he whispers, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m here.”
“Take off your jeans,” she says, a few minutes later. “You’re gonna be so uncomfortable in them.”
Chan huffs a laugh, low and tired. “Minhee…”
“Not like that ,” she says, but he feels her grin into his shirt. “I’m taking mine off too.” She says, as if that helped her case, “If you keep them on, they’ll chafe my legs. Do it for me.”
Chan cannot argue that, can he? His girlfriend's comfort is above anything else. But then again, he doesn’t think Jisu would like to wake up to him half naked. He wants to say he’ll go sleep on the couch so as to not bother them, to keep them comfortable.
“Oh my god, oppa, stop thinking so loud.” Jisu whines, her voice is groggy with sleep and she bats a hand at them. “Take them off, I don't care.”
Chan freezes. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she yawns, half-buried in her pillow. “Just go to sleep.”
Minhee grins, triumphant, as she unbuttons both their jeans. “See? Team player.”
He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he does know it’s probably the best sleep of his life.
In the morning, it’s sunlight, not guilt, that wakes him.
Bright through Minhee’s cream curtains, it warms his face. He stirs with a groan and shifts slightly, trying to roll over. But he can’t. His limbs are trapped. One arm pinned beneath a warm body, the other tangled in someone’s hair.
Someone exhales near his throat. Someone else mumbles something into his chest.
His eyes blink open, and this time he does panic.
Somehow in the middle of the night, he managed to end up in the middle of the bed. In between them.
Minhee is sprawled across his chest, and if he were to move a little, he’d probably push her off the bed. Her face is squished against his sternum, her mouth is slightly open, and there’s definitely a damp patch on his shirt.
He wishes he could take her in, her relaxed frown and her pretty teeth, but there’s also Jisu.
Jisu who hours ago was almost fused with the wall and has now climbed on top of him at some point during the night. Her body is draped over his body like a starfish, one leg slung over both of his, her feet almost touching Minhee’s waist, her arm is curled, almost possessively around his neck, her face tucked right into the space beneath his jaw. Her bangs tickle his nose and her weight is oddly comforting.
He wishes to spontaneously combust.
He feels his cheeks turn red. How did this even happen? Why did no one stop it? He was told he was meeting his girlfriend’s mom, not that he’d go to his personal hell and deepest fantasy over Hello Kitty sheets.
Jisu shifts. Her thigh tightens around his legs, knee slotting right between his own, which means she can feel his morning hard on. Fuck. Why can’t he just explode? His breath hitches.
“Unnie, tell your boyfriend to stop thinking so loud.” Jisu mumbles, voice scratchy and low, and that just does something to him.
He lets out a small, broken noise of protest. Somewhere between what the fuck and lord, please have mercy. Minhee hums, nuzzling closer to his pec, “Channie, stop thinking.”
Chan blinks. What?
Jisu lets out a little sigh, shifting again so her knee digs in further, and Chan sees his life flash before his eyes. “You’re really warm, oppa,” she mutters, “‘s like sleeping on a radiator.”
Minhe hums in agreement, stretching an arm across his waist. Leaving a small kiss on his shoulder.
Chan stares at the ceiling, heart pounding like he just got away with murder. “What,” he croaks, “is happening right now?”
Jisu groans, reaching for Minhee’s arm over him. “Go back to sleep, Channie.”
Minhee sighs into his shoulder. “Yeah, babe.”
He bites the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to scream. Or cry. Or fling himself out the window. But he can’t move. He wouldn’t want to disturb them any further. Their comfortable sleepy faces are cute, eyes puffy and frowns loosened. Fuck.
“Am I high?” he whispers, mostly to himself. “Is this a stroke? Am I having an aneurysm?”
Minhee giggles, patting his chest. “Baby, we’ve been over this. I am real, Jisu is too.”
“No, I think I died.” he says to the ceiling. “This is eternal punishment.” He doesn’t say what he’s being punished for, but it’s probably for thinking about his girl and his girl’s girl together, kissing and stuff.
Neither of them say anything more, their breathing even. So he stays. And somehow, even if his body is telling him to run, and all his blood has rushed between his legs, he manages to fall asleep.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The coffee shop is warm, cozy, and full of neutral tones, like those sad beige moms from Tiktok. It’s meant to be soothing, he supposes, but nothing in his brain has been soothed for the past few days.
He hasn’t known peace since the Hello Kitty sheets. He hasn’t slept right, alone in his lonely, lonely, bed knowing Jisu is probably wrapped around his girlfriend every night. Not after Jisu curled up around him like Minhee’s cats do, and, differently from the cats, called him oppa with her voice rough from sleep, and casually nestled her knee where no man should be tested that early in the morning.
