Work Text:
minho 01:18
are you coming over tonight?
I wanna rewatch that show with you.
you promised :)
Jisung sees the messages pop up in his notification bar and can’t help the pathetic little smile that tugs at his lips, followed by a sigh. Hyunjin watches as his friend slowly lets his forehead drop onto the table and taps it against the surface a couple of times.
“He invited me over again.”
“And?”
“I literally left his place this morning,” Jisung mumbles into the tabletop.
His phone buzzes on the desk, lighting up with another message. Jisung reads it and has to physically stop himself from smacking his forehead harder this time.
“He remembered I said I wanted to try the sushi from that place that opened. He’s asking which ones he should order for tonight.”
Hyunjin raises his brows, genuinely impressed, still wiping down the counter with a cloth.
“And what’s the problem?”
“That’s the thing. I like everything. I like the way he flirts, I like him, I like how he treats me. It’s just… we’ve been like this for two months already.”
“Like this… like what?” Hyunjin twists his mouth, clearly not understanding why Jisung is being so dramatic.
“We’re not dating,” Jisung cuts him off. Then he lifts his head just enough to give Hyunjin a dead-serious look. “We act like a couple, but we’ve never talked about it. We never clarified anything, you know?”
“As in, you never had the whole ‘Let’s date’ conversation?”
“Yeah. Never.”
Hyunjin’s brows pull together in thought. And then the naïve soul comes out with:
“Then… talk to him. What’s the problem?”
Jisung can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry. Hyunjin can be so simple sometimes…
“I can’t. Because… I’m scared. Scared that none of this is serious for him. That I’m just a temporary distraction.” Jisung licks his lips, forcing the words out. Saying this stuff out loud feels like medieval torture. Especially because he knows he sounds incredibly stupid, and none of it makes sense.
“He takes you on dates, invites you over several times a week, doesn’t spare money on you, remembers tiny things you say… and you two fuck,” Hyunjin counts on his fingers. “And you think he’s not serious?”
And just like that, all of Jisung’s anxious thoughts and emotions crumble into dust.
“I don’t think that,” he corrects, raising a finger. “I’m afraid of it. Afraid that the bugs in my head were right, and everything will collapse like a flimsy bridge.”
“So you’re postponing the collapse, which is why you can’t talk to him?”
“Yes. And… well, I’m hoping he brings it up first. But he just… doesn’t.”
Jisung doesn’t see it, but he hears the snort. He knows Hyunjin is shaking his nearly shaved head in disbelief.
“I’d bet my whole damn arm he’s scared too. And the two of you are just circling around each other like idiots, waiting for someone to finally grab their balls and open their mouth.”
Jisung has considered that possibility. Of course he has. It’s somewhere in the top hundred scenarios he’s managed to spiral about. And even though he knows ninety percent of his fears are baseless, the remaining ten feel louder, heavier, more real.
Unfortunately, Jisung is a little fucked in the head like that.
minho 01:29PM
*2 photos*
look, these kittens look like us
I went to buy them food and saw your favorite soda flavor in the store
got it for you
tell me when your shift ends, I’ll call you a taxi <3
Minho is unreal. The way he pays attention to Jisung, the tenderness he touches him with, even the patience he has for Jisung’s quirks when they slip out (despite all of Jisung’s attempts to keep them in check…) It’s all too good for Jisung’s life. Too good for something that’s happening to him.
Which is precisely why… he’s waiting for the catch. Something like: this is all temporary, Minho will eventually get bored, and Jisung will be left pathetic with a shattered heart. He’s just as terrified of that as he is of taking a risk and finding out the truth.
By the time he finally walks up to Minho’s door that evening, his heart is pounding like Minho might open it just to kick him out. His fingers tremble as he reaches for the doorbell, even though he knows Minho is probably already standing on the other side, looking through the peephole.
And sure enough — the lock clicks.
Minho appears barefoot, hair slightly tousled, looking like he’s spent the last half hour doing something incredibly domestic, like changing his bedsheets or playing with the cat.
“Hi,” he says, and before Jisung can respond, Minho leans in, brushing their lips together. The kiss is exactly the kind that says, I missed you today.
As they part, Jisung catches the scent of something sweet and citrusy from his neck - Minho’s perfume - and instantly forgets everything. His worries, his doubts… gone.
“You smell like coffee again,” Minho murmurs, brushing his nose against Jisung’s cheek.
“I was working, sorry,” Jisung laughs.
“I really like it,” Minho shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on, the sushi’s already here.”
The evening unfolds almost effortlessly. They eat, argue about which character in the show is the dumbest, and laugh at their own arguments. Minho sits relaxed, close, occasionally resting a lazy hand on Jisung’s knee and it feels so natural that Jisung doesn’t even want to think too hard about it.
