Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

JISUNG

The small box I carried in my hands was heavier than it needed to be. It wasn’t filled with books or anything useful—just a few knick-knacks, clothes, and random bits of my life that I thought I might need. I could feel the weight of everything I was leaving behind as I slowly reached my destination,
I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face what lay ahead.

I had known for a while that this day would come. I would move in, share a space with someone, and start my life here in this some what strange place that was way too familiar, I was far from the city and away from my family.

I didn't know why I felt this way about returning back here after four years.
I chose this for myself, after all. A fresh start—one that felt like it was the only option left.

My family stayed still not understanding why I wanted to leave so soon. Maybe it was because they didn’t understand that I was tired of relying on them. I wanted to make my own way, stand on my own two feet without anyone’s help. It was easier said than done, though. The jobs I had applied for—teaching jobs in different institutions—hadn’t called me back, except for this one. The truth was, I needed this. I needed the money, the stability, the opportunity to get my life back on track, even if it meant I had to swallow my pride and return to a place I never thought I’d come back to.

I let out a long sigh as I stood at the threshold of the room. The institution had changed a little, but not much. The hallway was the same as it had been years ago—cold, and quiet, with faint echoes of footsteps in the distance. I could smell the faint scent of old wood and the faint aroma of candles, a staple of every Catholic camp I’d ever attended. The old wooden door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, revealing the large room inside.

It was simple but spacious. Two separate beds stood at opposite ends of the room, a small kitchen against one wall, and a bathroom twice the size of the kitchen. There was no bunk bed anymore, and I was glad about that. The idea of having to climb into a high bed again, as I had when I was younger, was unbearable. Now, I could just sink into the bed whenever I wanted and pretend I was home, even if it didn’t feel like it.

I dropped my last moving box on the empty bed, setting it down carefully, and took a look around. My side of the room looked insane compare to the other side, items unorganized, and things that just hadn’t found their place yet. But the other side look so perfect, my 'roommate' who I haven't met yet had His bed neatly made, everything in it's place, as if he had been living here for years. I wonder if he had, My eyes caught a Bible positioned carefully beside his pillow, a comforting but disquieting sight. I couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. It was so typical. So... religious. It was everything I had left behind. I guess there's a big difference between a child of the world than the one of god.

"Cleaningness is next to godliness." I sighed. Of course, the one thing I didn’t want to deal with—religion—was staring me in the face again. I shaked my head as I eyed the book one last time. I know every part of it but I feel so distance from it now.

From the frame bible verses and the photo of the son bleeding on the cross  and multiple crosses hanging on the wall I could already tell my roommate and I wouldn't get along and I hope we don't. I'd have to fool him making him think I still believe or I wouldn't last long here. But I'd hate talking about something I don't care about.

I turned my gaze back to the room and glanced at the small kitchen, trying to avoid the feelings that were starting to creep up. This wasn’t the first time I’d been here. In fact, it was the last place I wanted to be. The nostalgia hit me like a ton of bricks as soon as I walked through the doors. I hated how familiar it all was.

A Catholic camp institution—one I had come to years ago when I was just fifteen. I had been full of faith then, passionate and eager to learn everything about the religion I grew up to know from my very conservative Christian family, the teachings, and how it all worked. I believed I had been meant to be here, in this place, at that time.

But that was then. And now?

I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. At least not to this place. I didn't belong here anymore because I had lost my faith a long while ago.

I remembered how much I had loved it back then, how I had felt so connected to a part of something bigger than the universe. But life, and everything that came with it, had changed me. I had grown up. Or at least, I thought I had. Now, after applying for countless teaching positions in different schools and institutions, this was the only one that accepted me. The only one that didn’t question my qualifications or my experience.
Because they knew me. Not actually, they knew who I was back then, not now.

Infact the owner of the camp establishment personally spoke to me on the phone saying how happy he was to hear I was returning back to serve my purpose for being alive and how the children would love me teach them the bible because he had witnessed how passionate I was for the lord.

He isn't wrong, I know every part of the book But I'm only here for the money.

I have to pretend. Pretend I still felt that same connection to the faith. Pretend I was still in touch with the spiritual side of me that had been so important once upon a time. Pretend that I believed in it all—everything the institution stood for—just so I can keep this job. Just so I could get my life together.

I felt like a liar for it.  Coming back and live a life that isn't mine, trying to teach something I didn’t believe in anymore. But the price of the lie was a small one compared to the alternative. And I couldn’t afford to pass this opportunity up.

"I was so sad and confused why you left so suddenly Jisung, you were such an inspiration to the younger kids." The Priest and the founder of the establishment questioned as we spoke on the phone.

"You left without saying anything not even to my son, it was very strange." He continued

"What matters is I'm back now." I faked a laugh.

What no one knew was that the real reason I had left wasn’t because I had lost my faith. No, I was still very much in touch with it when I left, It was still there, a part of me I couldn’t completely shake or question. No, the real reason I had left was something entirely different, something I had only just come to terms with over the past few years.

It wasn’t the faith that had driven me away—it was Minho.

Minho, the son of the priest who found the establishment. Minho, my "used to be best friend."

Back then, I didn’t have the words to describe what I was feeling. I didn’t know what the word *bisexual* even meant, much less what it meant for me. But I had known one thing for certain—my heart had belonged to Minho.

I had been in love with him.

He didn’t know.

No one knew.

And when I left , it wasn’t because I had lost my faith or because I was angry at the world. It was because I had come to realize that my feelings for Minho were something I couldn’t hide anymore. So I ran away like a coward to escape those feelings, to find myself and make sense of everything. I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I loved a boy, a boy who was madly in love with his religion, a boy that could never feel the same way about me.

But now, here I was.

Back at the place where it all began. Where the feelings had started.

And I could only hope that Minho wasn’t here anymore.

I didn’t want to face him. Not now, Not after all the intense things that happened between us the night before I disappeared.
Not after the years of silence, the distance, and the unspoken words...

And completely ignoring if we had ever  existed in each other's lives.

Chapter Text

JISUNG

I tossed and turned in my sleep, a strange noise tugging at the edges of my consciousness.

I woke up to the soft rustling of something in the distance, the kind of sound that made you wonder if you were still dreaming or if reality was starting to creep in. The weight of sleep hung heavy on me, and I barely managed to crack open my eyes. The light streaming through the thin curtains was too bright, too early, and too much for my groggy mind to handle. I squinted against it, groaning as I tried to bury myself deeper into the comfort of my bed.

The rustling didn’t stop. In fact, it grew louder.

What the hell is that?

I blinked, trying to shake off the fog in my head. My body felt glued to the mattress, limbs heavy and muscles stiff from days of moving boxes and organizing my side of the room. All I wanted—needed—was a long, uninterrupted day of sleep. My plan was to sleep through the morning, maybe even the entire day, to make up for all the exhaustion I had been carrying since I arrived. But clearly, the universe had other plans for me.

The rustling continued. It sounded like... papers? No, maybe plastic? The faint clink of metal pots and pans followed, and I realized, with a growing sense of dread, that it was coming from the small kitchen in the corner of the room.

Great.

My roommate.

I groaned again, this time louder, in the hopes that maybe he’d hear me and take the hint. But no such luck. The noise persisted, now accompanied by the unmistakable sound of feet shuffling around on the cold tiled floor, pots being placed down, cabinets opening and closing with dull thuds. And then—because why not—I heard the gentle hum of a stream of water hitting the sink.

I squeezed my eyes shut, clinging to whatever remnants of sleep I could salvage. But as I lay there, the sound of my roommate's morning routine grew louder in my ears. The soft murmur of his morning prayer filtered through the walls, barely audible but persistent enough to get on my nerves. Usually I wouldn't mind. I grew up around prayers, hymns, and the occasional sermon, after all. But today, my patience was wearing thin. I was so tired I could barely think straight, and the last thing I needed was to be reminded of the structured, disciplined life I was supposed to be living.

The prayers faded, replaced by the sound of a stream. A program, no doubt—one of those faith-based morning shows that preached about Faith, love, self-discipline and after life. The words were soft but filled the room like a fog, and I gritted my teeth as I tried to drown them out with my pillow. I flipped onto my side, pulling the blanket over my head in a desperate attempt to block it all out.

But it was no use.

The noise—every clink, shuffle, and whispered prayer—gnawed at my nerves until frustration boiled in my chest. I could feel my temper rising, my exhaustion turning into a simmering anger that had no outlet

Then, just as I thought it couldn’t get worse, I heard something that made my stomach sink.

Humming.

My roommate was humming. Cheerfully, too. Like he had just won the lottery or found the secret to eternal happiness. The melody, light and carefree, was maddening in its simplicity. It carried across the room like a breeze, settling in my ears and refusing to let go.

Are you kidding me?

I clenched my fists beneath the blanket, trying to stay calm, but every note of that damn humming grated on me. I pressed the pillow harder over my head, blocking out the light and trying to smother the sound. But it was like the melody was burrowing into my skull, making a home in my thoughts.

I groaned again, louder this time. It didn’t stop.

I lay there, fighting with myself. Part of me wanted to throw off the covers, stomp over , and tell him to shut up. But another part of me—the tired, exhausted part—just wanted to stay buried beneath the blankets and hope that somehow, if I ignored it long enough, the noise would go away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the noise stopped. I heard the faint sound of the front door clicking shut, and the silence that followed was like a gift from the heavens. My roommate had finally left, and peace settled over the room once more.

I let out a long breath, my body sinking into the mattress with relief. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. No more humming, no more prayers, no more clinking dishes. Just the quiet hum of the room and the soft rustling of the breeze outside.

Before I could think too much about it, I gave in, sinking deeper into the bed, pulling the pillow tighter over my head. I felt the edges of sleep tugging at me again, the world becoming a little blurrier, as my exhaustion won out.

When I woke again, the sun was higher in the sky, streaming through the curtains with a soft, golden glow. I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my body heavy with the kind of grogginess that comes after too much rest. I glanced at the clock on my phone—just past noon.

I stretched, cracking my neck and shoulders, before picking up my phone to check the notifications. As expected, there were a few messages from my family—my parents and siblings, mostly the usual check-ins. My mom asking how I was settling in, my dad reminding me to stay focused with whatever path I had chosen as long as it was illegal because of course I didn't tell them I was back here, my younger sister sending me some random memes she thought would make me laugh. There were a few texts from friends too, probably just to see if I was still alive and breathing. I scrolled through the messages but didn’t feel like replying just yet.

Instead, I went straight to the app. The one I always seemed to go back to no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I was done with it. A dating app, though at this point, I wasn’t even sure if that’s what it should be called.

The familiar logo popped up on the screen, and I swiped through my notifications out of habit. There were messages waiting for me, as usual. Mostly from people I didn’t know, hadn’t even bothered to match with. Some of the names were obvious throwaways, probably bots. Others were just people who were too interested. I opened a few messages and skimmed through them.

Some were from married couples—wives who had accepted their husbands’ sexual preferences as long as they could pretend it didn’t happen in the daylight. They didn’t care as long as it stayed in the shadows, hidden away. They offered money, gifts, whatever they thought would tempt me. There were even couples looking to spice things up, wanting to add a third into their relationship to make it more exciting. They wanted me to help fulfill their fantasies and satisfy the things they couldn’t tell anyone else about.

Then there were the older men. The ones who were far too comfortable with sending inappropriate messages. They were always thirsty for something younger, something they could mold into their perfect image of lust. Their messages were filled with desperation, with a hunger that made my skin crawl. I hated how familiar it all felt, how easy it had been to slip into that world before.

But I wasn’t about that life anymore. I had promised myself I was done with using my body to earn money, to satisfy the wants of people who didn’t care about me, only what I could give them. I had told myself I was better than that now. But still, here I was, scrolling through the same app, through the same notifications, looking for something—anything—that felt real.

I came to an abrupt stop as I scrolled through the messages when I saw a familiar name pop up: Nessa. She’d been persistent, constantly messaging me even though I hadn’t responded in over a week.

Nessa: Oh Goodnight then.

Nessa: Good morning Ji.

Nessa: It’s been a while bub I Miss you

Nessa: I know you're going through alot again but if you need some type of stress relief, You can always come to me ;)

And then, of course, she sent the usual—photos of her boobs.

I sighed, shaking my head. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate her looks—she was undeniably gorgeous—but it wasn’t the physical stuff that kept her on my mind. It was the fact that, unlike the rest of the people I met on the app, she didn’t disappear after the hookup. Most people would vanish, or worse, act like we never even crossed paths. But Nessa was different.

Nessa: Did they accept you into the institution?

Nessa: Don't feel sad if you didn't get accepted, okay?

She made me feel wanted and not just sexually, like she actually cared about my wellbeing.

Nessa: Feel better okay. I'm always here

I hadn’t responded to her for over a week, maybe more. We’d met through the app, and I’d hooked up with her and her boyfriend a couple of times. Their relationship was… unique. They had an open arrangement, and while I enjoyed Nessa’s company, I couldn’t say the same about her boyfriend. He wasn’t much fun, either in conversation or in bed. But Nessa? Dark-skinned, with perfect curves and a laugh that could light up a room. She was outgoing, confident, and too good for her boyfriend. If I wasn't a greedy asshole I'd have her as my girlfriend but I can't handle being in a polyamorous  relationship even though she wants it so bad.

She had told me multiple times that she and her boyfriend were fine with dating me alongside each other, that she’d love to have something more than just our usual hookups. But that wasn’t what I wanted. It was too draining. The whole setup—the open relationship, the third-wheel dynamic—it didn’t sit right with me. Sure, I was bisexual, but I’d only ever really like her, her boyfriend... Her straight boyfriend who likes me riding him while he lays on the bed with his mouth open like a log of wood while his majestic looking girlfriend watches us with her finger deep inside her pussy mehhh not so much. He's a dick that loves to objectify me make me do weird shit that I wasn't comfortable with.

A usual spam caller on the app started buzzing my phone out of nowhere dragging me out of my thoughts.

Ughh.

Remind me how much I hate this app and everyone associated with it

Do I really?. I stared at Nessa profile photo, after silencing my phone. She had coloured braid and she pouted her plum lips and boyfriend hands rested on her neck without his face in the selfie but it was obviously she was sitting on his lap.

Still, her messages sat there, waiting, and I couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t abandoned me like everyone else. Her boyfriend knew about our conversations, about the pictures she sent, about the lingering tension between us. And apparently, he didn’t mind. He didn’t seem to care at all.

I saw the green dot right on her profile telling me she was active.

I finally replied, the guilt pressing on my chest as I typed.

Jisung: Sorry I’ve been going through it.

Jisung: They accepted me.

Jisung: I moved in, but I hate it.

It didn’t take long for her to respond. In fact, it was almost immediate, like she’d been waiting for me to reply this whole time.

Nessa: you don't seem too happy about it

Jisung: I'm not

Nessa: Don’t worry, bub. We’ll find you a better job soon. I submitted your resume to a couple of institutions, hopefully they reach back.

I blinked, surprised by the gesture. She had submitted my resume for me? I hadn’t even asked her to do that.

Nessa: Thank you, Nessa.

She replied just as quickly.

"Welcome," she wrote, along with a new photo of herself. She was lying in bed, her boyfriend resting on her bare chest, his arm draped lazily over her waist. Her naked skin glistened under the soft light, but my attention wasn’t on him—it was on her. She was stunning, even in a casual, sleepy state. But the sight of him made something twist in my gut, and not in a good way. Nessa was a little over a year older than I am and her boyfriend was three

I stared at the picture for a moment, feeling that same pull I always did when it came to Nessa, but I pushed it down, not wanting to get lost in it. Instead, I typed a response.

"Gosh, you’re so gorgeous."

I hit send, my heart beating a little faster, even though I knew nothing was going to come of it. At least, nothing real.

As I lay back in bed, staring at the photo Nessa had sent, my fingers hovered over the keyboard. I knew exactly what would happen next. It always did, and I wasn’t sure if I was even in the mood for it. But after everything—the noise, the frustration, the unsettling sense of being back in a place I didn’t want to be—maybe this was the distraction I needed.

The initial messages were innocent enough, with me complimenting her, telling her how beautiful she looked. Nessa responded in her usual teasing manner, sending more photos, each one more suggestive than the last. She knew what she was doing. She always did.

I let myself get pulled into it, my thoughts becoming hazy as the conversation slowly escalated. She started asking what I’d do if I were there with her, describing all the things she wanted from me, her words dripping with suggestion. I tried to keep my responses light at first, not really sure if I wanted to go there, but Nessa had a way of pulling me in.

Soon, the messages turned more explicit. I was typing things I knew I’d regret later, but in the moment, it didn’t matter. It felt good to be wanted, even if it was through a screen. She sent more pictures, and I could almost hear her voice in my head, her laughter, her moans, everything we’d done together playing out like a highlight reel.

I found myself responding to her with the same intensity, my body reacting to every message she sent, every image that appeared on my screen. The conversation blurred into something more, something raw and heated. My breathing became heavier, my mind clouded by desire as I let myself get lost in it.

We kept going, back and forth, until I was fully immersed in the moment. Nessa was good at this—too good. She knew exactly how to push my buttons, how to make me forget everything else. It wasn’t just the physical side of things, though that was part of it. It was the way she seemed to care, even if it was just a game to her. She’d been there, checking in on me when no one else did, and maybe that was what kept me coming back.

As I lay there, my phone in one hand, my body responding to her every word, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of detachment. Like I was watching myself from the outside, knowing this wasn’t what I really wanted, but not being able to stop. It was a routine by now. A distraction. A way to fill the emptiness.

After a while, the intensity of the conversation died down. I was left lying there, staring at the screen, the weight of it all settling in. I felt drained, both physically and mentally, but not in a way that left me satisfied. It never did.

I typed one last message to her before closing the app.

"I have to go. Later"

She replied almost instantly, as if she hadn’t wanted the conversation to end.

"Call me if you need anything, okay?"

I stared blankly at her response I hate this.

The room was quiet again, and I had nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.

I kept telling myself that maybe, just maybe, I’d find a genuine connection. Someone who didn’t want me for just one night, for a secret affair or a fantasy. Someone who actually wanted to know me, to love me for who I was, not what I could offer. But deep down, I knew that was a rare thing to find. No one finds that on a dating app.

Still, I couldn’t help it. I kept looking, kept scrolling, hoping that this time would be different. But as I swiped through the profiles, the familiar emptiness settled in my chest.

I closed the app not even opening her last message and tossed my phone onto the bed with a sigh, lying back down and staring at the ceiling. Maybe I’d stop using the app one day. Maybe I’d stop chasing after something that didn’t seem to exist. But for now, it was all I had. Even if it left me feeling more alone than ever.

I groaned as I lazily pushed myself out of bed, the weight of sleep still heavy on my limbs. My body felt sluggish, like I hadn’t gotten nearly enough rest, but lying there didn’t feel any better. I needed to move, to clear my head. So, I dragged myself toward the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I shuffled across the floor.

As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, I was met with an unexpected sight—a plate of neatly arranged gimbap sitting on the counter, accompanied by a small note beside it. I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing.

The note read:

"Sorry for the noise, idk when you’d wake up, reheat and enjoy ;)"

I stared at the note for a moment, my tired brain struggling to connect the dots. My roommate. He must’ve left this for me before heading out. I glanced at the gimbap, the smell of it reaching my nose, and for a moment, I felt my stomach grumble.

But then the thoughts came rushing in.

“What if he knows I’m fake and gay and is trying to poison me?” I muttered to myself, squinting suspiciously at the plate. My mind immediately spiraled into the worst-case scenarios. Maybe he was one of those overly-religious types who’d find out about me and decide I didn’t deserve to be here. What if he somehow knew about the app? About the hookups? About everything I was pretending not to be while living in this place?

I poked at the gimbap with a finger, as if expecting it to explode or something equally dramatic. Nothing happened, of course. It was just food—innocent-looking, perfectly normal food. But still, the paranoia lingered.

I let out a frustrated sigh and leaned against the counter, staring down at the meal. It was a small gesture, probably harmless. He was just being nice, right? But in a place like this, where I felt like I was constantly hiding, constantly pretending, the kindness felt off. Suspicious, even.

I glanced around the empty room, feeling like an idiot for thinking that way. He didn’t know anything about me. There was no way he could. And yet, the doubt lingered, gnawing at the back of my mind. I wasn’t ready to trust anyone here, not yet.

With another sigh, I grabbed the plate and turned to the microwave, muttering under my breath as I set it inside to reheat.

Afterwards I cleaned up and put on a casual outfit—just jeans and a simple shirt—and decided to take a walk around the camp. My body still felt sluggish from the earlier drowsiness, but I needed to get out, breathe some air, and maybe clear my head. Walking through the familiar grounds, I couldn't help but notice how little had changed since I was last here. The stone pathways, the old wooden benches, the large trees casting their shadows over the fields—it was all just as I remembered, almost frozen in time.

As I strolled through the space, the memories began to flood in. The ones I hadn’t wanted to remember. The ones I tried so hard to bury.

I could hear the laughs again—the sneers, the whispers. “Feminine,” they’d call me. “Girly.” The mocking tone of their voices echoed in my head like a broken record. “He looks like a girl. “Bet he’s gay.” "He can't be gay and Christian."  They’d say it so casually, like they were stating some undeniable fact, and each word had chipped away at me back then, bit by bit.

"Faggot."

"He's disgusting."

"God would send him to hell."

I clenched my jaw, trying to shut those memories out, but the more I walked, the louder they became. The taunts. The looks. I’d try to deny it, shouting back, “God forbid!” as if that could change their minds. But the truth was, I was crying inside. Every night, I’d sit by my bed, hands clasped tightly together, praying for God to make them stop seeing me that way. Begging for some sort of relief, for the torment to end. But no matter how much I prayed, no matter how much I pleaded, it didn’t stop. It never stopped.

I swallowed hard, my steps faltering as the weight of those memories pressed down on me. I remembered the loneliness, the isolation, the fear that somehow I was failing in my faith just because of the way I looked. And the worst part? I had believed them. I had believed every word.

My fingers curled into fists, and I forced myself to keep walking, pushing through the flood of emotions threatening to pull me under. This place—it wasn’t supposed to have this hold over me anymore. I was here to start over, to get through this, make some money, and move on. But those old scars—they weren’t as healed as I thought.

Finally, the voices in my head began to quiet as I arrived at the office of the head reverend. The building loomed in front of me, a reminder of another time, another version of me. I hesitated for a moment, drawing in a slow breath before stepping inside.

As soon as I walked through the door, I was greeted by a familiar, booming voice. “Jisung, my son It’s been too long.” The head reverend, Father Lee, stood from behind his desk with a broad smile. Before I could even say anything, he grabbed my hands, pulling me into a quick but firm handshake.

He didn't let go immediately. Instead, he held my hands, bowing his head slightly as he mumbled a short prayer, thanking God for bringing me back safely. I stood there, stiff and uncomfortable, but I let him pray, knowing this was just how things went here.

After the prayer, Father Lee looked at me, his eyes twinkling with a warmth I wasn’t sure I trusted anymore. "Sit, sit!”. He urged, motioning toward the chair in front of his desk.

I sat, my mind still tangled with the memories of my teenage years, the prayers I’d once said for everything to be different. Father Lee's smile didn’t falter as he leaned forward, his hands folded on the desk, ready to dive into whatever small talk or guidance he had prepared for me. But all I could think about was how strange it felt to be here again. Like a piece of me I’d tried to forget was being dragged back to the surface.

And I wasn’t sure I liked it.

The office felt smaller than it was, the thick scent of old books and incense wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. My hands awkwardly folded in my lap, trying to focus on the words spilling from his mouth. He was laying out the rules of the institution, telling me about discipline, schedules, my role here. It was all standard stuff. Nothing I hadn’t heard before.

But even so, my brain felt like it was moving in slow motion, everything he said registering just a second too late. I could only manage small nods in response, not trusting my voice to come out right if I spoke.

“If you ever find something troubling, don’t hesitate to come to me,” the reverend added, his eyes softening like he could sense the unease rolling off me. “We believe in discipline, but we also believe in support. You’re not alone here, Jisung.”

I nodded again, probably for the hundredth time since I sat down. The words felt like they were floating above me, distant, like I was hearing them from underwater. I kept nodding though, pretending I was absorbing everything. It seemed easier that way.

The door creaked open, and I barely turned my head until I caught a glimpse of something—no, someone—familiar. Long blonde hair, a face I hadn’t seen in years.

Felix.

My eyes widened a little as he stepped into the office. We hadn’t been close, but I definitely remembered him. He used to be one of my biggest competitors back in the day when we’d go head-to-head in Bible verse competitions. It was never personal, just good old-fashioned rivalry, but it’s strange seeing someone from that part of my life standing here now. Especially here.

“Ah, Felix,” the reverend said warmly, not missing a beat, “you’ve come at the perfect time. Remember Han Jisung, and I was hoping you could show him around.”

Felix gave that easy smile of his and nodded. “Of course, Father.” Then his gaze shifted to me. “Hey.”

I managed a small smile and nodded like an idiot. My throat felt dry again, like I’d swallowed a mouthful of dust.

The reverend stood up and gave me a light pat on the shoulder. “Take your time settling in. Felix will guide you. Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions.”

I stood, the chair creaking beneath me as I pushed it back, and followed Felix out of the room. The hallway outside felt cooler, less suffocating than the office, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

“So,” Felix said as we walked, his voice light, casual, “you staying here for a while?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. My eyes stayed fixed on the floor, the tips of my shoes scuffing against the smooth tile as I walked.

Felix didn’t seem to mind. He led me through the halls, explaining what each room was—the classes, the halls, the dorms, the small chapel. His voice was friendly, but there was a formality to it, like he was giving a tour he’d done a hundred times before. I nodded along, trying to keep up, but the words kind of blurred together in my head.

When we reached the main area, Felix gestured to a wide open space with worn benches and a small stage. “This is where we do most of the camp activities. Group sessions, team-building stuff, you know the drill.”

I nodded again, eyes scanning the open space.

“You probably don’t remember this places anymore,” Felix said after a moment, a light chuckle in his voice, "Remembered those competition, everyone was scared to go against you cause you were such a tough competition... I've never seen anyone so passionate about the gospel."

I blinked, glancing over at him, my heart sinking as he mentioned how passionate I used to be.

“I remember. You were so good too.” I managed to say back.

Felix smiled, a hint of something nostalgic in his expression. “Yeah, those were the days.”

The conversation didn’t go much deeper than that, though. It was all just surface level, polite exchanges about the place, empty comments about how things had changed. I didn’t have much to say, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to dive into any of it right now.

Felix was nice enough, though. He kept things light, never pushing me to talk more than I wanted to. I appreciated that.

As we neared the end of the tour, Felix slowed down, turning to face me. “I know this place can feel a bit overwhelming sometimes and I can tell how anxious you are being here but there's a reason God brought you back.” he said, his tone more serious, "He's going to use you again and the kids would be so inspired by your Faith.”

I gave another nod. “I'll do my best."

Felix smiled, a soft, easy smile that made me think maybe he had found some kind of peace here. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever find.

“Alright,” he said, “do you have anything questions?.”

"No I'm good."

“Okay. We should stop for a drink,” Felix said casually, glancing over at me as we made our way down the path, the trees casting long shadows over us.

I stiffened for a second, my mind immediately going to alcohol. Was that even allowed here? But Felix didn’t seem the type to break the rules, so I kept quiet and just followed along, nodding like I always did.

We walked a little farther until we reached a small, cozy place not too far from the institution. It wasn’t a bar—more of a quaint little café, with outdoor tables and a chalkboard menu listing different fruit drinks and snacks. My shoulders relaxed a bit. Okay, so not alcohol.

Felix ordered a fruit drink, and I did the same, not really caring which one. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted, just something to keep my hands busy. The cold glass felt good when I finally held it, condensation rolling down my fingers.

As we sat at one of the outdoor tables, a guy approached us, smiling wide, his eyes practically glowing with warmth. He looked younger than Felix and me, his dark hair tousled and carefree.

“Felix!” the guy called out, clearly excited to see him.

Felix grinned and stood up, tapping the guy on the back. “Jeongin! What are you doing here?”

“Just grabbing something before heading back,” Jeongin replied, then turned his curious gaze to me.

Felix gestured between us. “Jisung, this is Jeongin, my roommate. Jeongin, this is Jisung. He just got here.”

Jeongin’s smile didn’t waver as he extended his hand to me. “Nice to meet you, Jisung.”

I shook his hand, feeling a little awkward but managing a small smile. “You too.”

"Do I know you?"

"He's the Han Jisung." Felix told him.

"Oh. I've heard so much about you."

"Jeongin joined us a little while back."

"I see."

Jeongin pulled up a chair and joined us, quickly ordering his own fruit drink. I wasn’t sure what to make of him at first. He seemed easygoing, the kind of person who didn’t let things bother him much. I didn’t know people like that—at least, not well.

The conversation started off light, small talk about the institution, what it was like there, how long Jeongin had been around. It felt like the same kind of surface-level stuff I’d been exchanging with Felix, but at least Jeongin was friendly enough.

“So, Jisung, where are you from?” Jeongin asked, sipping his drink.

“Uh, just outside of the city,” I replied, keeping it vague. I wasn’t ready to dive into details, and luckily, neither Felix nor Jeongin pushed for more.

“City life, huh?” Jeongin chuckled. “I’m from the countryside. Bet it’s a lot different from where you grew up.”

“Yeah, probably,” I muttered, looking down at my drink.

But then the conversation shifted. We started talking about things outside of the institution—music, random hobbies, and at some point, we landed on movies.

That’s when something clicked.

“I used to watch a lot of old films,” I said, my voice picking up a little as I found myself actually interested for the first time in this whole conversation. “Especially those old black-and-white horror ones.”

Jeongin’s eyes lit up. “No way, me too! I used to stay up late watching them when I was a kid.”

Felix raised an eyebrow at both of us, clearly amused. “You two are both into those creepy old movies?”

Jeongin laughed. “They’re not creepy, they’re classic! The atmosphere, the suspense—it’s different from the flashy stuff now.”

I nodded in agreement, feeling a bit of excitement creep into my chest. “Exactly. The effects might not hold up, but there’s something about the way they build tension that you don’t get in modern films.”

"Isn't it a sin to watch negative things like that? Those horrors fill your spirit with bad energy." As Felix talked I rolled my eyes already annoyed.

"There's nothing bad about that, Felix."

"Horror movies are a no go."

"It's just a movie."

"Still."

For a moment, the awkwardness faded, and we just talked. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a small, shared interest that made the conversation feel less forced.

By the time we finished our drinks, Jeongin and I were exchanging movie recommendations, and Felix just shook his head, amused by the whole thing.

“You guys get along pretty well.” Felix said with a grin.

I didn’t know about that yet, but as we all stood up to leave, I realized I didn’t feel as out of place as I had earlier. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

When I got back to my room, the door was already open. I paused for a second, furrowing my brows. I hadn’t expected anyone to be inside, but the muffled sounds of movement from the kitchen confirmed otherwise. My roommate must be in.

I stepped inside quietly, trying not to disturb whatever was happening. As soon as I walked past the kitchen area, I heard a voice call out, “Welcome back.”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, and besides, I didn’t even know the guy yet. My mind felt clouded after the day’s events, and the only thing I could think about was taking a shower and maybe, finally, getting some peace.

Without another word, I headed straight for the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a quiet click. The hot water hit my skin, and I let it wash over me, trying to clear my head. But even as the steam filled the small space, I couldn’t shake this uneasy feeling sitting heavy in my chest.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed in there, letting the water run until my skin started to wrinkle. But eventually, I stepped out, dried off, and slipped into a loose shirt and pants.

When I opened the bathroom door and walked back into the room, I finally caught a glimpse of my roommate for the first time.

He was standing near the bed, folding his clothes—calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He looked up at me and My heart skipped a beat as my eyes registered who it was.

Minho.

I froze, my entire body stiffening like I’d seen a ghost. My mind raced, trying to understand why he was here, in my room, folding clothes like he belonged there. The sudden shock made my chest tighten painfully, and before I could stop myself, I gripped my shirt, feeling like my spirit was about to leave my body.

I stumbled backwards, the world spinning around me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed on the floor, hitting the tile hard as my breath came in shallow, uneven bursts.

Minho’s smile, which had been small and almost teasing when I first saw him, faltered. His eyes widened in concern, and he dropped the shirt he’d been holding as he rushed over.

“Jisung! Are you alright?” He reached out, ready to help me up.

But the second his hand got close, panic flared in my chest. The thought of him touching me—of Minho being this close—made everything worse. My vision blurred, and all I could do was scream.

“Get away!” I yelled, my voice breaking as I scrambled back, pulling myself away from him as fast as I could. My heart hammered in my chest, and I could feel the fear gripping me tighter with every second that passed.

Minho stopped in his tracks, his face going pale as he raised his hands, backing off like he didn’t want to scare me further. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jisung. Just… calm down, okay?”

But I couldn’t calm down. Not when my heart was racing like it was trying to break free from my chest, and not when I couldn’t even trust what I was seeing.

Minho stood there, silent for a moment, his eyes scanning my face as if he was trying to figure out what went wrong. His small smile was completely gone now, replaced by something almost unreadable—confusion? Concern?

I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I needed space, and I needed it now.

I rushed out.

Minho was my roommate. My body trembled as I stood outside the cold evening as others walked past me probably wondering why I was behaving abnormal.

I can't go back in there

Not after I overreacted and embarrassed myself like that.

My heart is still raced as I imagine his face.

He has Changed so much since the last night I saw him.

But

My feelings haven't changed.

Chapter Text

When I think back to how it all started with Minho, I always feel a mixture of tension and fascination like trying to remember something beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

I was 17 when I switched rooms again. My old roommates were relentless. I had tried to tough it out, brushing off their constant teasing and snide remarks, but it got to a point where I couldn't take it anymore. They were always on my case, picking apart every little thing I did until I felt like I was walking on glass. So, I complained, begged really, for a new room. It took a while, the management complained about me always wanting to change room but after a few More reports I was assigned to a new one. I didn't know who my new roommates were until I walked in with my suitcase in hand.

The first thing that hit me when I entered was that Minho was there. Minho, the guy everyone knew about, because of his father. The head reverend. I had seen him around before, heard the whispers that followed him everywhere he went. People wanted to be near him, to somehow catch his attention, as if standing close enough to him could grant them some kind of favor or status.

I had been one of those people too. Not that I ever tried to get close to him. No, I watched from a distance like everyone else. He had this way of carrying himself, like he didn't care what anyone thought but still somehow made everyone want to be around him. It wasn't arrogance-it was more like quiet confidence, like he didn't need to say a word to own a room.

So when I walked into my new room and saw him sitting there, unpacking his things, it was like I had been dropped into a scene I wasn't prepared for. I froze for a second, trying to wrap my head around it.

There were three other beds in the room, two of them already occupied by other guys who barely acknowledged me. But Minho? He glanced up from what he was doing, eyes locking with mine for just a moment before returning to his task as if my presence didn't faze him at all.

I spent the rest of that day trying to settle in without making a fool of myself. My nerves were on edge, especially around Minho. I didn't even know why I cared so much, but every move I made felt like it had to be calculated-like I couldn't afford to slip up in front of him. I kept my head down, unpacking my things, trying to make as little noise as possible, all while stealing glances at him from time to time. He never looked at me again that day.

Days passed, then weeks. Minho and I still hadn't spoken a word to each other. It wasn't like he ignored me-I think it was more that he didn't need to acknowledge me. But every once in a while, I'd catch him looking. It would be subtle, like a quick glance across the room, but it was enough to make my heart skip a beat. And then, there were times when I'd look up and find his eyes already on me, only for him to turn away just as quickly.

I didn't understand why I felt so drawn to him. We were just two people sharing the same space, but every time I was around him, it felt like the air shifted. Like I was hyper-aware of every move he made, every breath he took. I couldn't explain it, and it frustrated me more than anything. I tried not to let it show-tried not to let anyone, especially Minho, see how nervous I was around him. But it was hard. Every time I moved around the room, I was conscious of his presence, worried that he was watching, judging.

I didn't want to make a mistake in front of him. I didn't even know why that mattered so much to me. It wasn't like he had ever said anything to make me feel that way. But still, I found myself overthinking everything. Did I unpack my books too loudly? Was my bed too messy? Should I have greeted him when I first moved in? It was like I was always in a silent competition with myself to be perfect in his presence, even if he never noticed.

More weeks went by. We exchanged more glances, more fleeting moments of eye contact, but never any words. I would sit on my bed, pretending to read or study, while all I could think about was him sitting across the room, so close yet so far. I tried to focus on other things, on school, on my bible studies, but nothing seemed to distract me from the quiet tension that built between us every time we were in the same space. Or was it just me feeling that tension.

I think the hardest part was not knowing what he thought of me. Did he even notice me the way I noticed him? Or was I just another person who happened to share a room with him, someone easily forgettable?

And yet, despite the silence between us, I found myself wanting to impress him. I didn't know what I was hoping for. Maybe just acknowledgment. Maybe just a look that lasted a little longer, a sign that he saw me. That he cared.

But all I had were the moments when our eyes met across the room, and the feeling that somehow, in some unspoken way, we were both aware of each other. Even if we didn't say a word.

Soon enough the bullying started here, as expected, it was quietly at first-little jabs thrown my way that I could pretend not to hear. But over time, the two roommates began to get bolder, especially after realizing I wasn't going to fight back. They'd call me names under their breath or snicker when I'd walk into the room, muttering something about how quiet I always was. It was uncomfortable, but I figured I could deal with it, just like I had in the previous room.

But then came the night when it escalated-when they went from low whispers and side comments to full-on humiliation.

Minho was there that night, sitting on his bed. I remember it clearly because the tension in the room felt different, heavier somehow, and I couldn't stop thinking about how his presence made everything worse. It was bad enough that they picked on me in private, but now they were doing it in front of him. I sat at the edge of my bed, trying to stay invisible, hoping they'd lose interest. But instead, they zeroed in on me like predators that had sensed fear.

"Cynthia!" one of them started, voice dripping with mockery, that's what they called me most of the time because to them I was a 'girl' "You're always so mute, man. What's wrong? You don't talk, or you just don't have anything worth saying?"

The other one snorted. "Nah, I think it's because he wants to be a woman. That's why he's always so quiet. Maybe he's waiting for some miracle to happen so he can wake up as someone else."

They both laughed, the sound harsh and loud in the small room. My chest tightened, and I stared at my hands, gripping the edge of my bed, knuckles white. I wanted to say something, to tell them to stop, but the words lodged in my throat like sharp stones.

"That's it, right?" the first one continued, leaning in closer, his voice low and taunting. "You want to be a woman so bad. Maybe that's why you're always acting all shy. Waiting for someone to come and make you feel like one?"

They laughed again, louder this time, their words turning more graphic, making disgusting, twisted jokes about me-about my body, about how they could "teach" me what it felt like to be a woman. My skin crawled, and I felt sick, trapped in that moment, with nowhere to go and no way to defend myself.

The worst part? Minho was right there. Sitting in his usual spot on the top bunk across the room, watching everything unfold. He didn't say a word. Didn't laugh. He just... watched. Our eyes met for a second, and something flickered in his gaze-something I couldn't read. It wasn't disgust, and it wasn't amusement, but it wasn't anything comforting either. It was just cold. Detached.

I looked away quickly, feeling exposed, the knot in my stomach tightening. I was waiting for his turn to say something to join them mock me.

He didn't.

Eventually, they got bored of their jokes, leaving the room filled with the lingering echoes of their laughter. We went through the motions of the night prayer, and I tried to focus on anything but the pit in my stomach. Afterward, as everyone began to settle in, I moved to make my bed on the lower bunk preparing for bed.

I was reaching for my blanket when I felt something-Minho brushing past me. His shoulder knocked into mine as he moved, not hard, but enough to make me freeze. He didn't say anything, didn't even look back at me. Instead, he walked straight to the door and slammed it behind him as he left the room.

I stood there, heart pounding, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then I noticed something-a small piece of paper folded neatly on my bed where Minho had walked by.

I stared at it for a long moment before quickly grabbing it and tucking it into my palm. I held onto it until the other two guys were distracted, laughing over something else, oblivious to me. Only then did I slowly unfold the paper, my hands trembling slightly.

One word was written there, small but clear:

"Chapel."

I stared at the word for a moment, my heart thudding in my chest, trying to make sense of it. Why had he left this for me? What was he trying to say?

But as I folded the note back up and tucked it into my pocket, a strange sense of anticipation settled over me. Whatever it meant, I was going to find out.

The hallways were quiet-eerily so-as I stepped out of the room. I waited for what felt like forever, making sure I couldn't hear any footsteps, any movement at all. My heart pounded in my chest, louder than I wanted it to, making me feel like it was giving me away. I knew it was risky, but I couldn't ignore the note. Despite everything, despite the fear gnawing at my gut, I had to go. I had to see what Minho meant by

"Chapel."

I crept down the hallway, every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet making me wince. My mind was racing with questions. Why had he called me out here? Was this some sort of setup, a cruel joke they were planning to humiliate me even more? Was Minho like them after all, pretending to be indifferent just so he could get in on the fun later?

But I was determined to find out.

When I finally reached the chapel, the door groaned as I pushed it open. Inside, it was dark, only a few faint rays of moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows, casting eerie shadows across the room. I took a few tentative steps forward, my breath shaky, eyes scanning the empty pews. There was no one here. The silence pressed in on me, thick and suffocating.

Fear crawled up my spine, and the thought hit me like a punch This is a setup. Minho must've told them. They're going to show up any minute, laughing, mocking me, or worse. I turned to leave, my pulse quickening, but then-

I felt it. A light touch on my arm.

"I'm here," a voice said softly, right behind me.

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, but my body didn't react. I didn't run, didn't even flinch. It was as though my fear had frozen me in place, the sound of Minho's voice keeping me still.

"You're not afraid," he said, his voice low, almost a murmur.

I didn't respond. I couldn't. I was still processing the fact that he was really here-just him, no one else in sight. But I didn't trust it, not fully. My eyes darted around the chapel, half-expecting shadows to move, for someone else to jump out from the darkness.

"Don't worry," he added. "We're alone."

That didn't make me feel any better. My stomach twisted, and I forced myself to ask the question that had been burning in my mind since I got here.

"Why am I here?" My voice came out harsher than I intended, laced with the frustration I'd been holding onto for so long.

Minho didn't answer right away. He took a step closer, the soft sound of his shoes on the chapel floor the only noise breaking the heavy silence between us.

"So you can speak," he finally said, "outside of the competitions and sermons."

That annoyed me. What was that supposed to mean? Did he think this was some game, some lesson? I turned to leave, the frustration boiling over into something more. I was done with cryptic notes and unspoken words. I didn't care who he was, or how untouchable people thought he was.

But before I could take more than a step, he grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not forceful. "Please stay," he said quickly, his voice softer now, almost... desperate. "I just want to be friends."