Worse than that? It’s been almost a week and they never brought it up again.
It’s deranged, honestly. They’re fucking with his mental health, messing with his psyche. So now, after a pretty underwhelming recording session with one of those one-hit TikTok stars, he allows himself a break, and a coffee run.
He’s scrolling mindlessly through his phone, texting back Chaebin on whether she should ask Hyunjin out or not (she should). And going over their coffee orders in his head.
He’s halfway through his weekly stalking of Minhee’s reposts when a voice calls his name.
“Bang Chan?”
He looks up, already smiling out of habit. He’s close to the studio, sometimes people recognize him. Then he recognizes the guy, and his stomach does a little uncomfortable flip.
Jaeho. He thinks that was his name. Jaeho with the slit eyebrow and crooked teeth and the confidence of a mediocre man who’d gotten lucky with a very, very good woman.
“Hey, man,” Jaeho says, approaching the counter he had been peacefully wasting time in. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Chan forces a polite smile, he hadn’t known the man for too long, Minhee had broken up with him pretty quickly. “Yeah. Coffee run in the studio.”
Jaeho nods, like he said something meaningful. “Nice, still making music, I guess?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Cool, cool. I hear you’re dating Minhee now,” He says, chuckling, like that would take off the weight of his words. Chan nods, trying to keep his eyes polite. “She did always say you were, like, insanely talented.”
Chan blinks. “She said that?”
“Yeah, she’s still into the creative type, huh?”
“Yeah,” Chan says carefully. “Been dating for a while now.”
Jaeho lets out a little whistle. “Damn. You’ve put up with her for a while?
Chan’s spine straightened. “Sorry?”
“Jisu,” he says, like that clarifies anything. “She was so annoying, like what a bitch. Am I right?”
Chan laughs, but it lacks humor. “Sorry?” He says again.
“You can be real with me, man. I’ve been there, you know?”
Chan sets his phone down slowly. “Been where, exactly?”
Jaeho grins. “I get it, they are crazy hot. But, like, she’s a little more crazy.”
Chan gives him a look that spurs to keep him talking for some reason. “I mean, I broke it off with her because I couldn’t deal with Jisu always breathing down my neck like I was cheating or something. Which, okay, I was. But she didn’t know that.”
Chan blinks slowly. “You cheated on Minhee?”
“Well, yeah. Not particularly proud of that, but she’s intense, you know? Wouldn’t do that until we were official, plus she had all those late-night shifts, and Jisu stuck with her half the time, what was I supposed to do?”
“Be loyal,” Chan says, voice deeply calm.
Jaeho shrugs, unbothered. “She never noticed, broke it off before she found out. Not like she would have noticed, she’s always too busy eating Jisu out, or whatever it is they do.”
“Hmmm,” Chan hums, smile thin, voice flat. “I’m going to stop you right there, Jaeho. We haven’t been anywhere together. So before you say anything about them, I am going to go over there,” he points to the pick up counter, “and I am going to wait for my drinks, because if I stay there, I am going to punch down your teeth.”
Jaeho laughs, but Chan can hear the nervousness. “Dude, it’s not that serious.”
Chan tilts his head slightly. “Right. Except you just bragged about cheating on my girl and called her best friend a bitch. That sounds pretty serious to me.” Chan might not be tall, but he knows he can be scary.
He takes a step back, giving Jaeho an out. “Hope I never see you again.” Jaeho starts to respond, something indignant bubbling up, but Chan’s already walking away.
He’s thankful when the barista calls out his name.
He gets home late. It’s dark. His phone is on 3% and he has a new text from Minhee. Good night, baby , it reads.
His apartment is quiet, too quiet, and the only sound that breaks the silence is the whir of the old fan. He stares at the ceiling, sheets bunched around his hips, his body is heavy with exhaustion and he feels the need to scream.
Instead, he lets his mind wander to Minhee’s and Jisu’s apartment. It starts with Minhee, it always does, it has done so for the past year.
Her soft laugh and tiny hands, the way her hips roll when she’s on top of him, her strong thighs and her breathy gasps. And then there’s Jisu.
Jisu with her soft cheeks and sharp tongue. Jisu who probably tastes of flowers and coffee, different from Minhee, but he doesn’t now, she’s never kissed him at all. Not really, not like he wants to.
But in his dreams, she does.