“Look,” Minho taps his chopsticks at the screen, “this guy looks like you when you’re arguing with me.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Jisung protests, but his cheeks still heat up.
“No, really. Just as stubborn. And cute.”
Jisung’s heart does a somersault, and his brain desperately searches for sarcasm in Minho’s tone… and finds none.
He’s this close to asking, “Am I really cute to you?” but that’s exactly when Minho yawns and leans into his shoulder like a cat. Jisung doesn’t dare ruin the moment.
Later, when the final episode of the season ends, they end up tangled together, limbs overlapping, breathing slow and synced. Everything is so quiet and peaceful that Jisung realizes:
if time stopped right now — he wouldn’t mind.
The taxi smells like air freshener and damp autumn air. Jisung watches the window, where a tired but happy smile reflects back at him. His heart is still beating unevenly, like after running for too long.
He unlocks his phone to text Minho, but freezes when he sees a new message. Minho sent a picture of his cat sitting inside the delivery bag.
minho 11:56PM
he won’t get out
he’s waiting for you again :)
Too cute. Too… good. And that “too” starts itching under his skin again.
Jisung replays the entire evening in his head: Minho’s glances, the laughter, the hand on his knee, the kiss at the door.
It all felt real. Or..?
Maybe Minho is just in love with convenience. Maybe he just likes taking care of someone. Maybe he’s the type who disappears the moment you try to define things and stack real responsibility on top of each other.
Jisung huffs a laugh. It sounds ridiculous.
But the chance that it could be true… isn’t zero.
He tightens his grip on the phone. Then finally types:
jisung 12:03AM
you’re always so attentive. i still have no idea how you do that
His finger hovers over “send.” He smiles, deletes the message, and types another:
jisung 12:04AM
the kitten
and his owner
are both adorable
Sent. The screen goes dark.
The smile stays. Because yeah — he still doesn’t understand anything. But maybe that’s just how he and Minho communicate: hints, jokes, unsaid words with all the real things hidden underneath.
Or maybe Jisung is trying to force this “style” on himself so he worries less.
...
This time, he was the one who initiated it.
Jisung doesn’t fully understand how the words “let’s have dinner somewhere, my treat” slipped out of his mouth, but once they did there was no going back.
Minho agreed instantly. Too instantly for it to be just polite acceptance.
Now they’re sitting across from each other in a cozy restaurant, where the lights are dim and the waiter speaks in a half-whisper, like he’s afraid to scare the atmosphere away. There’s some kind of pasta on the table, two glasses of wine, and a complimentary dessert with two spoons.
Two. Jisung notices it immediately and, of course, instantly overthinks it.
“Oh, they… must’ve thought we’re a couple,” he says, tilting his head slightly.
“Well, it happens,” Minho waves it off, pretending to focus on his plate. “Probably how they serve it to everyone.”
“Everyone who?”
“Every… people. Who eat.”
The tone is light, seemingly harmless, but that only makes it worse. He’s not denying anything, but he’s not confirming anything either.
Nothing makes sense again.
The whole evening slips through Jisung’s fingers. They laugh, debate about music, catch each other’s glances held a little too long. Minho tells a story about some awkward work order, and Jisung thinks that if happiness could be measured, right now it would overflow every scale possible.
Earlier today, Jisung spent an entire hour standing in front of his closet, trying to pick something that wasn’t too fancy but also not too casual. But Minho tonight… is stunning.
He always is, of course, even in an oversized, worn-out home t-shirt. But tonight he looks especially good. Charming, even.
When the waiter brings the bill, Minho is the first to reach for it.
“I’m the one who invited you,” Jisung reminds him gently.
Minho glances up at him and smiles.
“Jisung, let’s go to a restaurant,” he says, lips curving wider. “See? Now I invited you.”
He winks as he taps his card.
Jisung wants to whine. Because what the hell… Minho pays for their dinner, shows up looking gorgeous, they eat dessert from the same plate… And they still aren’t dating.
This is becoming a chronic condition.
They decide not to part ways yet and go for a walk. The evening is warm, streetlights blur in the puddles, people hurry somewhere, but they don’t have to. They walk side by side, step for step, and Jisung keeps feeling the brush of Minho’s fingers against his hand. Uncertain, but repeated.
“Are you cold?” Minho asks when the conversation fades out.
“Not really.”
“’Cause I was trying to find an excuse to pull you closer.”
And all Jisung can do is laugh. A little nervously.
“You don’t need an excuse,” he exhales.