I froze again, blinking in surprise. Friends?

I turned to look at him, really look at him, for what felt like the first time. There was something different in his eyes-something I hadn't expected. It wasn't the cold, detached gaze I'd seen before. It was... honest. Vulnerable, even.

"I'm serious," he continued, his hand still on my arm, but his grip loosened. "I've been watching you too, you know. You don't talk to anyone... but everyone knows you, everyone talks about you."

The way he said it made it seem like everyone liked me, but it was never that, maybe the reverend and the sisters but not my fellows age mates.

"But no one actually know you personally, no one is close to you to know your favourite colours, what you like or dislike and I want to be that person."

My throat felt tight. I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to walk away, to not trust a single word he was saying. But another part of me-the part that had been longing for something, for someone-was hanging on to every word.

He moved and took a seat scooted a little space and tapped on the seat, my feet couldn't move. I still didn't trust this. I stood my leg still rooted to the ground.

"I want to be your best friend."

My eyes caught four shadows passing along the chapel and I stepped back fearing the were heading here, Minho looked over to the the window observing their movement, they were in their own world just talking as they passed. I heard my name in their conversation I couldn't quite make out what they were talking about, then loud laughter followed and they were out of sight within seconds.

"Are you worried?" Minho touched my arms carefully. "I'm not like them," He said quietly. "I don't find them funny."

He let go of my arm and adjusting, giving me space.

I stood there, unsure of what to do, my heart still racing, but for a different reason now. There was a part of me that wanted to believe him, that wanted to stay, to hear him out. But trust wasn't something I gave easily anymore, not after everything.

I took a breath, my voice quieter this time, but steadier. "Why?"

"Why would you want to be friends with me."

Minho hesitated, glancing away for a moment before meeting my eyes again. "I'm not sure. I'm curious about you."

"You're not, you just want to find out if I'm truly gay so you can go off to tell the others."

"That's not true." His voice was calm.

"I'm familiar with this method."

"I know you're not gay. You can't be."

"Well I'm not. It's disgusting to like another man and God would send me to hell."

"Those boys have no brain, they're just jealous of your success."

I didn't know what to say. All I could do was stand there, caught between wanting to walk away and wanting to stay, as Minho waited for my answer, the silence between us heavy with all the things neither of us had said yet.

His eyes never left me as I slowly took a seat beside him and his lips formed a small smile. It was dark but I could still see this face.

That's when I finally let myself take him in-really take him in. It was like seeing him for the first time, even though I'd stared at him a thousand times before. His bold face structure caught my attention first, sharp and defined in ways that made it hard to look away. His jawline alone could cut through my resolve. Then there were his eyes-bright, intense, and somehow always so full of something even in the dark.

I followed the curve of his brow, the way it framed his face so perfectly, adding to that effortlessly composed look he always had. And his lips... God, his lips. soft-looking, and slightly parted, like they were waiting for something-maybe a kiss, I wasn't even attracted to men back then but I would kiss him still. My gaze lingered there too long, and my heart picked up in my chest.

He was gorgeous. That word didn't even begin to cover it. How could someone look like that just sitting there, doing nothing?

"My favorite colour is Pink."

"You wear blue alot I thought it'll be your favorite colour."

"It's not, people said it looked good on me so I started wearing it more."

"Oh"

We got quiet again without absolutely nothing to say to each other. I tried to think about something I've noticed about him, or ask him his own favorite colors but the words didn't form.

"You were so good yesterday." He was looking right at me as he spoke my eyes scurried away I couldn't bring myself so look at him while his focus was on me.

"How long do you stay up studying the Bible and remembering the verses."

He was talking about the competition we had with another institution and I won for our teams, I was the last person standing going against three opponent after my teammates were out.

"I didn't sleep days before, I was studying with the reverends so they put me through the complicated parts and I've read the bible countless times."

"Do you like it?"

"Like what?"

"The competitions, the pressure, the eyes on you, staying up , extra work, extra sermons."

No one ever asked that. I've never thought about it to myself if I liked it either. It was something I felt like I had to do. The price I had to pay for eternal life. My parents played a part, they started putting me in biblical competitions from a young age and now I couldn't stop. The awards, the acknowledge, the scholarships, the free gifts, the praises, the position, the reputation, the validation, all of it felt like something I needed, I've always felt like I had to prove something, I still didn't know who I was proving it to.

"I don't know." I managed to answer as I felt his gaze on my lips waiting for a response.

"Really?" You're so confident up there, too confident and sure to say you don't know."

I spaced out imagining how he saw me up there, how everyone else saw me. Like I was untouchable. Someone once told me that I was God's favorite and it seemed like He was directly speaking to me from heaven whenever I was in those competitions because I never lost. Not once.

"You're so special."

"I'm not."

"My father says so, he always talks about you." He eyes drifted away and he sighed slightly then I managed to turn my eyes to him. "He'll tell me 'why can't you be more like Jisung. God is using him wonderfully and you're a son of a reverend you're stagnant'." He sounded fed up.

"He says that to you?."

"I don't care. I don't take it to heart."

"I just wish he looks at me the way he looks at you."

"Looks at me?"

"Like his son, He sees me as a liability, apparently I'm useless to the ministry."

"I'm sorry."

"No you shouldn't be. I just want to serve God personally, I don't need to show it to anyone. Salvation is personal isn't it."

"It is."

"I don't need to show anyone how passionate I am about it."

I noticed.

I'd see him sometimes, watching us with those sharp eyes, catching things the rest of us missed. He was always so aware, so in tune with the way everything played out.
He had always been the observer, never the competitor. He stood at the edges, arms crossed, eyes steady, watching everything unfold before him with a quiet intensity. His friends would dive headfirst into contests-sports, games, debates-anything that tested their abilities or pushed them to prove something. But Minho? He stayed on the sidelines, content to watch, to study.

It wasn't that he lacked the skill or the drive. If anything, Minho had an acute awareness of how things worked, of how the pieces fit together in ways no one else seemed to notice. For Minho, there was no thrill in being a part of the competition. The idea of pitting himself against others, of measuring his worth by the result, felt empty. He never needed to win because he never needed to play.

But the more I watched him, the more I realized that for Minho, it wasn't about winning or losing. It wasn't about proving anything at all. He just didn't care about the competition. He didn't need to play because he didn't need the validation that came with winning. He was always one step ahead, seeing all the angles we couldn't. And in a way, that made him feel untouchable.

"I always wondered why you never wanted to participate, when you have so much advantage."

"Well, I don't like the competitions. I just like watching you."

Oh.

My heart skipped.

He liked watching me.

His words still echoed in my head long after he said them.

I couldn't form a response. Speech had completely failed me. My throat tightened, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth like I'd forgotten how to speak, confession settled in, pounding in my chest so hard I was sure he could hear it. The thought of him watching me, eyes on me the whole time during those matches, did things to my mind I didn't know how to process. I felt dizzy just imagining it.

Before I could gather myself, Minho moved. He grabbed my arm, pulling me sharply. I stumbled, realizing I'd been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't even noticed someone else entering the chapel. My breath caught in my throat as I caught a glimpse of the figure-an adult, a sister by the look of her veiled shadow.

"Come on," Minho whispered urgently in my ear, his voice barely audible but enough to make my skin tingle. "Sneak back to the room. I'll follow."

I blinked at him, unsure. My body was frozen, my mind racing between thoughts of him watching me and now this sudden need to escape. But his eyes-calm, focused-left me no room for argument. I was too scared to protest, too scared to make a sound. Nodding silently, I obeyed, sinking down to the floor and crawling my way out of the chapel, every movement feeling too loud despite the sister's soft muttering as she began her prayer.

I didn't dare look back. My palms scraped against the cold stone as I pushed myself out the door, breath shaky as I rushed down the narrow hallway. My pulse hammered in my ears the whole way back to my room.

When I finally made it, I stood frozen at the doorway, staring in disbelief. Everything-everything-was a mess. My belongings were scattered all over the floor, clothes thrown about, papers crumpled, books tossed aside, my bed ruined. The two other boys I shared the room with lay stiff in their beds, their backs turned toward me, pretending to be asleep. I could tell by the way they held their breaths that they were anything but.

My heart pounded even harder now, panic mixing with the rush of adrenaline from earlier. What the hell happened in here? My hands shook as I stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind me. I didn't want to believe they had anything to do with this, but the way they lay so still, so silent... it felt like confirmation.

Minho hadn't come back yet. I was alone, staring at the chaos of what had once been my neatly organized corner of the room.

I hated it.

I hated everything back then, my thoughts return back to the present. As I stood outside in the cold, my mind still a whirlwind, taking me back to years ago when things were different-simpler, maybe. The days when Minho and I didn't need words, just glances and small moments shared. But that was a long time ago, and now I was here, waiting for hours in the dark, trying to gather the courage to face him again.

I waited, standing under the dim light outside our shared room, listening for any sign that Minho had fallen asleep. The minutes stretched into hours until finally, I convinced myself it was safe. The silence from inside was enough to tell me that Minho was asleep by now. I quietly turned the knob, slipping into the room and locking the door behind me.

The room was bathed in soft shadows, barely illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. I could just make out Minho's form on the other side of the room, his back turned toward me. My heart pounded as I crept to the bed, pulling the sheets over myself, burying my body beneath them. But I couldn't keep my eyes from wandering over to him.

It was really Minho. Even though he facing away from me, I could recognize him anywhere. The way his shoulders rose and fell with each breath, the broadness of his back, the familiar curve of his body. He was different now-more muscular, more defined than I remembered. His body had changed in ways that both startled and fascinated me, but some things hadn't. He still slept shirtless, just like he always had, his skin exposed to the cool air.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push away the memories that resurfaced as I lay there, but the thoughts wouldn't stop. My mind kept circling back to him, to us, to how everything was different now. The air felt heavy with the weight of unspoken things, things I didn't have the courage to face.

My heart pounded in my chest, louder than it should've been, each beat a reminder of how much had changed between us. I felt like the ground beneath me could swallow me whole at any moment, like I didn't belong here anymore. My body was stiff, tense, as if moving even an inch would shatter whatever fragile peace there was in the room.

My thoughts raced, my mind preparing suggestions — maybe I should request to change rooms. It would be easier than pretending that nothing had happened between us, easier than facing these feelings I wasn't ready to confront. But I stopped myself.

I wasn't a kid anymore. I couldn't just run away. I was an adult now, and I knew this wasn't going to be easy. I just had to get through it.

"Minho didn't care, right? So why am I making such a big deal about it?" I questioned in my head, the frustration swirling inside me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was overthinking everything, but the weight of it was too much to ignore.

I sighed, staring up at the ceiling, my heart still racing. This wasn't something I could keep bottling up. I needed to talk to someone-someone who could ground me before I completely lost it. Nessa. My comfort friend. She always knew what to say when my mind spiraled like this.

I grabbed my phone and, without hesitation, started typing a long message. I told her everything-about Minho, how different things felt, my feelings, the awkwardness, the fear, the way my thoughts wouldn't let me breathe. I poured it all out, hoping she'd help me make sense of it.

I hit send and waited. For what felt like forever, nothing happened, and my anxiety spiked. What if she didn't know what to say this time? What if I really was making this a bigger deal than it needed to be?

Nessa knew about Minho. Actually everyone who's ever gotten close to me one way or the other knows about him. I always talked about him. I never stopped. It's been four years why Still couldn't get over whatever chokehold he had on me.

Fuck. Nessa where are you? I'm loosing my mind.

But then, the typing icon appeared. A small bubble with three dots, and suddenly I could breathe again.

Her reply came in a steady flow.

Nessa: "Oh no, not him."

Nessa: Calm down bubs just breathe,

She continued, her words gentle but firm.

Nessa: There's a few ways you can handle this. You can talk to him, clear the air but that'll seem you're making something out of something non existent, it's been years and he feels nothing for you.

My heart ached.

Nessa: The only way to keep your cool is to Change your mindset about him. He doesn't exist in your world he never did. You don't love him. You don't even like him."

I stared at the screen, letting her words sink in. She was right. Maybe I was overcomplicating it. Maybe I just needed to take a step back, breathe, and stop making things out of everything.

Nessa: "You have the power over this. Remember that the feeling is there because you give meaning to it, when you don't, it's nothing."

Jisung: "I'm not sure I can convince myself that I'm not in love with him."

Nessa: "You can. Trust me."

Jisung: "I really can't Nessa and I can't have him either. I'm ruined."

Nessa: "Jisung you can and you will. Just start going out again, you'll see."

Maybe she was right

Maybe that'll help.

I kept that in mind at least I tried.

I'm not in love with Minho

I don't even like him.

The feelings are only there because I'm the one feeding into it, he really have no effect on me.

It's been years I still shouldn't feel this way.

I should toughen up

He doesn't exist in my world.

I tossed and turned, my mind a mess of thoughts. No matter how hard I tried to push them away, they just kept coming back—he kept coming back. I couldn't escape it,
It took what felt like forever to drift off to sleep, my thoughts running in endless circles, but eventually, my exhaustion caught up with me. I fell into a restless sleep.

I blinked, groggy, stretching out and rubbing my face as the morning light began to appear.  Minho laid on his bed, awake, his eyes fixed on his phone as I dragged myself out of bed to the bathroom.

My reflection wasn’t great—tired eyes, a mess of hair, and the remnants of last night’s unease still clinging to me. I splashed some water on my face, brushed my teeth and washed up.

The faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen caught my attention, when I walked out.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, the smell of eggs was in the air, and Minho was already at the stove, shirtless, as usual. He didn’t notice me at first, his back turned while he worked. Without thinking, I walked over to the coffee maker and started making a cup.

“Morning,” I mumbled, half expecting silence, but Minho glanced over his shoulder, surprise flickering across his face.

"I thought you were going to keep running away, avoiding me again."

His words made my heart skip, and for a moment, I froze. Avoiding him... I guess that’s exactly what I’d been doing, but hearing him say it out loud made me feel guilty all over again. I turned my head to look at him, trying to find some boldness in me, but the moment I did, my breath hitched.God, Minho’s face—how could anyone look this perfect? It was like someone had sculpted him from marble, every feature so flawless it almost made me believe in divine intervention. He was the only reason I could still entertain the thought that maybe some higher power existed because there was no way someone was just born looking like that. My eyes immediately darted away before I could get caught staring, feeling my cheeks burn.

“Why would I do that?” I managed to say, though my voice was quieter than I’d hoped.

Minho paused, still watching me as he flipped the scrambled eggs in the pan. “Yesterday…” he started, but I cut him off.

“Yesterday doesn’t exist anymore,” I blurted, hoping it sounded more confident than I felt. I just didn’t want to go back there—not right now, not with him standing there looking like that.

Minho gave a small nod and went back to his cooking, scooping the eggs onto a plate. I glanced at him again, trying not to be obvious, but it was hard not to stare. His back was toned, muscles flexing with every movement. His skin looked warm in the morning light, and I couldn’t help it—my eyes trailed down, taking in every inch of him.

I quickly looked away before he could catch me, focusing hard on my coffee as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. God, Minho was impossible.

As I stood by the counter, finishing my coffee, Minho suddenly spoke up, his voice calm but pointed.

"I didn’t hear you pray."

"Huh?"

"You didn't pray when you woke up."

My heart skipped a beat. I froze, feeling my throat tighten as my fingers wrapped tightly around the mug. For a second, I didn’t know what to say, panic bubbling up inside me. Minho wasn’t accusing me of anything, but the weight of his words made it feel like he was.

"I—I did," I stammered, trying to sound casual, but the lie was clumsy, obvious even to me. I forced a weak smile, hoping it would pass as truth.

Minho turned to look at me, his brow slightly raised, like he could see right through me. "Really?" he asked, not accusing, but curious. "Because... I have also noticed you don't have a Bible."

That hit harder than I expected. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, my stomach twisting painfully. I couldn't tell him, that Somewhere along the way, it had slipped out of my life, and I hadn’t done anything to bring it back. I knew I should but I'd ruin my chances of being here again.
I couldn’t admit that to Minho. Not now. So instead, I doubled down on the lie, feeling my palms start to sweat. "Oh, yeah, it was part of the things I had forgotten back home but I'll get a new one soon. The lie felt heavy in my mouth, and I hated myself for saying it. I could feel the weight of Minho’s eyes on me, and I looked away, pretending to be busy again with the coffee maker, my hands moving aimlessly.

Minho didn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence between us grew tense. I could feel his gaze linger, like he was deciding whether to believe me or not. It made my skin crawl. I wanted to change the subject, to do anything to pull the attention away from my pathetic lie.

Thankfully, Minho shifted the conversation, his voice casual again. "You know, there’s an event coming up soon," he said. "You should probably start going through the activities and getting your students ready for it. The team I’m in charge of is one of the best in the institution, but I’d like some real competition for once."

I nodded quickly, latching onto the new topic like a lifeline. "Yeah, I’ll make sure we’re ready," I replied, my voice steadier now. But as the conversation moved on, the guilt stayed, gnawing at me from the inside. Lying to Minho had been easy, but now I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had disappointed him, and more than that—I had disappointed myself.

I moved with my class very quickly till It was the last class of the day, and the room was filled with that familiar energy—students eager to go home but still paying attention as I wrapped up the lesson. Today, we were talking about something deeper, something that meant more than the usual assignments and discussions. I stood at the front, hands resting on the desk as I spoke.

I had been talking about the purpose of God creating us and how our first priorities on earth was to serve him, To put him first over everything, over ambitions, desire s, friendship, relationships, family, even yourself.

The students were quiet, listening intently, some nodding in agreement while others seemed deep in thought. I could tell a few of them were grappling with the weight of the statement, and I knew questions would come. Sure enough, a hand shot up from the middle of the room.

"But how do we know if we’re really serving God?" the student asked, their voice curious but uncertain.

I smiled, knowing this was a question that always came up. "That’s a good question," I said, leaning against the desk, trying to ease into the answer. "Serving God isn’t always about grand gestures or big decisions. It’s about the small, everyday choices we make. How we treat people, how we carry ourselves, how we give without expecting anything in return. It’s about living with humility, compassion, and faith, trusting that even when we can’t see the bigger picture, God can."

As I continued, explaining with more confidence, I felt something click. The explanation was flowing perfectly, and I could see that the students were really getting it. Their faces brightened as understanding dawned, I was making them understand what I couldn't. Telling them what I didn't believe anymore.

But then something changed. A few students near the window suddenly turned their heads and greeted someone. Confused, I paused mid-sentence, glancing toward the window myself. That’s when I saw him.

Minho.

He was just standing there, casually watching from outside the window, his expression unreadable. My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, all the thoughts in my head scattered like leaves in the wind. What was he doing here?

Minho caught my eye, and his mouth quirked into a small, almost apologetic smile. "I’m sorry, carry on," he said, his voice soft but cutting through the silence of the room. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving as quickly as he had appeared.

I stood there for a second, staring after him, still processing the entire thing. Minho had been watching me, had listened to me speak... why? My mind spun, and suddenly, I was hyper-aware of how flustered I felt. I turned back to my students, trying to regain my composure, but I was still stunned, my thoughts completely derailed.

"Uh... where was I?" I mumbled, blinking at the class. The students looked back at me expectantly, but the perfect explanation I had been giving just moments ago had evaporated from my mind. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks, struggling to remember the point I had been trying to make.

But it was gone. Completely.

After the last class, I stayed behind with my students to prepare them for the upcoming competition. I’d spent some time studying the event and figuring out how to bring out the best in each of them, so I separated them into groups based on their strengths. Some were better at memorization, others excelled at critical thinking, and a few had this natural ability to lead discussions. It wasn’t easy, but I knew with the right guidance, they’d do well.

"Alright," I said, pacing in front of the room as I gave them their assignments. "Each of you is in a group that fits what you’re best at. But remember, this isn’t just about winning—it’s about learning and growing in your faith." I lied for me back then it was always about winning.

The students nodded, some excited, others a bit nervous, but all eager to prove themselves. I handed out specific verses for each group to focus on before our next meeting. They needed to study them, understand them, and be ready to share their thoughts in front of the class.

"And for next time, I want you to have these verses memorized," I said, handing out papers with selected scriptures. "These words are important, and I want you to reflect on them. The competition is just the surface—what matters is what these verses teach you."

As I stood there, watching them file out of the room, I realized something strange. I had just taught them everything straight from my head. I hadn’t opened any scripture books in years, yet the verses came to me like they’d never left. It was like all those years of learning and studying had imprinted themselves deep in my mind, and they flowed out effortlessly.

I paused, still holding the sheet of verses in my hand. How was it possible? It's been ages yet every word felt as familiar as if I had just read them that morning. I recited the passages to the students without thinking twice, every verse and chapter falling into place perfectly.

It shocked me, how easily it all came back. Even more shocking was how much I enjoyed teaching them, how natural it felt. Despite everything—despite not believing in a Supreme being —it was still a part of me. Maybe more than I wanted to admit.

By the time I finally got back to my room, I was exhausted. The day had been long, and my mind was still spinning from everything that had happened—from teaching the last class to preparing the students for the competition, to the strange feeling that had settled in after Minho’s unexpected visit. I just needed to clear my head, so I took a long, hot shower and ordered some food, hoping it would help me unwind.

When I came out, the room was quiet. My roommate was nowhere to be found, I had just noticed, which, honestly, was a relief, I needed space I settled down on my bed, letting out a long sigh as I sank into the comfort of the pillows. But as soon as I laid my head down, I felt something hard, something that definitely wasn’t supposed to be under my pillow.

Frowning, I sat up and moved the pillow aside. There, sitting neatly on the mattress, was a huge book. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the little piece of paper resting on top of it.

Curious, I picked up the note and unfolded it. The handwriting was neat, familiar.

"You did so good today. Well done."

I stared at the words, my mind racing. My fingers trembled slightly as I put the note down and reached for the book. The cover was pink—a soft, gentle color that used to be my favorite. I hadn’t seen anything pink in a long time, though. It wasn’t my favorite color anymore. Too many things had changed since then.

But when I opened the cover, I froze. It was a Bible.

I stared at the pages, my chest tightening as I ran my fingers along the edges. The paper felt thin and delicate under my touch, familiar yet foreign at the same time. I hadn’t held a Bible in so long—hadn’t even thought about it, really. And now, here it was, placed under my pillow like it had been waiting for me.

Minho.

I closed the Bible gently and set it on my lap, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier than it should. The note’s words echoed in my head: "You did so good today."

I had, hadn’t I? I’d managed to teach, to lead, to recall verses I hadn’t touched in years. But now, sitting here alone with this Bible in my hands, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe today had been more than just another day. Maybe it was a wake-up call—a reminder of something I’d been avoiding for far too long.

I didn’t know what to do with the Bible just yet, but for the first time in a while, I didn’t push it away. I left it there on my bed, next to me, and leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

Maybe tomorrow, I’d open it again.

666

Chapter Text

"You did so good today." I held the little piece of paper in my hand, reading it once again as I settled in my bed.

Something about the way he wrote it made my heart clench in my chest. Pride, maybe. But more than that, it was the memories it brought back, memories I hadn't thought of in a while. I found myself drifting, back to those days when Minho used to leave little notes like this for me after night prayers. Except back then, the words were different. I still remember one in particular: "Oak tree."

After the night at the chapel, I didn't exist to him anymore. Minho hadn't looked at me in two weeks.

Not a single glance, not a nod, not even when I greeted him-he just walked by like I didn't exist. At first, I thought it was nothing. Maybe he was busy, caught up in something that had nothing to do with me. But as the days passed, that hope faded.

I replayed that night at the chapel over and over in my head, searching for the moment when things went wrong. We'd talked about being best friends-his words, not mine. Minho had looked at me, eyes intense and sure, and said that we were best friends, as if that title meant something. I had clung to those words, let them wrap around me like a warm blanket, thinking it was his way of solidifying what we had.

But now, it felt like those words were just noise, hollow promises thrown into the wind. If we were best friends, he sure wasn't showing it.

For two weeks, he acted like I was invisible. I tried greeting him the first few times-awkward, hesitant "Heys" in the hallway, catching him outside the chapel, even standing next to him once, hoping he'd acknowledge me. Nothing. He would walk right by, eyes straight ahead, his expression neutral, like I wasn't even there. That's when I figured out he was doing it on purpose. It was a 100% deliberate.

It started to eat at me. Every time he ignored me, it felt like a little piece of me crumbled away. I'd catch myself glancing at him during meals, during prayer, sermons practices, whenever we were in the same space, hoping for just a flicker of recognition. Anything. But he never gave me that. It was like I'd been erased from his world completely.

I couldn't approach him, I couldn't figure out why. What had I said that night at the chapel that was so wrong? Did I misunderstand him? Did "best friends" mean something different to him? I kept running the conversation through my mind, every word, every look, every gesture. He had been the one to say it, and yet now, he was treating me like I was nothing.

Though we weren't close at all and the only interaction we've ever had was at the chapel but It was still hard not to feel... well, hurt.
I didn't press him. What was the point? I had learned long ago that people didn't stick around. Friends were a fleeting idea, something that happened to other people, not me. I'd gotten used to living in my own world, just existing on the edges while everyone else seemed to fit in effortlessly.

Maybe I had been stupid to think that Minho could be different from the others. Stupid me for actually believing when he said. "I'm not like them."

Because that's exactly what he was.

So I gave up. I stopped trying to catch his eye, stopped hoping for a reaction. It wasn't like this was new for me. I had spent most of my life without friends, and if Minho didn't want to be one either, then fine. I'd survive. I always had.

But even as I told myself that, the ache in my chest wouldn't go away.
After the night prayers, I walked ahead of the group as I always did. Keeping my head down, shoulders tight, I made sure to distance myself before anything could start. The faster I got away, the better. It wasn't that I was scared-not really-but I hated the way they picked on me. The way their taunts stuck in the air like thick smoke, always waiting to cling to me when I was too slow to avoid it.

I could hear them calling from behind, their voices echoing through the halls. "Hey! Wait up!" It was the same boys as always, their laughter carrying a threat I knew too well. My feet moved faster on instinct, and I could feel my heart picking up. I didn't wait. I never did.

They didn't follow. Not tonight, at least.

When I finally reached the hostel, my breath came in short, controlled bursts as I calmed myself down. I was just about to slip inside when I saw Minho standing by the entrance, leaning casually against the stone wall, talking to some girl. She was laughing at something he said, the sound light and easy, like it belonged there in the cold night.

I paused for a second, long enough to catch Minho's eye. He looked at me. For the first time in two weeks, his gaze flickered toward me-quick, almost indifferent, but it was there.

But I didn't make a big deal out of it. I didn't have the energy to wonder what that glance meant. Instead, I just walked past them, not even bothering to acknowledge the moment. My legs felt heavy as I climbed the stairs to my room. The whole time, my mind replayed his brief glance, trying to make sense of it, but I shook it off.

When I got to my room, the silence hit me. I needed to shower. Maybe it would help wash away the thoughts that wouldn't stop swirling in my head. I grabbed my towel and locked myself in the bathroom, feeling the familiar sting of the cold tiles under my feet. The water ran over my body, warm and soothing, but the tension in my chest never fully went away.

By the time I finished, my roommates were already back, their voices filling the space as they talked about random things-sports, exams, meaningless stuff that didn't matter to me. As soon as I stepped out, though, the conversation shifted. I could feel their eyes on me, like they were waiting for the right moment.

"Jisung is that you?." one of them snickered. "I thought a girl sneaked into our room."

The other joined in, laughing, "There's
no way he has a dick."

"Bet it's small."

I clenched my jaw, the words hanging in the air like every other insult they'd thrown at me before. But I didn't respond. I never did. Ignoring them was easier, like shutting out background noise I didn't want to deal with. I just grabbed my clothes and headed straight for my bed.

That's when I saw it-a small piece of paper, folded neatly beside my pillow. My heart skipped a beat, my breath catching in my throat as I unfolded it with trembling fingers.

"Oak tree."

I looked around, he wasn't in the room.

I looked back at the paper the familiar handwriting staring back at me. It was him. Minho. After two weeks of silence, of ignoring my existence, here was this- Oak tree.

It had me wondering why he had been silent for two weeks and now wants to secretly see me again. But I was desperate I wanted to see him too.

Moments later I was at the front gates of the hostel. The night air cut through my thin jacket like a blade, and I cursed myself for not dressing warmer. But sneaking out didn't leave much time for taking a jacket and that would have woken my other roommates.
I kept my arms wrapped tightly around my chest, walking quickly but quietly across the gravel path, ears tuned to every little sound around me. A gust of wind made the leaves rustle, and my heart jumped into my throat as I spun around, half expecting to see a nun or priest coming after me. But it was just the wind.

I exhaled slowly, pushing forward even though my mind was screaming at me to go back to bed, the towering oak tree just a few steps ahead.

Finally. The oak tree looming giant against the night sky, branches swaying gently in the wind. I approached it cautiously, scanning the area for any sign of him. My breath formed clouds in the cold air and I felt my pulse quicken the closer I got. But as I circled the tree, there was nothing-no sign of Minho.

I stood there for a moment, hugging myself tighter, trying to stave off the cold. Where was he? Was he late, or had something happened? The hostel staff was strict, and if they caught either of us sneaking out, it wouldn't end well.

I walked a little farther around the tree, nerves building with each passing second. Eyes looking every corner for him.

"Hey, Jisung."

I nearly jumped out of my skin, stumbling backward as my head snapped up. Above me, perched on one of the higher branches, Minho was lounging with his legs dangling lazily over the edge, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Holy-" I clutched my chest, willing my heart to slow down as I glared up at him. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"Don't curse." Minho chuckled softly, swinging his legs like a child on a playground. "You looked too tense."

"I wonder why," I shot back, still feeling the adrenaline rush from being startled. Before I could look up at him and say something else he hopped down from the branch with effortless grace, landing in front of me. Even in the dim light, I could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Miss me?" he teased, stepping closer, the familiar warmth of his presence instantly making the cold feel a little more bearable.

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't stop the small smile from tugging at my lips. "No."

He laughed again, that soft, breathy sound that managed to calm my nerves "Why not."

"Why would I, we're barely even friends and you ignored me since the last night."

"What do you mean we're barely even friends, we're best friends, we just need to learn more about each other."

I sighed, shaking my head. "I don't know."

We stood there for a moment, just the two of us, under the sprawling branches of the oak tree. The cold still bit at my skin, but tried to ignore it along with minho's eyes fixed on me.

"Are you cold? Come closer." Minho's voice broke the silence, and I realized I'd been standing still, hugging myself for warmth, while he watched me with that same playful glint in his eyes.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The world felt a little less harsh with Minho here, even if it was just for a few stolen minutes in the dead of night.

"What if they catch us?" I muttered, more to myself than to him, but Minho shrugged like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"They won't." He gave me a lopsided grin, full of confidence, as if he could somehow bend the rules of the world to keep us safe. "Besides, isn't the risk half the fun?"

Fun?

I huffed, but I couldn't help the way my heart fluttered at his words.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and leaned against the rough bark of the tree. "You say that now, but wait until Sister Yuwon finds out. We'll be scrubbing floors for weeks."

Minho snorted. "She likes you too much to punish you."

He was right.

"I wouldn't be so sure."

He moved closer, his body warmth seeping into the cold air around us as he stopped right in front of me, his face inches from mine. His eyes softened, and for a moment, the teasing was gone, replaced by something gentler, something I couldn't quite put into words.

"Well, if she does punish us, at least we'll be together," he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek.

I swallowed, my heart hammering against my ribs, and nodded.

I was almost startled by the faint sound of the bell swinging at 00.00am ,the chill in the air was starting to get to me, and I rubbed my hands together, trying to warm them up.

Without saying a word, Minho suddenly took off his jacket, throwing it over my shoulders before I could protest.

"Here, wear this," he said, his voice soft but teasing, like it was no big deal. The warmth hit me instantly, and I pulled the jacket around me, breathing in his scent that clung to the fabric.

I glanced up at him, trying not to look too caught off guard by the gesture. "You're not gonna get cold?" I asked, feeling a little guilty, but mostly thankful.

Minho just shrugged, rolling up his sleeves like the cold didn't even touch him. "I'll survive. Besides, you looked like you were about to turn into an icicle."

I chuckled, trying to play it off, but the truth was, I was definitely freezing before he gave me his jacket. My gaze wandered to the tree my eyes locked on it, wondering if I could make it to the top.

Minho caught where I was looking, and I saw that familiar spark light up in his eyes. "You know," he started, already making his way toward the tree, "I bet I can make it to the top faster than you."

I blinked at him, incredulous. "What? You don't think I can climb a tree?"

He flashed me a grin and, before I could even react, he grabbed the first branch, hauling himself up with ease. "You're wearing my jacket. No way you're climbing anything in that," he called down to me, already halfway up.

I scowled, pulling Minho's jacket tighter around me. I was about to take it off and show him, but then he stopped on a higher branch and looked down at me with that smug smile.

"Don't worry, Sungie. I'll wave from the top when you give up."

"Don't tempt me." I muttered under my breath, watching him move like he was part of the tree or something. But my competitive spirit didn't think twice before reaching to climb up, completely forgetting I was a little scared of height, I just wanted to prove to Minho that I wasn't the girly, feminine looking, helpless gay boy everyone else thought I was.

"You're good." He said as I was almost halfway to where he perched. Before I could blink he moved climbing further up. I couldn't I looked down measuring the distance between me and the ground and decided to perch on the lowest branch. And soon he came back to where I was, sitting beside me.

"Why did you let me win?"

"It's too high up."

"Ohh..." He looked up then back at me. "Sorry."

We both sat there in silence staring into the darkness listening to the crickets and cicadas, I could feel the tension building in the silence, my thoughts spiraling as I stared ahead, trying not to let the weight of my own insecurities creep in. But when I glanced over at Minho, he just sat there, relaxed and smiling softly to himself.

I felt a strange uneasiness settle in my chest. That smile-it made something in me twist, not in a bad way, but in a way that made my heart race. He seemed so content, so effortlessly happy, and when he looked to me I couldn't help but smile back, just a little, though it felt like my lips moved on their own. It was like his calmness was contagious, and I hated that I was overthinking while he looked so... unbothered.

But as the minutes of silence went by I felt tasked to say something, I've never been good with silence, especially when my head was full of questions I didn't want to ask but couldn't ignore. The thoughts had been gnawing at me for a while, and suddenly, I just needed to know.

I cleared my throat, feeling my heart pound a little harder in my chest. "Minho..." my voice quieter than I intended.

His eyes stop at mine, still smiling, though his expression softened with curiosity. "Yeah?"

I hesitated, fidgeting with the sleeves of the jacket I was still wearing. The words felt heavy, but I forced them out. "Do... do you think I look girly? Like, do you see me as... feminine?"

I felt a lump form in my throat as soon as the question left my mouth. I wasn't sure why I was asking him of all people. Maybe because I knew he'd tell me the truth. Or maybe because I just wanted to hear what he really thought. But now that the words were hanging between us, I couldn't take them back.

Minho's smile faded slightly, not in a bad way, but in a way that told me he was taking the question seriously. He didn't laugh it off, didn't mock me, which I half expected. Instead, he tilted his head, studying me for a moment that felt way too long.

I forced myself to hold his gaze, waiting for whatever answer would come, feeling more vulnerable than I wanted to admit.

He leaned back a little, his gaze still locked on mine. For a moment, I thought he was going to dodge the question, maybe shrug it off or tease me, but instead, he shifted, giving me his full attention.

"You're not feminine, Jisung," he said, his voice steady but warm. "You just... look pretty." His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and it made my stomach flip in a way I wasn't prepared for. "That's not the same thing."

I blinked, feeling my face heat up at the word. Pretty? I didn't know how to respond to that. I'd been called a lot of things before, but pretty wasn't one of them. And somehow, coming from Minho, it felt different.

Before I could find my voice, Minho continued, his smile turning a little mischievous now. "And those boys making fun of you? They're idiots. They probably have crushes on you and can't admit it to themselves."

I blinked again, completely caught off guard this time. "What?" I laughed, though it came out more nervous than anything else.

Minho shrugged, his eyes playful. "Think about it. They're always paying attention to you, finding reasons to get in your face. They act all tough, but it's because they don't know how to deal with the fact that they like you."

I snorted, shaking my head in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? They hate me."

"No," Minho said, his expression serious now, though there was still a hint of amusement in his tone. "They enjoy the idea of hating you, You're different, Jisung, in a good way. And that scares them."

I stared at him, unsure of how to process what he was saying.

"You're a threat to them." He added after studying my expression. "You wouldn't get it."

"How are you so sure."

Minho smirked and nudged my shoulder lightly. "Trust me. I can tell. They're just cowards who can't handle how good-looking you are."

I let out a slow breath, feeling my chest lighten a little, even though I didn't know how much of it I believed. But the way Minho was looking at me, the way his words felt so natural, it made me feel... seen. I smiled at him, my heart still racing, but somehow, the uneasiness that had been weighing on me started to fade.

"I'm glad at least one person doesn't think I'm feminine and gay."

"You wanna know what I actually think of you."

"What?" I was eager.

He chuckled swinging his feet. "I won't tell."

"Why not. Is it a bad thing."

"No but I'm not telling."

"Tell me."

"No"

"Minho."

"No."

I smacked his arm playfully and he laughed.

"I don't know what to say to you.." I said thinking about how natural my hand moved to smack him without thinking about it in my brain.

When it got quiet again I yawned, barely able to stifle it, as I leaned my head against Minho's shoulder. The exhaustion hit me all at once, and I let out a quiet sigh. "I'm so sleepy," I mumbled, nuzzling deeper into the warmth of his shoulder. The cool air and the peaceful quiet around us only made my eyelids feel heavier.

Minho didn't say anything, but I could feel him shift slightly, adjusting to give me more space. I closed my eyes for a moment, just letting the steady rhythm of his breathing calm me, but there was something else weighing on my mind, something I couldn't keep to myself.

"I have to present something during the Sunday service," I muttered. "I've been practicing, but... I don't know. I feel like I'm not gonna perfect it."

Minho turned his head slightly toward me, listening, but didn't interrupt. I kept talking, more to fill the space and ease my nerves than anything else.

"I get so nervous, you know? Every time I think I've got it, I mess up. It's like, no matter how hard I practice, I'm not gonna get it right." I bit my lip, feeling that familiar knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. The thought of standing in front of everyone and messing up made my stomach twist.

For a moment, there was silence, just the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves around us. Then, Minho quietly shifted again, this time slipping his arm around me, pulling me closer. His warmth was comforting, and for a second, I forgot that we were still perched on a tree branch.

"You've been practicing, right?" he finally said, his voice soft but reassuring. "That's all you can do. You're gonna be fine."

I opened my eyes slightly, staring out into the distance but not really seeing anything. "What if I'm not?" I whispered.

Minho didn't answer right away, but I felt his hand move to the side of my head, his fingers gently pressing against my temple. He started massaging the spot slowly, his touch light but comforting, and the tension in my chest started to ease bit by bit.

"You're gonna be fine, Jisung," he repeated quietly, his voice low and steady. "You'll always get in your head about these things, but when it comes down to it, you'll be great. You always are."

I wanted to argue, to say that this time was different, but the way his fingers moved against my temple, softly soothing, made it hard to think. The anxiety slowly faded, replaced by a warm, peaceful feeling as the weight of sleep pulled me in deeper.

Minho's hand continued and before I knew it, the world started to blur under his fingertips, my breathing slowing. In that moment, wrapped in his warmth, the worries about Sunday faded into the background. I forgot about everything else, the only thing that mattered was the steady rhythm of his touch, the soft way he comforted me without needing to say much at all.

I fell asleep before I could worry about it any more, my head still resting against Minho's shoulder, his hand cradling me gently like he knew exactly what I needed.

And in that moment, with the night closing in around us and the cold biting at our skin, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of us-Minho, and me, sitting on the oak tree.

The heavy rain drumming against the roof snapped me out of my thoughts, pulling me back from the memory of that day in the oak tree. It had been so clear, the way Minho held me, the warmth of his arm around me, the soft massage on my temple that lulled me to sleep. But now, as the storm raged outside, that comfort felt distant. The room was cold, and the silence between the rain's heavy beats only made it worse.

I waited, staring at the door, hoping Minho would walk in. Maybe he'd got caught up somewhere, maybe he'd come back soon. But as the hours dragged on and the night deepened, he didn't.

The ache in my chest grew heavier as I finally gave in to exhaustion, falling asleep without the warmth of his presence beside me.

When I woke up the next morning, to the usual noise coming from the kitchen. Pots clattered, and I could hear the faint sizzling of something on the stove. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and dragged myself out of bed, curiosity mixed with confusion. Who was in the kitchen this early?

I rounded the corner, and there he was-Minho. He was standing at the stove, focused on flipping what looked like pancakes, moving around with a casual ease like he'd always been there.

The sight of him should've been a relief, but instead, frustration bubbled up inside me. He must have stopped by the morning cause I sure didn't hear him come in the middle of the night. I leaned against the doorway, watching him for a moment, before finally speaking, the words sharper than I intended.

"Why didn't you come back last night?"

Minho froze for a second, his back still to me. He finished flipping the last pancake before turning around to meet my eyes, a calm expression on his face.

"Good morning Jisung."

My brows lifted as he attempted to dodge my questions.

"Minho..."

"I... I had something I needed to take care of," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before flicking back up to me.

His answer didn't sit well with me. It felt too vague, too incomplete. The tension in my chest tightened. I didn't need much, just an explanation, something to ease the worry that had gnawed at me all night. But all I got was a vague response and the sight of him acting like nothing had happened.

"Something to take care of?" I echoed, my voice carrying a hint of disbelief.

"...and I didn't want to be a bother to you anymore because it's obvious that you don't want me around you."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I blinked, my frustration quickly turning into confusion. "What? That's not true," I said immediately, shaking my head. "Why would you think that?"

Minho took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving mine, and I could see the conflict in them-the way he was trying to stay calm, but there was something deeper underneath.

"You saw me the first day and screamed at me like I was holding a gun."

"Look I was just startled then." I said under my breath, knowing he had every right to feel the way he felt.

"It is clear that I make you uncomfortable and you'd love that I give you space so I slept in Changbin's room."

I could feel my chest tightening. "Minho, no... you're not making me uncomfortable," I insisted, my voice almost pleading now. "I-"

But he cut me off gently, his expression turning sad, like he already knew the truth I was trying to deny. "Jisung, I know. I know you've requested to change rooms."
I froze. He knew. Of course, he knew. He wasn't just anyone to the institution of he'd know everything, there was no hiding it now. I could feel my heart pounding, guilt washing over me as I stood there and now I had nothing to say.

Minho's gaze stayed on me, steady and unblinking. "You don't have to explain," he said softly. "If you don't want me around, I get it. I'll leave but..." He stopped his words as if finding the right words to use.