It’d be Minhee alone at first, her soft, little cold hands running over his chest straddling him with her wicked smile. She’d whisper something in his ear, voice sugary sweet. Dripping like honey and leaving him sticky.
He nods, he doesn’t know what she said, but he feels another pair of hands, rushing up his ribs. They are larger, the nails more blunt. They run up and down his ribs, and he just knows that’s Jisu.
Jisu in one of his sweatshirts, and her toned thighs, no bra, her bangs sticking to her forehead with sweat. She leans in, coffeecoffeeandlavender, it’s all he can think.
Minhee hums her approval, kissing Jisu’s neck, slowly, carefully. “Will you let her, oppa? She can be really sweet…” she says, slow and sensual, “Right, baby?”
Jisu would nod, pliant under her unnie’s hands. She’d let Minhee run her hands over her body, lifting his sweatshirt, letting him see that tattoo on her side. “You want me, oppa?” she’d ask, soft but not shy. Her voice is husky, a little smug.
Chan tries to answer, but his throat is dry. He nods, helpless, breath caught somewhere in his chest.
Minhee’d lean down first, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth like a promise. “You can have her,” she whispers, her voice all sugar and peaches. “You can have us, just be good for us.”
Then, the dream shifts, Jisu is straddling him, her thighs cage him in, her palms pressed against his bare chest. “Say it, oppa.” She demands, lips brushing his cheek.
“I want you,” he manages, wrecked.
She grins. It’s all teeth and it makes his stomach flips in the best way. “Good boy, Minhee really did choose right,” she whispers, dragging her nails down his chest. He shudders.
Minhee hums, pleased, lazy and fond as she kisses down Jisu’s spine, her hands everywhere. “I knew you’d like him.” Her hands everywhere. “Picked him right for you, Jisu.”
Chan’s mouth parts, a silent moan caught in his throat. Jisu leans in again, presses her lips just below his ear, breath warm and slow.
“You want to be ours?” Minhee asks.
He nods. He wants to be theirs. God, he does. His fingers tighten in the sheets, trying to hold on, trying not to lose himself.
He wakes up with a gasp, sheets damp, hands still shoved down his pants.
The shame hits fast and hard, sharp like cold water, and guilt showers him.
Fuck.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
“Min, can we talk?” he says, two days after he almost lost his mind.
Well. He feels like he’s been losing his mind since they began dating. Even before, since he saw them dance, coy smiles and pretty eyes. Since Minhee introduced herself and said This is Jisu, my everything, like it was the only truth. He believes it.
Minhee blinks at him from across the kitchen counter, a spoon hanging from her fingers. “Sure, baby. Everything alright?”
No. Yes. He doesn’t know. Maybe. In a way.
“I…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve, uhm, I’ve been thinking. A lot, about…” He looks up at her. She’s leaning on the counter, her lips are pretty and her eyes are shiny and he thinks he loves her. He hears shuffling in the room, Jisu is getting ready for their night out, their date. “About us.” He finishes.
Minhee follows his gaze, meeting his eyes and giving him a soft smile. “About her?” she asks, because she knows.
He almost wants to deny, to tell her she’s wrong. To be rid of the weight on his shoulders. But he misses proper sleep, and he thinks of their night at Minhee’s mom’s house, cuddled up together in what was the best night of his life.
“I…” he begins, afraid to say it. “I had a dream about the both of you.” He feels stupid saying it out loud. His ears burn and he prays lightning strikes him down right this second.
But Minhee just tilts her head, curious. “Yeah?”
“Were we making out?” Jisu asks, popping into the kitchen, and she looks beautiful, her pouty lips and she’s wearing one of Chan’s jean jackets. “Do you want us to make out?” She makes a kissy face to Minhee, who leans in and pecks her lips.
Chan is having a stroke, and he’s high. And this is all a dream.
Jisu pulls back from Minhee with a giggle, eyes flicking over to Chan, like she knows what he’s thinking.
“Or, maybe, you want to make out with me, oppa,” she teases, and it shouldn’t have the effect it has over his body.
He opens his mouth to respond, to say something, anything, but he can't.
Minhee laughs softly, wraps her arms around his waist like they haven’t just melted his brain, reducing him to a puddle, a shell of the man he was.
“Go baby, give oppa a kiss.” She pushes her to him.
“Hi, Channie,” Jisu says as she steps into his space. “You want this?” It doesn’t feel like a trap, it feels like it was meant to be.
He nods shaky and teary. “Yeah, yeah please.”
She kisses him.
Chan thinks he might actually die.
In fact, he thinks he’s already dead, and this is his own personal heaven.