And Minho really does slide his hand around Jisung’s waist, like that’s exactly where it belongs. Like it’s normal.
In that moment, Jisung thinks that maybe this is their version of dating — just without the verbal confirmation. But then he remembers he’s himself, and everything turns back into a hypothesis. A maybe.
When they stop at the crosswalk, it’s already late. Minho looks like he doesn’t want the evening to end either.
“Thank you for this…” he searches for the right word, squinting slightly. “This evening. It was wonderful. And you were wonderful.”
Jisung feels everything inside him melt.
Minho continues, “I’d really love to… keep the evening going and invite you over, but we both have to get up early.”
There’s real regret in his voice. And in his eyes — that same warmth that knocks the air out of Jisung’s lungs.
As if they were dating.
“Unfortunately,” Jisung echoes, pouting a little. “Thank you too. It was… really good.”
He doesn’t know what to do with his hands at first. Then he gathers himself: leans in and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Minho’s mouth while no one is around, then immediately steps back.
“Good night.”
Minho smiles. That soft, warm, at-home kind of Minho.
“Text me when you get home, okay?” he calls after him as Jisung climbs into the car.
The taxi smells like mint and someone else’s perfume. Jisung watches the city lights streak across the window and feels full of… something. Love? Joy? Foolishness? All of it.
His phone lights up with a notification:
minho 11:19PM
let’s meet tomorrow?
we can continue tonight at my place ;)
Jisung smiles into the dark, ears heating as he types:
jisung 11:20PM
sure
you text me too when you get home
He sets his phone aside, closes his eyes, and lets out a quiet laugh at himself.
Because yes: he still understands nothing.
Not where the line is, not who will say it first, not when they’ll finally stop being scared of that word.
But the evening was wonderful anyway.
And the feelings their time together gives him… those are real.
...
Another month slipped by like that.
Nothing changed.
They still saw each other every other day, still watched shows together, still ordered takeout, bickered over stupid things and fell asleep in a tangle of limbs. They kissed, and more than kissed. And still nothing. Not a single real conversation that would clear up what they were to each other.
Sometimes Jisung tried to test the waters.
Like the time he casually mentioned:
“My mom asked if I’m seeing someone,” he said carefully.
“And what did you tell her?”
“What would you want me to say?” Jisung cleared his throat, eyes fixed on Minho’s face.
Minho turned toward him.
“Whatever feels right to you,” he said simply, pecking Jisung on the nose.
And there it was again. That suspended state. As if he wasn’t against it, but also… not exactly for it. Aaaand… yeah.
Another time, Jisung even showed Minho a couple’s discount at a café on purpose.
Minho glanced at him over his shoulder, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.
“Jisung, you don’t have to chase discounts if you’re short on money. I can always pay.”
Jisung laughed politely, then stared at his phone for twenty straight minutes, spiraling.
Still no sign that they were anything official — yet at the same time Minho was casually implying they’d hang out many more times in the future. And how the hell was he supposed to interpret that?!
There was even one evening when Jisung nearly blurted everything out — he was right on the edge — but Minho spoke first:
“A guy at work gave me his number today, can you believe?” He laughed.
And something fragile inside Jisung snapped clean in half. He immediately decided this was it. This was the conversation. The moment Minho would politely tell him — it was fun, thanks, you can take your toothbrush and head out.
He even mentally figured out which bag he’d use for his things, and imagined Hyunjin grumbling but still listening to all his pathetic heartbreak whining.
But Minho went on:
“I told him I already have someone I love.”
Just like that. Calm and simple, like he was stating a weather report.
Jisung exhaled, relief rushing through him, but along with it came something new.
Annoyance. Because that sentence explained everything and nothing at the same time.
Someone he loves.
Was that supposed to be him? Or… not necessarily?
Ever since then, the question “are we actually dating?” settled somewhere in his solar plexus — a constant quiet itch that wouldn’t let him breathe properly.
And Jisung’s patience was starting to run out.
...
“I’m listening,” Jisung says into the phone, trying to sound natural — though at this point it feels about as realistic as climbing Everest barefoot.
Hyunjin’s cheerful voice blasts from the speaker:
“You home? Great. Listen, I was thinking about Sunday…”
Jisung nods even though, obviously, Hyunjin can’t see him.
And focusing on the conversation is nearly impossible. Because Minho is lying behind him, one arm draped around his waist, lazily tracing patterns under Jisung’s T-shirt with a fingertip. Warm breath fans over his neck, and every word that leaves his mouth comes out a beat too late.
“Mm-hmm…” Jisung swallows when Minho shifts closer, brushing his lips against the skin just under his ear. Hyunjin’s rambling is drowned out by the thundering of Jisung’s pulse.