"...It's just sad that I got so happy that my best friend was returning back after leaving without any words." His eyes darted away from me to the stove and he turned it off then wiped his hands on a towel. "I know I'm the problem and If I've offended you in anyway. I'm really sorry." His shift a plate of pancakes to my direction and walked past me and my heart sank down to my stomach.

He left.

The morning passed in a haze. I found myself in the classroom just lost in my own thoughts. Every time I tried to focus on something else, my mind would drift back to Minho-back to what he'd said.

Best friends.

He still Called us that.

Even now, after all these years, after how we ended, the distance, the silence, the time that had passed without so much as a word between us... Minho still called us best friends. It was crazy to me. Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but the other part-the part that remembered what it had been like back then-felt a deep ache in my chest.

Minho had always taken that title seriously we spent every night together, he would call me his best friend like it was the most natural thing in the world and say how much he wants us to be close forever and he wants us to go to church together and live together and get married on the same day and have kids so our kids could be also best friends. He used to say it so casually, like it was a fact of life, something that would never change no matter what.

And for a long time, I believed it too.

But everything changed because I had ruin it. I ruined our friendship and ran away like a coward.

When the class went on a short break I went by the window staring down  as memories began to flood my mind. The two of us, running around this place at midnight, daring each other to climb trees, laughing until our stomachs hurt. We were inseparable, always at each other's side.

We had shared everything-our hopes, our fears, our secrets. Minho knew things about me that no one else did. He was the first person I ever trusted completely, the one I turned to whenever I needed someone to lean on. And I thought it would always be like that.

But somewhere along the way, I fell in love with him. And went pretty extreme with him while he wasn't in full control of his mind.

Does he not remember?

Why hadn't he let go even after what I did to him.

It's struck me how he still look at me now like I was a good person, after everything.
Was it his faith that made him so forgiving of my actions or did he just choose not to acknowledge it.  And now with so much time passed, we're practically strangers now, he still held onto that title like it meant everything to him.

And maybe, to him, it really did.

I leaned onto the wall as my mind exhausted.

It wasn't just nostalgia-it was guilt. I had let that connection slip away. I had been the one to pull back, to create distance when things got complicated. And now that Minho was here in my life once again, calling me his best friend like no time had passed... it felt like I had failed him.

I didn't know if I deserved that title anymore.

But for Minho, it had never been a question.

I closed my eyes, memories of our younger selves swirling around in my head. I could still see the way he used to smile at me, the way he'd tease me and ruffle my hair .

I found myself smiling, the kind of smile that sneaks up on you when you're lost in a memory you didn't realize you'd been holding on to.

I remembered those days clearly, even the smallest moments. Like the night after the oak tree, days later I found another piece of paper waiting for me, folded neatly on my bed. It didn't take him two weeks this time to reach out to me, and I couldn't help but feel a wave of happiness knowing Minho wanted to see me again so soon.

"Field."

Just one word, scribbled in that familiar handwriting. I grinned, already knowing what it meant. The distance didn't matter to me. I didn't even think twice about the time or how late it was. I threw on a jacket and made my way out into the night, the cool air hitting my skin as I hurried down the empty streets.

The thought of him waiting for me out there, standing in the tall grass under the stars, was enough to make my steps a little lighter, a little quicker.

By the time I reached the field, I was out of breath, but I didn't care. I spotted him near the tree at the center, his back to me as he gazed out at the open sky. For a moment, I just stood there, taking it all in-the quiet, the calm, the way it felt like we been doing it for years.

I had never questioned it back then. The way he always found these little ways to pull me back to him, to remind me that no matter what, we were still best friends. I didn't realize then just how much that meant to him. But now, thinking back on it, I could see it clearly. Even when we drifted apart, Minho never let go of that part of our bond. He still saw me as his best friend, like no distance or time could change that.

I approached Minho quietly, seeing him sitting alone on the grass, staring off into the distance. His back was to me, and for a moment, I hesitated. There was something about his posture, the way his shoulders slumped slightly, that made him seem smaller than usual. But before I could second-guess myself, I reached out, gently touching his shoulder.

He flinched ever so slightly, but when he turned and saw me, his expression softened. I sat down beside him, close enough that our knees almost touched.

"You're here," Minho whispered, his voice a little shaky, like he hadn't expected me to come. And before I could respond, he wrapped his arms around my body, pulling me into him.

I blinked, a bit surprised by the sudden embrace. He held me tight, as if he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go. The warmth of his body against mine was comforting, and without thinking, I raised my arms to hold him back.

"Miss me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, but there was a part of me that genuinely wanted to know.

"Yes," Minho admitted, his voice soft but sure. There wasn't any hesitation in his answer, and it made my chest tighten a little.

"Really?" I teased, though I felt something tug at my heart when he nodded.

"Uh-huh," Minho mumbled, his hand slowly creeping up to mine. He gently ruffled my hair, fingers brushing through it in a way that felt oddly affectionate, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the unexpected gesture.

"What's that for?" I laughed softly, but Minho didn't answer. Instead, his hands fell back to his lap, and he pulled away slightly, clutching his arms around himself like he was trying to hold something inside. He let out a breathy sigh, one that sounded too heavy for someone who'd just been smiling.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my laughter fading as I looked at him more closely. His face was calm, but there was something off in his eyes.

Minho glanced at me, and I saw his lips curve into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile you put on when you don't want to talk about what's really bothering you. "It's nothing," he said, his voice light, almost dismissive.

But the way he hugged himself, the way his smile didn't match the sadness in his eyes... it told me everything I needed to know.

I frowned, wanting to push further, to ask what was really going on, but I held back. If Minho wasn't ready to talk, I knew better than to force it.

He was still hugging himself, his smile gone now, replaced with that quiet emptiness in his eyes. I didn't know what was running through his head, but I knew it was something heavy. Something that had been there for a while, lingering in the background.

I shifted closer, feeling the urge to comfort him in whatever way I could. "Minho," I started gently, my voice soft, "whatever you're going through... I'll pray for you. I know it doesn't fix everything, but I'll pray that you get through this. You're not alone, okay?"

For a moment, he didn't respond. He just stared at the ground, his hands resting limply in his lap. Then, without warning, he collapsed against me, his body falling onto my legs. The sudden weight startled me, but I didn't push him away. Instead, I instinctively reached out, my fingers threading through his hair, gently rubbing his head as he lay there, silent and unmoving

It was a while before he spoke. When he did, his voice was so quiet, so fragile, I almost didn't hear him.

"I've been having... these thoughts," Minho whispered, his face buried in my lap. His voice cracked slightly, and I could feel the tremble in his words. "I've been thinking about... ending it. About how... how maybe I don't really have a place in this world anymore. Like... I'm just taking up space."

My heart clenched, and I froze, the weight of his words sinking into me. "Minho..." I breathed, my hand stilling on his head as the gravity of what he was saying hit me.

He let out a shaky breath, curling up tighter against me, his fingers clutching the fabric of my pants. "But I can't do it," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "I think about it... but then I stop myself because... I don't want to go to hell."

Tears burned at the back of my eyes as I listened to him, the pain in his voice cutting deep. I wanted to say something, anything, to make it better, but the words were stuck in my throat. How could I tell him it would be okay when he was drowning in something so dark and I couldn't tell Why? How could I comfort him when the weight of his struggles felt too heavy for him to carry?

I kept rubbing his head, trying to offer whatever solace I could through that simple gesture. My heart ached for him, for the pain he was holding inside. "... I'm so sorry you feel this way," I whispered, my voice trembling. "But you do have a place here. You have people who care about you."

"No one does, my father doesn't, I don't even know where my mother is, I can't even talk to anyon.."

"I care about you..." I added before he finished. "Please... If you end it I would too and we'll both go to hell."

He didn't respond, but I could feel the way his body shook slightly against mine, like he was holding back tears. I didn't know if my words were enough, but I kept talking to him, trying to remind that he was enough.

"I don't know why I feel like this. I hate myself so much."

"Don't hate yourself, you're so wonderfully made by God," I said softly not even knowing the value of those words but it felt right to say at that moment. "You have a reason for being here I promise."

Minho stayed quiet for a long time, lying in my lap, eyes closed as if he was struggling to gather the words.

"Talk to me."

I continued rubbing his head, not rushing him. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, filled with a kind of sadness I wasn't sure I was ready to hear.

"My dad... makes me feel worthless," Minho whispered, his eyes still shut. "Every time I'm around him, it's like he's reminding me that I'm not good enough. Like I'll never be what he wants me to be."

Hearing those words made my chest tighten. I didn't know anything about Minho's relationship with his dad, but I kept my hand moving gently through his hair, giving him a quiet space to keep talking.

"I hate being here with him," he continued, his voice trembling. "Sometimes... sometimes I think about running away. Just leaving everything behind. But... I don't. The only thing stopping me is fear. I'm scared of what would happen if I left... scared of what he'd do."

I could feel the pain radiating from him, the frustration, the helplessness. He was hurting so much, and I felt powerless to help him. "You should pray those bad thoughts away."

"I pray all the time," Minho said, his voice barely audible now. "I pray that God would just... take my life. That way I could go to heaven, and I wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore."

I was so taken aback by how such a carefree smiley person could say that, I had to blink back the tears threatening to fall. My heart ached for him. I couldn't imagine what it must be like to feel that way, to be in so much pain that the only way out seemed to be praying for an end.

"I don't want to do it myself... So I'm waiting for it to happen..."

But then, Minho turned his head slightly, looking up at me, his eyes tired but filled with a strange kind of hope. "I know I'd meet you there, in heaven. We'll be best friends in heaven."

The way he said it, with such certainty, caught me off guard. For a moment, I didn't know what to say. Then, without thinking, I smiled softly. The idea of being with him, even in heaven, made me feel... at peace, somehow.

"Best friends in heaven, huh?" I whispered back, my voice shaky but filled with warmth. "I'd like that."

Minho smiled too, though it was faint, almost bittersweet. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of light that hadn't been there before. Maybe it was the thought of not being alone, of us being together, even in another world.

I didn't know what the future held for either of us, but in that moment, I just wanted him to know that he wasn't alone. That no matter how dark things seemed, I'd be there, whether here or in heaven.

We let silence cloud the open space before Minho spoke again.

"Your presentation was so perfect." Minho's eyes met mine, and for a moment, I couldn't look away. There was something in his gaze-something heavy, even though he smiled like everything was fine. It was the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes, and before I could say anything, he started talking again, his voice softer now.

"I really admire you, Jisung," he said, his words careful and deliberate. "You're so talented. Everything you do... it's like you just know how to make things work. I know your parents are proud to call you their son."

I should've felt touched hearing that. His words were kind, sincere even. But something about the way he said them made my heart sink. It wasn't praise; it was longing. The way he spoke, the way his eyes softened, I could tell he wasn't just saying it to compliment me.

He wished for the same.

Minho admired me, but not in the way people admire their friends. It was deeper, more painful.

He thought I was happy up there with people cheering for me and people parents wishing I was their kid. But I wasn't I felt empty everytime because I had no identity other than that, that's all I'm known for.

I opened my mouth to respond, but I didn't know how to put in words, How could I tell him that I didn't have it all figured out? That I wasn't as perfect as he made me out to be? He had this image of me in his head, and it felt like I'd disappoint him if I told him the truth.

Minho looked away first, his smile fading as he exhaled softly, like he'd said too much. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

He wished for that. And it broke me to know that because it's all empty and alone up there.

As we both stared up at the sky, I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to that night I had fallen asleep on the oak tree resting on his shoulder  "how did I get to my room after I fell asleep on the oak tree? I don't remember coming down."

Minho let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling as he turned to look up at me. "You seriously don't remember?"

I shook my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Not at all. One moment I'm up in that tree, and the next, I'm waking up in bed."

Minho laughed again, louder this time, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "That's because you're such a lightweight, Jisung. You fell asleep so fast, and it was easy for me to carry you back without waking you up."

"You carried me?" I asked, my eyes widening in surprise.

"Yeah, it wasn't hard at all."

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I scoffed, "I'm not that light."

"You kind of are," he grinned, ruffling my hair with one hand as if to make his point.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. "I still can't believe you carried me all the way back."

Minho eyes softening as he settled back into my lap, gazing up at the sky again. "It was no big deal. I didn't mind at all."

I smiled down at him, feeling a warmth spread through me at how easy it was for him to do something like that without thinking twice.

Minho's voice softened, and he let out a content sigh. "The night sky is so pretty."

I smiled to myself, letting the peaceful atmosphere sink in once more as we both fell silent again, content in each other's presence.

It was another quiet night when I met Minho outside the gates of the institution after finding another piece of paper in my bed to meet him here. He was waiting, leaning casually against his bike, the streetlamp casting a soft glow over him. He looked up as I approached, a small, familiar smile tugging at his lips.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out a helmet for me.

I nodded, slipping the helmet on as Minho watched with an amused glint in his eyes. "Make sure it’s tight," he said, his voice playful but serious enough to make me double-check the strap.

Once I was ready, I hesitated, glancing at the bike. I’d never been on one before, and the thought of sitting on the back, exposed to the open road, made my heart race a little. Minho noticed my hesitation and turned back to me, patting the seat behind him.

“Come on, it’s safe,” he assured, holding the bike steady.

I gingerly climbed on, feeling awkward as I tried to get comfortable on the narrow seat. Minho glanced back over his shoulder, reaching for my hands. “You’re gonna want to hold on to me. Here,” he said, guiding my arms around his waist.

For a moment, I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. Having my arms wrapped around him felt too intimate, too close. I quickly pulled my hands away, placing them awkwardly on his shoulders instead.

Minho just chuckled softly, not pushing the matter. “Alright, suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, and without another word, he started the engine. The low rumble of the bike sent vibrations through my legs, making me grip his shoulders a little tighter.

As we took off into the night, the wind whipped past us, and the city lights blurred as we sped down the empty streets. Despite my nerves, there was something freeing about it—feeling the cool air against my face and the steady rhythm of the bike beneath us. I could feel the warmth of Minho's back against my hands, grounding me as we rode through the stillness of the night, the world fading into the background.

Neither of us spoke, and in that silence, I found myself relaxing, trusting Minho more than I ever thought I would.

We rode for over 20 minutes, my eyes wandered to Minho's back. The way his jacket clung to him, the subtle movements of his muscles as he steered the bike it all drew me in without thinking. Why did his body make me feel this way, I was curious, My hands, which had been resting cautiously on his shoulders, slowly began to move. I wasn't sure why, but there was a pull, an urge, and before I knew it, my hands slid down to his waist. I gripped him tightly, the warmth of his body grounding me, making the ride feel less intimidating and more... comforting.

Minho didn't react to it.

He didn't even acknowledge it.

But my heart was beating so fast.

I tried to calm myself taking slow breaths.

Soon, Minho brought the bike to a stop in front of a mansion. My eyes widened at the sheer size of it, the grand gates already open as if expecting us.

We got down before he parked it up on the side along side other bigger and fancier bikes. My eyes were fixed on the cars parked up on the other side.

He turned back to me, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's my house," he said casually, like it was no big deal.

"Oh, you and your dad live here?" I asked, still processing the sight in front of me.

"No," Minho replied, leading me towards the door place his finger to scan a biometric reader by the door, the locks clicking open. "It's actually my own house. All by myself."

"What?" I blinked, my mind trying to catch up with his words.

"Those are my cars too, I just don't have a license yet."

"WHAT!???."

Minho didn't say anything else. Instead, he took my hand, pulling me inside. The moment I stepped through the door, my breath hitched. The place was massive, luxurious in every way. High ceilings, marble floors, expensive artwork hanging on the walls it was a world I wasn't familiar with. I couldn't help but stare, taking it all in.

"I don't live here, though," Minho added, his voice casual as he kicked off his shoes by the door. "I live with my dad at our other house."

"Oh..." It was the only word I managed to get out, still caught up in the idea that Minho owned his own mansion My head spun at the thought, unable to fully comprehend it.

He turned to me, a playful glint in his eyes. "We should go upstairs to my room."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My eyes were still fixed on the grand staircase, the artwork on the walls, and the sheer size of everything around me. It was hard to believe this was real, that Minho, owned all of this, I know minho's family was wealthy but not this wealthy.

We made our way upstairs, the quietness of the house making every step feel heavier. When we reached Minho's room, it was just as big as I expected. He wasted no time, diving onto his bed, arms stretched out in relaxation. He turned his head to look at me, his lips curling into a soft smile as he patted the space beside him. "Sungie."

I stood there for a moment, still trying to take everything in. The room was modern, yet cozy, with large windows letting in the soft glow of the moonlight. My eyes roamed around before settling back on Minho. He lay there, looking so comfortable, stretching his arms toward me with an inviting smile.

With a soft chuckle, I finally moved toward him, climbing onto the bed. As I settled next to him, the weight of the day, the ride, and everything else melted away, leaving just the two of us in the quiet of his massive room.

Minho rolled over to me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his embrace. His warmth surrounded me, his body pressing close against mine. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, louder than the silence of the room. My brain was screaming at me, conflicted and confused.

"Minho..." I finally whispered, my voice trembling. "It's... it's a sin to be this close. Please stop."

I could feel him stiffen for a moment before he quickly pulled away, the warmth disappearing as his arms let go. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, the hurt in his voice evident.

The silence that followed was thick and awkward, filling the space between us like a wall we couldn't see but could feel. I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts racing, unsure of what to say or do next.

After a few minutes, Minho shifted beside me, reaching for my hand. His fingers gently curled around mine, and I glanced at him. He wasn't looking at me, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling, his expression unreadable. "You know," he began softly, "I'd like for you to come here when we're older..."

His voice was careful, like he was choosing each word before saying it. "I... I'd hate to live in this house all by myself. It's too empty. Too quiet." His thumb absentmindedly brushed against my hand, his tone filled with a quiet vulnerability that caught me off guard. "I don't want to be alone in here. You could come here, Jisung. It would be... nice."

I didn't know what to say. The sincerity in his voice, the way he spoke about the future like it was something he was already planning, made me feel a strange mixture of warmth and confusion. He wanted me there, in his life, in his home-something about that both scared and comforted me at the same time.

I stayed quiet, staring at our hands intertwined, and for a moment, I could almost see it-us, years from now, older, living in this house.

"Why are you quiet?" His gaze shifted to me.

"What are you thinking." His voice started to fade replaced with an unfamiliar voice of a younger boy.

"Teacher Jisung."

My mind came back to the present, a younger boy stood in front of me and the rest of the class had their eyes fixed in me and my daydreaming came to an end.

Before I knew it, the day had slipped away. The sun was already sinking low in the sky, casting a golden hue through the windows. It was time to round up the class, and I quickly dismissed the students, sending them off with a half-hearted smile. My thoughts were still clouded, making me feel disconnected from everything around me.

I hurried back to the room, my footsteps quick and purposeful. I didn’t waste time. As soon as I entered, I grabbed a small piece of paper, scribbling a few words down. My handwriting was a bit messy from the rush, but it didn’t matter. I left the note on Minho’s bed—something I had never done before.

With that thought, I left the room and headed outside, the cool evening air hitting my face as I stepped out. I made my way to the usual spot.

I stood there, my heart pounding slightly as I waited. For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t just reacting. I was waiting for him, putting myself out there, unsure of what would come next.

I perched on the familiar branch of the oak tree, my feet dangling lazily as I waited.  My thoughts raced, playing over what I was going to say, how I was going to say it.

Soon, I saw him. Minho approached the tree, his steady pace carrying him closer until he stopped at the base, looking up at me. Without a word, he started climbing, his movements smooth and effortless. He reached the branch and sat beside me, close enough that I could feel his warmth but still leaving a small gap between us.

"Hey." I said dryly.

"Hey."

We exchanged, the awkwardness settling between us like a fog. I turned my head away, staring off into the distance, trying to gather my thoughts. The silence stretched, and I could feel his eyes on me, watching like he always does—waiting, patient.

"I'm sorry." My voice sounded small, barely breaking the quiet around us. I could see him shift out of the corner of my eye, his attention locked on me.

"I need you to understand," I continued, my words coming out slow and careful, "I don't feel uncomfortable around you. That’s not why I... I don’t want to change rooms, at least not anymore. I just... I don’t know why I acted that way. I was confused."

I turned to face him, meeting his gaze fully for the first time since he sat down. His expression was unreadable, but I could feel the weight of his silence. "Please forgive me," I added softly, "for acting like that. I don’t want us to... I want us to go back to being best friends, like before."

Minho stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes still on me, his face still unreadable. I felt my heart race, wondering if I had messed everything up. But then, he gave me a small, understanding nod, and the tension in my chest began to ease.

"Why did you come back here when you don’t believe in Him anymore?"

Minho’s words hit me like a punch to the chest. My heart pounded in my ears as I looked at him, hoping—praying—that he didn’t mean what I thought he did.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"You're not Christian anymore, Jisung. Are you?"

I froze. My throat tightened, and I struggled to form a response. "I am."

He didn’t even blink. "Don't lie to me. I know you're not."

How did he find out? Had he been studying me? Watching me? Was it that easy to tell.

"Is that why you left?" His voice softened, and for a moment, he sounded hurt. "Because you lost your faith?"

I couldn’t say anything. A wave of guilt and sadness washed over me. He sounded so sad, like he thought he had failed somehow—for letting me drift away, for losing me to something beyond his control.

"How did you find out?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"Because I know you." His eyes shifted, a slight frown on his face. "You’re not the same Jisung I knew years ago. You’ve changed... a lot."

"Oh."

"And..." His voice dropped. "I saw a profile of you on a site."

My heart skipped a beat, panic rising in my chest. He saw that?

"You labeled yourself as a bisexual man..." He paused, the words hanging in the air between us. "That’s when I knew. I realized you didn’t care about heaven anymore."

I felt a mixture of fear and frustration welling up inside me. "So you think I deserve to burn in hell because I'm bisexual?"

Minho shook his head quickly. "No. I don’t believe that."

"Hell doesn’t exist anyway," I muttered, bitterness creeping into my tone.

"Jisung, don’t say that. Don’t provoke God."

I sighed, trying to find the right words, something that wouldn’t push him away, that wouldn’t hurt him. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the truth anymore. "Maybe one day," I began, carefully choosing my words, "you’ll grow up like I did and realize that religion... is a mental illness."

Minho’s face fell, his expression pained. "Why are you here, then? Why did you come back if you think that."

I stayed silent, unable to meet his eyes.

"I doubt it’s because you want to find God again," he said softly.

"No."

"Then why?"

I sighed, finally deciding to be completely honest. "Because I need the money... and the free accommodation. That’s the truth. You can go ahead and tell your father if you want so he can kick me out. But I’m not going to change who I am just because I’m here."

Minho looked at me for a long moment, the sadness still etched in his eyes, but he shook his head. "I won’t tell him. You're my best friend, Jisung. I wouldn’t do that to you. I just..." He swallowed hard. "I just hope God leads you back to the right path because... I don’t want you to go to hell."

His words hung in the air, but I couldn’t bring myself to argue anymore. The weight of our conversation settled between us, heavier than anything we’d ever talked about before.

"You don't hate me?"

"I could never hate you."

My heart melted at his words, other would push me away and call me an abomination at the sight of God but he didn't.

"Even though I'm different from the Jisung you use to know?."

"Jesus never preached hate." He reached for my hands. "I'll be here to guide you back to God. I love you too much to let you go to hell."

My little smile faltered, in Christianity it was easy to say I love you to anyone, so it meant nothing coming from his mouth, he was just preaching the gospel.

"You can't guide me back, it's lost forever." I pulled my hands away.

Chapter Text

MINHO

I lay back in bed after finishing my nightly prayer, my mind lingering on the conversation I had with Jisung at the oak tree. The quiet hum of the night filled the room, but my thoughts were louder—restless. I turned my head and looked at him, sleeping peacefully, his face barely illuminated by the gentle glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. It was almost hard to believe that the Jisung lying beside me was the same one who had admitted to losing his faith and embracing something so different from the Jisung I used to know.

There was no way he would just leave and never look back. It was so genuine back the for him, it was there light and bright for everyone to see.

I wondered what had happened that made him change his mind about his beliefs.

I had included him in my prayer tonight, hoping—begging—for guidance. He was lost. I couldn’t deny that. But I didn’t want to lose him, not just because his faith didn’t align with mine. Jisung had been such an important part of my life, someone I cherished and admired deeply. Throwing him away just because he’d changed wasn’t something I could bring myself to do. Yet, I couldn’t shake the pain gnawing at me, the disappointment that sat so heavily in my chest.

Jisung, the one I looked up to. The one everyone admired, the person so many wanted to be. Even my father had compared me to him countless times, reminding me of his achievements, his talents, his heart. "I'd be so proud of you if you were more like Jisung but you choose to be useless.” he’d say. The words always cut deeper than they should have, but I never resented Jisung for it. How could I? He was someone worth admiring. Someone I aspired to be more like.

But now... he no longer believed in God. And he’s gay.

The realization still stung, even though I’d known for a while. When I found his profile on a dating site, I wanted to reach him, but I didn't. Because he had labelled himself as something I'd never wanted to associate myself with.

Bisexual.

It was honestly hard to believe especially back then when he would get offended when anyone said he looked like he liked men or that he was feminine looking, it haunted him so much and would pray against it and tried to convince everyone that he was any of that.

Pfft.

It wasn’t that I hated him for it, I didn’t. I just couldn’t reconcile the Jisung I had held in my heart for so long with the version of him that now dwells in the present. He was still Jisung, my best friend, but... he was also someone I barely recognized.

I kept thinking back to the moment he said that hell didn’t exist, that religion was a mental illness. Those words had pierced me like a knife. I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me, but it felt like he had. He sounded so sure of himself, so distant from the faith we once shared. It broke something inside me, knowing that he didn’t believe in what had always been a core part of our lives. A core part of me.

Was it my fault.

Had the bullying and harassment those boys caused gotten to him and he didn't have a choice but the follow it.

They were many times I could have stopped them from harassing him but I didn't. I just let it happen. I let it happen because I was Afraid. Afraid the boys would turn to me and point fingers at me for wanting to protect him.

I remember the one time that it had gotten so extreme.

I remember that morning too clearly. It haunts me every time I think about it.

I had woken up earlier than usual, the dorm still quiet. I took a bath, so I don't get caught up when everyone else were rushing out to get ready, and when I returned, I laid back down, staring at the ceiling, my Bible open in my lap. I read a few passages, letting the familiar verses calm my mind. It was part of my routine, something I did every morning before the chaos of the day began, before the others woke up.

It wasn’t long before the others started to get ready for the day. The sounds of movement filled the room as they rushed to the bathroom, getting ready for the day. I stayed up there, on my bunk, just watching, not saying a word. I saw Jisung, quietly going about his routine, always careful about how he dressed. He was different from the rest of them, and they hated him for it.

Then, they started again. The comments. The snide remarks about Jisung’s body, the way looked and he carried himself. He didn’t engage with them at first, but you could see it in his eyes—the way he stiffened when they spoke. I watched from above, barely moving, just hanging there like an invisible witness, when it escalated.

They moved closer, surrounding him like vultures. At first, they were laughing, mocking the way he tried to hide himself as he dressed. But then they took it further, touching him, grabbing at him, trying to pull off his clothes. It was cruel—humiliating. They laughed louder, and Jisung struggled, pushing them off, his face red with anger and embarrassment. He fought back, but there were two of them, and only one of him.

And then… he called for me.

I heard it, clear as day. “Minho!” His voice was desperate, strained. He wanted help. He needed me.

But I turned away.

I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. I just closed my eyes and turned my back, letting it all happen. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I was scared—scared of being dragged into it, of becoming a target myself. I just couldn’t bear the weight of standing up for him in that moment in front of them.
Yes Jisung and I were friends now but it was just in the shadows of the night, in daylight around everyone else we don't know each other and I made that rule up, I just didn't want to face the accusations along side him.

So I let them tear him down.

I heard him fight, his voice breaking as he tried to push them off, and I did nothing. I let them strip away his dignity, they touched him inappropriately I knew it, I could tell from the way he struggled and screamed begging them to let him go, sobbing and calling out my name but I blocked it all out.

I could hear their voice. "You think Minho would care about a faggot?."

I did care, I cared so much and the worst part is I could have stopped it. I could have stepped in, but I didn’t. I let him suffer.

And even now, lying here, thinking back on it, the guilt claws at my chest. Jisung had always been the one I admired, the one I looked up to. But in that moment, I let him down in the worst way. I betrayed him by doing nothing. I failed him.

I wonder if he remembers. If he holds that against me. But the truth is, I’ll never forget that day, and I’ll never forgive myself for turning away when he needed me most.

The night after the humiliation I put a note on his bed, Inviting him to the field. That first day, I waited for hours. I sat on the grass, the same spot where we used to talk about anything and everything, waiting for Jisung to show up. But as the minutes turned into hours, it became clear he wasn’t coming. I told myself he might’ve been busy, or maybe he hadn’t seen the note.

So, I left another the next night Same message, same place. But again, he didn’t come.

By the third day, it was harder to ignore what was happening. I could see it in the way he avoided my eyes in the hallway, the way he slipped out of the room without saying anything, without even glancing my way. It wasn’t like him. He used to always seek me out, no matter how busy or distant I seemed.

But not now. Not after what happened.

I kept leaving the notes. Kept waiting. Hoping.

“Meet me tonight. I’ll be at the tree.”

Another day, another disappointment. I tried not to let it get to me, but the truth was starting to settle in. Jisung wasn’t coming because I had hurt him. Ignored him when he needed me. It was obvious now that it wasn’t just about being busy or not seeing the notes. He didn’t want to see me. Not after I turned my back on him that day.

I knew I couldn’t blame him. I’d betrayed him, and he wasn’t going to forgive me that easily. But every day I sat there waiting, it hurt more. I wanted so badly to make things right, but the distance between us was growing, and I didn’t know how to bridge it.

Eventually, I stopped leaving the notes. I stopped waiting at the oak tree. But the silence between us remained, louder than ever. Days turned into weeks every time I'd catch him somewhere I'd want to approach him but I couldn't.

I couldn't risk it.

I tried quiet gestures staring into his soul everytime we were in the same space hoping that he'd look at me. Nothing worked. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

One night I stood by the door, I watched him get ready for bed, our other roommates busy chatting in the corner, barely paying attention. Jisung knelt by his bed, clutching his Bible like he always did, and I made my move.

Without thinking twice, I lunged for the Bible, snatching it from his hands before he could react. His startled yell filled the room, followed by the sound of laughter from the others. But I didn’t stop. I ran out the door, down the hall, into the cold night air.

I could hear him behind me, his footsteps quick, his breath heavy as he chased after me. But he couldn't yell not within these walls, we'd get in trouble.

My heart pounded in my chest as I sprinted across the open field, my breath clouding in the crisp night air. I glanced back, seeing him gaining on me. He was actually chasing after me. My plan was working. Perfectly.

I kept running until I couldn’t anymore, finally coming to a stop in the middle of the field, gasping for air. I bent over, hands on my knees, waiting for him to catch up.

And there he was. Breathless, angry, but here.

I held up his Bible, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Hello."

"Give it back, Minho." His voice annoyed and strained.

"I will," I said, straightening up. "But not until we talk."

His brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as he stared at me, torn between wanting to punch me and wanting his Bible back.

“Dont piss me off, give it to me now.” He demanded, voice sharp, a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. He reached out, stepping forward.

I took a step back, holding the Bible higher, just out of his reach. “You still don’t wanna talk to me?” I asked, my heart pounding, though not from the run but because our friendship was on the line.

Jisung's lips tightened as he tried again, swiping at the book with a quick movement. But I was faster, pulling it higher. His fingers barely grazed the cover.

“I’m not talking to you,” Jisung said firmly, voice edged with irritation. His eyes flicked from the Bible to me, the frustration in them obvious.

“Talk to me, Jisung,” I urged, desperation creeping into my voice. I couldn’t understand why he had shut me out, and it was killing me to be left in the dark. Weeks of silence, of being ignored, had finally pushed me to this point. Taking his Bible was my last resort.

“No.” He stepped back, giving up, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You can keep it.” He turned his back to me, crossing his arms as if to shield himself from the entire situation. His voice was quieter now, the anger fading into exhaustion. “Goodnight, Minho.”

He started to walk away, his steps slow and deliberate, as though he was trying to keep himself from looking back. And for a second, I stood frozen, watching him leave, his dismissal settling heavily in my chest.

But I couldn’t let it end like this. Not again.

Without thinking, I rushed after him. My hand grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back as I pushed him down to the cold, hard ground. Jisung let out a startled cry, more from surprise than pain, and the shock of it made me freeze.

"What is wrong with you?". He winced beneath me, his face contorted in discomfort as I kept his wrist pinned. “You’re actually just like them.” His expression gave me that disappointed look my dad always did whenever other kids achieve something and I'm stuck on the sidelines.

"You're just like them." He tried to push but the reality of his words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I recoiled, my grip loosening as I let go of his arm. I stumbled back, breathless and stunned, the Bible slipping from my hand to the grass.

Just like them?

I stared at him, my heart hammering in my chest as his words echoed in my head. I wasn’t like them—was I? I wasn’t cruel. I didn’t harass him like they did. But here I was, holding him down, forcing him into a situation he clearly didn’t want to be in.

Jisung groaned softly, rolling onto his side and cradling his arm, his face scrunched in pain. His dark eyes looked up at me, not with the warmth they used to hold, but with cold indifference, maybe even disgust. And that hurt more than anything else.

I had let my desperation get the better of me. The weeks of being ignored, the constant tension—it had all come crashing down at this moment, and now, as I stared down at Jisung, I realized how far I’d let things spiral out of control.

“Jisung…” I whispered, my voice almost caught in my throat as I let the words out. “I’m not like them…”

He didn’t answer, his jaw clenched as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, rubbing his sore wrist. He wouldn’t even look at me now.

“I didn’t mean to—” I started, but the words caught in my throat. How could I justify what I had just done? There was no excuse for it.

He shook his head, finally standing up and brushing the dirt from his clothes. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered, his voice cold and distant. “You can’t keep doing this, Minho. You can’t keep forcing me into things just because you want something from me.”

His words pierced through me like daggers sinking into my skin. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. I couldn’t argue with him, not after what I had just done.

Jisung took a step back, putting more distance between us, and the weight of it was crushing. “I don't think I can see you the same again.” he continued, his voice steady, but there was a sadness behind it. “I thought you were different.”

I flinched at his words, my heart sinking even lower. “I am. I just wanted to talk,” I whispered, though it felt like such a weak excuse now.

“And I just wanted you to leave me alone,” he replied, his voice firm. He bent down, picked up his Bible from where it had fallen, and turned to leave, not sparing me another glance.

I stood there, frozen, watching him walk away again, and this time, I didn’t chase after him. I couldn’t. My legs felt like lead, my heart heavy with guilt and regret.

What had I done?

"I'm sorry." I managed to yelled after him but he didn't even look back to acknowledge if he heard me or not soon Jisung disappeared into the darkness, the cold night air seemed to close in around me, suffocating in its stillness. I had messed up, and I wasn’t sure how to fix it.

I drop down there on the cold grass, staring up at the dark sky, alone. The stars above were distant and indifferent, just like Jisung’s expression had been when he left. I hated myself. Every ounce of my being felt heavy with regret, a pit of guilt growing inside me, sinking deeper the longer I stayed out here.

How had I let it get this bad? How had I allowed everything to spiral out of control like this? The memory of his words replayed in my mind over and over again, I couldn't stop it.

“You’re just like them.”

That sentence lingered the most. I wasn’t like those guys. I wasn’t one of them. But maybe I had become something worse—someone Jisung couldn’t trust anymore.

I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath  Jisung’s face, his pain, his disappointment it was too much. I never wanted to hurt him. But I had.

I didn’t know how long I had been lying there, consumed by my own guilt, when I heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching. For a second, I thought it might just be the wind playing tricks on me, but the sound grew louder, more distinct. My heart clenched, and I forced myself to raise my head, glancing over my shoulder.

It was him.

Jisung stood there, just a few feet away, his silhouette faintly illuminated by the pale moonlight. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn’t move. I thought he’d left for good, that he wouldn’t want to see me again after what I had done. But here he was, standing in front of me, his expression unreadable in the dark.

Slowly, he walked over and settled down beside me, his movements quiet and deliberate. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there for a moment before lying down next to me, his head resting on my chest. My heart stuttered at the contact, unsure how to process the sudden shift in atmosphere.

“I’m sorry, Jisung,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I stared up at the stars, not daring to look at him directly. “I really am.”

A quiet hum escaped his lips, a noncommittal sound that didn’t offer much in the way of forgiveness but at least wasn’t outright rejection.

“I wanted to do something,” I continued, feeling the need to explain myself even though I knew no explanation could justify what had happened. “I wanted to stop them, but—”

“You didn’t,” Jisung interrupted, his voice flat, a trace of bitterness seeping into his words. “You didn’t stop them.”

I winced. He was right. I hadn’t done anything. I had watched, knowing full well what they were doing to him, and I had turned away. I had let it happen.

"I wish we could go back." I murmured, swallowing hard.

"Why didn't you do anything."

"I—."

“Because you didn’t want them to call you gay.” He finished before I could even think of a response.

"Kinda."

Jisung frowned, his head still resting on my chest, but I could feel the tension in his body, the anger just beneath the surface. His eyes, now visible as I dared to glance down at him, He didn't look happy.

“Is that what you were worried about?” he asked, his voice sharper now. “That they would’ve called you gay?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say. How could I admit that part of me had been afraid of the very thing he was accusing me of? How could I admit that my own fear, my own weakness, had kept me silent?

“I’m sorry,” I said again, but the words felt hollow now.

Jisung’s eyes stayed fixed on me, his gaze hard and unforgiving. A single tear slipped down his cheek, glistening in the moonlight before disappearing into the dark.

“I’m not gay,” he whispered, his voice breaking, though he tried to keep it steady. “I’m not gay, Minho. You know it and you should’ve told them that. You should’ve defended me. But you didn’t.”

Another tear fell, and my heart twisted painfully in my chest. I hated this he was so hurt. And it was my fault. I was the one who had let him down. If I had known it would hurt him this way I would have taken action.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I should’ve said something. I should’ve done something. But I—”

“You were scared,” he finished for me, his voice filled with a quiet resignation that made my stomach churn. “You didn’t want them to turn on you too, did you?”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. He was right, and I hated myself for it. I had been scared. Scared of what they’d say, scared of what they’d think. Scared of being lumped together with him, of being labeled like he had been.

Jisung wiped his face, sitting up slightly, pulling away from me just enough to put some distance between us. His expression was still soft, still sad, but there was an edge to it now—a guardedness that hadn’t been there before.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with disappointment. “I know it’s hard. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. But it doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe with the words that came out of his mouth. My mind raced, trying to find something—anything—that would make this better, but nothing came.

Jisung let out a shaky breath, turning his gaze away from me and back toward the sky. “You know,” he said softly, “I thought you would be the one person who would never turn your back on me.”

The pain in his voice was unmistakable, and it cut through me like a knife. I felt like the worst person in the world.

“Jisung…” I reached out, hesitating before gently placing my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into the touch either.

“I’m so sorry, I know sorry isn't enough but” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment, the silence stretching between us like a mountain. But finally, he let out a soft sigh, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of it all had become too much for him to carry.

“I know,” he whispered back, his voice barely audible. “I know, Minho.”

He sat up fully clutching his body all to himself. I watched him. Gosh he was so perfect. He didn't know how much I wanted to be him. How much I had admired him in so many ways. He didn't know that, he didn't know that part of the reasons I wanted to be friends with him was to get the feeling of being Loved.

Because to me Jisung was Loved.

Yes they were downsides to being him but I didn't dig deep into those parts.

His gaze shifted to me and I immediately looked away.

"Let’s go to your house," he said, out of nowhere.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied immediately, a little too eager, because I was. When it came to Jisung I agreed to anything. “Let’s go.”

We stood up and walked the distance to get my bike, we drove with his arms loosely wrapped around my waist, and for the while all my worries seem to melt away with the wind rushing past us, and I found myself smiling, even though he couldn’t see it.

We arrived at my house over half an hour later and headed straight for my room
I grabbed the game controllers stretching it out to him. “Wanna play?”

"Oh sure."

"Do you even know how to play."

"Let's find out."

I snorted, rolling my eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

We settled onto the edge of my bed, the  TV screen lighting up the room as the game loaded. It didn’t take long for the competitive energy to fill the space between us. Jisung found a way to get under my skin when we played—he was always so annoyingly good at everything, and video games were no exception and turns out he's never played this game before.

The first few rounds, I held my own, but soon enough, Jisung started pulling ahead, beating me at every turn. His laughter filled the room each time he scored another victory, and as much as I hated losing, there was something comforting about hearing him laugh like that.

After another crushing defeat, I finally gave up, groaning as I tossed the controller aside. “Okay, that’s it. I’m done. You’re cheating somehow.”

Jisung grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, come on. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I’m not a sore loser,” I muttered, standing up and stretching. “I just don’t feel like losing for the next three hours.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Jisung teased, but I could see the pride in his eyes, I've never witness him this happy when he got his rewards or won in those competitions but over a video game?

"One more round please."

"No. You want to humiliate me."

He laughed. "Do you admit now that I'm better at this game than you?"

I threw myself onto my bed with a dramatic sigh, sinking into the pillows. “I’m done. You win.”

Jisung laughed and set his controller down, following my lead and diving onto the bed beside me. The mattress dipped under his weight, and for a moment, we just laid there in comfortable silence, staring up at the ceiling.

“Want to order food?” I asked after a while, turning my head to look at him.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice soft, almost sleepy. “I’m starving.”

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the delivery options, settling on pizza—something easy, something we could both agree on. After placing the order, I tossed the phone to the side and stretched out on the bed again.

Jisung rolled over onto his side, facing me, and for a moment, his eyes lingered on mine. There was something different in his expression now, something quieter, more thoughtful. It was the same look he’d had earlier when he suggested coming here.

"Do you want to say something."

He was surprised that I noticed him drifting off into his thoughts.

"No not really."

"Are you sure? You look troubled."

Jisung hesitated, biting his lip before his eyes settled back on me. “I'm fine."

We fell into silence again. I wanted to say something—anything—that would make him feel comfortable enough to share whatever was bothering him, I was his best friend after all he should tell me but I had learned tonight that you can't force people just because you want them to talk to you

I hated the silence I didn’t know how to explain the distance, the awkwardness, the way the air felt off during that moment.

Jisung sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as if he was gathering his thoughts and then I reached taking his hands into mine.

"You're gonna be okay."

“I doubt it”. He admitted softly.

I nodded, my chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. “Me too.”

I guess I wasn't as encouraging as I thought I was. I couldn't help but feel useless even to someone who I considered my friend.

We lay there for a while, neither of us saying anything more, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable this time.

Eventually, the doorbell rang, and I reluctantly got up to grab the pizza. When I came back, Jisung was sitting up on the bed, his expression a little lighter now.

We ate in silence at first, both of us too lost in our own thoughts to make much small talk. But slowly, as the food disappeared, By the time we finished eating, I tossed the packs to the ground.

Jisung looked at me like I had just committed a crime.

"The maids would get it in the morning."

"You have maids."

"Yeah we have people looking after the house."

"Oh." Jisung nodded as he flopped back onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I'm so full, That was exactly what I needed.”

“See? I told you pizza fixes everything,” I joked, lying down beside him again.

He chuckled softly, We didn’t talk much after that, both of us content to just lie there in the quiet, side by side. The night stretched on, and eventually as we laid lazily entertained by our own thoughts, then Jisung shifted beside me, propping himself up on his elbow. His gaze drifted around my room, taking in the familiar surroundings before he turned back to me. There was curiosity in his eyes, a question lingering on his lips that he finally decided to ask.

“Why do you still stay at the institution’s hostel?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant. “You’ve got this whole house to yourself. I don’t get it.”

It wasn’t the first time someone had asked me that. Even my other friends had made passing remarks about how much easier life would be in my own space, without the confines of a shared room and roommates that I didn't always get along with. But it was more complicated than that.

“My dad,” I began, my voice sounding more distant than I intended, “he doesn’t like me being here by myself. He thinks I’ll get lazy, or worse, irresponsible. Something about needing structure and discipline.”

Jisung’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Aren't you eighteen, you’re not a kid. You don’t need anyone to babysit you.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Try telling him that. He doesn’t care how old I am. In his eyes, I’m still not ready to be on my own.”

Jisung stayed quiet for a moment, processing what I had said. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the bedspread as he mulled over my words. “So you just... stay there because of him?”

I turned my head to look at him, feeling the weight of something heavier settle into the conversation. “Partly, yeah. But it’s not just that.” I hesitated.

“I don’t like staying here all alone too” I admitted quietly. “This house... it’s too big. Too quiet. I don't have siblings or anyone to keep me company, it feels empty. Almost like I’m not supposed to be here.”

Jisung’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. He probably knew that feeling all too well, that sense of isolation even when surrounded by the familiar.

“I get it,” he murmured, his voice low. “It can be lonely when there’s no one around. But still, I didn’t know you felt that way. You never talk about it.”

I shrugged, feeling a little exposed by how easily he read me. “It’s not something I like to bring up. I guess I’m just used to pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

Without saying anything, he shifted closer to me, his head resting against my chest as he settled into the crook of my arm. The warmth of his body against mine was a small comfort, something that soothed the ache I hadn’t even realized was there.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to feel like you’re alone, remember I'll live here with you when we're older.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his words. I guess our friendship wasn't one sided after all.

“I can't wait until then.” I said quietly. “We'll have the whole house to ourselves and we could order food and play video games all day.” I added.

"Your wish is for us to be less productive adults?"

I laughed, shaking my head. “Of course not You’d get bored of me after a week.”

“Doubt it.” He nudged me lightly.

“At least here, I wouldn’t have to deal with those idiots.” He eyes shone brightly at the thought of it. "Just you."

I smiled at the thought, even though I knew it wasn’t that simple. But the idea of having Jisung here, of not having to deal with the emptiness of this place alone, was tempting.

“Sounds like a fairytale." I murmured as exhaustion slowly started pulling me under, I was almost completely unaware of Jisung’s silence beside me. My mind slipping into that hazy space where everything starts to fade, but then I heard him.

“I want to leave.”

The words barely registered at first. They were quiet, almost swallowed up by the grogginess of my mind. I shifted slightly, my eyes still closed, not quite understanding. “You want me to drive you back?” I murmured, my voice thick with sleep.

“Minho…”

"Mmhhm."

"I want to leave the institution."

I forced my eyes open, blinking as I turned my head toward him. Jisung was still lying there, his eyes staring at the ceiling, a tension in his body I hadn’t noticed before.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice still heavy with fatigue. “What do you mean you want leave?”

He took a deep breath, and I could see the way his chest rose and fell, slow and measured. Something was weighing on him, and the longer the silence stretched, the more alert I became.

“I don’t like it at the institution anymore,” he said, not sparing me a glance.

That woke me up. Fully. All remnants of sleep gone now. The look in his eyes—dark and distant, as if he was somewhere far away—made my stomach drop. “Why not?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, trying not to let my worry show too much.

Jisung hesitated. I could see him struggling, the way his jaw tightened like he was fighting with himself, debating whether to say the words or keep them hidden. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I reported to the board that I was being sexually harassed… by one of the reverends.” His voice cracked on the last part, and my entire world shifted. “But they didn’t care.”

I shot up, every muscle in my body suddenly tight with anger. “What?” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. I turned to him fully, staring at him in disbelief. “They didn’t… do anything?”

Jisung shook his head, still staring at the ceiling like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His voice was so quiet, so broken, it made my chest ache. “They think I’m lying. That I’m trying to ruin his reputation.”

I could feel the blood rushing to my head, a hot wave of anger boiling up inside me. How could they dismiss something like this? How could they just... ignore him? I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady even though my mind was spinning.

“And… my father?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. My father, rigid sense of duty. My father, who always sided with authority, no matter the situation.

Jisung’s lips pressed together, the pain in his eyes deepening. “Your father told me to stop spreading lies… or he’d hand me over to the disciplinary committee.”

I stared at him, my mind racing, trying to piece together the madness of what he was telling me. I couldn’t believe it. Or maybe I didn’t want to believe it. But my father… threatening Jisung? Dismissing something like this?

“They’re not taking action for a reverend harassing you?” I could hear the agitation in my own voice, the disgust twisting my words. How was this even possible?

Jisung shook his head again. “They think I’m lying,” he said quietly, his voice empty, like he’d already given up on anyone believing him.

I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand the thought of Jisung going through this—of him being hurt, of him being betrayed by the very people who were supposed to protect him. Anger surged through me, but beneath it, there was something deeper, something that hurt more.

“Who?” I asked. "Who was was it ”

Jisung hesitated again, biting his lip like he wasn’t sure if he should even tell me. Like he didn’t trust me to handle the truth.

“I don’t know if I can tell you,” he said softly. “You wouldn’t believe me either.”

Those words cut through me like a knife. The fact that he felt that way—that he thought I wouldn’t believe him—it hurt more than I could put into words.

Jisung sighed, and I could see the defeat in his eyes as he finally said the name. The name that made my blood run cold.

“It’s Father Dooyoung.”

The air felt like it had been sucked out of the room.

Father Dooyoung.

“There's two Father Dooyoungs,” I said hoping it wasn't either because I couldn't imagine any of them doing it.

“It’s your uncle.” Jisung said quietly, almost like he was trying to soften the blow.

My stomach twisted, and I sat up, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. My uncle. My uncle who had been with the institution for as long as I could remember. My uncle, who had helped raise me, who had been a constant presence in my life. I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t picture it. It didn’t make any sense.

“He could never…” I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. “He’s not like that, Jisung. He’s always been…”

“You see?” Jisung’s voice broke, and he finally turned to look at me, his eyes filled with hurt. “You don’t believe me either. Just like everyone else.”

“No!” I said quickly, my heart pounding in my chest. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just… I can’t picture it. My uncle… I mean, are you sure?”

The second the words left my mouth, I knew I had said the wrong thing. I could see the way Jisung’s face fell, the way the light in his eyes dimmed as he turned away from me.

“Forget it,” he muttered, his voice cold and distant.

Panic surged through me. I had messed up. I had doubted him, even though I promised I wouldn’t. I reached out, my hand trembling as I gently placed it on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to doubt you. I just… I don’t know how to process this. But I believe you, Jisung. I believe you.”

He didn’t say anything, his body tense under my touch. I could feel the distance between us growing, and it terrified me. I didn’t want that Wall between us again.

“How long has it been happening.” My emotions were all over the place. “They'll take actions if we get proof.”

"I showed them a text on my phone of father Dooyoung asking me to send pictures of my body or he's going to tell the church that he caught me watching porn."

I got confused.

“You remember when I started staying for those extra Bible lectures with Reverend Dooyoung for the state competition?”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, my throat tightening. I remembered. It was my uncle who had suggested it, telling my father that Jisung had potential, that he was bright and eager to learn more. I had thought it was a good thing back then. But now, knowing what I knew... I felt sick.

“Every time I’d go to his office,” Jisung continued, his voice steady but laced with pain, “he’d offer me his laptop. He’d say I could play games on it while he stepped out for a bit. It seemed innocent at first, like he was just being nice. I didn’t think much of it.”

He paused, and I could hear the way his breath hitched, like he was struggling to push the next words out. I wanted to reach out, to hold him, but I stayed still, letting him speak at his own pace.

“The first time I opened his laptop,” Jisung continued, his voice quieter now, “I saw... I saw porn. It was just there. The moment I unlocked the screen, that’s what came up. I didn’t know what to do and... I—I couldn’t look away.”

My heart pounded in my chest, the image of it burning into my mind. My uncle had left Jisung in his office, alone, with that on his laptop? I clenched my fists under the covers, trying to hold onto my composure, but it was slipping.

“It wasn’t just once,” Jisung said, his voice trembling. “Every time I went for those ‘lectures,’ it happened again. I’d open the laptop, and there it was—porn. Different videos. Sometimes it was a man and a woman. Sometimes... it was two men.”

I felt my stomach twist, my body going rigid as the horror of what he was telling me sank in. Jisung, alone, watching those videos, not knowing what to do, while my uncle—my uncle—was the one orchestrating it. The bile rose in my throat.

“And then,” Jisung whispered, his voice breaking, “he’d come back into the office. I’d close the laptop quickly, but it didn’t matter. He knew. He’d start... touching me.”

I couldn’t breathe. My hands shook as I listened to him, every part of me screaming.

“It wasn’t just random touches,” Jisung continued, and I could hear the tears in his voice now. “He’d do it in a way that felt... calculated. Like he knew I’d be confused. Like he was making sure I was already... aroused. I think he wanted me to want it.”

Jisung turned slightly, just enough that I could see the side of his face, his eyes wet and pained as they stared into the darkness of the room. “I didn’t want it, Minho. But it kept happening. And I didn’t know how to make it stop.”

"Here." He brought he phone out of his shorts.
"The board forced me to delete the messages but I still have a screenshot." He showed it to me and my heart dropped. It was really my uncle. Begging Jisung for a chance while threatening to report him for the porn he deliberately made Jisung watched.

I felt sick.

"Trust me I wouldn't believe this either... I thought father Dooyoung was a good person."

My heart shattered at the vulnerability in his voice, at the pain he’d been carrying alone for so long. And then, the final blow came, the words that would haunt me forever.

“I wished your father believed me. ” Jisung whispered, “but he didn’t.”

That was it. Something inside me snapped.

“My father saw this and still did nothing?!” I yelled, the anger pouring out of me before I could stop it. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The rage, the disgust, the betrayal—it all surged forward, too strong to contain.

Jisung flinched at the sound of my voice, and I immediately regretted yelling, but I couldn’t help it. The thought of my father ignoring this, turning a blind eye to the pain Jisung was in, the thought of my uncle—my own uncle—doing something so sick, so vile... It was too much.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, softer this time, my voice trembling. I reached out and gently touched his arm, hoping he wouldn’t pull away from me. “I’m so, so sorry, Jisung.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move away either. His silence, his stillness, it only made the ache in my chest grow deeper. I had failed him. My family had failed him. The whole church had failed him.

"Please don't tell anyone, I'm scared that they'll take action of me trying to ruin his reputation and they'll make my life miserable.... I don't want that so I'm thinking of a way to convince my parents to take me out of here."

My heart broke all over again.

They were silencing him.

"I won't tell anyone...we’ll figure this out.” I promised, my voice shaking with emotion. “I won’t let him get away with this."

Jisung’s eyes flickered toward me for a brief moment.

"You can't do anything, he's your uncle."

“He's dead to me."

"I hope he doesn't try to do anything with me again and I'll try to avoid him as much a possible."

"You wouldn't need to. He'll soon be gone."

"What do you mean."

"We have a special Service soon, and other churches would be invited and guess who would be preaching at that podium?."

"That must have been it." I concluded as I laid there in the dimly lit room, my own words pulled me from the flashback as I concluded that that was where the whole bisexual stermed from for Jisung because to me it wasn't natural. My mind replayed every word he had said back then, every horrible detail about my uncle, about the institution.

It kept gnawing at me—the idea that what happened to Jisung then could have shaped who he is today. That maybe, just maybe, what my uncle had done had something to do with Jisung being bisexual. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. I hated myself for even thinking it, for trying to connect his trauma to something so fundamental about him. But still, the question lingered, like a dark cloud I couldn’t shake.

Was this my fault?

If I had known sooner, if I had been paying attention, could I have stopped it? Could I have prevented everything from happening the way it did? My heart clenched painfully as I thought about how much pain Jisung must have carried with him, alone, for so long. And now, I couldn’t help but wonder if that pain had bled into who he was, into his identity, into the way he saw himself and his relationships.

I cursed under my breath, the anger surging through me again. I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it before it happened.

I turned my head slightly, glancing over at Jisung, who was already asleep on the other side of the room. His breathing was steady, his face calm, like nothing was wrong. But I knew better. That calm exterior was just a mask—a thin veil over everything that churned underneath. I wished I could slip into his dreams, take away whatever nightmares lurked there, erase the memories of what had been done to him.

Maybe he doesn't face those horrors anymore, Jisung had changed so much. He didn’t look anything like the boy back before puberty had reshaped him. He used to be so lean, so soft. He had this almost ethereal look to him, with delicate features that made him stand out in a way that other boys mocked. I remember how much it bothered him, even if he didn’t always say it out loud.

But it was pointless—those boys didn’t even know what they were really mocking. Behind the scenes, I knew a few of them had secret fantasies about Jisung. I overheard them sometimes, talking in hushed voices when they thought no one could hear. They’d whisper about how much they wanted him, how they fantasized about what he might be like if they ever had the chance. It made my skin crawl every time I heard it. I couldn’t stand to hear them objectify him like that, so I’d walk away, or sometimes, I’d tell them to shut up.

I never told Jisung about those conversations. What good would it have done? He already felt self-conscious enough about the way people saw him, the way they judged him for his looks. He didn’t need to know that some of those same people were secretly lusting after him when his back was turned.

But now, as I looked at him, I realized just how much he had grown, how much time had transformed him. Puberty had come late for him, but it had hit him hard. His body had filled out, his arms and chest thick with muscle that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t soft anymore—not in the way he used to be. He looked strong now, his body shaped by time and effort, his once-round face now sharper, more angular.

It was crazy to think how much time could change a person. The boy with the delicate features and soft skin was gone, replaced by someone more rugged, more mature. And yet, even though he looked so different
I couldn’t help but wonder if this transformation had been driven by more than just natural growth. Had the things he went through—what my uncle did to him, the trauma he had endured—forced him to change? Had he built up these muscles, this harder exterior, as a way to protect himself? As a way to shield himself from being vulnerable again?

Was he still facing those type of thing.

What if.

But it was too late now. The damage had already been done.

But I couldn’t give up on him. I wouldn’t.

I found myself praying again, silently this time. Please, God, don’t let him fall too far. Lead him back. Bring him back to you.

I still had hope for him, despite everything. He may have changed, but deep down, I knew that the Jisung I admired still existed. He had to. I just needed to be patient. It hurt—knowing how much he had drifted—but love wasn’t something that wavered just because it was tested. I loved him too much to let him go. He was my best friend, the person who had been there through everything.

I swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of tears that threatened to surface. I hated feeling like this—so helpless, like I couldn’t reach him. I knew I couldn’t force him back to God, back to the person he used to be. But I could stay. I could keep hoping. I could keep praying for him.

Maybe one day, he’d find his way back.

And if he didn’t... if he never did... well, I’d still be here. I’d still be his friend.

Even though it felt like I was losing him, piece by piece, I couldn’t give up. Not on Jisung.

I turned away, staring up at the ceiling, trying to push the ache down.

The morning came by in a blink I woke up feeling heavy with the remnants of last night’s thoughts still clinging to me. I could hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen. With a quiet sigh, I pushed myself out of bed, washed up and went through the familiar motions of my morning prayer, trying to clear my head.

I walked to the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, only to find Jisung already busy at the stove. The sight made me pause for a second—he wasn’t usually up this early, and definitely not in the kitchen. He was moving with a quiet focus, his brow slightly furrowed as he stirred something in a pan.

“You woke up pretty early today,” I greeted leaning against the doorframe.

Jisung looked over his shoulder and nodded in response, a small, almost sheepish smile playing at his lips. His hair was still a bit messy from sleep, and he had that usual softness to him that made everything feel a little more at ease.

I walked over to the counter, watching him for a moment before teasing, “Didn’t know you could cook. What if it's not edible enough for us.”

He rolled his eyes at me but didn’t miss a beat, “It's just breakfast and it's Better that than the risk of getting poisoned by you for being queer.”

I froze for half a second, but then his smirk gave him away. I let out a surprised laugh, the tension from last night breaking away, at least for now. “Thanks for the idea. Never thought of it,” I joked back, nudging him lightly.

He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned back to whatever he was cooking. “You’d fail miserably at it anyway.”

I chuckled and moved beside him, leaning over the counter. “What are you making”

“Just some eggs and toast. Simple stuff,” Jisung replied casually, flipping the eggs in the pan. “Could use an extra pair of hands if you’re not too busy laughing at me.”

“Alright, alright,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “I’ll help. But just so you know, my eggs are superior.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Jisung shot back immediately, but there was a playful gleam in his eyes. “You might be good at some things, but cooking is definitely not one of them.”

I couldn't hide my smile. “You say that now, but just wait.”

We worked together in the kitchen, the quiet of the morning giving way to easy conversation. It felt good, normal, like old times. We joked and teased, and every time I said something, Jisung would have a quick, witty comeback that left me laughing. It was amazing how easily he could make me laugh, even when things had been so heavy just hours before.

At one point, I reached over to grab the spatula from his hand, but he pulled it away, his grin widening. “You’re not getting anywhere near my eggs,” he said, holding it just out of my reach.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You really want to make this a competition?”

“Everything’s a competition with you,” he replied with a shrug, but I could see the challenge in his expression.

“Fine, but when I win, you have to admit my eggs are better.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

We spent the next few minutes trying to one-up each other in the silliest ways—who could flip the eggs better, who could butter the toast faster. It was ridiculous, but it made everything feel lighter. Every time Jisung threw a comment my way, I found myself laughing, and I could see that same ease settling into him, too.

By the time we were done, the kitchen smelled of breakfast, and there was a plate of food waiting for us on the counter. I leaned against the counter, looking at him with a grin. “Alright, moment of truth. Whose eggs are better?”

Jisung grabbed his plate and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before looking at me with an exaggerated expression of contemplation. “Well...”

“Don’t lie,” I said, pointing my fork at him.

He swallowed and shrugged. “It’s a tie.”

“A tie?” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a cop-out answer.”

He grinned. “Or maybe you just can’t handle that we’re equally good.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Fine. I’ll accept a tie. For now.”

As we sat down to eat, the playful energy lingered, and we kept chatting, catching up on little things. Jisung told me about how hard it is to teach the students at the institution, and I filled him in on what had been happening lately. Every now and then, he’d say something that had me laughing so hard I could barely take a bite of my food.

It was strange, in a way, how natural this felt. How easy it was to slip back into our usual banter, our playful competitions, despite everything that had happened. But maybe that was the point—maybe that’s what made moments like this so important. Even with everything weighing on us, we still had this. We still had each other.

And that, at least for now, was enough.

The breakfast was almost done, I had been talking about some of the activities I’d been involved in with the students, little anecdotes about the different personalities in the classroom, but Jisung just nodded, occasionally offering a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

I paused for a second, watching him as he casually moved around the kitchen, wearing a tank top that showed off his broad shoulders and muscular arms, he came back taking a seat and my eyes traced every line of his upper body and I couldn’t help but notice how much His frame was bigger now. He wasn’t that soft, lean kid anymore, and it hit me in ways I hadn’t expected.

“Do you work out?” I found myself asking, my voice cutting through the silence. It was a bit out of nowhere, but the question slipped out before I could think too hard about it.

Jisung stood up from the table again, grabbing the empty plates in front of him as he made his way to the sink. “Yeah, sometimes,” he replied casually, his voice nonchalant, like it wasn’t a big deal.

He placed the dishes in the sink and turned the water on. The sound of it running filled the kitchen, and I tried to find something to say—anything to ease the awkward tension I suddenly felt creeping in.

“Why’d you ask?” he added, glancing back at me over his shoulder as he started to rinse off the plates.

I blinked, realizing I hadn’t really thought about an answer. “Nothing really,” I muttered, looking away as quickly as I could, not wanting him to catch me staring.

But my eyes betrayed me. They flickered back to him—back to the broad stretch of his back, the way his muscles shifted under the fabric of his tank top. My gaze trailed lower, down to his small waist, then to his hips, and then further, until I caught myself looking at the firm curve of his ass in those damn jorts. He bent over slightly to open one of the drawers, and I swallowed hard, feeling a weird twist in my stomach.

I immediately looked away, cursing myself in my head. Why the hell was I looking?. Something unfamiliar and unsettling gnawing at the edge of my thoughts.

“You eat so slow,” Jisung’s voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat as I looked up at him. He was standing there, a towel in hand, smirking down at me as if he’d caught me slacking off. I scrambled for a response, trying to shake off the weirdness. “I’ll do my own dishes,” I said quickly, my voice coming out a bit sharper than I intended.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Just shrugged and went back to the sink, leaving me with my half-eaten breakfast and the confusing knot in my chest.

As I forced myself to focus on finishing the food in front of me, I couldn’t help but replay the last few minutes in my head, questioning why I had looked. Why I had felt...whatever it was I felt. It was familiar but strange, uninvited thought that didn’t belong there. But it was hard to ignore now, lingering just beneath the surface.

I needed to get my head straight.

I walked out the room leaving my half eaten breakfast.

Chapter Text

JISUNG

As I sat on the train, the steady hum of the rails under me only added to the confusion swirling in my head. Minho had invited me over again, but this time, there was a heaviness in the air. I could feel it even now as I stared blankly out of the window, my mind replaying everything that had happened earlier today. The service, the chaos, and the way everything just… fell apart.

Father Dooyoung. Gone. Just like Minho had said.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. My thoughts drifted back to the night Minho had mentioned it so casually, like it was inevitable. "He’ll be gone soon," he had said, and I remember feeling a cold shiver run down my spine at the certainty in his voice. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Minho was always saying things with conviction, but now? Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Earlier today, during the special service, Father Dooyoung had stood up to deliver his message, a sermon that was supposed to unite the multiple churches invited. I watched from the pews, barely paying attention until he decided to share something from his laptop. Some scripture, or notes he had saved. I don’t even know. But instead of words of faith and devotion, the projector lit up with something else entirely.

Porn.

In front of the congregation.

The entire room froze. I remember the gasps, the horrified whispers spreading through the crowd like wildfire. People scrambling to cover their children’s eyes, others standing in shock as the video played on the big screen for everyone to see. Even Father Dooyoung, for all his self-righteousness, stood there looking as though he’d been struck by lightning. He tried to stop it, fumbling with the controls, but it was too late. The digital team was spiraling, panic evident in their voices as they tried to pull the plug on the whole thing.

The service came to an abrupt end after that. Father Dooyoung stood there, helpless, as the leaders of the church rejected him on the spot, his reputation shattered in front of everyone.

I sat there, stunned, wondering if this was real. Was this the answer to my prayers? Had God really intervened to remove this man from my life, from my church? Or… was it something else?

Was it Minho?

I hadn’t thought about it at first, but when the chaos settled, I looked over at Minho, and what I saw left me with more questions than answers. He wasn’t shaken by what had just happened. No, Minho sat there, calm, almost… proud. There was no shock in his eyes, no surprise at the scandal that had just unfolded. He didn’t look around in confusion like the rest of us. Instead, he wore this look of quiet satisfaction, like he’d known it was coming all along.

Did Minho have something to do with this?

I stared at the train window, the blurred city lights reflecting against the darkened glass. If he did, he hadn’t said a word about it. But that look on his face, the way he had watched everything fall apart, unshaken, it stayed with me.

I felt the knot in my stomach tighten as the train sped forward. The memories of the service kept crashing into me, overwhelming my thoughts, and the was a little trace of panic in them, what if they point fingers at me that I had something to do with it. They'll report and humiliate me for it.

I closed my eyes praying against it.

Soon after I arrived at Minho’s house, I was excited to see him again tonight but the feeling was still overshadowed by my overthinking. I made my way through the house, following the soft glow of the outdoor lights until I found him.

Minho was lounging in his outdoor jacuzzi, the water rippling gently around him. The sight of him took me by surprise. I had never seen him look so relaxed, so at ease, shirtless. His body, illuminated by the dim lighting, looked sculpted, his muscles defined against the water’s surface. It was the first time I had really noticed how… perfect he looked.

My eyes trailed over his shoulders, his chest, and the subtle ridges of his abs as the moonlight danced over his skin. I hadn’t ever thought about him this way before, but tonight—under the quiet sky, the air cool and still—something inside me shifted.

Minho eyes finally caught me standing there and smiled. "You just gonna stand there, or are you coming in?"

I hesitated, feeling the heat rise to my face, but he gestured for me to join him. "Take off your clothes if you want," he said casually, leaning back, eyes half-lidded in the darkness.

Without thinking, I started to undress. Slowly, I slipped out of my clothes, leaving only my boxers on, just like Minho. I didn’t know why, but the idea of being fully exposed made me feel vulnerable in a way I wasn’t ready for. Not yet.

As I stepped into the water, the warmth spread through me, but I could feel Minho’s gaze on me, watching every move I made. He didn’t look away for a second, and neither did I. My eyes remained fixed on him, the way the water clung to his skin, the way his body seemed to melt into the shadows.

I had never looked at a boy like this before.

"You want to see my abs?" Minho’s voice broke through the quiet, a teasing smirk on his lips.

I blinked, snapping out of whatever trance I had fallen into. Embarrassment rushed through me, and I quickly looked away, heat rising to my cheeks. "No, not really," I muttered, though my heart was racing. I focused on the ripples in the water, trying to ignore the fact that Minho had just caught me staring.

There was a brief pause before Minho leaned over, reaching for the small telephone on the side of the jacuzzi. "Are you hungry?" he asked casually, as if nothing had happened. "What do you want to have?"

I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the awkwardness. "Just steak, I guess."

Minho nodded and repeated the request into the phone, then leaned back, his eyes still lingering on me, though not as intensely as before. We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being the soft bubbling of the jacuzzi.

Not long after, the maids arrived with our food, quietly serving us before disappearing as quickly as they had come. I muttered a quick thanks, and Minho did the same, though his focus never really left me. We ate in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that held meaning, something I couldn’t quite put into words.

As I took a bite of the steak, I found my eyes drifting back to him again. This time, I didn’t fight it. There was something about tonight—something about Minho—that was pulling me in, and I didn’t understand it.

But I didn’t hate it either.

As I ate, the quiet between us felt almost comfortable. But then Minho’s phone rang, breaking the stillness. He glanced at the screen, sighed heavily, and answered it with a curt, "Yeah?"

I watched as his expression shifted, the relaxed look on his face tightening into annoyance. It didn’t take long to realize who was on the other end—it was his father. Though I couldn’t make out every word, I could hear the rising volume of his father’s voice, especially when he started yelling about Minho not being responsive.

"You better tell me what you know about the issue we're facing now" his father barked through the phone. "It seems like a setup! You’d better not be involved in this."

Minho’s response was as indifferent as ever, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Stop bothering me with those issues. I don’t care. Let me live."

"This is giving the ministry a bad name.'

He rolled his eyes, and still stay calm, almost bored, as if this conversation was something he had to endure regularly. I could hear his father continuing on the other end, but it was only when Minho put the call on speaker that I started to clearly hear every word.

"You're useless. You can't even protect your own family!" his father spat. Minho didn’t even flinch; he just rolled his eyes again like it was something he’d heard a thousand times before. The insults kept coming, each one sharper than the last.

"Other kids are a blessing, but you're a burden."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

"You’ll rot in hell if you had anything to do with this." His father’s tone it made my stomach twist.

Minho, however, remained completely unfazed. "Okay, thank you, Dad. Goodnight," he said with an exaggerated calm, before hanging up and tossing his phone aside like it was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing around his head.

I sat there, my heart tight, watching him. How could he just shrug off something like that? How could he pretend like it didn’t bother him at all?

I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, I just stared at him, my mind racing, my emotions swirling between anger and pity. Minho smiled at me, his usual laid-back grin, as if the entire conversation with his father hadn’t just happened.

"You should sleep over," he suggested casually, like everything was perfectly normal.

"I—" I started, unsure if staying here was a good idea, especially after what I’d just witnessed.

"Don’t worry," Minho interrupted, still smiling. "We’ll ride back before the morning prayers."

There was something about the way he said it, so nonchalant, like nothing really mattered. I found myself nodding slowly, my voice weak as I agreed. "Okay."

Silence settled over us again, but this time it was heavier. I couldn’t shake the conversation I had overheard, nor could I ignore the creeping suspicion that had been growing in my mind ever since the service earlier today. My eyes drifted to the water, watching it ripple in the dim light.

"Was it really you?" I asked quietly. I could feel my heart racing as I waited for his response.

Minho’s gaze didn’t waver, his expression unchanging. "Mhmm."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Were you behind the whole thing?"

"No," he said simply, his lips curling into a faint smile. "God probably answered your prayers."

He leaned back and dipped his head under the water, letting the ripples spread out around him. I stared at him, my mind spinning. I knew the truth. I knew that God didn’t answer my prayers. God didn’t take down Father Dooyoung.

Minho did.

I watched him rise back up, the water dripping down his face, his smile as easy as ever. He was proud. Proud of what he’d done, proud of the chaos he had caused. And I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

I wanted Dooyoung gone but not in this way.

"You don't seem happy about it."

"Well..." My eyes darted back to the water.

"We should be celebrating."

"I just feel a little guilty."

"Oh please."

"You should forget him , he doesn't exist anymore."

"Don't you think the council would somehow hold me responsible for it."

"They don't have proof they can't hold anything against you, trust me."

He was so sure.

The bell snapped me out of the flashbacks
I let out a sigh of relief as my last class of the morning wrapped up. The students had been extra talkative today, which meant more questions, more disruptions, and a lot more stress. I was more than ready for my break, so when Jeongin texted about meeting at the café nearby, I didn’t hesitate.

I grabbed my things and made my way down the busy street, It wasn’t long before I spotted the familiar neon sign of the café, its cozy interior already visible through the windows. As I pushed open the door, the bell overhead chimed, and I immediately saw Jeongin and Felix sitting at a table near the back, chatting animatedly.

“Jisung!” Jeongin called out with a grin, waving me over.

I smiled, heading toward them and sliding into the empty chair. “How is it going.”

Felix leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Ehh Jeongin is pretty boring. How was class?”

I shrugged. “Survived. Barely. But now I’m here, so I’ll recover.”

"Sick."

We fell into easy conversation, the three of us laughing about random things. It felt good to relax for a bit, especially after the week I’d been having. Between classes, trying to keep my head on straight, and all the complicated feelings swirling inside me, this was exactly the kind of escape I needed.

And then, as if fate wanted to test me, the café door swung open again, and in walked Minho.

My heart did a weird flip. I tried to keep cool, but I could feel my pulse pick up the moment I saw him. He didn’t waste any time, heading straight toward our table, and I immediately started trying to convince myself—again—that I wasn’t in love with him. That I wasn’t still hung up on this gorgeous, straight, religious man who had no idea how much he messed with my head.

But then Minho was standing right in front of me, looking down at me with those sharp eyes that always made it hard to breathe.

“Why didn’t you call me? We could’ve chilled together here on our break,” he said, his tone holding just a hint of irritation.

I blinked, caught off guard. His words, his expression—it was like he didn’t even care that Jeongin and Felix were sitting right there. He was focused solely on me.

“Thought we still went with being friends only in the dark,” I muttered, half-joking, trying to deflect the tension I suddenly felt.

But instead of laughing it off, Minho’s expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might actually get mad. Before I could say anything else, Felix greeted him again trying breaking the tension, he had greeted him as soon as he came to us but Minho was too focused on me to respond.

“Minho you should join us.” Felix said, nodding in his direction.

Jeongin nodded agreeing to it but Minho barely spared them a glance before turning his full attention back to me, completely ignoring their greetings. His eyes bored into mine, his tone flat but his words sharp.

“You’re replacing me with them?”

I laughed nervously, but the look on Minho’s face told me he wasn’t joking. He looked dead serious, and that threw me off completely.

“Minho, come on,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m just hanging out with them, It’s not that deep.” I felt embarrassed that I had to say this literally in front of Jeongin and Felix.

But Minho’s gaze didn’t waver. He just stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me with an intensity that made me squirm. I could feel Felix and Jeongin glancing between the two of us, sensing the weird vibe but not saying anything. I didn’t even know what to say myself.

I love Minho in every possible way but his biggest flaw was how childish and possessive he gets whenever I try to talk to other people, I hated it and it always  sent my mind spiraling. This wasn’t normal, right? This wasn’t how friends—straight friends—acted. But at the same time, we weren’t exactly normal friends, were we?

"Let's go get our own table."

Was he really serious. Gosh I felt embarrassed, especially with Felix and Jeongin around.

I sighed fed up with his behavior, it was something I was used to back then but now here in a café with friends I'm barely family with it was extremely unbearable, and Minho was acting like I’d betrayed him by not inviting him to join us.

“You guys wanna order something?” Felix asked, trying to cut the tension with a casual question.

I glanced at him and nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah, sure.”

But even as I turned my attention back to the menu, I could feel Minho’s eyes still on me. I wanted to say something, to break whatever weird moment this was, but I couldn’t find the words.

Eventually, Minho sat down next to me, his leg brushing against mine under the table. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I cursed my body for reacting the way it did.

We ordered, the conversation picking back up around the table, but I couldn’t fully focus. My mind kept drifting back to Minho’s earlier words. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more going on here, something we weren’t addressing. And it scared me.

Because as much as I wanted to believe I wasn’t in love with Minho anymore, moments like this made me question everything.

As Jeongin, Felix, and I continued chatting, I couldn’t help but notice how quiet Minho had gotten. He sat next to me, barely saying a word, his body language stiff and distant. Normally, Minho could jump into any conversation with ease, but today he was practically a shadow, not contributing or even trying to entertain any of the topics we brought up.

Jeongin was telling a funny story about some mishap during one of his classes, and Felix was laughing so hard his shoulders shook, but Minho just stared at his cup, his jaw tight. I knew that look all too well. I could tell he wasn’t just being quiet—he was jealous.

I glanced over at him, watching the way his eyes flicked from me to Jeongin and Felix, the tension in his body growing more noticeable with every passing second. He barely looked at either of them, his attention locked on me like he was trying to figure something out. It was subtle, but I knew Minho well enough to see through it.

This wasn’t the first time. I wasn’t surprised, really. Minho had always been like this. I thought back to those days when he’d get this same look, this same cold attitude, whenever anyone else got too close to me. It didn’t matter if it was someone from class or even just a casual friend—if they took too much of my attention, Minho would shut down, and I’d have to deal with the aftermath later.

He called it “loyalty,” but sometimes it felt like something else. Like he expected me to only ever be close to him, and anyone else was a threat. I’d lost count of the number of times he made some snide comment about me “entertaining” someone who wasn’t him, like I was cheating on our friendship by talking to other people.

I glanced at him again, taking in the way he shifted in his seat, his eyes darkening as Jeongin made some joke about our schedules overlapping. He wasn’t even hiding it, I'm really screwed.

Minho thought he had some claim over me. It was confusing, and I’d spent years trying to understand it, but it always came back to the same thing: Minho didn’t like sharing me with anyone.

He didn't like sharing his best friend. I thought it was something he'll grow out of but I guess I was wrong.

And now, seeing how easily I’d fallen into this new dynamic with Jeongin and Felix, it was obvious he felt threatened. I didn’t even have to ask.

“I walked back into the classroom and they all looked at me innocently like I was the one crazy or something.” Jeongin laughed, pulling me back into the conversation. “It was priceless.”

I smiled, nodding along, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of Minho’s eyes on me. Every time I so much as glanced at Jeongin or Felix, it was like I could feel Minho’s irritation growing. He wasn’t going to say anything now, not in front of them, but I knew I’d be hearing about it later.

According to Minho, "I was cheating on him" by spending time with other people. Even if it was just a simple lunch, or hanging out in a café, it didn’t matter. It was like he had this invisible boundary drawn around me, and the second anyone crossed it, he’d get like this—cold, distant, like he was daring me to notice how upset he was.

But even back then when he made up those terms in our friendship, I questioned it because it never made sense to me.

Why was he using relationship terms in our friendship. Even couples are allowed to talk to other people.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I wondered how I was able to tolerate this part of Minho over the years.

Felix show us a video he found funny on his phone and the three of us laughed, the conversation moving on like normal. But Minho stayed silent, his fingers tapping restlessly on the table. He wasn’t part of this. He was on the outside, looking in.

All this felt way too familiar, I hated it, there was a time when Minho’s jealousy had really gotten out of hand. We’d been friends for so long, but sometimes, his possessiveness was too much. There had been other moments, but none quite like that day. It was one of those days when I should’ve seen it coming.

we had headed upstairs to Minho's room after our time chilling in the jacuzzi,  the mood shifted into something more relaxed. He handed me a pair of comfy pajamas, soft and oversized, which I gladly changed into. It felt strange, the comfort of it all, considering the events of that day. Minho was always so quick to switch from the chaos to calm like it was nothing.

"Now that Dooyoung’s gone," Minho said as I pulled the pajama shirt over my head, "do you still plan on leaving?"

I hesitated, unsure of what to say at first. The thought of leaving had always been there, lingering in the back of my mind. But now? With everything that had just happened? "Not as long as I don’t get accused of having a hand in it," I replied, the words falling from my lips with uncertainty.

Before I could fully process what I’d said, Minho practically jumped on me, his excitement hitting me like a freight train. He tried to hug me, but in his sudden burst of energy, we both stumbled and ended up crashing onto the floor. I groaned in discomfort while Minho laughed uncontrollably, his laughter loud and unbothered by our awkward tumble.

"Minho, what the hell?" I complained, rubbing my shoulder as I sat up.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry!" he gasped between his laughter, still grinning as he helped me up. "I just got really excited for a second."

I couldn’t help but smile a little, despite the minor pain from our fall. It was just so... Minho. One moment he was acting like nothing bothered him and the next, he was this hyper ball of energy that knocked me off balance—literally. After the commotion, we settled onto his bed, and Minho pulled out his laptop, preparing to watch a movie. I scrolled through the list of options, my mind still buzzing with thoughts about the day.

Out of nowhere, Minho broke the silence with a sharp question. "Why were you talking to Kim Yena today?"

I paused, my finger hovering over the trackpad as I glanced at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You were talking to her today," he repeated, his voice carrying a hint of something more serious. "You guys were smiling and seemed pretty close."

"Well... she’s nice," I replied slowly, not sure where this was going.

Minho’s expression soured. "She’s not that nice. She’s not even cute. Don’t talk to her."

"Why not?" I asked, my forehead creasing as I tried to understand why he was getting worked up.

"That’s cheating," Minho said flatly, his eyes narrowing. "You’re cheating on our friendship. We shouldn’t have any other friends besides each other."

I stared at him, not believing what I was hearing. "That’s not how friendship works, Minho. You don’t own me."

"But for me, you own me," he said, his voice lowering, his gaze intense. "I belong to you, and you should belong to me."

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t the first time Minho had gotten possessive, but this? This felt different. "That doesn’t sound right," I muttered, shaking my head.

"It’s so right," Minho insisted, his eyes locked on mine. "Even the other day, you were talking to that young Australian boy. I didn’t like it."

"Felix?" I blinked, trying to recall the interaction. "I'm not even close with him, He was just congratulating me on my win."

"So what?" Minho’s voice grew sharper. "My congratulations should be enough. He’s trying to steal you away from me. I can tell."

"Gosh, you sound so childish," I said, half-laughing, though I was starting to feel the tension build.

"I’m not joking," he shot back, his tone deadly serious.

I sighed, trying to ease the situation before it got any worse. "Okay, fine. I won’t get close to Felix, but I’m still going to talk to him."

Minho’s eyes darkened slightly, his fingers gripping the edge of the laptop. "What about Yena?"

"Well... I can’t stop talking to her," I replied, already sensing his frustration growing.

"Don’t get close to her," Minho said through gritted teeth.

"I have to."

"Why? You already have me, your best friend," he said, his voice softer now but filled with an almost pleading tone.

I hesitated, not sure if I should say what was on my mind. But the truth had to come out. "Well... I like her."

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw his expression change. It was like I had just committed some kind of unspeakable crime. His face hardened, his eyes wide with shock and something more—betrayal, maybe.

"You... like her?" His voice cracked, disbelief dripping from every word.

"Yeah," I said, my voice quiet, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift. "I like her."

For a second, I thought he was going to explode, but instead, he just stared at me, his lips pressed tightly together. The silence between us was suffocating. Minho didn’t say anything he snapped his laptop shut, tossing it aside like the movie we were about to watch didn't even matter. I frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his mood.

"Noooo" I pouted, "we were just about to watch a movie,"

"We need to talk instead," he said, leaning back against the headboard. His eyes weren’t on me, but I could feel the weight of whatever was going on with him. I sat up straighter, trying to figure out what this was about.

"Okay… about what?" I asked cautiously.

Minho stayed silent for a second too long, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the ceiling. Finally, he spoke. "Tell me everything you like about Yena."

"Oh," I blinked, caught off guard. Where was this coming from? I paused, not sure how to start but also not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "Well, uh… she’s nice. Really nice."

I glanced at him, but his face didn’t give anything away. There was this tension in his jaw though, subtle but there. I ignored it and kept going, trying to keep things casual.

"She’s cute, too," I added, feeling like I was walking on eggshells for some reason. "And she smiles a lot. I like that."

His expression didn’t change fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t say anything, just kept looking at the ceiling.

"And I love whenever she sings in the choir," I said, smiling a little at the thought. "Her voice is… peaceful, calming."

I risked another glance at him, and that’s when I saw it—his expression wasn’t just neutral. It was tense, tight around the edges. Like every word I said about Yena was setting him off, pushing him further into some place I couldn’t reach. His eyes were sharp now, staring at me in a way that made my chest tighten.

"You done?" he asked, his voice low, controlled, but I could hear the strain behind it.

"Uh, yeah," I said, slower this time, not sure where this was headed or what I’d done to set him off. "That’s about it."

He clenched his jaw again, eyes flicking away from me. His fingers gripped the bedsheets, and there was this heavy silence between us, thick with whatever was brewing inside him. I watched him, waiting for something, anything, to explain what was going on in his head.