Soft lips leave warm kisses from the nape of his neck down to his throat, and a warm hand slowly slides along his leg, fingers squeezing the inside of his thigh.
Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and prays Hyunjin can’t hear the shaky, uneven breaths slipping out of him — louder than normal, no doubt.
“So anyway,” Hyunjin continues, “you’re coming, alright? And tell your boyfriend that this Sunday you’re busy and you’re coming to my party!”
The word boyfriend snaps through him like ice water. Jisung’s eyes fly open; he’s about to protest, but Minho moves faster — snatches the phone right out of his hand, taps something on the screen, and says into the receiver with a smile:
“Got it.”
And then he ends the call and shoves the phone under the pillow.
“Minho!” Jisung twists around, but Minho is already leaning in, first kissing the corner of his mouth, then properly, deeper, more insistent, until Jisung’s knees turn to liquid. A hand slips to the inside of his thigh, stroking there with no real pressure, just enough to coax.
Minho’s intentions are obvious. But instead of the usual lightness, instead of the warm pull toward him, something else rises in Jisung’s chest — that months-old, festering what if this isn’t what I think it is. It holds him back. Keeps him from falling into Minho’s hands completely.
And then the moment comes: now or never.
Jisung gently pushes him back by the shoulders, catching Minho’s gaze — still breathless, lips tilted in a small smile, confusion flickering at why everything suddenly stopped.
“Are you… okay with this?”
“With what exactly?” Minho blinks.
“He called you my boyfriend.”
Minho lets out a soft huff of laughter, shrugs, and answers simply:
“Let him think whatever he wants.”
The words drop like a stone into water.
And just like that, Jisung can’t look at him anymore. His head bows; he hides a trembling breath in his palms.
That’s it. So it’s a no. Minho doesn’t think of them that way. He doesn’t care.
But before he can sink completely into the sticky, rising panic,
clinging to the last shreds of hope, Jisung forces out:
“Minho, please just tell me… are we dating?”
Minho freezes. His eyes widen a little, as if the question caught him entirely off guard. He stops leaning over Jisung, sits up straighter, swallows.
“Uh… if you want to,” he says at last, carefully.
Jisung lifts his head, and his voice trembles with exhaustion.
“Do you want that?”
A pause. Long — the kind that hangs in the air right before you dive into water.
“I… yeah,” Minho finally exhales. “Of course I want that. Jisung, of course I do. I mean, we kind of… have been dating this whole time, haven’t we?” He lets out a nervous little laugh.
Jisung’s heart stops; his lungs forget their job.
“Really? We never talked about it,” he breathes, barely holding himself together.
“Yeah, but we should have. I just… I was afraid you needed more time. I didn’t want to push. I wasn’t sure if you were giving me the green light or… not yet.”
Minho sits a little stiffly, eyes darting anywhere but Jisung’s. And Jisung stares at him as if seeing him for the first time.
“And I… I was afraid you didn’t want a relationship. So I didn’t say anything.”
Minho’s head snaps up in surprise. He stays frozen for two seconds — then bursts out laughing, flopping back onto the pillow.
Jisung laughs too.
“We’re idiots,” he says. Minho nuzzles closer, arms curling around him, still chuckling. “I’ve been tearing myself apart these past months,” he admits. “Next time I’m worried about something, I’m saying it immediately. And you too. Okay?”
Jisung meets his warm, ridiculous eyes and feels something inside him finally settle.
“I’ll try,” he promises.
Then he smiles into the kiss — the first kiss between them that doesn’t leave a single inch of doubt.
The air heats again, their breaths mix, hands move lower.
Jisung feels every touch ripple under his skin — the gentle bite at his collarbone, the soft “come here,” the whisper of his name like a brand-new confession.
Minho suddenly pulls back. Not abruptly but just enough to catch his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips a little swollen, but his gaze holds that same sincere, easy smile that made Jisung lose his mind in the first place.
“Hey,” Minho says quietly, “so when are we celebrating our anniversary now? Today’s date, or… three months earlier?”
Jisung doesn’t even get the chance to be surprised. He snorts first, burying his face in Minho’s shoulder.
“We’ll decide later,” he whispers, a little hoarse, fingers hooking around the back of Minho’s neck. “Right now isn’t the time for counting days.”
Minho lets out a soft laugh of his own, and asks nothing else. He leans in again, and everything else drowns in the sound of their breathing, in the gentle light, in the kind of silence where nothing needs to be confirmed anymore.
And somewhere between the laughter and the kisses, tangled in warm sheets and the steady rhythm of their bodies, it finally arrives — the thing they’d been circling for months.
Something calm. Something spoken without words.