"You really like her, huh?" he finally said, his tone colder than before. I could feel the chill in his words, like he was forcing himself to stay calm, but he wasn’t fooling me.

"Yeah… I do," I said, hesitating. It was true, I did like her, but something about the way he was reacting made it feel wrong to admit it. And that made me feel even more uneasy.

His face was unreadable now, his earlier irritation replaced by something I couldn't quite place. I shifted uncomfortably, still trying to figure out what had changed in the last few minutes. Everything was fine—until it wasn’t.

"I was planning on taking her out tomorrow to the movies," I said, my voice tentative, testing the waters. "And, you know, ask her to be my girlfriend."

I wasn’t sure why I was even telling him this. It felt natural to share, but with the way Minho had been acting, it seemed like I was throwing gasoline on a fire. His reaction wasn’t immediate; he just blinked, staring at the floor as if he was piecing something together in his mind.

"Oh. That’s good," he finally said, his tone flat. "Do you think she’ll say yes?"

The way he asked made me hesitate for a split second. Something about it felt off, but I brushed it aside. "Yeah," I said, trying to sound more certain than I felt under his gaze. "She kissed me on the cheek a few Sundays ago."

Minho nodded slowly, not really responding beyond that. His silence gnawed at me, like I was waiting for him to say something—anything—to ease the weird vibe in the room. But all I got was that indifferent nod, like he was forcing himself to stay in the conversation.

I tried to bridge the gap, awkwardly laughing as I suggested, "I could introduce you to her as my best friend, you know, since you don’t know her that much."

"It’s okay," he said, his voice cold and distant. "I really don’t care. I don’t want to know her."

The words hit harder than they should have. It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it. There was this edge, this bite to his tone that made it clear he wasn’t just being dismissive. It stung, even if I couldn’t put my finger on why.

Before I could respond, Minho stood up abruptly, grabbing his laptop from the bed with a quiet, almost calculated movement. I watched him, confused, as he walked toward the door.

"I’m sleeping in the other room," he said, his voice clipped, like it was the most obvious decision in the world.

"What? Why?" I shot up from the bed, my heart starting to race with this uneasy feeling in my chest. "Minho, what’s going on?"

He didn’t look at me, his hand already on the door handle. "I just need space right now. Goodnight, Jisung."

That was it. No explanation, no chance to ask more questions. Just… "Goodnight, Jisung." He opened the door, stepping out without another word, leaving me standing in the middle of the room feeling blindsided.

What had just happened? I sat back down on the bed, staring at the empty spot where he had been moments ago, my mind replaying the conversation over and over.

What had I said wrong.

I laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing.

The room felt too quiet, too empty without him there. I pulled the covers over me, trying to shake off the weird, unsettled feeling in my chest, but it lingered.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

The next day had almost played out perfectly. Everything was going according to plan. Yena seemed to be enjoying herself, smiling and laughing at all the right moments during the movie, and I felt this lightness in my chest that hadn’t been there in a while. For the first time in days, Minho wasn’t occupying every corner of my mind, clouding everything with his confusing behavior. Instead, it was just me and Yena, and for a few hours, I could just focus on that.

After the movie ended, we walked out of the theater, the cool breeze of the evening wrapping around us. I bought Yena some chocolate from a nearby shop, thinking it was a nice way to top off the date. The whole time, I kept rehearsing what I was going to say in my head, trying to find the right words to ask her to be my girlfriend.

We wandered a little, making small talk about the movie, but my nerves were building. Every time she smiled at me, I felt a pang of excitement, and I knew the moment was coming.

Finally, I found the right opportunity. We stopped at a small bench, and as Yena unwrapped her chocolate, I took a deep breath, feeling my heart race in my chest. I ran a hand through my hair, mentally rehearsing the lines one more time before I spoke.

"Yena, I really had a great time today," I started, my voice steady despite the nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface. She looked up at me, her smile sweet and warm, and I continued. "I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and… I really like you. You’re fun to be around, and I think we’d make a good couple. So, would you like to be my girlfriend?"

There it was, out in the open. The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, I felt a surge of hope, certain she’d say yes. But then, her expression shifted. That smile faltered, and a look of hesitation crossed her face.

"Sorry," she said softly, her voice apologetic but firm. "But I already have a boyfriend."

"What?" The word slipped out before I could stop it, confusion crashing over me like a wave.

"Yeah," Yena said, shrugging as if it was the most casual thing in the world. "Minho asked me to be his girlfriend last night."

It felt like the ground dropped out from beneath me. My world did a complete 180, and suddenly everything was spinning, out of control. I blinked at her, trying to process what she had just said.

"Minho?" I repeated, my voice tight, barely managing to wrap my head around it. "Minho asked you to be his girlfriend?"

Yena nodded, popping another piece of chocolate into her mouth like it was no big deal, like she hadn’t just turned my entire world upside down.

WTF. My mind raced, thoughts tangling together in a chaotic mess. Minho didn’t even know or like Yena, not well enough to be dating her. He had been so dismissive of her, so indifferent when I brought her up the night before. Why would he do this? Why would my best friend ask her out when he knew how I felt about her?

My heart pounded in my chest, anger slowly bubbling up. This didn’t make any sense. Why?

And Yena… of course, she wouldn’t say no to Minho. Who would? He was rich, charming, and had that air of confidence that people gravitated toward. She probably didn’t even have a choice. What girl wouldn’t want to date someone like Minho, regardless of whether they had feelings for someone else?

I felt like I was spiraling, the betrayal hitting me hard and fast. Minho had done this—my best friend had done this, knowing full well what I was planning, what I felt. He knew how much I liked Yena, and he still went ahead and asked her out. And she said yes.

"Are you okay?" Yena asked, noticing the shift in my expression. Her voice was gentle, but I couldn’t even look at her. I didn’t have an answer for her, didn’t have the words to explain what was crashing through my mind.

I forced a smile, one that felt fake and thin. "Yeah," I said, though my voice was hollow. "I’m fine."

But I wasn’t. Inside, I was anything but fine.

As soon as the school bell rang, snapping me out of my thoughts, I gathered my things, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders. My mind was all over the place, mostly circling around Minho and the way things had spiraled between us. He’d been cold all day, and every interaction felt strained—like walking on eggshells.

I headed back to my dorm room, trying to shake off the unease gnawing at me. The moment I stepped inside, I kicked off my shoes and headed straight for the shower. I needed to clear my head, let the steam and hot water wash away the tension.

After I’d finished, I dressed quickly and went to the kitchen, hoping to grab something to eat. But as soon as I stepped in, I saw Minho. He was already there, makin pasta, his face unreadable as he moved around the kitchen. I stopped, hoping for a glance, a word—anything—but he didn’t even look at me. It was like I wasn’t there. The silence between us was deafening.gb

I bit my lip, frustration and confusion mixing in my chest, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I turned around and headed back to the room. I collapsed onto my bed and pulled out my phone, needing to talk to someone. I shot a quick text to Nessa, my fingers moving fast over the screen as I explained everything to her.

Jisung: you won’t believe what’s been going on with he's driving me crazy.

I told her about the distance, the cold shoulder, the way he’d been shutting me out. I didn’t know what to do. Minho wasn’t the type to act like this for no reason, and the fact that he wasn’t talking to me about it made it worse.

Jisung:What do I do? He won’t even look at me.i don't know how to feel with him acting this way.

Her reply came quickly, as always.

Nessa:
Ignore him. He’s probably just being petty. Don’t let it get to you. He’ll get over it.

I stared at her message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. It was easier said than done. How was I supposed to ignore it when Minho was acting like this? But before I could reply, he walked right in, holding a plate of pasta in one hand to me the other to himself. He still didn’t look at me as he gave me and crossed the room and settled onto his own bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He muttered a quick prayer before picking up his fork.

I glared at him, waiting for him to finish, the silence between us suffocating. I couldn’t take it anymore.

"What the fuck was that you pulled earlier?" I blurted, my frustration getting the better of me.

Minho didn’t even flinch. He glanced up at me, his expression calm, but there was something cold behind his eyes. "I should be asking you that," he shot back.

I frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You," he said, setting his plate down. "Ditching me for Felix and Jeongin. What kind of friend does that?"

I blinked, taken aback. "Are you serious? That’s what this is about?"

Minho’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. "You didn’t even think to invite me. You’re off having fun with you new friends, and I’m just… what? Left out?"

I stared at him, trying to wrap my head around it. "Oh my fucking goddddddd ."

"Don't even even use those type of words around me."

"I can't believe you're mad over this."

"Yes I am " he said flatly, his voice cold and distant. "You didn’t even think about me,do you even want me around you?"

I felt a flash of frustration. "Yes I do, Minho. But I can have other friends too." I slammed my hands over my head. "You're not mad over me not asking you to join me you're mad over the fact that I'm making new friends which is so crazy you haven't changed one bit. This is such a toxic behavior."

He didn’t respond, just stared at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. There was something raw in his gaze, something that made my chest tighten.

"I’m not excluding you," I continued, trying to make sense of this. "Felix and Jeongin are my friends too. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you."

Minho’s jaw clenched, and he looked away. "It sure feels like it."

"Come on," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You’re overreacting. It’s not that deep."

His head snapped back to me, his eyes narrowing. "Overreacting? Really, Jisung? You left me for four years and came back just to be friendly with others and I’m supposed to just be okay with it, we should be together every time trying to catch up with all that we've lost."

"You're not get it !" my frustration bubble up. "You’re acting like I’m not allowed to have other friends. That’s not fair."

Minho crossed his arms over his chest, his expression hard. "Maybe I just don’t want to share my best friend."

I blinked at him, my frustration quickly shifting into confusion. "You don’t want to share… what does that even mean?"

"Did you think I tried getting back the connection I had with you from someone else when you left? Our bond mean everything to me and it's that or nothing and seeing you want to create that closeness with other people pisses me off."

I stared at him, speechless. I hadn’t realized he felt this way. "Minho, that’s not—"

I shooked my head. "You are literally a grown adult Minho you talk about friendship like you're a Disney princess, I don't understand you at all."

He nodded and tossed his untouched food aside. "I’m sleeping in Changbin's room tonight," he said abruptly, standing up. "I need space."

"Minho, wait—" I started, but he was already at the door.

"Goodnight, Jisung," he said without looking back, his voice flat, before he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

I sat there, staring at the door, my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell had just happened?

Minho wasn’t just angry—he was hurt. But I couldn’t wrap my head around why. Why did it matter so much to him that I was just talking with Felix and Jeongin.

I collapsed back onto my bed, frustration and confusion swirling in my head.

It felt like I was still stuck in the past because Minho hadn't changed one bit maybe physically but he was still the same Minho from four years ago.

He didn't act differently toward me even after how much I had changed.

Even after he knows where I stand with my faith.

Even after he knows my sexual preference.

Even after I had taken his virginity.

Chapter Text

JISUNG

He doesn't remember. Does he?

If he does he wouldn't still act this way towards me.

If he knew that I had purposely taken advantage of him while he was drunk he wouldn't still want our 'friendship' back.

He would hate me.

I am such a horrible person.

A horrible friend.

I rolled out of bed

My body felt so heavy with my thoughts that had happened between me and Minho. The events from last night replayed in my head like a bad movie, and I tried pushing the thoughts aside, dragging my feet toward the bathroom, splashing water on my face, trying to wash away the fatigue and frustration clinging to me.

As I finished, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror-tired eyes, messy hair. I sighed. This wasn't how things were supposed to be with Minho.

I stepped into the kitchen, hoping a cup of coffee might help me clear my head. The smell of fresh grounds usually did wonders for my mood, so I reached for the coffee maker, setting it up on autopilot, not really thinking about the steps. As I waited for it to brew, I leaned against the counter, my mind still racing.

Then I heard the door creak open and then footsteps behind me, soft, familiar. Minho.

I stiffened, not ready for another round of awkward silence or forced small talk, I didn't even bother to turn around to see if it was him or not but who else would it be.
He greeted me quietly, he also sounded exhausted, But I couldn't bring myself to reply. I wasn't ready to face him yet, wasn't ready to have another fight or feel the hurt from last night rise up again. I kept my eyes on the coffee maker, willing it to go faster, my fingers tapping impatiently against the counter.

And then, out of nowhere, I felt it.
A pair of arms slowly wrapping around my waist, pulling me close. Minho's arms. His body pressed against mine, and his head rested gently on my shoulder. His warmth seeped into my skin, and my heart skipped a beat.

"I'm sorry, Jisung," he murmured, his voice soft, almost fragile. It was the way he said it, my heart lurch in my chest.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep myself together. His presence, his touch, it was overwhelming. The flood of emotions I had been trying to push down since last night jolted back to life, crashing through me all at once.

Fuck. Minho had no idea what kind of effect he had on me, how much I struggled to keep my feelings in check around him.

"I'm sorry for acting like that," he repeated, his voice filled with genuine regret. He shifted his face looking up at me from my shoulder.

"I know I'm very annoying, don't stay mad at me."

Gosh.

Why was he stimulating me like this.

I tried to shake it off, tried to act like his touch wasn't completely undoing me. "It's okay," I muttered, my voice stiff. "You can let go now." I needed him to step back before I lost my composure entirely. I needed space to breathe, to think clearly, without him so close.

But instead of pulling away, Minho held me tighter, his strong body pressing more firmly against mine. "I know you're still mad," he whispered, his breath warm against my neck. He pulled me even closer, and I could feel every inch of him-the way his muscles flexed under his shirt, the heat radiating from his skin. His grip was firm, almost possessive, and my heart hammered in my chest.

I felt a rush of something I couldn't control.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Shit. I grew a boner, my body betraying me in the worst possible way. Panic set in. I couldn't let him notice, couldn't let him know what he did to me.

I pulled away abruptly, stepping out of his embrace. My cheeks burned, and I refused to look at him, my hands shaking slightly as I tried to focus on the coffee maker again. Anything but him.

Minho didn't say anything at first, and I could still feel his eyes on me, but I didn't dare turn around. My mind raced, trying to find something-anything-to say that wouldn't make this more awkward than it already was. But all I could think about was the way his arms felt around me, the way his body fit so perfectly against mine, and how much I wanted to turn back around and kiss him.

But I couldn't. I wouldn't.

Instead, I gritted my teeth and forced out a strained, "It's fine, Minho. Just... let's not do that again."

I didn't look up, didn't wait for a response. I just kept my focus on the coffee, my hands gripping the edge of the counter as I tried to steady myself, my heart still pounding from the effect of his body being so aligned with mine moments ago.

He walked back to the room and I could finally fucking breathe.

I took a sip of my coffee as I went back to the room, trying to shake off the storm of emotions that were brewing inside me. But as soon as I stepped in, I saw Minho throwing his clothes around the room like he didn't have a care in the world. His shirt hit the floor first, then his pants followed, and before I could process anything else, he stood there in just his boxers, completely oblivious to how much he was messing with my head.

Shit.

I gulped hard,

He was gonna take of his boxers too, his hand held the waist band pulling it down and I Immediately turned away before I could see anything else. My face heating up. The last thing I needed was to see Minho naked right in front of me.

I took my coffee all at once, gulping down the hot liquid as fast as I could not daring to peak back at Minho hot naked body. The burn in my throat was nothing compared to the tension swirling in my chest. I didn't want to be in the same room as Minho right now-not with the way his touch lingered on my skin, the way my mind kept replaying how close we had just been. It was suffocating.

Without a second thought, I turned on my heel and bolted from the room, my pulse racing.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't live with him if he kept being so clingy, so comfortable around me like that. It was driving me insane. Every time he touched me, every time he said something sweet or wrapped his arms around me like it was the most natural thing in the world it felt like a punch to the gut. He didn't know what it did to me. He couldn't know.

I grabbed my phone and texted Nessa as I headed out for a run, my mind in overdrive. I needed to clear my head, needed to do something to keep from spiraling.

Jisung: "Had to take a run. Couldn't deal. Had a boner from hell after Minho hugged me from behind and decided to show me strip right in front of me."

I hit send and started jogging, the cool air hitting my face as I tried to get as far away from the dorm and from Minho-as possible. My phone buzzed a minute later.

Nessa: "LOL, damn Jisung. There's no way he's not doing that on purpose. Minho is really gonna be the death of you."

She wasn't wrong. I sped up, my legs burning as I pushed myself harder. But no matter how fast I ran, no matter how much distance I put between me and the dorm , I couldn't shake the feeling that no matter what I did, I couldn't escape him.

Jisung: I don't know what to do. He's driving me crazy, and I can't handle it. I don't know if I can keep living with him.

I was halfway through my run by the time her reply came.

Nessa: Jisung, you've gotta stop torturing yourself. Remember what I told you, Trick your brain to think you don't love him because you don't, He's straight and religious remember?"

Nessa: "Even you should know how complicated it is dealing with straight men."

I winced at her words, even though I knew she was right. Minho was straight. And not just straight he was the son of a priest, for God's sake. Whatever fantasy I had been holding onto, whatever hope I had, it was stupid. I needed to stop.

I have dealt with straight men before religious ones too, they were all horrible experience and I promised to never give them any chance no matter how much they claim to want me.

Nessa: Honestly, you should start distracting yourself with other people. Date. Do something. You can't keep putting all your energy into Minho. It's not healthy.

I slowed down, my breathing heavy as I walked along the trail, trying to let her words sink in. She had a point. I couldn't keep living like this, always hoping for something that would never happen. Minho wasn't mine. He would never be mine. I needed to get that through my head before it ruined me.

Minho and I are just friends I repeated in my head.

"Minho and I are just friends, Minho is straight and religious." I said it to myself repeatedly but my mind decided to replay the way he was moaning with so much want the night I had fucked him like my life depended on it.

"He was drunk omg Jisung fucking get yourself together." I said to myself fighting with my thoughts.

I walked back, her advice echoing in my mind.

~

The sun had just begun its descent, casting an orange glow over the open field where we were setting up tents for the evening. The air was warm but cooling as the day moved towards dusk, and I found myself directing my students as they bickered about the best way to pitch our tent. It was typical-no matter how many times we went over the setup, they always found something to argue about.

"Why don't you just hold the corner tighter, like I said?"

"Because you keep pulling it too far! We'll tear the canvas!"

I sighed, glancing over at them with a shake of my head. "Guys, can we please work together for five minutes without killing each other? We have to get this tent up before dark."

Their grumbling quieted down a bit, and they went back to working, with less enthusiasm. I bent down to help smooth out the corners of the tent when I heard footsteps approaching. I glanced up and immediately spotted Minho leading his own group of students, all of them carrying their tent supplies.

And of course, they headed right for us. Minho stopped next to me, nodding to his students to set up their tent right beside ours.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath, standing up to face him.

"What?" he asked, a faint smirk playing on his lips like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Why are you setting up there? There's a whole field to choose from."

Minho shrugged, looking around casually, as if he hadn't just decided to plant himself directly next to us on purpose. "I like this spot."

I raised an eyebrow. "This spot? Felix was planning to take this area."

"Well, I got here first," Minho replied nonchalantly, starting to help his students unpack without even looking at me.

I stared at him for a moment, completely baffled. Of course he had to choose the spot right next to us. It wasn't enough that we had already spent an entire day in awkward silence and now he was forcing himself into my space-again.

I glanced over at Felix, who had been eying the area as well, but when he saw Minho taking it, he just rolled his eyes and directed his students to move further down the field. I couldn't blame him for not wanting to get caught up in whatever weird thing Minho was doing.

"Minho," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "We don't have to be right next to each other, you know."

Minho just shrugged again, not giving me a reasonable answer. "It's convenient."

"Convenient for what, exactly?" I asked, crossing my arms, not willing to let this slide so easily.

"For setting up the tent," he said simply, as if that explained anything.

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. I wasn't in the mood to argue, especially not over something so petty, but Minho's nonchalance was starting to get under my skin. It was like he was deliberately ignoring the tension between us, acting like everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

"Fine," I muttered, stepping back to give him space. "Do what you want."

Minho smiled, like he'd won some invisible battle, and went back to helping his students. I turned away, trying to focus on my own tent and ignore the way my heart was pounding in frustration. Why did he have to make things so complicated?

The students continued to work, their arguments settling down as the tents slowly started to take shape. But even as I helped them, my eyes kept drifting back to Minho. He was laughing with his students, giving them pointers on how to tighten the ropes and secure the stakes, completely at ease. How could he act so normal after everything? How could he be so close to me and not feel the same tension gnawing at him?

Fuck him.

I needed to focus on the task at hand, not on Minho and whatever weird game he was playing. But the more I tried to ignore him, the more his presence seemed to fill the space between us. Even when he wasn't looking at me, I could feel him there-like he was waiting for me to react.

"Jisung," one of my students called, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Can you check this corner? It's not staying up."

I nodded, forcing myself to concentrate on the tent, and crouched down to fix the corner. But even as I worked, I couldn't shake the feeling that Minho was watching me, waiting for something I couldn't quite understand.

What was he playing at? Why did he keep putting himself right in my way, acting like nothing had changed?

And more importantly-why did I still care?

After we finally finished setting up the tent, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The sun had sunk lower on the horizon, and the cool evening breeze had started to blow across the field, signaling the start of the evening activities. My students were gathered around, looking a bit worn from the work but still energetic. I pulled out my notebook, planning to run through the lesson plans for the next day. I thought I'd use the extra time to go over a few things-maybe find a distraction from everything else that had been bothering me.

But before I could get into the material, one of my students spoke up, catching my attention.

"Teacher Jisung we usually say a quick prayer before we continue."

I blinked in surprise, glancing at the student who had suggested it. I hadn't been expecting that, and to be honest, I wasn't sure how to respond at first. I hadn't prayed in a long time, and the idea of leading one now, in front of everyone, felt a little strange. I felt an uncomfortable knot form in my stomach as I glanced toward Minho, who was standing nearby, busy with his own students but within earshot.

"Oh," I muttered awkwardly, flipping the notebook shut. "Uh, sure. Let's do that."

My students gathered around, closing their eyes expectantly, waiting for me to start. I felt out of place, like I didn't quite belong in this moment. When was the last time I even prayed? I couldn't remember, and now, standing there with their expectant faces, I had no idea what to say.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as well, trying to recall the words. I managed to piece together something, though it was short and awkward, like pulling teeth. My voice was quiet, and I stumbled through the words. It felt forced like something I was doing because I had to.

"Thank you for this day," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the soft evening wind. "Uh... please watch over us and, um, help us be kind to one another."

It was awkward. I could feel the tension in my shoulders as I tried to keep my voice steady. The whole thing felt so disconnected, like I was just going through the motions. All of this felt so distant now.

"Amen," I finished, quickly opening my eyes to get it over with.

When I looked up, the first thing I saw was Minho. He was watching me from the side, his eyes catching mine for just a second before he turned away with a slight smile on his lips. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but the way he smiled at me it was like he knew exactly how uncomfortable I was, and for some reason, that irritated me.

After the prayer, I shook off the feeling, turning back to my students to focus on what I actually came here to do. I ran through a few things with them, going over the basics, checking their progress. It helped to take my mind off the awkwardness from before, though I could still feel Minho's presence nearby, lingering like an unwelcome shadow.

Just as I was finishing up with my students, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stiffened instinctively, already knowing who it was before I even looked.

"That was great," Minho said softly.

I didn't turn to face him. Instead, I pulled away from his touch, taking a small step back. "Yeah," I muttered, barely acknowledging him. I couldn't deal with him and if he somehow thinks that the little gesture was god's way of slowly guiding me back to him.

He was dead wrong.

I know he tries to give himself little hopes of me finding my way back but he'll never get it.

I'm never coming back to this.

This institution ruined me and coming back to God won't fix it.

Soon after I managed to escape him, I stood at the edge of the field, watching my students run around, their laughter filling the air as they played before the evening's competition. Apparently this activities was going to prepare us for the state competition and whoever's team wins tonight they would represent the institution.

The sun was starting to dip, casting a golden glow across the grass, and for a moment, I felt a sense of calm watching them. They had worked so hard to get to this point, and seeing them enjoy themselves brought me a quiet kind of pride.

Just as I was about to call them over to get ready, I felt a light touch on my shoulder.

"Han Jisung, there's no way this is you," a voice said, a teasing lilt in the words.

I turned around, my brow furrowed as I tried to place the voice. At first, I didn't recognize her, but then it clicked. My eyes widened in shock, and I gasped.

"Kim Yena?!" I practically shouted, my hand instinctively reaching up to cover my mouth. Standing in front of me was a pregnant woman, her hand resting on her belly, but her face was unmistakable. "My goodness!"

For a split second, I had the urge to hug her, but I stopped myself, feeling a bit awkward. I laughed it off and settled for a wide smile instead. "Wow, you look... amazing. You're glowing."

She laughed in response, a bright, genuine sound. "That's what everyone's been telling me since I got pregnant," she said, glancing down at her belly with a grin.

I chuckled. "Well, they're right. You look really good."

We exchanged a few more words, catching up on each other's lives. It felt surreal seeing her like this, and I couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over me. It had been so long since we last crossed paths, and she was still here.

After a few minutes of talking about how life had changed and what we had both been up to, she told me she had to head off, but not before giving me one last smile.

"It was really great seeing you, Jisung. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too, Yena. And congratulations again," I said, watching her walk away, her figure disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, I just stood there, feeling a mix of emotions I couldn't quite place. Seeing her like that-happy, glowing-made me think about how fast time was moving. It felt like just yesterday I was mad at Minho for stealing the girl I liked and now she was pregnant for another man.

LMFAO

With a deep breath, I turned back to my students, who were still caught up in their playful chaos. I smiled to myself, pushing those thoughts aside.

I barely had a moment to collect myself before Minho sidled up beside me, his eyes narrowed with a playful, yet knowing look.

"That was Yena, wasn't it?" he asked, a hint of something teasing in his voice.

"Yeah, it was nice meeting her again. It's been a while."

Minho hummed, but there was an edge to it, like he was holding something back. "Hmm, yeah. I hope you know she's married now."

I shot him a look, my brow furrowed in confusion. "Why are you telling me this?"

He shrugged, his eyes darting to the side as if he was just being casual about it. "I don't know, I'm just saying. It's not like you can't talk to her or anything, but you know... there are boundaries when it comes to how close you can get with a married woman."

My jaw dropped at the sheer absurdity of what he was implying. "Oh my god, Minho, I've never heard of that before," I said sarcastically. "And I didn't even go close to her!"

He gave a small nod, his eyes scanning the area like he hadn't just made the most ridiculous comment. "Okay," he said nonchalantly.

I rolled my eyes, trying to hold back the urge to give him a piece of my mind. But, of course, he wasn't done.

"You know she's also pregnant, right?"

I turned to him, completely exasperated now. "Oh my god, Minho! You think I didn't see the bump? You have to be fucking kidding me if you think the stupid crush I had on her ages ago has any relevance now!"

Minho's eyes widened in mock innocence, and he held up his hands in surrender. "Okayyyyy... I get it now, stop scolding me," he said, his lips curling into a pout.

That pout. The one that made me want to both kiss him and spank him at the same time. I groaned internally, feeling my frustration and affection for him battling it out inside me.

I sighed, shaking my head not understanding how I managed to balance loving him and wanting to knock some sense into him at the same time.

He chuckled, the sound light and teasing, as he bumped his shoulder against mine. "You look so cute when you're mad."

I rolled my eyes again, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Damn it, he always knew how to make me soften up, even when he was being a complete pain in the ass.

And somehow, that made me love him even more.

Soon enough, Felix, Jeongin, and Changbin joined us, greeting us with their usual energy. Thankfully, Minho didn't act like a bitch this time and actually greeted them back, which was a relief. We all ended up standing around, making random small talk as we watched the kids mess around before the competition started.

Out of nowhere, someone came up behind Jeongin, who was standing across from me.

"Hi," the stranger said with a cheerful smile. Jeongin turned around, and his face lit up.

"Oh my god, Chan, what are you doing here?" Jeongin beamed, unable to hide his excitement. "You didn't say you were coming!"

They exchanged a brief hug, and I noticed how easily Jeongin seemed to melt into the embrace.

"I wanted to check out the competition you talked about," Chan explained, still smiling warmly.

Jeongin quickly turned back to us, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Guys, this is my... really close friend, Chan. He just came around for the competition."

I couldn't help but study their body language. The way they stood close to each other, with this easy familiarity, almost like they were used to being in each other's personal space.

"Hi, everyone," Chan greeted us, and Felix's eyes lit up in recognition. It seemed like Felix knew who he was but didn't say anything.

As we continued waiting for the competition to start, Chan just stayed with us, his presence blending in with our group. But I couldn't stop noticing how Jeongin's mood had shifted. He was clearly flustered that Chan was there, and Chan's hand placement around Jeongin's waist didn't escape my attention either.

Jeongin caught my gaze, his eyes widening slightly when he realized I had been staring at the way Chan's hand sneakily settled on his waist. Flustered, Jeongin quickly pulled Chan's hand away from him, stepping aside to create some space between them.

Chan looked at him confused for a moment but later didn't seem to mind, as if this wasn't the first time Jeongin had reacted like this. There was something there between them, something Jeongin wasn't ready to fully show. I could tell, though, that Chan's presence had an undeniable effect on him.

I exchanged a quick glance with Felix, and I could tell he had noticed it too, but none of us said anything.

After the friendly competition had wrapped up, the students were left to their own devices, playing games and laughing as the evening wore on. The excitement from the event still buzzed in the air, a reminder of the day's victories and close calls. My team had taken first place, and the students were beyond thrilled. The energy was infectious, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as we stood together for the final announcements. Changbin's team came in second, and Minho's team landed in third place.

I tried not to dwell on it too much, but it was impossible not to notice the slight shift in Minho's father demeanor when they announced the results. He clapped and cheered like everyone else, but there was a tightness in his expression, something I couldn't quite place.

After the competition, I took my students to get ice cream as a reward. Their smiles and laughter made the effort worth it, and for a brief moment, I felt like everything was perfect. The weight of my earlier frustrations had eased, replaced by a simple joy in the moment.

Once we finished, I headed back to my dorm. The night had cooled down, except for the occasional distant sound of students still lingering outside. I reached the door to my room, ready to collapse on my bed and relax, but something stopped me. As I reached for the handle, I heard voices coming from inside.

It wasn't Minho's voice, though. I froze, standing there with my hand still on the door. I listened, my heart pounding in my chest as the words became clearer.

"Third place isn't good enough. I don't know how you're satisfied with that," the voice said, sharp and condescending.

Minho responded, his voice quieter, though still carrying an edge. "The point is for the kids to have fun with the competition. Why are you pressuring us to take first place?"

"You should be ashamed of yourself for the words you're spewing right now," the first voice shot back. "Jisung is taking over your spot once again. You and your team should be representing the institution not him."

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. My stomach twisted uncomfortably as the words sank in. I had no idea what to think. His father was here, tearing him down over something as trivial as placement in a friendly competition.

"If his team wins at the state, they're winning for the institution, Father," Minho said, clearly frustrated.

But his father wasn't having it. "This isn't about the institution, Minho. This is about you letting Jisung rob you of your shine. You should be the one out there in the spotlight, the priest's son. You should have been the one, right from day one, but..."

I didn't need to hear the rest. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt like I was going to be sick. Every word cut into me like a blade, the sharp edges of resentment and jealousy spilling out into the room. Minho had never said anything to me about this-about feeling overshadowed I know he doesn't feel that way but his dad seemed to be the one pushing it.

I stepped into the cool night air, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself, but it didn't help.

What the fuck was that?

The words echoed in my head, over and over. Had I unknowingly been taking something from him-his chance to stand out, to be recognized?

I didn't want to confront him. I wasn't sure I could. But the way his father spoke to him, the way he brought me into it-it made me feel like I was part of the problem, even though I hadn't meant to be.

I stood outside for a long time, just breathing in the cold night air, trying to untangle the knot of emotions that had settled in my chest. Anger, confusion, guilt-all of it swirling together, making me feel like I was losing my footing. What did this mean for us? For our friendship?

And how the hell was I supposed to face Minho now, knowing what I'd just overheard?

I was sitting under the large tree, trying to clear my mind, but it wasn't working. My thoughts were everywhere-Minho, the competition, everything. I didn't even notice Jeongin and Chan coming around until I heard voices.

"I'm going to miss you," Jeongin said, his voice thick with longing.

"I know, baby. When will you be free to see me?" Chan asked softly, his tone full of tenderness.

"I don't know," Jeongin sighed. "I'll tell you when I do."

And then it happened. They kissed. Right there, under the tree, and I was just above them, hidden in the branches, watching the whole thing unfold with wide eyes.

I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. Jeongin and Chan. Kissing. Right below me. It was like I had been dropped into some alternate reality where my mind couldn't comprehend what my eyes were seeing.

Jeongin's hands were wrapped tightly around Chan, holding him like he was afraid to let go.

"I hate saying goodbye. I hate this fucking distance," Jeongin muttered putting his head on Chan's shoulder.

Chan chuckled softly, trying to soothe him. "We'll get over this phase soon, okay?"

"Okay," Jeongin whispered, and then kissed him one last time.

I couldn't look away. My eyes stayed glued to them as if trying to make sense of everything. Jeongin was queer along with being Christian I would've never guessed and he had someone endearing like Chan in his life.

I'm jealous.

They were tangled in an intimate goodbye that felt like it had been practiced too many times.

Jeongin stood there for a while, watching as Chan left, waiting until he was completely out of sight. Only then did he turn and head back towards the dorms, his shoulders heavy with the weight of goodbye.

I stayed frozen in place, trying to wrap my head around what I had just witnessed. Jeongin's secret had unraveled right in front of me, and now I was carrying it. What the hell had I just stumbled into?

~

The night had grown cold by the time I finally mustered the courage to return to my room. I had stayed out far longer than I should have, trying to shake the heavy feelings that had wrapped around me since overhearing Minho and his father's conversation.

But eventually, I knew I had to go back. I couldn't avoid Minho forever, no matter how much I wanted to. As I approached the door to our shared room, my heart pounded in my chest, dreading whatever interaction was about to follow.

I opened the door cautiously, stepping inside, only to be met with a sight I hadn't expected. Minho was pushing both of our beds together, shifting the furniture around as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What are you doing?" I asked, the confusion clear in my voice as I stared at him.

Minho looked up, his bright smile greeting me as if everything was fine. As if his father hadn't been tearing him apart not even an hour ago.

"Oh hey," he greeted me cheerfully. "Where'd you go? You were out for so long, I was getting worried."

"I'm fine," I replied, though the words felt forced. "But what's all this for?" I gestured to the beds he was merging together in the middle of the room.

"I'm just merging our beds together," he said casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Does he want us to fuck?

The thought slammed into me so hard that I nearly choked on it. God, I was down bad. I wouldn't even hesitate if that was what Minho had in mind, my clothes would be off before he could even finish the sentence. My mind started to race, my body reacting in ways I desperately tried to ignore.

"Why?" I asked, trying to sound normal, though the idea of sleeping in the same bed with Minho had my brain short-circuiting.

"Well, I think we'll be closer this way," he explained, his voice still light, as though this was just a casual suggestion. "I've always hated the idea of separate beds. And since it's cold these days, we could cuddle."

And suck each other off, my mind immediately supplied, because of course, it did. God, I couldn't believe how fast my thoughts had gone there. It was bad enough that I could already feel the stirrings of arousal down my pants, just from the idea of being that close to him all night.

"Don't you like it?" Minho's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, and I blinked, realizing I hadn't said anything in response. His bright, adoring smile faltered slightly as he studied my blank expression.

"I don't think cuddling is a good idea," I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He frowned slightly, but then his face brightened again. "We can put up pillows to separate each other, you know, to keep from invading each other's space," he offered, almost like he was trying to make the idea more appealing.

My resolve wavered. "Okay," I finally agreed, the word slipping out before I could stop myself. I wasn't strong enough to argue. As much as I told myself this was a bad idea, the thought of being close to Minho, even with pillows separating us, was enough to make me give in.

Minho's smile returned, the warmth in his expression making my chest tighten. But behind that warmth, something darker brewed in my mind. Why did he still want to be close with me, after everything? His father wanted to pit us against each other, to make us competitors. And let's not even talk about the night before I ran away-the night when I let things go too far, the night I got Minho high and ripped away his innocence.

The guilt began to creep in, slowly at first, then rushing over me like a wave. All I'd ever been to Minho was a bad friend. I was his supposed competitor, the one his father despised, the one who had crossed a line we could never uncross. I hadn't just failed him, I had betrayed him in the worst way possible.

And yet here he was, still wanting to be close to me.

The guilt gnawed at me. As much as I wanted Minho to forget everything about that night, there was still a part of me that wanted to open up to him, to tell him what I had done to him and to ask him to forgive me. Maybe if I did, we could start over. Maybe we could finally move past all the things I'd done wrong.

But as I stood there, watching him finish pushing the beds together, I knew I couldn't. The words were stuck in my throat, trapped by my own fear and shame. What if he didn't forgive me? What if telling him made things worse?

Everything we did that night went against his faith.

"What do you have there." He pointed to the package I held in my hand.

I handed Minho the ice cream and some chocolate I had bought for him, feeling a strange mix of emotions as I watched him smile at the small gesture.

"Thank you," he said, his voice soft as he accepted the treats. He sat down on the bed, unwrapping the ice cream before setting the chocolate aside for later. As he closed his eyes, I watched him bow his head slightly in prayer, his lips moving in silent words. I'd seen him do this countless times, but tonight, something about it hit differently. Maybe it was the weight of the conversation I'd overheard with his father, or maybe it was the fact that, despite everything, Minho could still find comfort in his faith. I didn't know how he did it.

While he prayed, I glanced around the room, my eyes catching on the framed scriptures that lined the walls. They were verses I had seen before, but now, their presence felt suffocating and empty in a way I couldn't explain.

"The Lord will protect you from danger; He will keep you safe. He will protect you as you come and go, now and forever.
Psalm 121:8"

"Love one another as I have loved you.
John 13:34"

"As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.
Joshua 24:15."

My gaze landed on a framed photo of someone bleeding on a cross, and it immediately made my skin crawl.

"That's definitely not Jesus," Minho said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, almost amused, as he pointed to the photo. "My father just put it there."

I let out a small breath of relief. "I'm glad you know that."

Minho glanced at me, his brow furrowing slightly. "You okay?"

Of course he'd noticed.

He always noticed.

"Yeah..." I said dryly but he didn't look convinced. "Your dad was here earlier, wasn't he?"

"Yeah."

I hesitated, unsure if I should bring up what I'd overheard.

"Don't tell me you heard him."

"I heard a little before I left..." I trailed off, feeling awkward. Apologizing for overhearing felt ridiculous, but it was the only thing that came to mind. "I'm sorry."

Minho waved it off, his usual carefree attitude returning as he shrugged. "Meh. He's just barking as usual. It really doesn't get to me."

I blinked at him, surprised at how nonchalant he was being. After everything his father had said, Minho acted like it was nothing. How could he just brush it off so easily?

"Don't feel bad, okay?" he added, his voice softening. "We're good. Nothing can come between us not even him."

He sounded so sure, so confident, that it almost made me believe him.

My feelings would come between us. Surely.

I said in my head because I couldn't tell him that.

Of course I still had that nagging doubt, the one that kept reminding me of the things I'd done, the guilt that wouldn't go away no matter how hard I tried to bury it. I nodded in response, even though the words stuck in my throat.

Before long, it was time for bed. We got ready, each of us settling on our sides of the newly merged beds. Minho had put up the pillows between us as promised, but it didn't change the fact that he was right there, his presence so close that I could practically feel the heat radiating from his body.

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat growing louder as the silence of the room settled in. I closed my eyes, trying to calm my racing thoughts, but it was impossible. Every little shift Minho made, every slight rustle of the blankets, had my mind spiraling. The idea of him being so close, yet just out of reach, was driving me insane.

The pillow between us felt like a thin barrier compared to the wild thoughts running through my head. I could still smell the faint scent of his cologne, hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, and it was enough to make my pulse quicken. I knew I wouldn't survive the night at this rate. My mind was already running wild with thoughts I shouldn't be having, my body reacting in ways I tried desperately to ignore.

I shifted slightly, turning away from him in an attempt to calm myself, but it was no use. No matter how hard I tried to push those thoughts away, they kept coming back. My heart kept racing, my body kept reacting, and all I could think about was how close Minho was-so close, yet so far away.

And worst of all, I couldn't stop wondering if he felt the same way.

Of course he didn't.

I couldn't sleep. My eyes were wide open, staring into the dark while the tension twisted tighter and tighter in my chest. I needed to clear my head, maybe grab a glass of water or something, but as soon as I sat up, I saw Minho.

He was still awake, scrolling on his phone like he didn't have a care in the world.

Fuck.

Minho was sprawled out on his back, shirtless, his chest glistening in the faint light of his phone screen. The sheet had slipped down to his hips, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxers that hugged his thighs perfectly. I felt my heart skip a beat, and my throat tightened. I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering over his body, tracing every line of muscle, every inch of bare skin.

I'm fucking doomed.

My gaze fell to his thighs-thick and powerful-and all I could think about was having them wrapped around my head. I wanted to bury my face between them, feel their strength as I took him in my mouth, feel him twitch under my touch.

I was already losing it. My body wasn't listening to my brain anymore. I laid back down, trying to calm myself, but the heat between my legs was unbearable. The pillow between us felt like a useless barrier, but not enough to stop my growing desire.

Am I really about to do this?

My heart raced as my hands slid down to the waistband of my pants. I hesitated, glancing over at Minho, who was still focused on his phone. I didn't care. I couldn't stop now. The desire had taken over, the need was too strong. My hand wrapped around my length, and I started stroking myself slowly, my breath coming in shallow quiet pants.

Every muscle in my body was tight, strung like a wire about to snap. My eyes flicked back to Minho's thighs. God, I wanted to feel them against my skin, I wanted to taste him, feel him. I imagined what it would be like to have his hips bucking up into my mouth, his hands gripping my hair as he moaned my name.

I'm so down bad for him.

I picked up the pace, still careful to keep quiet. The thrill of doing this with Minho just a few feet away sent a wave of heat through me, pushing me closer to the edge.

As I laid there, my hand slowly stroking my aching length, my mind spiraled into dangerous territory. With each stroke, I begged silently, praying Minho would notice. Just a glance, that's all I needed. I wanted him to see what he was doing to me how helpless I'd become because of him.

Each movement of my hand felt like a plea. Please, Minho, just look at me. See what you're making me do. See how far gone I am for you.

My heart pounded, and I felt my chest tighten, the desperation bubbling up inside me. I didn't want him to turn I wanted him to see it. I was practically begging for him to catch me, to acknowledge what I'd become under his presence.

Please Minho just look at me.

My mind was a blur of fantasies of sucking him off, feeling his thighs clench around me, tasting him as he came undone.

I bit my lip hard to keep from groaning, my release rushing up on me faster than I expected. My breath hitched, my body tensing as I came, my hand sticky with it. I lay there for a moment, eyes closed, heart racing, to calm myself down.

Then I heard it.

Whispers.

I froze, my heart stopping as I realized what I was hearing. Minho was... praying. His voice was soft, barely audible, but I could make out the familiar rhythm of the words.

He was fucking praying.

Here I was, jerking off next to him, hoping he'd see how desperate I was for him, how bad I wanted him to manhandle me in front of these crosses and Bible verses hanging on the wall and he was praying?

Fuck my life.

Chapter Text

MINHO

The last few minutes of my class dragged on forever, each tick of the clock testing my patience. I was already on edge; break t was just minutes away, and if I didn’t wrap this up fast, Jisung would end up meeting Felix and Jeongin without me.

I ended the lesson quickly, nodding along as a few students asked last-minute questions and dismissed them before the bell and practically bolted out of the room, barely hearing the students call out goodbye as I left. All I could think about was catching Jisung before he left.

When I reached his classroom, I slowed down, standing just outside the door. The blinds were slightly up, and I could see him standing at the front of the room, his expression animated as he talked passionately to his students. He looked so into it, every part of him pouring energy into whatever he was saying.

"...faith is everything when it comes to your relationship with God." I heard him say, his voice steady, his hands gesturing as he spoke. "It’s something that holds us together, even when we can’t see what lies ahead. It’s like...an anchor in the unknown.”

I smiled a little, watching him get caught up in the conversation. But suddenly, one of the students raised his hand, looking a bit apprehensive. Jisung nodded, gesturing for him to speak.

"But...what it's all a lie and there's no such thing as a God?" the boy asked, his tone hesitant yet curious. "What if...religion, faith...it's just all made up?"

There was a sharp intake of breath across the class. Some students’ eyes went wide, others looked shocked, and a few even murmured to each other. I could see the way Jisung’s face shifted for a moment, the question clearly throwing him off balance. But he didn’t panic.

"Look," he started, his voice calm but thoughtful, "I know faith can be hard to understand. It’s not something we can see or touch, but that doesn’t make it less real. If we believe, we hold onto something that gives us hope, comfort, and purpose, even if we can't always explain it perfectly."

He paused, looking around the room, as if trying to find the right words. "Think of it this way—if it turns out to be true, wouldn't you want to be on the right side of it? Isn't it better to believe in something and live with hope than risk living without it, only to find out...there was something real all along?"

I could see he was struggling to put his thoughts together. He shifted, looking down for a moment, probably realizing he didn’t have all the answers. Finally, he gave a small, almost sheepish smile. "Let’s just...leave it at that for now. This isn’t an easy question. But that’s okay. Questions are good—they make us think. And who knows, maybe you’ll all find your own answers someday."

The bell rang suddenly, and the students started gathering their things, the question lingering in the air as they murmured to each other. Jisung, looking a bit relieved, waved them off, wishing them a good break.

I stepped back, moving out of sight as the door opened, and the stepped into the hallway greeting me, be didn't notice his head was still clouded with the question that was just asked.

I stepped in, careful not to make a sound. Jisung was at the front, back turned as he packed up a few things from his desk. I stayed just inside the doorway, leaning against the wall as I watched him.

He was dressed in his usual laid-back style—baggy jean shorts and an oversized white tee.
Accessories hung from his neck and wrists, little charms and rings that caught the light in flickers. The layers of bracelets and necklaces were totally him, and I couldn’t help but admire the way he wore them so effortlessly. He always managed to make things look casual, even things that might seem too flashy and out of place on someone else.

Finally, he turned around, his eyes going wide when he saw me standing there. He took a sharp breath, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Hi," I said, keeping my tone light but fighting back a smirk at his reaction.

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Why did you feel the need to do that?" he asked, still catching his breath.

"Sorry," I replied, not feeling sorry at all, and I probably didn’t sound it.

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes a little, but he couldn’t keep the ghost of a smile from tugging at his lips. "How did you get here so fast? The bell rang like ten seconds ago."

I shrugged, stepping closer to him. "Doesn’t matter," I said, reaching out to take his hand before he could protest. "Let’s leave before Jeongin and Felix come to steal you."

Without giving him a chance to argue, I laced my fingers through his and started leading him out of the classroom. He hesitated for a moment, but then he just followed, letting me guide him down the hall and out of the building.

I didn’t slow down until we’d left the school grounds, making our way toward a café down the street. It wasn’t the usual one that he went to with Felix and Jeongin. I went to the extreme if taking him further and I could feel Jisung’s curious gaze on me as we walked.

When we reached the door, he finally spoke up. "Why didn’t we go to the usual one?" he asked, glancing back in the direction we’d come from.

I shrugged again, doing my best to act casual. "Just thought we’d try something new."

He gave me a look, narrowing his eyes. "Right."

We stepped inside, and I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced, but thankfully, he didn’t press the question. I knew it was a bit obvious, but I didn’t want Felix and Jeongin showing up. This was a moment just for us, away from all the usual chaos, and I was selfishly clinging to that.

We found a table near the window, and I waited for him to settle in before I took the seat across from him. The café was quieter than our usual spot, with only a few people around, and the soft, relaxed atmosphere felt like a perfect escape.

Jisung glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, then looked back at me with a small smile. "It’s nice here. Different."

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief. "Yeah. I thought we could use a change."

A comfortable silence settled over us, He looked out the window, resting his chin in his hand, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watched the world go by. There was a contentment in his expression that made my chest feel a little lighter, and I couldn’t help but wonder how he could just be so... calm, so present, even after everything he’d been through.

"You answered that question perfectly."

"What." He looked surprised.

"You were spying in on my classes?." He eyed me. "I can't believe you Minho."

The barista brought over our drinks, and he took a sip, closing his eyes as he savored the taste. "This is really good," he murmured, and I felt a swell of satisfaction that he was enjoying himself.

We started chatting about random things—his class, our usual banter back and forth. But it felt different here, with just the two of us, without the noise and distractions of others a or the school around us.

And that was all I’d wanted just a small moment with him, something we could keep to ourselves.

I'm really selfish about him.

As we sipped our drinks, I tried to think of something meaningful to talk about, something deeper than our usual banter. The quietness of this café felt like the right place for it, like maybe I’d be able to get a little closer to the Jisung beneath all the jokes and smiles.

“So,” I started, keeping my voice gentle, “how has the whole institution been for you so far? Are you... liking it?”

"Or rather how are you enduring it." I corrected remembering why he was here.

He paused for a moment, staring into his cup as if the foam swirling there held an answer. “It’s... alright, I guess,” he said slowly. “Though, to be honest, there are times I feel kind of... lost.” His lips quirked into a small, almost self-deprecating smile, but there was a heaviness in his eyes that he couldn’t hide.

I nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He sighed, brushing his hair back as he continued, “I hate all the sermons we have to attend. And the constant praying… like, I get it, but sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in this weird place I've already moved on from.” He chuckled, but it sounded bitter. “Having to dress a certain way, speak a certain way, pretending… always pretending.” His tone went lower on the last part.

Pretending. Always pretending. I wondered just how much he kept hidden behind the personality he was acting out to be here. My fingers tapped restlessly on my cup as I worked up the nerve to ask, “Are you… pretending around me, too?”

Jisung’s gaze dropped, and I could feel the struggle as he wrestled with what to say.
He was quiet for a moment, taking a slow breath before finally looking up at me.

“No… not really,” he said, his voice still very subtle. “Around you, I don’t pretend, not like with others. But… I guess… I do hold myself back a little.” His hand fidgeted with his bracelet, his fingers twisting the charm around absently. “It’s not like I want to, but… I don’t know, maybe I just… I want to respect you and your beliefs. So, I don’t fully let myself… be myself, I guess.”

Wow. I felt somewhat sad that he was holding back just to respect me, trying to protect my feelings, my beliefs, even if it meant holding back parts of himself.
I slowly realized I might have been the one unknowingly putting that wall there between us.

“You don’t have to do that. I mean it. I’d rather you be... real with me. I’d rather see all of you.”

The way he looked at me then, surprised but softened, like maybe he didn't expect me to respond that way because in reality no conservative person would, but I Loved my best friend so much to make him feel a certain way just because of who he is.

After a beat of silence, I found myself asking, “...if you don’t mind me asking… how exactly did you lose your faith?” I paused, watching his expression shift. “I mean, I never would have imagined… not for you.”

I was curious to how it all left and how someone could just feel disconnected from something that was embedded in them right from the start. I never imagined living life without my beliefs also for Jisung because of the way I saw him.

He exhaled, almost like he’d been holding that breath in too long. For a second, I thought he might brush off the question, but then he leaned forward, fingers tracing the rim of his cup as he thought it over.

“It wasn’t just one thing, Minho,” he said finally. "It happened slowly, almost like… a string unraveling. Little by little. At some point, it just… wasn’t the same anymore.” He glanced away, his gaze unfocused, as if he were looking at something only he could see. “You grow up, you know? You start seeing things differently. You realize… it’s not all just about praying up there, asking for things to change and waiting for some kind of miracle. It’s… more than that. Or maybe… less than that.”

I stayed quiet, letting him go on.

He looked back at me, something vulnerable in his eyes that almost hurt to see. “ I realized that things happen, Minho, because we make them happen. Not because we pray to some god for magic. Things change because we make them change.” He swallowed, and his next words came out softer, tinged with something close to an accusation, though not quite. “Like the way Father Dooyoung left.  He didn't leave because I cried to God for so many nights hoping he answer my prayers, he left because you made him leave.."

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my expression neutral. He was right, but I couldn’t exactly admit it.

"Or am I wrong? Do you want to say now that it was God's will because it's not. If you hadn't done something Father Dooyoung would Still be at the institution tormenting other kid's life."

I didn’t answer, and he seemed to understand that my silence was as much of a response as he’d get. He nodded, like he was confirming something he’d suspected all along, and for a long moment, he just studied me, his eyes searching mine.

“No God would let kids suffer and let war happen, watch children starve and get bombed on the daily. I don't want to serve a all knowing god that sit up and watched all this pass by just to be a judge and send people to burn for eternity.”

"Ohh."

He took a steadying breath, his fingers tightening around his cup. “I know that you feel sorry for me saying all of this but I really feel this way and I  can’t keep pretending that faith will fix things or make them better. I don’t know if it ever did.”

"I completely understand, you're very valid for feeling that way but just know if you ever want to come back He would be waiting for you with open arms."

"Don't start Minho, you might actually pissed me off if you think that'll ever happened."

I didn’t know how to respond, how to offer him comfort when his words hit so close to reality. But as I watched him, I realized this was a part of him, a part of his truth that I hadn’t fully understood until now. I had always thought that he had drifted away from God because of some sort of trauma but it was just a very clear logical reason.

Jisung leaned back, his gaze unwavering as he sipped his drink, watching me carefully. “What about you, Minho?” he asked, voice soft but steady. “Where do you stand with your faith?”

I hesitated. No one had ever asked me that so directly, and if I was being honest, I’d never really asked myself either. Faith was just… there. Like a stone foundation I’d built my life on, unmovable and unquestioned. It was all I’d known, all I’d let myself know.

“It’s the only thing that gives me comfort,” I said slowly, the honesty in my voice surprising even me. “Talking to a spiritual being about… earthly things, I guess. It’s the only time I’ve felt like someone is actually listening.” I forced myself to hold his gaze, even as the words became harder to say. “It’s the reason I’m still here, Jisung. Because if I didn’t have that fear of God… that sense that someone was watching, that there was something after all this… I don’t know. I would’ve ended my life years ago.”

His expression softened, and I saw the understanding in his eyes—the kind that comes from having walked a similar path of pain. There was no judgment, no pity, just a quiet acceptance that felt more comforting than anything I’d felt in a long time.

“Faith… it’s not just about rules for me,” I continued, feeling the need to clarify. “It’s about feeling less alone. Like even if no one else understands… there’s still something, or someone, out there that does.” I looked down, letting out a soft laugh, more at myself than anything. “Maybe that sounds weak, or naive. But it’s the only way I know how to keep going.”

"It's the only thing I've ever known and I don't think I'd ever let go, it means so much more than just a religion for me."

Jisung didn’t say anything right away, just nodded, his gaze thoughtful. And as we sat there in silence.. We didn't need to fill the silence with anything, which, in a way, felt like a kind of closeness I’d never expected.

But as I sipped my drink, I noticed Jisung’s focus had shifted to his phone. Every so often, a small smile would play on his lips, a softness in his gaze as he typed back his replies. I tried to brush it off, but it tugged at my attention, an annoying little itch I couldn’t ignore.

"You know," I said, leaning forward, "it’s bad manners to text when you're hanging with someone."

He glanced up, momentarily confused. "Huh?" The innocent look in his wide eyes almost made me forget what I was about to say.

"Who are you texting?"

"Oh," he replied, as if suddenly remembering I was there. He tossed his phone aside with a casual shrug. "It’s just… someone."

I raised an eyebrow, not buying his brush-off. "Someone? You can tell me, you know."

He glanced away, and I could swear there was a hint of shyness in his expression. "It’s this girl I matched with last night. We've been talking non-stop."

“Oh.” I felt something twist in my chest, an emotion I couldn’t name. All I knew was I didn’t like it. The words came out before I could stop myself. “So, she’s… cute or something?”

Jisung laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean… she’s nice. Easy to talk to.”

I forced a nod, swallowing the unexpected lump in my throat. “Right. That’s… good for you, then.”

He smiled at me, almost oblivious, and picked up his drink, sipping it slowly. My heart sank a little as I watched him, knowing I should be happy for him if he’d found someone he liked, someone who could make him smile like that. But selfishly, I just wanted him to look at me like that. To have those little smiles, those easy conversations—all for myself.

Jisung must’ve noticed my quiet, because he tilted his head, frowning slightly. “Hey… you okay bro?"

Bro?

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking.”

“I thought you liked men.”

The words slipped out before I could think, but the second they did, I regretted it. Jisung sighed, clearly annoyed, his patience thinning with me.

“Bisexual means I like both,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone.

“Oh… so you like women more?”

He looked at me, unamused. “No, there are bisexual people with preferences, but that’s not me.”

I nodded, trying to make sense of it all, though, to be honest, the thought of him with anyone—man or woman—left a bitter taste in my mouth. “So… you’d date men but marry a woman?”

Jisung raised an eyebrow, looking me dead in the eye. “I’d marry or date either.”

“Okay,” I replied, though it came out flatter than I intended. The idea of him marrying anyone, settling down with someone who’d take all his time, all his attention, I couldn’t shake the discomfort, the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, I wanted his attention to be focused somewhere else—on me.

He must have sensed my irritation because he let out a small, humorless chuckle.

“So, what’s her name?” I managed to ask.

“Not telling you,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at me, his voice clipped. “I learned my lesson the hard way.”

“If you're talking about Yena I didn’t even like her at all,” I protested, defensive.

He scoffed. “Then why did you date her right after I said I liked her?”

“Well…” I trailed off, searching for something, anything, to justify what I did. But no reason came. All I could remember was lying awake that night, restless. I knew, somehow, that I wanted her to be mine, just so Jisung wouldn’t have the chance. And I’d succeeded, in a way—dating her for a few days, just long enough to break up with her over something stupid.

She tried to kiss me on the cheek.

And called quits immediately.

Jisung got a little happy I ended it with her but I told him it was breaking bro code if he tries to go date her after I did.

"I don't remember why."

"Of course you don't."  Jisung went back in his phone , a casual, easy smile on his lips as he finished up whatever text he was sending. He looked up, his eyes bright, and said, "Oh, by the way, I’m going shopping with Felix later."

That caught me off guard. "Felix?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "Why not me?"

Jisung took a sip of his drink, shrugging nonchalantly. "I like Felix’s style," he said with a smirk. "And I feel like he’d be a good partner for shopping. Jeongin, too."

The way he said it so casually, like he’d barely thought about it, made something twist uncomfortably in my stomach. "Then what about me?" I asked, unable to stop myself. "What good do I do for you?"

His smirk widened, and I could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. "Why do you always have to include yourself in everything?" he asked, his voice teasing. He put his drink down, leaning back in his chair with that smug little look that drove me crazy, like he was daring me to react. And I knew I was openly falling into his trap, but I didn’t care.

I wanted to be included. I wanted to be part of everything Jisung did, every plan he made, every conversation he had. I wanted to be the one he turned to, the one he considered first, the one he prioritized. And I didn’t even know why. Maybe I didn’t want to know.

"Well, you probably know nothing about fashion," he said, laughing a little, as if the idea of me tagging along for shopping was amusing.

I furrowed my brows, stung by his words, even if I knew he was joking. "Oh, come on, I know plenty about fashion."

But Jisung wasn’t done. He leaned forward, the teasing glint in his eyes sharp as ever. "And besides," he added, clearly enjoying himself, "it’s for a date I have tonight. With the girl I’m talking to right now. And you haven’t even been on a date, so you’re totally clueless and of no help."

His words hung in the air, every one of them a jab that dug deep, but it was the smile on his face that hit the hardest. That infuriatingly pretty smile, like he was just daring me to react. And here I was, falling for it. Every single time.

I opened my mouth to say something, to come up with a retort, but for some reason, no words came out. All I could do was stare at him, trying to process the mix of frustration, and the most annoying part was, he was right. I have never been on a date, I've never even looked at a woman twice.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening as he saw me struggle to respond. "What?" he asked, feigning innocence, like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade into the conversation.

I tried to form words but my voice faltered. I couldn’t tell if he was serious about this date, or if he was just messing with me. But the thought of him going out with someone else, spending time with someone else, drove me crazy.

He leaned forward with that infuriatingly smug expression. "Got something to say?"

My mouth felt dry, and I struggled to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make me sound… well, ridiculous. "I don't think I should have that much experience to tag along with my friend." I muttered finally, feeling like an idiot.

Jisung tilted his head, pretending to think it over. "Well, sure but...," he said, his tone light.
"like I said, Felix has style. And if I’m going on a date, I want to look my best."

I clenched my jaw, fighting to keep my expression neutral. "And I wouldn’t be any help in that department?"

Jisung shrugged. "I mean… I’d probably look like a grandpa if I let you dress me."

Ouch. He was really twisting the knife. "You’re kidding," I shot back, though I knew I was already losing ground. "I’ve got style."

"Oh, yeah?" he said, smirking. "Prove it."

I opened my mouth, but the challenge threw me off. Prove it? How exactly was I supposed to do that? I wasn’t the one going on a date. I didn’t need to impress anyone, and I didn’t need to look… well, like Felix.

Jisung grinned, clearly enjoying my struggle. "Face it, Minho," he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. "You don’t know anything about fashion. Or dates."

I swallowed, trying to push down the irritation bubbling inside me. "And what do you know about dates, huh?" I countered.

"Everything you don't,"

The confidence in his tone, the way he leaned back, looking at me with that half-smirk, drove me insane. It was like he was challenging me, testing me, seeing just how far he could push before I snapped.

"You got me there," I admitted slowly, trying to keep my cool, "...so tell me who’s the lucky person tonight?"

Jisung’s smirk didn’t falter, but I saw something flicker in his eyes. "Oh, wouldn’t you like to know," he replied, his tone breezy. "But I’m not telling. Learned my lesson after Yena."

I remember how stupid, childish even, I had been to date a girl I barely knew just because I couldn’t stand the idea of him with her.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want you going out with people who aren’t right for you."

He raised an eyebrow. "And you’re the judge of that now?"

I shrugged, crossing my arms and looking away, trying to hide my embarrassment. "Maybe. Someone has to look out for you."

Jisung laughed again, that warm, bright sound that made my heart race despite myself. "You’re unbelievable," he said, shaking his head.

I tried to hide my smile, but I knew he’d seen it. "Good," I muttered.

I watched him go on his phone again and I had to made up something fast to make him ditch his date.

"Too bad you're going on a date tonight," I said, attempting a casual tone though my stomach twisted. "I wanted to invite you to my place."

He raised an eyebrow, giving me a curious look. "Your place?"

"Yeah," I continued. "I feel like it'll be nice. Just… hanging out."

Jisung shifted a bit, glancing away. "I completely forgot about that."

"About me having a place all to myself?"

"Yeah because why do you still live at a dorm with other people."

" I haven't gone back the since the last time we went together years ago."

Jisung's eyes snapped back to me, surprised. "Wait, are you serious?"

I raised my brows, leaning in a bit, feeling a strange thrill as I watched him process my words. "Yes."

"Woah.." He hesitated, looking like he was thinking something over. "I… I won't be able to come tonight," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing, almost as if he was trying to read me. "Maybe tomorrow night."

My heart dropped, but I forced myself to stay calm. I wasn’t about to give up that easily. "It’s tonight or nothing," I countered, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. "I'm sure your date would understand."

Jisung’s gaze sharpened, and there it was—that familiar, exasperated look he often gave me, like he couldn’t believe I’d just said that out loud. But I didn’t care. I wanted him to choose me over this date, whoever they were. The thought of him being somewhere else, with someone else, made me want to throw up. I've always felt this way with Jisung. Only Jisung.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stared down at the ground. "Minho, why do you do this?"

"Do what?" I replied innocently, though we both knew the game I was playing. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

"Act like this," he said, giving me a sideways glance. "Like… like you own my time or something."

"What's wrong with inviting you over." My voice was quieter than I intended, almost shy. I tried to laugh it off. "Is that so bad?"

Jisung let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You know it’s not. But… you always have a way of making things complicated."

I crossed my arms, giving him a challenging look. "Complicated? I just want one night with my best friend, that’s all."

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing, but there was something warm in his gaze, something that made my heart skip a beat. "Minho," he said slowly, almost cautiously, "you really don’t like this whole idea of me going out, do you?"

I swallowed, feeling my cheeks heat up. "Why would I care?" I muttered, though even I didn’t believe myself.

He gave me a knowing look. "Then why are you trying so hard to keep me away from it?"

I opened my mouth, but for once, I didn’t have a comeback ready. The truth was, I didn’t want him going out on a date with someone else, spending his evening laughing with someone else, sharing those soft smiles that used to be just ours. I wanted his attention, his laughter—all of it, selfishly, entirely. But I couldn’t exactly say that out loud.

"I just think," I began slowly, "that if this person really liked you, they’d understand if you had to cancel for a night."

Jisung looked down, biting his lip, and I saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re unbelievable."

I shrugged, unable to stop my own grin. "So I’ve been told."

For a long moment, he just looked at me, like he was trying to make sense of something he couldn’t quite figure out. Finally, he sighed. "Fine," he said, almost resigned. "After shopping with Felix I'll come back to the dorm and we'll go to your place together."

A surge of satisfaction rushed through me, and I fought to keep my grin from getting too smug. "You'll love it. Trust me."

He rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide the slight smile on his face. "Oh please."

"Tell me you want to come to my place so badly." I replied relishing  the way his cheeks turned just a bit pink.

He looked away, shaking his head with a laugh. "You’re really something, Minho."

"I know."

The bell rang.

~

I watched the clock in silence, each tick stretching longer than the last as I waited for Jisung to come back from his shopping with Felix and has been gone since 6pm.
He chose my place over the date right?  I’d expected him to breeze in, flash that usual playful smile, and maybe even make some excuse to cancel his plans. But the night dragged on, and still, there was no sign of him.

Dinner was cold by the time I finally gave up waiting. I ate in silence, the food bland on my tongue, my mind entirely focused on wondering where he was. I tried distracting myself, even muttering a quiet prayer just to calm down. But at 9 p.m., with no sign of him, worry started turning into something sharper—something edged with jealousy and irritation.

Jisung would have told me if he was planning to stay out late, right? There was no way he’d actually gone through with that date and left me hanging here. The thought itched at the back of my mind, but I tried to shake it off. Still, as the minutes dragged on, I couldn’t stop glancing at the door, half-hoping it would open and Jisung would stroll in, grinning. Maybe he’d say something like, “you thought I really went through with my date, you’re more important to me than some random match.” I could practically hear him saying it in my mind.

But he didn’t come.

When the clock struck midnight, and I heard the distant chime of a bell, something inside me snapped. I clenched my jaw, feeling the sting of disappointment settle into something heavier. Frustration boiled under my skin, and before I could stop myself, I opened up my laptop, going straight to that website I’d seen Jisung on before. I clicked through his profile, letting the green-tinged envy twist in my chest as I scrolled down his recent activity.

That’s when I noticed a particular username, Poutyface_Nessa, appearing again and again in the comments section. She was under nearly every one of his posts.

“Gosh, you’re so pretty.”

“Why are those lips so kissable?”

And, of course, Jisung had replied.

“Not as pretty as you.”

“Lips on you can kiss.”

My grip on the laptop tightened as I read each comment, each flirtatious exchange that felt like a kick to the chest. What the hell was all this supposed to mean? Was she really just some online friend, or was there more? I clicked on her profile, the tension in my body spiking when I saw her photos. She was beautiful, alright—model-level pretty with a confident smile. But the jealousy eating at me didn’t care about that. I didn’t like her, not one bit.

The more I scrolled, the worse it got. Jisung had commented on her photos too, calling her “the hottest woman on the planet” and, worst of all, writing “Mine.”

I stared at that word for a long moment, feeling my stomach twist with something bitter. How could he talk to her like that and then… and then come around me, acting like I was the only one he cared to spend time with? My hands clenched into fists, and before I knew it, I was flipping through every interaction they’d had, letting the jealousy take full control of me.

And then I saw it—a photo of them together, taken at some club. Jisung and Nessa, standing close, grinning, looking comfortable. Too comfortable. But he’d said he matched with a girl yesterday, so it couldn’t be her he was seeing tonight… right?

Desperation fueled me as I clicked back to Jisung’s page, pulling up his stories. My heart sank as I saw a photo from an hour ago. A nice restaurant, table set with a flickering candle.

Fuck.

He lied to me and went on with his date.

I recognized the place; it wasn’t far, but it wasn’t close, either. He hadn’t bothered to tell me he was going.

Before I realized what I was doing, I slammed my laptop shut, shoving away from my desk and heading to the drawers. I grabbed my keys, practically stomping toward the door before I stopped myself, forcing a deep breath as I stared at the keys in my hand. What was I doing? Showing up there unannounced? That would only make me look desperate.

I turned back slowly, my feet heavy as I dragged myself back to my room, slumping onto the bed. Frustration simmered beneath the surface, my mind spinning as I lay in silence, letting the hurt settle in. Minutes ticked by, but sleep was a distant thought. I stared at the ceiling, going over every possible scenario, replaying every interaction in my mind.

It was nearly 2 a.m. when I finally heard the soft creak of the door, someone trying to slip in quietly. My heart stuttered, a mix of anger and relief surging through me. Without moving, I reached over and flicked on the lights with the remote.

Jisung froze, his face caught somewhere between surprise and guilt as he took in the sight of me lying there, wide awake.

"Welcome back," I said, my voice harder than I intended, laced with the frustration that had been building up all night.

He blinked, clearly taken aback. "Minho… you’re still awake?

He looked so we'll dressed.

Some would say edible.

I raised an eyebrow, folding my arms as I sat up. "Well, you did say we’d hang out. But I guess your date was more interesting."

He let out a small, nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Uh… yeah, I didn’t realize it would go on this long."

"Didn’t realize?" I repeated, my voice sharp. "Funny, because I’ve been here all night, waiting."

Jisung shifted, visibly uncomfortable as he stepped further inside, closing the door behind him. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to ditch you, Minho. It was just… she seemed really into me, and I thought, you know… why not?"

His words hit me harder than I expected, a flash of anger sparking up. "Why not?" I repeated, my voice softer but no less intense. "I thought we were important to each other. I thought maybe you’d value that enough to, I don’t know, keep your promises."

Jisung’s face softened, his expression shifting to something almost apologetic. "Look, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re important to me, Minho. You know that."

"Do I?" I shot back, my gaze locked onto his. "Because tonight it felt like I was just… someone to kill time with."

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words seemed to die on his lips. He looked down, fidgeting with his hands before glancing back at me. "I’m sorry. I really am."

Silence hung between us, thick and tense, as I searched his face. Part of me wanted to just let it go, to forgive him and pretend it didn’t bother me as much as it did. But the other part of me—the part that had spent hours stewing in jealousy and doubt—couldn’t just brush it off.

"Whatever," I muttered, turning away and lying back down. "You’re here now, I guess. Let’s just… leave it at that."

After a moment, he took a tentative step closer, his voice quiet  "Minho… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay?"

I didn’t respond, keeping my back to him as I shut my eyes, hoping he’d take the hint and just let me be. But even as I lay there, fighting to keep the hurt from swallowing me whole, I could still feel the ache in my chest.

As Jisung settled into his bed, tension still hanging thick in the air from the hours he’d left me waiting, I tried to push down the simmering resentment. I couldn’t just shake off how frustrated I felt, yet there was a part of me—one that cared about him too much—that wanted to put my irritation aside. So, despite everything, I found myself asking, “How was the date, anyway?” I turned back around to him.

He blinked, caught off guard, as if he’d expected a silent treatment rather than a question. “Oh… it was alright, I guess.”

I tilted my head, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Hungry? I made dinner earlier, and I can heat it up if you want.”

Jisung’s face softened, and for a moment, he looked genuinely appreciative. “Yeah, I could eat.”

As he shuffled off toward the bathroom for a quick shower, I got up and reheated the meal for him, I came back to him in the room watching him as he fumbled with his clothes. There was something funny about the way he moved, almost trying to act casual, but his steps were uncharacteristically stiff under my gaze. After a few moments of awkward maneuvering, he mumbled something under his breath and disappeared back into the bathroom, emerging again in loose nightwear.

When he finally settled on his bed, I felt a little calmer. Still, curiosity—and maybe a bit of that lingering jealousy—nagged at me. I wanted to know more, needed to understand if there was anything about tonight that had been worth leaving me behind. So I asked again, “Alright, so how was it, really? Details this time.”

Jisung hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well, like I said, it was fine… but she lied. Apparently, she has a girlfriend, and she just wanted a third, and I’m really not up for that at all.”

The blunt honesty in his voice threw me off guard. I nodded, keeping my face neutral even though a strange satisfaction crept into my chest. “So, she just… wanted a third? And she didn’t tell you that from the start?”

“Yeah,” Jisung sighed, flopping back against the pillows. “I should’ve guessed it wouldn’t be anything serious. I don’t know why I even bother.”

The frustration in his voice was clear, and as I studied his face, something softened in me. “So… what do you want, then? In a relationship, I mean.”

He gave me a long, thoughtful look before answering. “I want something real, you know? Unconditional, long-lasting love. Someone who loves me, and only me.” He scoffed, his expression twisting with a mix of bitterness and resignation. “But I know I’ll probably never find that. At least… not in this generation. My soulmate probably died in the ‘90s or something.”

The way he said it, with that subtle self-deprecating humor, almost made me laugh. But I could tell there was something deeper there, something raw and vulnerable he didn’t show often. I tried to choose my words carefully, offering a gentle smile. “Hey, don’t say that. I’m sure there’s someone out there who’d want that with you. Definitely a beautiful woman with all the qualities you’re looking for, just waiting to find you.”

I realized my mistake the moment the words left my mouth. Jisung shot me a glare, his eyes narrowing. It hit me then, and I quickly corrected, “Or, you know… a beautiful man.”

He relaxed, his expression softening just a bit, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely satisfied. It was as if he’d been hoping I’d understand without him having to spell it out. And, truthfully, a part of me did understand. There were so many moments, where I’d felt that maybe, just maybe, Jisung wasn’t waiting for some imaginary perfect person to come along. Maybe he was waiting for someone already in his life.

I leaned back, watching him with an intensity that I hoped didn’t betray too much. “You really think it’s impossible? That you’ll never find someone like that?”

He shrugged, looking away, a faint flush creeping over his cheeks. “Well… I don’t know. It’s not like people are looking for that kind of thing these days. Everyone’s too focused on having something casual or just… temporary.” His voice grew softer, almost wistful, as if he were confessing a secret he’d held onto for a long time.

Silence settled between us, thick and heavy, as his words lingered in the air. For a moment, I wanted to reach out, to tell him that maybe the kind of love he was looking for was closer than he thought. But fear held me back, the thought of ruining what we had stopping me in my tracks.

So instead, I offered a gentle smile, my voice steady but soft. “Well, if anyone deserves that kind of love, it’s you, Jisung. You’re not going to have to settle. And who knows? The right person May still be alive in this generation."

He met my gaze, his eyes searching mine, as if looking for some hidden meaning. For a moment, we just looked at each other, the quiet stretching on, filling with unspoken words. And in that silence, I felt a connection—stronger than any words we could exchange.

Eventually, he let out a small laugh, his voice tinged with that familiar playfulness that I’d missed all evening. “You sound like some kind of cheesy romance movie, you know that?”

I rolled my eyes, chuckling as I leaned back. “Hey,  I'm just trying to be of some good."

Jisung settled back into his bed, and I watched as his face softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t say anything else, just nodded slowly, as if he were absorbing my words.

After a while, his breathing evened out, and I realized he’d drifted off to sleep. I stayed there, watching him, my heart aching with a feeling I didn’t know how to describe.

And as I finally lay back in my bed, sleep pulling at me, I let myself imagine what it might be like if he looked at me the way he dreamed of someone else looking at him—with love, loyalty, and all the things he’d confessed to wanting. If only he knew that, for me, he was already that someone.

~

A week later we arrived at the state competition, every team setting up and warming up, kids running around in their uniforms with excitement and nerves all over their faces. But the moment Jisung’s team came into view, I felt a strange sense of pride surge through me. It wasn’t because they looked more prepared or better dressed than anyone else—actually, they looked just as scrappy and nervous as any other group of kids here. But there was something different about the way Jisung carried himself, and the way he spoke to his team. I could see it from across the gym.

Jisung had his kids gathered around him, crouched down so he was on their level, speaking to each one of them softly. His voice wasn’t demanding or sharp; it was kind, reassuring, and even playful. It was clear that he wasn’t there to push them to the limit, to make them see this as a high-stakes battle they had to win. Instead, he was making it fun, weaving that natural enthusiasm of his into every word. Each kid was nodding, their faces lighting up with anticipation rather than fear.

I slipped into a seat off to the side and watched as they began running through some topics and significant verse that always popped up. Jisung took them through each part carefully breaking it down into manageable chunks, making sure they were confident with everything before moving on. He wasn’t just going through the motions or enforcing perfection. Instead, he was giving them breaks between run-throughs, encouraging them individually, and laughing with them when something went wrong. It was amazing to see how his attitude transformed the entire mood. There wasn’t a single kid looking stressed or overwhelmed. They all had this relaxed, genuine smile on their faces, the kind you’d only see when someone was truly enjoying what they were doing.

And that was the thing: Jisung wasn’t the kind of coach to put any one kid on a pedestal. There was no “star kid” in his team, no one whose job it was to carry the group while the rest were meant to just follow along. Every single one of those kids was treated with equal importance, each one encouraged to shine in their own way. It created a sense of team spirit I didn’t see in a lot of other teams here. They all felt valued, like they had a real place in the team, and it was clear that they were proud to be there, working together rather than competing for the spotlight.

In fact, if anyone was the star kid there, it was Jisung himself. He had this way of commanding attention, of becoming the central figure without even trying. His energy was magnetic, his enthusiasm infectious. And the more I watched him, the more I realized that he was such a well-crafted person, but he didn’t even seem to realize it. He had this rare ability to bring out the best in people without ever making them feel pressured, a talent that went beyond what you’d see in any competition.

Seeing him like this, I understood something that had been hanging in the back of my mind for a long time. I knew Jisung didn’t connect with his faith the way he once did, and a part of me had wondered if that somehow made him less, like he was missing something crucial. But watching him now, seeing how naturally he led, how deeply he cared about these kids and how effortlessly he inspired them… I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Faith or no faith, he was still Han Jisung. And he was a talent—no, a force—that couldn’t be diminished by anything.

The competition progressed, and I sat back, watching as Jisung’s team  cleared almost every other team from the other schools with ease, I knew it was because of Jisung. He had given them that confidence, that joy, that drive.

When the scores were announced and it was clear they’d made it to the finals, I couldn’t help but clap, a genuine smile breaking out across my face. The kids were cheering, hugging each other, and I could see Jisung beaming as he congratulated each of them. It was as if he’d won the finals himself, that joy in his eyes so pure and genuine that it was hard not to be moved.

But as the applause died down, my gaze drifted to the side, and I noticed my father standing nearby, watching me. His face was unreadable at first, but then his gaze hardened, a glint of disappointment flashing in his eyes. He looked away, a familiar stiffness settling into his posture, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

He’d always wanted something different for me, something in line with his own expectations. And as much as I wanted to believe that I didn’t care about his opinion, that look of disappointment still stung.

But I refused to let it get to me this time. Because standing here, watching Jisung, I felt prouder of him than I had of anyone in my life. The way he poured himself into this, the way he showed up for these kids and gave them something no one else had—that was worth more than any empty ambition my father might have had in mind for me.

The memory hit me out of nowhere, a flicker of the past that felt as real and raw as if it were happening all over again. My hands went cold, and I could almost feel the scratchy fabric of my old competition uniform, the pounding of my heart that seemed to shake my entire body. I was back in that old, stage, listening to the muffled murmurs of the audience and the announcer calling for the next contestant.

I’d been so confident during the local competition, feeling like I’d finally found something I was good at. But the moment we arrived at State, everything felt different—bigger, brighter, more intimidating. The other contestants were seasoned, confident, barely glancing at me as they warmed and show off their knowledge making me feel like I didn’t belong. My confidence started to waver, and then it crumbled.

I remembered the moment right before I was supposed to step onto the stage. I was clutching my hands together, trying to calm myself, when the panic hit me in full force, leaving me breathless.

“I don’t want to do it!” The words tumbled out, my voice cracking. I could hear the desperation in my own voice, and it scared me even more. “I don’t want to do it. Please don’t make me go up there.”

One of the nuns tried to calm me, reminding me how well I’d done before. “Minho, you did so good in the local competition, remember? You were fantastic. Just go up there and do what you practiced. You’ll be amazing.”

“No!” I choked, backing away from the stage entrance, my vision blurring as tears started to pool. “Leave me alone! I’m not doing it!” I felt my voice break, the helplessness and anxiety twisting inside me until I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I was a mess, crying, shaking, my breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

They tried to coax me, to reason with me, but the fear had already taken hold. My mind raced with a hundred different thoughts, each one scarier than the last—what if I messed up, what if everyone laughed, what if they saw how scared I was? All the confidence I’d felt just a few weeks before was gone, replaced with a paralyzing dread that wouldn’t let me move.

I could hear the crowd growing restless on the other side of the curtain, waiting for me to come out. But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t care about the competition or the praise or the trophy. All I wanted was to disappear, to escape the spotlight and the eyes of all those people watching, judging.

My aunt found me backstage, crouched in the corner, still sobbing. She knelt down beside me, wrapping her arms around me, her touch soothing but unable to stop the panic still gripping me. I buried my face in her shoulder, feeling ashamed, feeling like a failure, feeling like I’d let everyone down.

“You don’t have to go out there,” she whispered gently, her voice steady, calm. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Minho.”

I nodded, clinging to her, trying to steady my breaths as her words sank in. I didn’t have to go out there. I didn’t have to face the crowd or risk making a mistake. I was safe here, with her, away from the stage, away from the expectations.

After I’d pulled myself together and wiped my face, I somehow found the courage to rejoin the crowd. I couldn’t stay backstage, hidden in my shame, and I couldn’t go home—not yet. So, I slipped into a seat in the far back, my heart still pounding, the adrenaline making my hands shake.

That’s when I noticed him—Jisung. He was already up on stage, in the middle of answering a question, and something about him drew my eyes instantly. Unlike everyone else, who stumbled or hesitated, Jisung spoke as if he knew every word in his heart, every answer flowing out of him like he was born for this. He didn’t falter, didn’t stutter; he didn’t even seem to think twice. It was effortless, the way he commanded the stage, his voice strong and clear, unwavering.

The spotlight seemed to wrap around him, illuminating his every move, his every expression. He looked so at ease, like he belonged up there, like he’d done this a thousand times before. The audience was captivated by him, the murmurs of awe and admiration rippling through the crowd each time he spoke. He seemed invincible.

Watching him, something stirred inside me—a mix of awe, jealousy, and an overwhelming longing. I wanted that confidence, that fearlessness. I wanted to feel the way Jisung looked up there, as if no amount of eyes or expectations could shake him. But I knew I wasn’t like him. No matter how hard I tried, I could never stand in front of so many people without falling apart. Just the thought of it made my chest tighten.

And then there was my father, sitting beside me, his silence heavy and cold. He hadn’t even looked at me since I’d returned, his face set in a rigid mask of disappointment. I could feel it radiating off him, the unspoken shame, the weight of his expectations pressing down on me even as I sat there, out of sight. He didn’t need to say anything—I already knew what he was thinking, what he felt.

I knew every answer to those questions on stage. I’d spent hours studying, memorizing, making sure I knew every possible answer, every detail. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because I hadn’t even been able to take that first step. I’d let fear creep in and tear everything away in an instant. I’d handed my victory over before it even began, and now I was sitting here, watching someone else shine where I couldn’t.

As the night wore on and Jisung continued to breeze through the questions, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was everything I wanted to be—confident, fearless, certain. But as much as I admired him, I also felt the sting of envy with every flawless answer he gave, every smile he flashed to the crowd. It was like he was a reminder of everything I wasn’t, everything I’d failed to be.

And my father’s silence beside me was the final blow, a quiet but deafening testament to my failure.

Thinking back as I walk back from my father’s office back to the dorm felt like an eternity. Each step echoed in my head, along with his words, his accusations, his disappointment—all piling on top of each other until it was almost unbearable. The finality of his voice lingered, that scathing, dismissive tone cutting deep as he said, "You amount to nothing, Minho. You can’t even stand on your own next to someone like Jisung. I don’t know how I can even call you my son."

The memory burned in my mind, replaying with each step, each streetlamp that blurred past me. I couldn’t shake it; every time I tried to push it down, it resurfaced, louder, harsher. By the time I reached the dorm, I felt hollow, worn down to the bone by his words. I just wanted silence, an escape from the endless spiral in my mind.

As I opened the door to our shared room, I noticed Jisung bustling around, setting up what looked like a simple dinner, humming to himself as he carefully arranged everything on the small table by the window. His face was bright, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that always seemed to light up the whole room without him even realizing it.

But the moment he looked up and saw me, his smile faltered. His brows knitted together, and he tilted his head slightly, scanning me with those sharp, perceptive eyes of his. I didn’t have it in me to hide anything this time. The exhaustion, the hurt—it was all there, probably written across my face, and I knew Jisung could see right through it.

“Hey,” I greeted, my voice flat, forcing myself to acknowledge him, even though I didn’t feel like talking.

“Minho…” His voice was soft, careful. I could feel his eyes on me as I tossed my bag onto my desk, sighing heavily. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” I replied, almost out of habit, slipping off my shirt as I headed for the bathroom. I didn’t wait for his response, closing the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment before I turned on the shower. I stood under the water, letting it drown out the remnants of my father’s voice, wishing it could wash away the disappointment that clung to me like a second skin.

By the time I got back to the room, dressed in a fresh shirt, Jisung was sitting on the bed, waiting. He looked up at me, his expression a mixture of worry and patience. He tried to smile as I walked past him, but it was hesitant, as if he were trying not to push me.

"You really showed the other team what's up today," I said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, to keep things normal.

“Actually, the kids did,” he shrugged, a hint of pride softening his gaze. But he didn’t let me sidestep that easily. “Minho… tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” I faked a small smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m just going for a walk.”

I moved to the door, desperate to escape, but before I could step out, I heard him mutter, “I’m coming with you.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the sound of our footsteps in sync on the empty paths. It was late, the moon casting a dim glow, enough to see the leaves rustling in the breeze but not much else. I kept my hands in my pockets, eyes trained on the ground, trying to keep my mind blank, to push back the wave of emotions threatening to crash over me.

Finally, Jisung broke the silence. “I’m… here, you know. For anything. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I’m here.”

That simple offer, so genuine, was almost enough to make me unravel right there. But I stayed silent, just nodding slightly. I didn’t know how to tell him what was weighing on me, how to explain the constant feeling of being less than, of not measuring up.

We walked a bit longer, winding through the place until we reached a bench tucked away under a large tree. I sat down, and Jisung settled beside me, his presence calm and reassuring. I didn’t deserve his kindness, his patience. My father’s words echoed again, sharper this time, and I gritted my teeth.

“He just… he never sees me,” I muttered finally, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “I’m just… nothing in his eyes. Always have been.” I could feel Jisung’s gaze on me, unwavering, and I kept my own fixed on the ground. “All he sees is that I’m not enough. That I’m just… here, taking up space, doing nothing worthwhile.”

Jisung’s hand landed on my shoulder, a steady, grounding weight. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He just let me sit there, the two of us cloaked in the quiet understanding only he seemed to know how to offer.

“Minho…” he said softly, after a while. “You’re more than enough. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You’re strong, capable, and you’re here for so many people—even if you don’t always realize it.”

I wanted to believe him, wanted to take his words and let them fill the empty spaces inside me that my father’s voice had carved out. But it wasn’t that simple. The weight of years of being dismissed, belittled—it wasn’t something I could just shake off.

“I just… I don’t know how to be what he wants,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

“You don’t have to be anything for him,” Jisung replied firmly. “You’re already enough, just as you are. And… you have people who see that. People who value you, who appreciate you.”

I looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the intensity of his eyes was almost too much. But then he smiled, that familiar warmth breaking through, and I felt a small sliver of comfort settle within me.

“Thanks, Ji,” I murmured, my voice thick. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could manage, and he seemed to understand.

Chapter Text

JISUNG

I had just settled in for a productive Saturday, my laptop balanced on my knees as I hunched over, jotting down notes and breaking down scriptures for my students.
I was completely absorbed in trying to simplify each verse, imagining how I’d explain it to them in a way that would actually make sense.

Then, without a sound, Minho slipped into the room, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he plopped down beside me. He didn’t say anything at first, just stretched out and watched me with a familiar smirk, his eyes flicking from my scribbled notes to the open document on my screen.

“How was your sermon?” I asked, not glancing away from my screen.

“It was good,” He replied, the corner of my eyes catching a broad smile.

“How’s your Saturday going?” He asked giving a noncommittal shrug before leaning in, clearly trying to peek at what I was working on. “What are you doing?” He asked again before I could even answer the first question.

“Writing notes for my students,” I said, pushing my glasses up. “Trying to make these passages a little less…complicated
I guess. Something they can understand without me translating every word.”

Minho groaned dramatically, throwing himself back on the bed. “Really Jisung?  come on, it’s the weekend. Let’s go out and do something.” He looked at me expectantly, and I raised an eyebrow, already guessing where this was going.

“And do what, exactly. Go to a fancy church and pray?” I teased.

Because really what do conservative people do during the weekends?

He swatted at me. “Shut up, Jisung. Get up. I’m tired of staying in when we’re not teaching.”

“I’m not leaving this bed.” I settled in deeper, crossing my arms. “And besides, I already have plans. My weekend doesn’t start until 7 p.m. when I’m done prepping these notes.”

Minho gave me a look that screamed mischief. Without warning, he reached across the bed, grabbed my notes, and threw them across the room. Then, in one swift motion, he slammed my laptop shut and tossed it aside with a triumphant smirk.

I stared at him in disbelief. “You didn’t just—”

“Oh, I did,” he said, leaning back smugly.

He really loves to dare me all the time and I wasn’t about to give in so easily. I crossed my arms and lay there stubbornly, refusing to move, my best impression of a log of wood. He wasn’t going to win this one, no matter how much he tried to make me.

“Jisung?” His voice was low, a playful warning. “Don’t make me carry you.”

Oh please do. Anything for you to touch me.

He couldn't know I was hoping for that, and I played my part well, staying completely still.

Sure enough, he took the bait. He reached down, grabbed my legs, and hoisted them up so they landed over his shoulder. My heart skipped a beat—I hadn’t exactly anticipated this position, and all of a sudden, I was acutely aware of how… suggestive it looked.

Looking up at him with my legs above his shoulder and him hovering over me like this. I couldn't hold the gaze. I turned away already flustered because my thoughts did some wild visual imagination.

And, of course, Minho was oblivious to the effect it had on me. He just laughed, wrapping his arms around me to pull the rest of my body up until I was practically draped over him.

“Oh my god, Minho, put me down,” I squeaked, wiggling in his grip in a way that almost made me lose my balance entirely. The thought of actually falling had me clinging to him a little tighter, even as I laughed.

Finally, he set me down, but his grip lingered on my shoulders, his face close to mine as he looked at me and slowly pulled my reading glasses off my face with a proud smile. I didn’t dare meet his gaze. My cheeks were already burning from the sheer absurdity of it all. I cleared my throat, staring down at my feet, doing everything I could to avoid looking up.

Minho tilted his head, still grinning.
"Now that you lost you have no choice but to come with me as punishment."

"I didn't lose, you're just stronger than I am."

"Same thing Jisung.."

"Let's make a deal then.”

"What deal." he finally stepped back just enough to give me some room to breathe but keeping his eyes locked on me.

I managed to glance up, squinting suspiciously. “well I'll follow you and you u show me how you spend your weekend,” I explained “and I’ll show you mine. And here’s the catch—no one backs out. No matter how intense or boring it gets.”

He furrowed his brows. "I hope you're not referring to me as boring."

"Well I sure have more fun than you."

“Alright then we'll see,”He agreed.

"You don't get to dip Minho, remember that?" I reminded emphasizing on the last part."

He nodded with a playful expression feeling the thrill of a challenge. “Deal.”

He didn’t hesitate, which terrified me a little bit, he stuck out his hand, which I shook firmly, I had no idea what he had in mind, but as long as I was showing him my version of a weekend and he was sticking around for it, I figured it couldn’t be too bad.

But there was that glint in his eye, the one that made me wonder just what I’d gotten myself into.

We prepared for our leave then I followed Minho outside, trailing behind him with casual curiosity we left the institution until we reached a parking lot, and I noticed something that nearly made me stop in my tracks.

A car. A sleek, dark-gray car that practically sparkled, as if it were made to be admired. And it was Minho’s. He was heading right for it.

There's no way that expensive ass car belongs to him.

I remember him showing me his cars back four years ago they were just the usual one teenagers drove and then he didn't have a license, which meant rides with him would have been less “cool adventure” and more “prayer for survival.” But here he was, striding towards it like he was born behind the wheel. As he approached, he clicked a little remote in his hand, and with a soft, almost reverent beep, the car doors unlocked and swung open.

The sheer ease with which he managed it—how effortlessly that damn car responded to him.

I would respond to him the same way if he wanted me. Wide open, no hesitation.

I tried not to gape as he turned back, shooting me a smirk as if he already knew the effect he was having on me.

I moved to head toward the back seat. There was no way I could handle sitting up front with him, not with that infuriatingly composed look he wore or the knowledge that he was about to drive us somewhere.

“Come on, get in the front,” he chuckled, catching me off guard with a tug at my sleeve. I hesitated, feeling my cheeks warm as I met his gaze, but there was no way to avoid it now.

“Fine,” I mumbled, sliding into the front seat and feeling his eyes on me, no doubt noticing how I struggled to keep my cool. As soon as I was in, he closed the door, settling into his own seat and glancing at me with a grin.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent my heart racing.

What the FUCKKKKKKKKK

I couldn't respond.

What does he even want me to say to that.

The car felt smaller than I’d anticipated, and somehow, just being there next to him felt… dangerous. I barely had time to react before he started the car, and his hand landed on the steering wheel, just as he rolled up his sleeves. I couldn’t help but stare for a second, watching how his forearms tensed and relaxed, strong and undeniably…

I can't say the last words my mind is too dirty right now.

God please forgive me for feeling this way for a religious man.

The desire to reach over, to touch him, hit me like a wave, but I pushed it back down, trying to focus on anything else. My fingers clutched the edge of my seat, and I felt myself swallow hard, sneaking the smallest of glances at him as he drove. Everything about him, his focus, the way he held the wheel, was driving me up the wall.

I would ride him till he can't take it anymore.

Look at him, so clueless.

I wish I could say my thoughts outloud just so he knows how down bad I am for him.

He's so good looking.

Now I know why Young Jisung couldn't hold himself from getting a taste.

Shit.

Not me justifying my stupidity.

I regret what I did to him.

No kidding.

I forced myself to look out the window, trying to get a grip on the situation, but the thoughts swirling in my head were anything but helpful.

"Do you want anything before our first stop?" His hands settled right on my knee before he turned to me then looking back at the road.

I'm doomed.

He’s so boyfriend.

Does he know that?.

This is such a boyfriend thing to do.

Driving me out to spend the weekend.

I'm catching feelings and not the typical emotional feelings. The horny type.

Still can't process how this is all casual to him.

"No I'm good." I managed to say.

"You sure?' He moved his hands a little higher giving it a little squeeze before putting it back on the wheel.

This man definitely wants me dead.

No doubt.

I deserve an award for keeping myself together because I was so close to pulling my dick out.

Han Jisung.

I did a little quiet breathing exercise.

"You good Ji?" He almost chuckled. "We haven't even started the day yet and you already look sick of it."

"I'm good." I was surprised on how he could see my face, he seemed to be looking at the road the whole time.

"Why are you so dry."

"Just drive Minho."

And he did.

He always listens.

Very obedient.

My eyes caught his arms again as he steered to another street. I bit my lip, struggling to hold back the embarrassing urge to just reach across the car and… No, I told myself. Keep it together.

Han Jisung get off the floor.

After what felt like the longest, most excruciatingly tense ride, we finally pulled into our first stop a game arena The bright lights, buzzing crowds, and cheerful colors were the exact thing I needed to shake myself back to reality. This wasn’t a dream; I wasn’t going to combust just because Minho was driving us around. I took a deep breath and tried to push down the wayward thoughts that had flooded my mind the entire drive.

I turned to Minho, trying for a casual tone. “So… what’s the plan?”

He grinned, unbuckling his seatbelt. ' let's go in.” And as he opened his door, flashing me a wink, I couldn’t help the way my heart leapt in my chest. I knew that today was going to be one of those days where keeping it together around him would be its own kind of challenge.

The first game Minho decided on was bowling. I hadn’t bowled in ages, but I wasn’t about to let him know that. He took the lead immediately, grabbing a ball with this casual confidence and glancing back at me with that infuriatingly cocky smirk of his.

“You ready to lose?” he asked, tauntingly.

I scoffed, pretending not to be fazed. “You wish.”

Minho like these types of competition just between me and him and not the one everyone gets to see and you have to win a prize.
This was the kind he enjoyed.

As he lined up, I tried not to stare at the way he positioned himself, focused and calculated. With one smooth movement, he released the ball, and it rolled smoothly down the lane, knocking down every pin with a loud crash. Strike.

He turned back to me, a smug look in his eyes, and I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn’t impressed. “Beginner’s luck,” I said with a shrug. I knew he was going to win.

This bitch set me up.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he chuckled, taking a step back and gesturing toward the lane. “Show me what you’ve got, Jisung.”

I grabbed a ball and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the pressure he’d put on me. I wasn’t going to let him just sweep the floor with me here. I lined up, trying to imitate the relaxed confidence he’d shown, but the ball veered slightly to the left and only knocked down half the pins. Minho burst out laughing, and I shot him a look.

“Hey, at least I didn’t miss all of them!” I shot back, grinning despite myself.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, still chuckling. “Let’s see if you can do better on the next try.”

As we kept going, the game grew increasingly competitive. Whenever one of us slipped up or knocked down fewer pins, the other wasted no time in teasing. I was having fun, and I could tell Minho was too, both of us pushing each other to play better with every turn.

After a while, it was neck-and-neck, and I could feel my nerves setting in. It was my turn, and if I nailed this one, I’d take the lead. I gripped the ball, focusing as best as I could, and let it roll. It curved at the last second, missing the last two pins by an inch.

I groaned, hearing Minho burst into laughter beside me. “Ah, so close! You almost had it,” he teased, nudging me with his shoulder.

I crossed my arms, pretending to be annoyed, even though I was fighting back a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy it while you can. You’re only winning by one point.”

He grinned as he lined up for his final turn. “That’s all it takes, isn’t it?”

I held my breath as he released the ball, and it rolled down the lane, knocking down enough pins to secure his win by a single point. He spun around, victorious, arms crossed as he looked at me with that annoying, self-satisfied smirk.

“Victory,” he said simply, dragging out the word.

I shook my head, laughing despite myself. “Alright, alright. You got me this time.”

He shrugged, clearly pleased. “I’m just glad you kept it close. Makes winning all the more satisfying.”

“Next time, I’m totally beating you,” I muttered, grabbing my drink and taking a long sip to hide my grin.

He nudged me, and I looked up to see that his competitive grin had softened into something else—something almost warm. “You did great, honestly,” he said quietly, just loud enough for me to hear.

I blinked, taken aback, but managed a smile. “Thanks… You too.”

After we wrapped up at the bowling alley, still buzzing from the adrenaline and our relentless teasing, Minho suggested we grab some snacks and after a while of little talks we walked around looking for our next competition.

“There’s an ice skating rink just up front, Ever been?”

Ice skating wasn’t something I’d tried before, my balance was questionable on solid ground, let alone ice. But he seemed so excited that I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

“Didn’t think you’d take me somewhere this…calm,” I teased, glancing around. He shot me a look over his drink, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not done with you yet,” he replied, that signature smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. The way he looked at me then, so assured, made my stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with nerves.

We heard the faint sound of people’s laughter and the soft scrape of skates against the ice filled the air. The place was beautifully lit, casting a dim glow across the ice, and only a handful of people were out there, gliding around like they’d been born to skate.

We stood by the rink, watching a few skaters whiz past. Minho nudged me. “You know how to figure skate, right?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Nope, never even tried skating before. I’m more likely to fall on my face than do anything remotely graceful.”

He frowned, obviously not buying it. “Come on. There’s nothing you can’t do, Jisung. I bet you’d be a natural.”

“Why, because I beat you at bowling?” I joked, but I could feel the heat creeping up my face. The way he looked at me like he genuinely thought I could pull off anything was…intense. Flattering, yeah, but intense.

“Because I’ve seen you do things most people wouldn’t even try,” he said, shrugging like it was the simplest answer. “You're god's favorite, y’know?”

"Oh please God hates me."

"No he doesn't and I don't think i should try this."

"Jisung you're a natural just wing it like you always do."

“Fake it till you make it,” I said, trying to laugh it off, but he just looked at me, eyes lingering in a way that made me look away. I hated how easily he could disarm me without even trying.

“Alright,” I finally said, pulling myself together. “Let’s give it a shot, then. But don’t blame me if I end up dragging you down with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, that damn smirk back again.

After we laced up our skates, we stepped onto the ice together. Or rather, I wobbled out there while he somehow managed to look graceful. I felt every inch of my body seize up with fear. My feet betrayed me, sliding out from under me the moment I tried to stand on my own. Instinctively, I reached out, grabbing the edge of the rink for dear life. Ice skating was no joke; I could barely take one step without feeling like I was about to topple over.

I felt a familiar warmth press up behind me, steadying my frantic grip on the railing. Before I could look back, Minho’s arms came around my waist, his hands settling on my stomach and pulling me close to his chest. “Easy there,” he murmured into my ear, his voice calm and steady, like he was completely unfazed by the fact that I was currently one wrong move away from falling flat on my face.

“Minho, I can’t do this,” I managed to say, my voice shaky as I tried to catch my breath.

“Yes, you can. Just let me help,” he replied gently, his hands moving from my stomach to my waist, fingers pressing just firm enough to keep me from losing balance but not so tight that I couldn’t feel every little shift of his touch. My heart raced, and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with my fear of skating anymore.

“Alright,” he continued, his voice low and calming. “Just follow my movements. I’m going to guide you, okay?”

"Okay." I swallowed, nodding because speaking was out of the question now. Every time his hand moved to adjust my stance or to help me find my balance again I could feel the warmth of his skin, his fingers skimming over my waist, my hips, even my shoulders as he directed me. My mind was spiraling, every touch setting off a chain reaction of nerves that I couldn’t ignore.

“Here, take a small step forward,” he said, his hand moving to rest on my hip to keep me steady. His other hand pressed gently against my lower back, guiding me forward. I stumbled, but he held me steady, his grip firm but comforting.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured, and my heart did a little flip at the praise. I wanted to brush it off, maybe make a joke, but the words settled warmly in my chest, anchoring me somehow.

Slowly, I started to get the hang of it. With Minho’s guidance, his arms shifting to help me balance each time I faltered, I managed to take a few steps without clinging to the railing. His hands rested on my shoulders now, guiding my movements from behind, and I could feel his breath brush the back of my neck as he encouraged me.

“There you go,” he said as I took another cautious step forward. He laughed, steadying me. “See, you’re already a natural.”

“Yeah, if by ‘natural,’ you mean I’m naturally terrible,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

The next half hour was a disaster, at least for me. I spent more time clinging to the wall and to Minho’s arm than actually skating. Every time I’d try to move, my skates would betray me, and I’d wobble and flail until Minho caught me. And each time, he’d just laugh and tell me I was doing great, like I wasn’t on the verge of face-planting.

“Just relax,” he murmured, holding onto my shoulders as I tried to regain my balance for the hundredth time.

“Easier said than done,” I muttered, but his hands were warm and steady, and somehow, that was enough to make me take a breath and loosen up just a bit.

After a few more tries, I managed to move without immediately toppling over, and Minho let go of my shoulders, giving me a look that said he was impressed. “That was really good."

I rolled my eyes, but a grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, yeah. I’m practically a pro now.”

He chuckled and then skated backward a few feet, watching me with that confident gaze of his. “Think you can make it over here?” he asked, holding out a hand.

I bit my lip, eyeing the distance between us. It wasn’t that far, but on the ice, it might as well have been a mile. Still, something in the way he looked at me—like he believed I could do it, no hesitation—made me want to try.

Taking a shaky breath, I pushed off, focusing on keeping my balance as I made my way toward him. Each step was wobbly, and there were a few times I thought for sure I’d fall, but Minho didn’t move, just kept his hand outstretched, his eyes steady on me.

When I finally reached him, I grabbed his hand, almost collapsing against him in relief.

I couldn’t even look back at him; I was so focused on keeping my balance—and on not losing my mind over every little touch. His hands slid down to my waist again, turning me around and I could feel my cheeks heat up, my heartbeat echoing loudly in my chest.

We must’ve stayed like that for what felt like forever, Minho’s arms around me, his voice a calm, constant reassurance in my ear as he led me across the ice. I’d stumble, and he’d pull me closer, his hands sliding over my hips or my waist, steadying me with an ease that left me completely disarmed.
He grinned, holding me up as he said, “Told you. You're God's favorite."

I laughed breathlessly, glancing up at him. “I actually your favorite." I didn't know how that came out of my mouth but it did.

For a moment he didn't move, neither of us moved, just standing there on the ice, his hand warm in mine. The air between us felt charged, something unspoken lingering in the space between.

Then he cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Come on, let’s take a break. Don’t want you to wear yourself out before I get to show off my moves,” he teased, pulling me gently toward the exit.

As we sat on the benches, unlacing our skates, I couldn’t help but glance over at him. He seemed completely at ease, his face lit up with that quiet confidence that I’d envied from the moment I first saw him. And I wondered, just for a moment, if maybe I could borrow a little bit of that confidence—not just here on the ice, but everywhere else, too.

“Thanks for this,” I said, nudging him as we put our shoes back on. “I know I was pretty much a disaster out there, but…I actually had fun.”

He grinned, giving me a playful shove back. “Of course you did. Anything’s fun when you’re with me.”

What the fuck.

I rolled my eyes, but the smile that spread across my face was impossible to hide.

He's right.

As we left the game arena, I felt the thrill of the night still humming under my skin. Minho had taken the lead, driving us somewhere he refused to reveal, just giving me a vague “You’ll see.” I wasn’t exactly sure where we’d end up, but I didn’t mind the mystery; there was a strange comfort in letting him take the wheel and go wherever he pleased.

When we pulled up to what looked like a retirement home, I blinked, surprised. “A retirement home? Minho, I didn’t see you as the type to visit the elderly as weekend fun. Is this, like, a secret hobby of yours?” I joked, grinning as I glanced over at him.

He just laughed, shaking his head, but didn’t answer. He got out, leaving me a little curious but following him inside. The warm, homey scent of the building met us as we walked through the entrance, the soft buzz of conversation in the air. It felt peaceful here, in a way that made me instantly lower my voice, like it was a sacred place.

As we walked down the hall, Minho glanced at me, his expression softer than I’d seen all day. “My grandmother used to live here,” he said quietly, and his voice held a tenderness that tugged at something deep inside me. "I'd come visit her every weekend, no matter what was going on. She… passed a little over a year ago.”

I looked at him, taken aback. “Oh, Minho... I didn’t know.”

He smiled, a small, sad. “It's okay I've made friends here now The people here—they’re kind of like family now. I got to know them through her, and after she passed, I kept visiting. I guess it’s kind of therapeutic… just talking with elders, hearing their stories. Makes me feel idk...happy.”

His words hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. Sometimes I forget that Minho is depressed.
I don't know if he still feels the way he felt four years ago telling me he wanted to end his life because he didn't know his place here.

I'd never forget that.

Minho sought comfort and peace in the presence of memories and the simple act of listening.

I managed a small smile. “Wow… that’s really beautiful, I understand this is a good thing."

He shrugged, still looking ahead as we entered a cozy common area where a few residents were sitting and talking quietly or reading. One older man waved enthusiastically when he saw Minho, a grin lighting up his face.

“Minho! You’re here! And you’ve brought your.... Boyfriend?!” the man exclaimed, his eyes twinkling as he looked me over with curiosity.

Minho grinned and nodded toward me. “This is Jisung. Jisung, this is Mr park. He was my grandma’s really close friend here.”

I shook Mr. Park’s hand, exchanging greetings as Minho introduced me to the others. They all greeted us with warmth, as if I were a longtime friend coming to visit, not a stranger meeting them for the first time. The way Minho interacted with them—gentle, respectful, and genuinely interested in everything they had to say—showed a side of him I felt privileged to see.

Over the next hour, I sat back and watched as Minho talked with the residents, laughing at their jokes, asking about their families and memories. He didn’t just listen; he engaged with them, sharing his own stories, making them laugh. Seeing him here, with these people he clearly cared about, left me in awe.

Eventually, we found ourselves sitting with a sweet older woman named Mrs. Kim, who, after a while, looked at Minho with a curious gleam in her eye. “Minho, dear, you’ve never brought a friend here before,” she remarked with a teasing smile. “He must be special.”

I felt my cheeks flush, and I glanced at Minho, unsure of what he’d say.

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah… he is, He's my only best friend.” He replied, looking over at me with a warmth that made my heart skip a beat.

For the rest of the visit, I felt myself settle into a calm I hadn’t expected to find here, my heart softening with every laugh, every shared memory. We were still in the cozy common area when lunchtime rolled around, and one of the nurses wheeled in a cart laden with trays. The smell of roasted vegetables and warm rolls filled the room, making me realize just how long it’d been since we’d eaten.

“Stay for lunch with us, boys!” Mrs. Kim exclaimed, waving us over to the long table where the residents were already gathering.

I glanced at Minho, and he gave me a small, encouraging nod. “We’d be happy to,” he said, leading me over to join them. The residents shuffled around, making space for us, and I found myself sitting between Mrs. Kim and Mr. Park with Minho across the table.

As we all settled in, Mrs. Kim leaned over with a smile. “You two make such a lovely couple,” she said, her eyes twinkling with a kind warmth.

“Oh, no, we’re just friends,” I replied quickly, chuckling nervously. “Just friends, actually.” I felt the heat creep into my cheeks, but she didn’t seem to buy my response, nodding as if I’d just confessed a secret.

“Just friends, hmm?” she teased, casting a glance at Minho, who just smirked and shrugged in amusement.

Mr. Park chuckled, too, tapping his fork against his plate. “You know, you remind me of my son and his boyfriend,” he said, looking at us with a fond smile. “They were inseparable like you two and Always denying it, too, just like you are now.”

I let out a small, awkward laugh, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction. “I mean, really, Minho and I are just friends,” I repeated, trying to sound as casual as possible. “We’ve been friends for so Long ”

Mrs. Kim patted my hand. “Well, maybe you’re not together now, but give it time, dear. These things have a way of sorting themselves out.”

Minho’s laughter caught my attention, and I looked over to see him grinning at me, clearly entertained by my flustered attempts to explain. It seemed he wasn’t about to offer any clarification, content to let them think what they wanted. He’d just give me these little knowing looks, and every time he did, my stomach twisted with this mix of embarrassment and something I couldn’t quite name.

As the conversation continued, a few other residents joined in, swapping stories about their own partners, past and present. They were filled with funny tales about first dates, big misunderstandings, and small, tender moments that had carried them through decades together. I could feel myself relaxing, letting their stories carry me away, until it felt like Minho and I were just one small part of a bigger, timeless picture of companionship.

The chatter and laughter went on, and eventually, I found myself genuinely enjoying the conversation, no longer worrying about how they saw us. I was caught up in one of Mrs. Kim’s stories about meeting her late husband in the 1960s, entranced by the details of their whirlwind romance.

She leaned in conspiratorially, “He swept me off my feet at a swing dance club. He was a terrible dancer, mind you, but so was I,” she laughed, the memory brightening her eyes.

Minho, who’d been listening as intently as I was, gave her an appreciative smile. “Sounds like you two were meant to find each other, even with the dance struggles.”

“Oh, I like to think so,” she replied with a smile. “And you two—” she pointed between us, her tone turning playful again, “—you two remind me of that same sweetness. Two peas in a pod, as they say.”

Before I could jump in with yet another protest, Minho’s voice cut through, soft and amused. “Maybe we are, Mrs. Kim,” he said, giving her a warm look. It wasn’t a confession, but there was something about his tone that caught me off guard, leaving me speechless for a moment.

I focused on my food, feeling my cheeks heat up again as the residents continued to tease us throughout the meal. But as time went on, I couldn’t even pretend to be embarrassed. There was something magical about being here, about the laughter and stories, and knowing that Minho shared this special connection with them.

After the plates were cleared and people started to drift into little groups, talking and playing cards, Minho slipped closer to me. His voice dropped low as he leaned in, close enough that his words were only for me.

“Having a good time?” he asked, his tone gentle, and when I looked up at him, his eyes were soft, full of something I couldn’t quite place.

I felt a genuine smile spread across my face as I nodded. “Yeah, I really am,” I replied, surprised at how much I meant it.

It was hard to say goodbye to the elders.
I would definitely want to come back here it was very fulfilling we went back to the car and Minho's next stop was a church parking lot, I felt my stomach sink. He hadn’t mentioned any church visit in our plans for the day, so seeing the tall steeple come into view had me glaring at him, already suspicious of his sudden turn.

“Remember,” he grinned, noticing my scowl, “You can't dip.”

I rolled my eyes. “I had a feeling you’d pull something like this.”

Minho just shrugged, unbothered. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, “but it’s five, and this is when evening service starts. Just two hours and we're done.”

“Excuse me?” I stared at him in horror. “Two hours?”

Ignoring my complaint, he reached into the back seat and produced a Bible, placing it gently on my lap. “Did you bring yours?”

I shot him a look. “Why would I?”

“No worries,” he said, completely unfazed. “I have backups. Always prepared for emergencies.”

I eyed the Bible on my lap with an eyebrow raised. “What kind of emergency are you even talking about?”

"This emergency."

I scoffed. "You're not real Minho."

Minho tilted his head toward me. “I’m right here Jisung, I’m very real and I think you’re so adorable. Now, let’s go.”

Did he just call me adorable?

I had to practically shake myself out of the strange daze his words had put me in. My pulse sped up as I climbed out of the car and followed him to the church doors, mentally preparing for what was sure to be a very long couple of hours.

Inside, Minho led us to a pew near the back. “Usually, I prefer the front row, in case I have questions,” he murmured, as we slid into our seats.

“Oh,” I replied, trying to sound casual while suppressing a grin at his dedication.

“But since you’re here, I’ll adjust.” He smiled, as if sacrificing the front row was a monumental act of generosity.

“Thanks,” I whispered, settling into the uncomfortable wooden pew. As the pastor began speaking, I tried not to zone out, but my phone buzzed with a text, reminding me that I had a life outside of this sanctuary.

It was Nessa:

Nessa: “I’m in your city! Found a great place to stay tonight after the club. You in? We can have some fun after—don’t worry, my boyfriend’s not with me.”

I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Sounds good,” I replied, keeping it short.

Her response came instantly. "I know."

Jisung: “Little issue though, Minho's coming along ”

Nessa: "What?? Why."

Jisung: “I made a deal with him. Don’t worry, it won’t change anything,” I assured her.

Nessa: “Why would it? Not like I’m acting any different because he’s Christian.”

I stifled a laugh, typing back, “Exactly.”

She shot back one more message: “Can’t wait to see this Minho of yours that’s stopping you from dating me and my boyfriend.”

Jisung: “He’s not the reason, Nessa.”

A shadow fell over my screen as Minho leaned in. “Who are you texting?” he asked, clearly suspicious.

I immediately turned off my screen so he don't see the messages.

“What are you hiding?” He didn’t bother whispering.

I slipped it into my pocket. “No one. Just a friend.”

The people in the pews around us started casting glances our way. Great, just what I needed—attention in church. I mumbled something under my breath and stuffed my phone further down into my pocket, hoping he’d drop it.

After a moment, he finally let it go, directing his attention back to the sermon, and I took a deep breath, thinking I was in the clear.

But, of course, Nessa hadn’t quite gotten the hint. I sneaked another glance at my phone.

Nessa: “Then tell me why you don’t want to be with me.”

I sighed, feeling the familiar frustration rise in my chest. She just couldn’t believe I wanted more than a casual fling. I typed quickly, “Nessa, let’s not talk about this right now.”

Her response came immediately

Nessa: “Why not? You know I like you, but you always run from this conversation.”

I gritted my teeth, typing faster. “I don’t want what you want, okay?”

Suddenly, everyone around us stood up. I hadn’t even noticed, but Minho looked down at me, a mix of amusement and something close to disapproval in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he whispered pointedly, motioning for me to join in the prayer.

My face heated up as I shoved my phone back in my pocket, standing beside him and muttering an apology. As everyone else bowed their heads, I kept my eyes forward, suddenly hyperaware of how intently Minho was watching me.

I tried to tune into the prayer, focusing on the words being spoken, but I could still feel Minho’s gaze.

As we walked back to the car, I could feel Minho’s energy shift entirely. He was quiet—too quiet, his shoulders were tense, his jaw set tight as he moved beside me. I tried to ignore the way his silence felt pointed, but by the time we reached his car, it was clear that he was simmering.

I slid into the passenger seat, and Minho barely glanced at me before starting the engine. The usual warmth in his eyes was replaced with a chill that made the hairs on my neck prickle.

The drive started in silence, heavy and uncomfortable, with only the low hum of the engine filling the void. I waited, hoping he’d say something, maybe make one of his usual jokes, but instead, he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“So, uh…” I ventured, trying to break the tension. “Are we—”

“Are we what?” He cut in, His eyes stayed on the road, but his voice had an edge I wasn’t used to.

I faltered, thrown by his tone. “I don’t know, just… Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” he replied curtly, the words clipped as if he didn’t want to waste an extra breath talking to me.

Okay, now it was painfully obvious he was mad. His shoulders were hunched, his fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel as if he couldn’t wait for this drive to be over. I sat there, trying to think of how to approach it without making things worse.

“Look, if this is about the texting…” I started, carefully choosing my words.

“Oh, the texting?” he echoed sarcastically, finally glancing at me, his gaze narrowed. “Yeah, sure. Let’s talk about that.”

My face flushed with heat. "It's just a friend of mine."

"Nessa isn't just your friend is she?"

I was immediately taken aback how tf does he know her name I was so sure I turned off my phone so quick that he couldn't tell who I was talking to.

“How did yo...." I trailed off still confused trying to think more about it because there was no way he could have caught that.

"Nessa was just asking me about something ”

“In the middle of service,” he shot back, his tone dry. “Very respectful.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to deflect with humor. “I didn’t realize I was being graded on my church etiquette.”

Minho didn’t even crack a smile, which only made me feel more unsettled. “It’s not about being graded, Jisung. It’s about respect.”

“Respect?” I echoed, a little more defensively than I intended. “You think I was disrespecting you?”

“Not just me,” he replied, his tone softer but still cold. “Everyone there. You’re there, on your phone, smiling at some message like you don’t care where you are or who’s around.”

"What?" I was so confused. "You seem like you care more about the fact that I was texting someone over the fact that I was doing it in church."

"You don't even know what you're talking about Jisung, just dropped it I'm done."

I felt my defenses rising, and I hated it. “Minho, it’s not like I was being disruptive. I was just checking my phone.”

“It’s not the checking, Jisung.” He paused, his jaw tightening again. “It’s that you couldn’t be present. Just for a couple of hours.”

His words hit deeper than I’d expected, and I sat there, stunned, not sure how to respond. He’d gone back to staring at the road, his face hard and unreadable, but I could see his fingers gripping the wheel tighter.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I finally said, my voice softening. “I’m sorry.”

Minho glanced over, his expression shifting, softening just a bit. “Look, I get that it’s not your thing. But… I guess I thought maybe you’d be more in the moment. With me.”

“I’ll do better,” I said quietly, my own voice thick with sincerity. “I didn’t realize it’d bother you that much.”

He sighed, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders. “I'm sorry too, next time, maybe save the messages for later, alright?”

“Alright,” I agreed, nodding. A beat of silence settled between us, this time more comfortable, less tense.

Finally, he let out a small, reluctant smile, glancing over at me. “I'm gonna kiss you if you keep frowning like that.”

WHAT.

HUH.

I laughed trying to cover up the rush flushing my cheeks.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. I begged in my mind.

Please kiss me

"There you go."  He smiled brightly this time turning his focus back on the road.

Oh god I can't take this anymore.

Chapter Text

MINHO

When we got back to the dorm, I barely had time to drop my things before Jisung was already rifling through his closet, muttering about how he needed a different outfit. I leaned against the doorframe, watching as he sorted through stacks of shirts.
I didn’t see the point in changing, but Jisung gave a long speech on how he felt weird going to the club like this.

Yep I'm following Jisung to the club cause apparently that's how he spends his weekend and I'm going to be fine with it since he was the same with mine.

Eventually, I sat on the bed, stretching out and folding my arms behind my head, settling in to watch him go through his bags. He had already pulled on a pair of baggy, low-rise jeans that hung just right on his hips, and now he was holding different shirts up to his chest, one by one, studying himself in the mirror. I couldn’t help but admire his figure as he moved, his narrow waist, the slight curve of his back, his arms flexing as he held each shirt.

"What do you think of this one?" he asked, turning around and holding up a plain black shirt.

I took a moment, not because I was analyzing the shirt but because I was distracted by how good he looked just standing there, the jeans accentuating his frame perfectly. “I think it’s alright,” I finally said, trying to sound casual. “I mean, you look great in everything, honestly.”

He turned back to the mirror, but I caught a small flush on his cheeks, his ears pink as he brushed his fingers over his hair. I chuckled softly, unable to hold it back.

“Cute.”

The word slipped out before I could catch it. Jisung immediately turned back around, eyes wide.

"Huh?"

My heart skipped, and I pretended to look at the floor, scratching the back of my neck, praying he’d ignore it.

"What did you just say Minho."

“Nothing. Just… you know, you’re doing a lot of work for something that’ll look good no matter what.”

"Well I'm very indecisive, I don't want to end up hating my outfit." He held up a pink top to his chest and sighed.

He shuffled through more bags and after a while he finally settled on a cropped white shirt that hugged his shoulders and showed just a hint of his abs when he lifted his arms. My mouth went dry as he turned around in front of the mirror again, clearly admiring himself.

“What do you think about this one?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

It took all my willpower to keep my voice steady. “It’s, uh, it’s okay,” I said, swallowing. “But I don't think you can walk out of the institution like this Ji.”

"Yeah you're right."

"Won't blame them though no one would be able to keep their eyes off you in that. You're breathtaking."

He laughed, low and slightly mischievous. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I know so.” I cleared my throat, watching as he smirked and bit his lip, just slightly. Then he let out a frustrated sigh and muttered something under his breath.

“Fuck… I don’t have a good jacket to cover this up,” he complained as he started rifling through his bags again.

“Language,” I cautioned not wanting him to get too use to those word and use them around the kids, I got up and fetched a bigger jacket from my own closet. Something thicker that would keep him warm and actually fit over that cropped shirt so he could leave the institution without questions.

He groaned, but I held it showing it to him,
I walked over by the mirror, he barely looked up, probably too focused on whether or not this new addition would ruin his “perfect look.” I slipped the jacket over his shoulders, adjusting the collar as I quietly said, “You look good… especially with your hair like this. It suits you.” My voice was low, maybe a little too low, like I was saying it just for him, though I knew there wasn’t anyone else in the room. But that thought almost made it more intimate.

Jisung blinked, flustered, clearly surprised. I pretended not to notice, busying myself with the zipper, though I couldn’t help sneaking glances. The outfit suited him, the jacket adding an edge but still showing a little of his frame underneath. My fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to on his waist, my hand sliding down, resting there as if I was adjusting something.

“I like your tattoo,” I said as I ran my fingers over his arm, feeling his muscles under the fabric. “I didn’t know you had one. It wasn’t there before, was it?”

He looked away, as usual, avoiding my gaze. His eyes darted to the floor, then the mirror, his cheeks a light shade of pink. “Oh, yeah… got it a while back,” he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable under my scrutiny.

It only made me want to stare more. When he looked away, it was like he was handing me a free pass to observe every detail, from the way his shirt hugged his frame to the new ink peeking out from beneath his collar. I’d noticed it earlier, when I saw him shirtless my moments ago, I hadn’t been able to get it out of my head. I didn’t even know what it was about it, but something about the tattoo made me feel… something. It was an odd but a strong feeling.

I reached for his shoulder, adjusting the fabric there, then slid my hand down to the small of his back, feeling the warmth through the thin fabric as I smoothed out the jacket. I’d pretend it was just to fix his clothes, but truthfully, I just wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel the shape of his waist, to feel the way his body shifted under my hands.

I glanced at his waist, my mind wandering to places it probably shouldn’t, wondering what excuse I could possibly use to let my hands slip lower. His jeans hugged his hips perfectly, enough to make me swallow. God, I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I’d never wanted to touch someone this badly.

With a quick tap on his back, I pulled myself together. “Alright,” I said, forcing my voice to sound normal. “Let’s go.”

Before I find an excuse to touch his butt.

He laughed a little, clearly oblivious to the mess going on in my mind. As he walked past me, I took a deep breath, shoving my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching out again.

Don't touch him what is wrong with you!

I shut the door behinds us leaving the institution without attracting any attention

Soon after we pulled up to the club, Jisung wasted no time peeling off the jacket I’d handed him back at the dorm. He took a glance in the mirror, running a hand through his hair as if he were preparing to walk onto a runway. I swallowed I swallowed real hard as I watch him from the side with a kind of amused curiosity, when he turned to me suddenly, giving me that “serious” look.

"One thing, Minho." He held my gaze, his expression dead serious, though I could see a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "People are going to flirt with both of us, so don’t embarrass me."

I stared at him, caught off guard by his warning. Did he really think I’d care about other people flirting with him? But then, I couldn’t help but wonder why he was making a point to tell me this. Sure, he’d said “us,” but my mind zeroed in on him, people were going to flirt with him. And suddenly, I felt this irrational flare of annoyance at the idea.

"I really don’t care if people flirt with you" I replied, a bit defensively. "Why are you telling me?"

He cocked an eyebrow, clearly not buying my tone. “Oh, really?” he said, looking at me like I’d done something wrong in the past.

And even if I have in anyway, this is a very different scenario and I would never even if I would or did I couldn’t remember, but now, the accusation was eating away at me.

“Yeah, I don’t care,” I said, a bit more insistently this time. “You’re gorgeous. Of course people are going to flirt with you.”

There it was. Compliment number…what, five? At least five times today I’d let something slip. And each time, I’d felt my restraint weaken a little more. But it was the truth; he was gorgeous. And I’d never been great at keeping those kinds of thoughts to myself when it came to him.

"Okay then," he said, clearly satisfied with my answer. With a confident nod, he opened the door and stepped out, striding toward the club entrance like he owned the place.

But I didn’t follow him out right away. Instead, I stayed in my seat for just a moment longer, letting myself take in the view from behind. Those jeans  hugging his hips and showcasing everything in ways that were... distracting, to put it mildly.

Yeah I just sat here a while longer to take a good view of my best friend's ass.

Totally normal.

I couldn’t help but think, do best friends do this?

Realizing I’d probably already been staring a bit too long, I quickly got out of the car and jogged to catch up with him. Jisung was waiting by the entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking every bit as effortlessly attractive as he’d probably planned.

"What took you so long?"

"Oh, I just needed time to, uh...gather myself," I replied, trying to sound casual.

Inside, the bass was thumping, the club packed wall-to-wall with people moving in sync with the rhythm, a haze of lights dancing over everything. Jisung seemed to blend right into the crowd’s energy, immediately drawing attention with his carefree confidence. And, just as he’d warned, it didn’t take long before the flirtation began.

A few people, both guys and girls, threw him lingering looks, some even bold enough to make a pass, but Jisung brushed them off with a polite smile, almost as if it was second nature. He caught my eye a few times, that smirk still there, like he was silently asking if I was paying attention. And, of course, I was. I couldn’t stop watching him, couldn’t stop tracking him even as he disappeared into the throngs of people and then reappeared, laughing at some joke someone threw his way.

I was hardly immune myself; someone tried chatting me up, but my eyes kept drifting to wherever Jisung was, tracking him as he moved around the room. It was ridiculous—he was only a few feet away, yet I felt this strange, possessive urge to stay close, like I needed to be right there beside him.

Church boy!" Jisung called out over the music, a smirk pulling at his lips as he saw me standing awkwardly I spun around to face him as he made his way back over to me, eyes shining with that devilish glint. “Not embarrassing yourself yet, I see,” he teased, brushing a hand through his hair as he looked up at me.

"Only because I know you’d never let me live it down," I replied, and he laughed, the sound somehow louder than the music for a second.

He chuckled, glancing around.

"This is nice," I said, gesturing to the area we
were in. It wasn't as loud here, just a chill corner of the club.

"Figured I'd start you off somewhere small. It gets way more intense later on."

"Oh...cool," I said, trying to hide my nerves. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a test or something, to see if I'd actually be able to keep up with him tonight.

He leaned in close. "Want a drink? You know, just to start the night?"

"Sure," I replied a little too quickly, catching him off guard. "I can have a drink, Jisung. As long as I don't get drunk," I added, sensing his skepticism.

"Okay," he said, that smirk still there. He led us to the bar, ordering himself some cocktail I didn't recognize, while I went with a simple glass of wine.

I paid and we waited for the drinks, I couldn't help but him a little judgemental look for his order, He noticed, of course, and laughed.

"Don't worry, I have a high tolerance," he assured me, raising his glass as if to prove a point.

I took a sip, letting the slight burn of the wine settle. But as I was about to say something, my eyes caught something at the far end of the club. Two guys, close together, kissing deeply. The dark, flashing lights made it a little hard to see, but there was no mistaking it. I'd never seen two guys kiss in real life before, and I didn't know what to make of it.

A weird warmth settled in my chest as I kept watching, my eyes glued to them without really meaning to be. There was something so... captivating about it. The way they were completely into each other, touching each other oblivious to the rest of the world, it was hot, honestly. Way hotter than I expected. And as much as I tried to look away, my gaze kept drifting back, drawn to them. I looked to Jisung and my eyes settled on his lips before looking back at them.

I saw the bigger boy reaching for the smaller ones ass and grabbing it hard, I gulped.

Why do I wanna do that to Jisung.

Then, all at once, I felt Jisung's hand grab my arm, yanking me to face him. "Oh my god, Minho. You shouldn't be seeing that," he said, looking all flustered. But as soon as he realized how close we were, his eyes darted away from mine.

"What, I shouldn't look at you either?" I asked, a teasing edge slipping into my voice.

"No, I mean...I just..." He looked over his shoulder. "Those guys should get a room, that's all."

We should get a room.

I swallowed hard, shocked by my own thought. It wasn't like me to think that way, to let my mind wander to places like that. And yet, here I was, standing close to Jisung wondering if it was the devil using the wine as vice to lead me to temptation.

Bro it's just wine and you've only have like two sips under five minutes.

Chill.

I told myself.

At some point, I lost track of time, just caught up in the rhythm, in the dim lights and Jisung's smile.

The club was starting to fill up, the crowd buzzing with energy as the night wore on. More people pushed in from every corner, and the music pulsed louder, practically vibrating through my bones. I glanced around, taking it all in, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. Everyone around me seemed at ease, dancing, laughing, completely absorbed in the scene. Meanwhile, I just stood there, out of sync with it all.

Jisung, though, didn’t seem to notice. He was standing beside me, his head bent, his thumbs tapping away on his phone screen. The soft glow of his phone highlighted his face in the dim lighting, and he was smiling—a grin that made my stomach hurl. I couldn’t ignore the nagging thought in my head: whoever he was talking to had his complete attention, and it made me feel…restless.

“I don’t see other people coming here just to be on their phone,” I muttered before I could stop myself. I hated how it sounded, how obvious my irritation was.

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at me. “Oh no, it’s just a friend on her way here. I don’t wanna leave her hanging.”

A friend.

I could feel my jaw clench, and I tried to keep my face neutral. “Her?” I asked, my voice coming out a little sharper.

“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug, glancing back at his phone almost immediately. And that was it; I felt like I was competing with whoever was on the other side of that screen. I hated it—hated how it was pulling his focus away.

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You not drinking anymore?”  He asked, staring at my one glass of wine I've been sipping for over and hour.

“No, I’m good,” I replied flatly and he didn't seem to draw any attention to it which drove me insane.

I needed that attention so badly.

He asked the bartender for another cocktail and I watched him, barely able to contain my concern as he downed it a little too quickly.

“Easy there,” I said, my voice softening despite myself.

He laughed, brushing off my concern. “I’m good, Minho. I promise. This is nothing.” He was too convincing, too comfortable, and I could only nod reluctantly.

“Alright…” I muttered, even though I wasn’t completely sold.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone entering the club, some one familiar, someone I've been watching religiously on her public profile for a few days now.

It was Nessa .

Of course it was.

I recognized her immediately.

Her figure striking against the flashing lights. Her curls bounced with each step, and her caramel skin glowed in the dim, shifting colors of the room. She looked around, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone, and as soon as she spotted Jisung, her face lit up. She started making her way toward us.

Of course, she did.

I barely contained an eye roll, feeling my chest tighten as she approached. It was irrational, completely ridiculous for me to feel this way. She was just his friend. But watching them exchange smiles, I couldn’t help the bitter edge in my chest, the way my mind swirled with thoughts I couldn’t name, let alone say out loud.

The moment Nessa reached Jisung, his whole demeanor shifted. His face lit up, and he didn’t hesitate for a second to touch her arm, pulling her in for a hug that seemed to last a bit too long. As they exchanged greetings, Jisung leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and something twisted uncomfortably in my chest. I could feel anger bubbling up, fighting to break through the surface. I clenched my jaw, willing myself to push it down, but it refused to settle.

Eventually, Nessa’s gaze shifted to me, a polite smile on her face. Jisung caught on quickly. “Oh, right,” he said, pulling me into the conversation. “Nessa, this is my friend, Minho.” Friend.

The word felt like a slap, and before I could think, my mouth moved on its own.

“Best friend, Your best friend.” I corrected, my voice loud and clear. It was arrogant, maybe even petty, but I couldn’t help it. The look Jisung shot me was immediate and full of meaning, as if I’d just embarrassed him. But I didn’t care.

Nessa didn’t seem fazed by my little outburst. She just smiled and extended her hand politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Minho.”

Instead of taking her hand, I turned and reached for my drink, pretending not to notice her outstretched hand. I knew it was childish, but I didn’t feel like being polite. Not with the way my emotions were running wild, barely contained beneath a thin veneer of control.

Nessa took the hint, pulling her hand back gracefully without making a fuss. She turned back to Jisung, continuing their conversation as if nothing had happened. And somehow, that made it worse. They were absorbed in each other, laughing softly, leaning in close to hear over the music, while I sat on the sidelines, feeling like the third wheel. I couldn’t stand it.

“Another glass,” I said to the bartender, sliding my empty glass across the counter. I needed something to keep myself occupied, to keep my hands busy, to stop me from doing something I might regret.

The bartender poured my drink, and I threw back half of it in one go, hoping it would dampen the frustration clawing its way up my chest. But each glance at Jisung’s easy smile, at the way he looked at her, only added to the bitterness churning inside me. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being left out, of wanting to pull him back from her, to claim something that wasn’t even mine to begin with.

Watching Jisung and Nessa laugh and lean into each other’s words felt like a slow burn, stoking the jealousy I could barely contain. They were right beside me, yet I was somehow more distant than ever, clutching my drink like it could distract me from the heat simmering beneath my skin.

I tried to ignore them, but bits of their conversation drifted over, loud enough to catch. And from what I was piecing together, it sounded like Nessa had a boyfriend. Yet here she was, practically glued to Jisung’s side, her voice soft as she whispered something that made him laugh in that carefree way I hadn’t heard in a while.

But why Jisung?

A handful of nights scrolling through her social media told me all I needed to know about her situation. That pale-skinned guy in her photos, the one who looked like he stepped straight out of a zombie movie with terrible casting, yeah he was her boyfriend. Her actual boyfriend. And Jisung? Just some casual third who’d been swept into whatever drama or thrill she was chasing. I hated it. She should’ve stayed wrapped up in her own relationship instead of dragging Jisung along as some kind of accessory.

What does she want from him. She already has a man.

She really wants to have it all.

Pathetic bitch.

Yeah I don't care about my beliefs rn I'll say it to her face.

It's obvious she really likes Jisung.

And worse, he looked like he was enjoying it. Every time she touched his arm or leaned in close, he’d smile, this little smirk that made want to screamed. They laughed, the sound getting lost in the rising music, and I swallowed another sip of my drink to avoid saying anything I’d regret. But watching them together, their heads tipped close in a moment of shared amusement, was like feeding fuel to a fire I couldn’t put out.

Their conversation seemed to fall away after a while, though, because soon they were moving toward the dance floor. Jisung caught my eye as they slipped into the crowd, something amused in his gaze, almost daring me to follow. But I just nodded stiffly, gripping my glass tighter, hoping the cool rim would ground me.

He turned away, and they began to sway to the heavy bass thumping through the speakers. Jisung looked completely at ease, his body moving with a natural rhythm, while Nessa matched him step for step. There was a certain confidence in the way they danced together like they’d done it a hundred times before, an unspoken connection that only seemed to stoke my irritation.

I drained the rest of my drink, the bitterness mirroring the taste left in my mouth as I watched them. Every laugh, every glance shared between them felt like a punch to my gut. It was so easy for him to be close to her, to let her into his space without a second thought, and I couldn’t shake the frustration that came with that realization.

Her hands were on him everywhere skimming his shoulders, sliding down his arms, tracing his waist and he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, just grinned that disarming smile and leaned into her touch.

The club was packed, but they stood out like a beacon to me, something I couldn’t ignore even if I tried. And believe me, I tried. I gripped my glass, taking a long sip of the strong alcohol, hoping it would numb whatever mess of emotions was bubbling up. But it didn’t help. I watched as Jisung’s hand found her waist, his fingers settling there, just grazing the edge of her curves. She leaned in, whispering something to him that made him laugh, and he dipped his head, pressing his lips softly to her cheek in a way that looked way too comfortable.

An odd, despicable ache started gnawing at my insides. Why her? Why not me? I swallowed hard, shoving down the jealousy, but it felt like acid burning a hole right through me. I looked away for a second, trying to focus on the other people dancing, the flashing lights, anything to keep my mind off them. But it didn’t work. I’d look back, helplessly drawn, just in time to see Nessa’s fingers skimming the line of his jaw, trailing over his collarbone before slipping lower, down his chest, her touch so casual yet so… possessive.

I told myself to be cool, to not let it get to me, but the truth was, I was losing it. She had no idea who he really was, not like I did. Jisung was easygoing, but he had this softness too, a side he didn’t show to just anyone. And there she was, stealing all his attention, dragging him away from everyone, from me.

Soon she turned around, pressing herself up against him, her back arched as she moved to the rhythm. Jisung’s hands shifted lower to hold her hips, his fingers splaying out with a confidence that made me seethe. He didn’t just touch her; he molded himself to her, their bodies practically entwined as if they were the only two people on the dance floor. Her hips swayed, moving in perfect time with his, and they fit together like pieces of a puzzle that I didn’t belong to.

I gritted my teeth, telling myself to stop looking, but it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. My grip on the glass tightened, and before I even realized it, I was signaling for another drink. “Another, please,” I muttered, my eyes locked on them, not even bothering to finish the one I was holding. The bartender raised an eyebrow but poured the drink anyway.

Jisung dipped his head closer to her, and I saw the flash of his smile, the way his eyes sparkled as he leaned in, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the side of her neck. She laughed, her fingers slipping down his chest again, tracing over his shirt until they settled near his waistband. My stomach twisted. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, each beat louder than the last.

I downed my drink in one go, fighting the strange, unsettling urge to grab Jisung’s arm and pull him away from her, to tell her that she didn’t know him like I did, that she was just a temporary amusement in his life. Because that’s what she was, right? Just a passing fling, a distraction?

But the way they were together, the easy smiles, the way he looked at her, made me question that. And it made me feel small, insignificant, like I was just some extra in his life while she was the main event. I hated it, hated that I was sitting here, feeling things I had no right to feel, watching my best friend move on in a way that left me standing alone in the shadows.

She leaned back into him, her hand slipping up to ruffle his hair, her laughter ringing out as she said something I couldn’t hear. Jisung’s hands slid up her sides, settling on her waist, his thumbs brushing small circles on her skin, his eyes locked on hers with a look I had only ever seen him give her. She turned, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he didn’t hesitate, his hands slipping lower, gripping her hips with a familiarity that felt like a punch to the gut.

The rest of the world blurred around them, and I was left with the uncomfortable realization that maybe he didn’t see me the way I saw him. Maybe to him, I really was just a friend not a best friend, sure, but a friend all the same. And here I was, staring at him, feeling this possessive streak I couldn’t shake, like some jealous ex. My head was spinning, but it wasn’t just the alcohol. It was the ache of seeing him with someone else, someone who didn’t know him like I did but got to have him in ways I never could.

“Another drink,” I demanded, barely glancing at the bartender as I stared at them, watching as Jisung’s hands slid even lower. She twisted, her back to him again, her body pressing into his as she moved, and I could see his hands tightening on her waist, his gaze intense as he followed her every movement. She arched, letting her head fall back, and Jisung’s eyes traveled down her body in a way that felt too intimate, too personal.

I could feel the frustration, the agitation building, mixing up with so many others. How could I feel so angry, so envious, and yet… there was something else there too, something about the way he held her, the way he moved with her, that was so magnetic. I couldn’t pull myself away, no matter how hard I tried. It was wrong, all of it was wrong, but I couldn’t shake the attraction I felt, the way my mind kept twisting what I was seeing into something I wanted for myself.

I was so lost in my thoughts, in the jealousy simmering under my skin, that I barely noticed the bartender setting down my drink. I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to take a sip, I tried to steady myself, to pretend that I was fine, that watching him with her didn't bother me.

But as she turned, pressing herself even closer to him, her hand sliding up to his cheek as she leaned in to murmur something in his ear, I felt my composure crack. The way he looked at her, the way he smiled just for her, made my chest ache in a way I couldn't ignore. Jisung never looked at me that way, actually he never looked and me and every I try to hold his gaze he'd turn away.

I really mean nothing to him huh?

She laughed again, her voice mingling with the music, and Jisung's gaze softened as he looked at her, his fingers brushing her waist in a way that was so natural, so intimate.

I downed my drink, the bitterness a poor match for the sour taste in my mouth. I didn't know how much longer I could sit here, pretending to be okay with this, pretending that I wasn't falling apart as I watched him give himself to someone else.

The anger boiled in me, simmering beneath the surface, as I watched Jisung’s lips meld with Nessa’s, their kiss heated, intense, and nauseatingly passionate. I could feel my heart ache as I saw her hands slide up his neck, pulling him even closer, her fingers tangling in his hair. The sight was suffocating, like every ounce of oxygen had been sucked from the room, leaving me drowning in undeniable envy. I knew if I didn’t do something, I’d snap.

I walked over, not caring how obvious my interruption was as I closed the space between us, breaking the moment they seemed so wrapped up in. "Jisung," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. "We should leave. It’s late."

He pulled back slightly, panting, lips swollen and eyes glazed with the remnants of their kiss, a hint of annoyance flickering there. “Minho, we said no dipping,” he replied, clearly not understanding or maybe not caring just how much this was affecting me.

“I know,” I said, swallowing down the urge to yell, to grab his arm and pull him out of here. “But… I’m not feeling too well.” My voice was firm, practically a plea disguised as concern. He had to understand, didn’t he?

“Oh.” Jisung’s expression softened slightly before he glanced at Nessa, who looked anything but sympathetic. “It’s okay, then. You can leave,” he said casually, dismissively, like it was nothing — like I was nothing.

My throat felt tight, the humiliation stinging. “But…” The words died in my mouth. Was he really just going to let me walk out of here alone while he stayed behind with her?

Jisung just looked at me, as if daring me to say more. Then, his gaze dropped, and he turned back to her, already caught up in their world again. I felt that familiar pang of helplessness, something I had been trying to keep buried all night.

“Jisung, I’m really not well,” I said again, my voice laced with an edge of desperation, a last-ditch attempt to bring him back to me. “I don’t think I’ll be able to drive at all.”

Nessa scoffed, her eyes flicking over me dismissively. “Well, you seem pretty fine to me,” she said, looking down at me like I was some sort of annoyance, a barrier between her and her fun. I didn’t even spare her a glance; she didn’t exist to me. I was here for Jisung, and only Jisung.

“Jisung, let’s go,” I insisted, a hint of authority creeping into my tone. He was my best friend. I had that right, didn’t I?

Nessa rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Jisung and I have plans, so he’s not going with you,” she said smoothly, her voice grating, like nails on a chalkboard. She wanted me out of the picture, and I could feel the satisfaction she took in challenging me.

I ignored her, locking my gaze onto Jisung. “Are you coming with me or not?”

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes just meeting mine with a mixture of confusion and maybe just maybe a hint of guilt.
He seemed caught between both decisions. But he said nothing, only casting a quick glance at Nessa before sighing softly. He didn’t say anything, but that look was enough. I felt the rejection like a slap to the face, and I stepped back, fighting the urge to scream, to drag him out of here myself. I knew I was losing, that he wasn’t coming with me, and the sting of it was almost unbearable.

I turned away, but this wasn’t over. Not yet. I was not about to go home, leave him here to fall into her arms, to let her have him.

I went back to the bar, my frustration mounting with each step, and ordered another drink. Something stronger. If I couldn’t get him to come with me through reason, maybe I’d have to go with plan B — whatever that ended up being. I downed the drink as soon as it arrived.

He wasn’t spending the night with her. I didn’t care what I had to do, what kind of scene I’d have to make. Jisung was going home with me.

I waited for the bartenderto attend to the others so when came over, I didn’t hesitate. “I need your help,” I said, slipping him a few thousand won as he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. He took it, nodding, understanding the unspoken request.

I couldn’t believe this was what it had come to lying, putting on a scene, all for a shot at getting Jisung alone. But jealousy has a way of making you do things you never thought you would and I did, I played my part perfectly, stumbling a little, then leaning forward as if I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The next moment, I was doubled over, pretending to throw up, groaning for effect, and then, with a dramatic flair, I let myself go limp and “passed out” right on the bar. Just like we’d planned, the bartender didn’t waste a second before calling out to Jisung. I heard his footsteps rushing over, followed by his panicked voice.

“Oh my God, Minho!” he gasped, sounding genuinely worried. I could feel his hands on my shoulder, shaking me gently. “Are you okay?”

I kept my face slack, letting my head loll a little, and I felt him tense, probably glancing back at Nessa with a pleading expression. "Oh my god. He usually doesn’t drink like this, and he’s totally out of it.”

Nessa’s annoyed voice cut in, scoffing. “He’s an adult, Jisung. He can take care of himself.”

"What do you mean he's an adult he's passed out." He yelled his voice strained.

"He'll be fine."

"No,  I can’t just leave him here. I need to get him home.” He took a shaky breath. “Please, can you help me get him to the car?”

There was a pause, then a heavy sigh, and I could tell she wasn’t happy. I almost wanted to smile, knowing I’d put her in this situation, made her uncomfortable for once. With some grumbling, she finally agreed. I felt both of them lifting me, each supporting me by the shoulders as they carried me out of the club.

They got me to my car, struggling a little to fit me into the passenger seat. Jisung muttered something about how lucky I was that he knew how to drive, his tone still laced with worry I felt a hint of  guilt for a second — just a second. Then I remembered why I was doing this in the first place, and the jealousy returned, fresh and burning.

“I’ll drive him back and then I’ll meet you at the hotel, okay?” I heard Jisung say, his voice muffled. My heart clenched at the thought of him going back to her, of this little act only buying me a short reprieve from seeing them together.

There was a brief silence, then I heard her murmur, “Are you sure? I could come with you, just to make sure he gets home.”

I held my breath, wondering if she’d insist, but Jisung brushed her off gently. “No, don’t worry. I’ll be quick. I’ll drop him off and come right back.”

“Okay,” she said reluctantly, her tone softer now, and then there was a moment of silence, broken only by the faint sound of a kiss. My heart twisted. I’d thought I was ready to hear that, had steeled myself for it but the reality was worse, tearing through me.

I risked cracking my eyes open just a little, catching a glimpse of their faces close, her hand cupping his cheek, his arm around her waist. My stomach clenched, jealousy rearing up so fiercely I almost sat up right then and there. But I bit it down, feigning unconsciousness again as they finished their goodbye. Jisung climbed into the driver’s seat, his voice soft with concern as he checked on me one last time.

“Hang in there, Minho,” he whispered. “Let’s get you home.”

After a long while of driving I could feel the thrill rising in my chest as I lay slumped in the passenger seat, feigning my semi-consciousness. With a slight cough and a soft groan, I stirred just enough to catch Jisung’s attention. He looked over, a flash of concern in his eyes before he turned his gaze back to the road.

“Minho? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

I kept my act going, mumbling and coughing slightly. “Where...where am I? Jisung, is that you?”

He let out a shaky breath, the relief evident in his voice. “Yes, it’s me. You scared me,” he said, his voice gentle, almost like he was soothing a child. “You passed out, so I’m taking you back to the dorm.”

The thought of heading back to the dorm, with everyone’s curious stares, was enough to jolt me awake well, partially.

I want Jisung at my house.

“Oh… don’t do that,” I murmured, my words slurring just slightly. “Just take me to my own house. I don’t want them to see me like this at the institution.”

He hesitated for a second before nodding. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

I leaned back, letting my eyes drift shut as I continued the act. Every so often, I’d let out a small cough or sigh, just enough to remind him of my “condition.” Soon, we pulled up outside my house, and Jisung came around to help me out, his arm slipping around my shoulders as he guided me inside. We made it to my bedroom, and he lowered me gently onto my bed.

“You should drink some water,” he said, grabbing a bottle and handing it to me. I took a few sips, watching as he hovered, his eyes filled with worry. His phone buzzed, and I knew who it was before he even looked at the screen.

Nessa. Of course, she’d be calling, probably impatient that he hadn’t rushed back to her.

“Jisung…” I whispered, trying to keep him focused on me. But he gave me an apologetic look and stepped out of the room to take the call.

“Just give us a break, ma’am,” I muttered to myself, rolling my eyes. Her voice echoed faintly through the walls, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Jisung’s voice was gentle but firm, promising her he’d return in twenty minutes. My chest clenched at the thought. No way. I wasn’t going to let him run back to her, not while I’d gone through all this just to have him here.

When he walked back into the room, I waited a beat, then pulled my shirt off, tossing it to the side and sinking back onto the bed with a slight groan.

Jisung’s eyes widened as he stepped closer. “Minho…are you okay?”

I looked at him with hazy eyes, biting back a smirk. “Jisung…something feels weird.” I let my hand reach out to him, pulling him closer until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on my shoulder.

“Oh no, you’re burning up,” he murmured, his hand brushing against my forehead. “Let me get you more water and maybe something to help.”

“No,” I mumbled, holding onto him, refusing to let him go. “Just…just stay here with me.”

He hesitated, then sighed, his fingers tracing softly through my hair. “Are you sure that’s all you need?”

I managed a hum of approval, letting myself lean closer, my hands resting lightly on his waist as if by accident. With him so close, it was too tempting to resist, and I let my fingers drift lower, brushing over his hips, feeling the familiar shape of him against me. Just a little touch, nothing he’d notice, or so I hoped.

I grabbed his butt. Like I've been wanting to the entire night then I murmured something inaudible just to make him think I wasn't in my right mind.

His phone rang again, and he stiffened, hesitating before answering. “Nessa, hey. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to come back. Minho’s really in bad condition, and I can’t leave him like this.”

I bit down a smirk as I listened, satisfied to know my little act was paying off. Nessa’s voice, though I couldn’t hear her words clearly, sounded frustrated. She said something about how I was an adult and would be fine on my own.

Jisung sighed, his frustration obvious, but he kept his voice calm. “Nessa, I’m really sorry…”

Then her tone shifted, sharper, as she snapped, “I came all the way to your city, and you’re going to ditch me for Minho just because you’re in lo—” The call abruptly ended, and Jisung turned his phone off, tossing it onto the nightstand.

“Feel better, okay?” he murmured, his hand returning to my hair, his fingers brushing through it gently. “It’s my fault for leaving you unattended.”

I couldn’t help the small smile that broke through, a rush of satisfaction filling me as I lay against him, my head resting on his torso.

I won.

He's at my place, in my bed.

Jisung was mine.

All Mine.

Chapter Text

JISUNG

Lying there, I focused on the steady rise and fall of Minho’s breathing as it brushed against my stomach. Every muscle in me was tense, locked in a futile battle against what was happening, against the way his fingers lazily traced down my thigh and curved around my waist. He was half-asleep, half-mumbling, his words soft and jumbled. I knew they didn’t mean anything, this wasn’t conscious, it wasn’t real, I told myself. But that was harder to believe when he held me like this.

You’re not in love with him, Jisung.

The words ran through my mind like a broken mantra, but I knew I was lying to myself. Minho's hands wandered without aim, one moment tracing my thigh and the next grazing the curve of my hip. I swallowed hard, every inch of me attuned to the feel of him, yet desperately trying to ignore it. It didn’t mean anything, none of this did, At least not to him.

But to me it meant everything and all this little touches were forcefully drowning me into a whirlpool of feelings I've forced myself to run away from.

Jisung this is real

Feelings are real.

It's only there because you're the one give meaning to it. When in reality there was none, filling the silence with things I wished he would say, things I wanted him to feel.

This shouldn’t be affecting me, but here I was, each touch sending a jolt through my veins, making it nearly impossible to breathe the same air as him.

His voice was low, just a murmur, as he slurred something incoherent, the words lost in the haze of whatever dimension he was drifting through. My stomach clenched as he pressed closer, his breath warm against my skin.

Get yourself together, Jisung. But that was like telling fire not to burn.

The last time Minho had been like this, drunk, touchy, unguarded, he didn't stop me. He'd let me pull him close, let me kiss him, touch him, until one thing led to another and I lost every piece of myself in him.

And here I was again, pinned down by the weight of his body, his hands moving over me in ways that felt too familiar, too tempting. I could feel myself hardening, my body betraying me as I struggled to stay still, to keep from reacting. But he wasn’t making it easy. Every touch felt intentional, even though I knew it wasn’t, his fingers brushed the inside of my thigh, lingering just long enough to send my thoughts spiraling, and I let out a low, shaky breath.

“Minho,” I whispered, barely loud enough to hear myself. He didn’t respond, he just shifted, his head nestled against my side, his grip around me tightening as he settled deeper into sleep. I tried to adjust, to pull away slightly, but he held me closer, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist.

I was doomed. There was no way I was making it through the night like this, with him pressing into me, half-asleep and completely oblivious to what he was doing. Every rational thought I’d tried to hold onto was slipping away, replaced by memories of that night, by the feeling of his skin against mine, the heat between us consuming every last bit of self-control I had.

This means nothing, I reminded myself again, as if the words would magically make it easier. But they didn’t, and I could feel myself getting harder, the pressure building, the ache of wanting him clashing with the memory of the hollow emptiness he’d left me with.

He sighed softly, his breath skimming my skin, and I felt myself sinking, slipping further into the temptation I’d tried so hard to resist. I closed my eyes, hoping that thinking back to that miserable night would any to help me reason properly but all I could think about was how much I wanted him. How badly I wished he would mean it this time.

That night still played in my mind, more vivid than I’d like it to be. It started with the game—the stupid, clichéd game we all knew was just an excuse to kiss someone you’d been eyeing all evening. It was late, after all the camp activities were done, and we’d gathered under the stars, an open campfire flickering beside us. The girls usually separate from us were allowed to camp in the same space as us so the excitement was high, the kind of excitement that made you feel invincible, like nothing else mattered.

I didn’t join the game at first. I was content to stay off to the side, quietly watching the others spin, watching the giddy smiles and groans that came when the bottle landed on someone unexpected. The first kiss, a shy peck that quickly escalated, broke whatever tension was in the group, and soon they were laughing, teasing each other with bravado that felt a little too forced. I kept my eyes on Minho, hoping maybe he’d glance my way, but he never did. Around these people, I didn’t exist to him.

It was like he didn’t even know me. Like we hadn’t spent the last month creating memories in the dark after everyone else had gone to bed. Like he hadn’t pulled me aside the night before to tell me he’d missed me over the weekend and begged me to hug him or he wouldn't have a goodnight, and invite me to sleep over at his House. But Here, under the campfire glow, with all those faces around us, I was just another face in the crowd to him.

Minho was at the center of it all, the center of attention, as always. When the bottle pointed his way, I felt this uncomfortable knot forming in my stomach, this irrational hope that he’d look over at me, just once. But he didn’t. The girl it landed on was this pretty blonde, and everyone cheered, the boys urging him on, telling him not to mess up such a good chance.

But Minho shrugged, grabbing bottle of alcohol they snuck out here instead and taking a long swig, laughing as he did. There was a round of exaggerated groans and mock disappointment, and one of the guys even playfully slapped him on the back, calling him crazy for turning down someone as pretty as her. Minho just brushed it off with that easy grin of his, the one that could make anyone feel like they were the only person in the world, if only for a second.

And then there was me, watching from the sidelines, feeling like I’d never be a part of the circle, like I didn’t belong with these people, even if I wanted to. The urge to join in, to spin that bottle, maybe to even kiss a girl just to feel what everyone else seemed to be feeling, grew stronger with each round. I wanted to be there,  to feel that reckless thrill everyone else seemed to be drowning in. I wanted to know what it was like to be fearless, to lean in without thinking twice, to gulped down alcohol and laugh it off if things didn’t go the way I’d hoped.

But instead, I stayed on the edge, my eyes trailing after Minho even though I knew he wouldn’t meet my gaze. He was busy laughing, joking around with everyone else, like I wasn’t even there.

For a while, I convinced myself I didn’t care.

But I did.

It was Minho.

I always feel such a pull towards him.

"Jisung come join in." A girl yelled as she sighted me.

"Oh no not Jisung? He'll ruin it."

"Oh please."

The girls were relentless, pushing back every protest from the guys, insisting that I should join. I didn’t really know how to feel about it, it wasn’t like I was comfortable with this group, especially the guys who always seemed to have something to say about me. But the girls cheered louder than the guys protested, and soon enough, I found myself inside the circle, sitting awkwardly between Yena and a couple of her friends.

It wasn’t long before the bottle came to a slow stop, pointing at me. Yena’s turn. The group erupted in laughter and whoops, and the cheers felt louder than ever. My heart ached for the thrill of it, everyone seemed to be chanting for me to make my move.

But what got my attention wasn’t the bottle or the crowd—it was Minho. For a split second, I felt his eyes on me, this intense look that cut through all the noise, and I couldn’t help but turn to him. He looked almost… guarded.

"Do you really want to kiss her?" he asked, his voice carrying over the noise, sounding almost… off. It was the first time he’d ever directly spoken to me in front of everyone else. "You can just take a drink," he suggested, almost as if he was trying to give me an out.

Something in me rebelled at that suggestion. I didn’t want to back down, not with him watching. I wanted to prove something, even if I couldn’t fully explain it.

“No, I’m good,” I replied, my voice firm. I turned to Yena, and she gave me a small smile, looking eager as she leaned in closer.

Our lips met, and the cheering grew louder. It was all just a game, of course, but I leaned in, felt her respond, heard her little gasp as I kept going. I didn’t pull back until I heard her breath catch, felt her slowly pull back, her face flushed. Everyone was laughing and hollering, and I felt a little rush from it all.

But as I pulled away, my eyes immediately landed back on Minho.

He was watching us, his expression unreadable, but there was no mistaking the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something in his eyes. It was hard to tell, but he definitely wasn’t pleased.

Then, one of the guys jeered, breaking the moment. “Haha, there’s no way we just let a gay dude kiss Yena!”

“Shut up,” Yena shot back, her voice sharp as she defended me. “He’s not gay.”

Her words took me by surprise, but I barely had time to process it before the next guy spun the bottle. It landed on another boy, and the circle exploded in laughter again.

They exchanged looks, laughing awkwardly before grabbing the bottle of vodka and downing their drinks in quick succession, using that as a way out. But even then, they couldn’t resist one last dig.

“Why do I feel like Jisung would’ve actually gone for it,” one of them said, throwing a sly look in my direction. “Isn’t that right, Jisung?”

"Gone for what?"

"Kissing another dude, must be a Dream come true for him."

Laughter erupted around the circle, and my stomach tightened. I wanted to fire back, to tell them to back off, but my words caught in my throat, and for a split second, I felt that same vulnerability creeping up again.

But I noticed something strange out of the corner of my eye. Minho’s expression shifted, darkening even more.

It was my turn u grabbed the bottle and as the bottle spun, I tried to calm my racing heartbeat, but it was useless. The bottle stopped, and my breath caught. It was pointing directly at Minho.

A chorus of whistles and cheers erupted around us, the teasing and laughter growing louder. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out the noise. I looked at Minho, uncertain, hoping for a sign of how to react, but his face was unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just stared back at me, as though we were both trying to figure out what this moment meant.

Then came the shove from behind, the slap across my head. “What’s taking you so long, fggots?” one of the older boys sneered, shoving me forward again. The sting from his hand lingered, hot and humiliating. “Just drink, you slut. Trying to kiss a girl and a boy in the same night—ew.” He laughed, looking around for approval, and some of the others joined in, egging him on. He grabbed the back of my neck forcing it on his crotch. "Hahaha dick sucker."

I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, Minho’s voice cut through, sharp and serious. “What’s wrong with you, Are you crazy?”

The older boy raised his brows, unbothered. “What’s the deal?” He smirked, leaning back with the bottle in hand as if Minho’s anger amused him.

“Seriously, Minho,” one of the other guys laughed. “He can handle it. It’s just a joke.” But Minho’s eyes narrowed, and he looked unrecognizable his expression looked like a warning. "Don't hit him like that again."

The older boy wasn’t finished. With a grin, he raised his hand again. “You mean like this?” Before I could react, his hand slammed down on my head again, twice as hard. The pain jolted through me, and I let out a startled cry. My vision blurred momentarily, and I heard one of the girls scream, “Stop it!” But her voice was drowned out by laughter and taunts from the others.

The next second, Minho was on him. He lunged at the older boy but he looked like he flew or dived at him because the speed and agility was incredible, Minho tackled the older boy to the ground in a fury, and before anyone could stop him, he was throwing punch after punch, his face twisted in anger.

“You think you’re funny?” Minho spat between hits, his voice low and controlled, each word punctuated by the impact of his fists. “Is this funny to you?” His punches were unrelenting, his fists landing with precision, and the older boy struggled, trying to shield himself, but Minho was stronger and faster than any of us had ever seen.

The other guys jumped into action, grabbing at Minho’s shoulders, trying to pull him back, but he shrugged them off, too focused to care. “Minho, stop!” Another guy shouted. It was one of our other roommates. “What the hell are you doing?”

But he wouldn’t let go, his hands gripping the boy’s shirt as he landed another punch. “Don’t ever lay a hand on him again,” Minho growled, his voice deadly calm despite the chaos around us.

“Minho, man, come on!” One of his friends managed to wrap an arm around him, pulling him back just enough to break his focus, but Minho turned, his fist flying out and landing on the friend’s jaw, sending him stumbling back.

“Don’t touch me,” Minho snarled, yanking his arm free. He looked around, daring anyone else to come closer. The scratch on his cheek was bleeding now, a thin line of red that only seemed to make his expression more intense.

The silence around us was thick, everyone staring at him with shock and so much questions. No one knew what to say or do, as if the entire scene had been a bad dream we’d all woken up from too quickly.

Finally, Minho looked over at me. His gaze softened, and he held out his hand. “Come on, Jisung,” he said quietly, his voice so different from a moment ago. “Let’s leave here.”

I didn’t hesitate. My own head was throbbing from the hit, but the relief of him being here, of him standing up for me like that, was stronger than the pain. I reached out, and he gripped my hand firmly, pulling me to my feet. He kept my hand in his as we moved through the crowd, not sparing another glance at the others, and I didn’t dare look back either.

We walked in silence, the only sound the crunch of leaves beneath our feet as we moved further away from the campfire, and the voices that still echoed faintly from behind us. It wasn’t until we were well out of sight that Minho finally slowed, his breathing still heavy, and released my hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, but it was laced with something I hadn’t heard before genuine concern.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, even though my head was still throbbing. I reached up, touching the sore spot on the back of my head, wincing slightly. “You… didn’t have to do all that, you know.”

Minho’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his hands clenching at his sides.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air was thick with something unspoken, something neither of us was ready to confront. I could still feel the warmth of his hand in mine, even though we’d let go a few steps back.

When we finally reached the dorm room, the tension that had built up around us felt almost suffocating. Minho walked in first, rubbing a hand across his jaw as he moved towards my bed. He sat on it heavily, as if the weight of the night had finally caught up with him. I lingered near the door for a second, unsure of what to say, how to thank him, or even how to apologize. I could still see the faint smear of blood drying on his cheek, a reminder of what he’d done for me.

“It’s all my fault,” I blurted out, guilt clawing at me. “I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want to…to defend me in front of them.”

Minho looked up, his brows knitting together. “Why did you just let him smack you? You should’ve fought back.”

I sighed, grabbing some cotton and the bottle of antiseptic from my desk. “I just…” I trailed off. I didn’t have a good answer. My legs felt like lead as I walked over to him, sitting beside him on the bed. Gently, I dabbed the cotton with the antiseptic and pressed it against his cheek.

He flinched, his eyes studying my face, but there was something else in his gaze, something unreadable. “Did you enjoy the kiss?”

I blinked, my hand freezing mid-air. “Mhm?”

“With Yena,” he clarified, looking away, his focus somewhere else. “You seemed like you enjoyed it.”

“I—” I looked at him, caught off guard. Why would he ask that? His expression didn’t give anything away, but his posture was tense, like he was waiting for something he didn’t want to hear. “Her lips were soft, I guess…”

“What about me?” Minho murmured, so low I almost missed it.

My heart did a strange skip, and before I could think, the words slipped out. “That’s a sin, Minho.”

He turned to me, a glint of something—curiosity, maybe defiance—flaring in his eyes. “Yeah, but would you kiss me still?”

I swallowed hard, trying to focus on dabbing the cotton over the dried blood, but my hand was trembling slightly. “I wouldn’t kiss you, Minho,” I muttered, feeling defensive. “I’m not… I’m not gay.”

He let out a soft laugh, humorless and knowing. “This isn’t about being gay.”

“Then what’s it about?” I whispered, suddenly afraid to hear his answer.

“It’s about how close we are,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

I shook my head, feeling something heavy settle in my chest. “No matter how close we are, we can’t kiss, Minho.” I pulled back a little, catching a glimpse of his lips, closer than I’d ever noticed before. My pulse was wild, erratic, betraying me with every beat.

He tilted his head, studying me intently. “You’re cute when you’re nervous, you know.”

“Minho…” I started, trying to keep my voice steady, but it came out shaky.

He grinned slightly, leaning in, his voice soft and teasing. “If I was a girl, would you kiss me?”

My mind went blank for a second, and I let out a laugh, trying to break the tension. “I wouldn’t want you to be a girl, so no.”

“Oh, so you’d kiss me as a boy,” he shot back, the teasing edge in his tone making my heart jump.

“No,” I said quickly, feeling my cheeks warm. “I wouldn’t kiss you at all, Minho. We’re both boys…we’d get kicked out of church if anyone even knew we were talking about this.”

"What till they see us do it."

"Huh." I heard him but I thought my brain was playing tricks on me.

"Huh.." He chuckled. “It’s just behind closed doors,” he replied, shrugging.

"Are you drunk already?"

"No."

"Then why are you talking like this."

"I'm just saying if we kiss it's just between us no one would know."

I could feel his gaze piercing through me, unyielding. “God sees everything, Minho…we can’t,” I whispered, barely believing the words myself. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him, though, his eyes holding something that felt dangerously close to temptation.

“But if it wasn’t a sin?” he asked, his voice a hushed dare. “If it were acceptable for two boys to kiss, would you kiss me?”

My heart hammered so loudly I was sure he could hear it, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I was trapped, my gaze locked on his. He lifted his hand, resting it on my waist with a gentleness that sent a thrill through me, and I tried to ignore the way it made me feel.

“Minho, I told you to stop being clingy,” I mumbled, pulling his hand off, but even then, I couldn’t ignore the heat his touch left on me. He looked at me, and for a split second, his smile faltered, replaced by a sadness that made my chest tighten. I wanted to say something, anything to fix that look, but I couldn’t find the words.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said softly, his fingers grazing mine, holding my hand still as I finished dabbing at his cheek.

My throat felt dry. “If it wasn’t a sin…if it were acceptable, I wouldn’t kiss you, Minho,” I said slowly, forcing the words out. “Because…because that’s gay, and I’m not gay.”

He let out a heavy sigh, like I wasn't giving him the answer he wanted. “But what if it wasn’t gay then?” he asked, his voice almost pleading now, as if he needed me to say it.

“Minho…” I started, but he held up a hand, silencing me.

“Just tell me you’d kiss me,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine. “Just say it. You know I won’t let it drop.”

I bit my lip, feeling the words forming, words I wanted to say but couldn’t. Because my answer was yes

I would kiss him in a heartbeat.

Instead, I finished cleaning the dried blood from his cheek and forced myself to smile, pretending my heart wasn’t in turmoil. “All done,” I said, pulling back and standing, trying to put some distance between us.

But he didn’t move, his eyes still locked on me. I knew this conversation wasn’t over, not really. He wasn’t going to let this go, not yet, but I couldn’t face him. Not when I felt like my entire world was shifting beneath my feet, one quiet, forbidden question at a time.

Five minutes later Minho had stood in front of the mirror, his eyes fixed on the patch of antiseptic on his cheek. He tilted his head, examining it with a small, thoughtful smirk. Then, almost out of nowhere, he glanced at me, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"You know," he started, his voice low and casual, "we have a bottle of vodka here."

I looked up sharply from where I was sitting on my bed, my Bible resting on my lap. “What are you talking about?”

He turned around, leaning back against the desk, his arms folded. "We should play our own game here, just the two of us."

I swallowed, trying to hide my nerves. "You want us to play…kiss or drink? Really?"

Minho laughed, a sound that was both warm and teasing. “Yeah, Jisung. Why not?” He crossed the room, bent down, and pulled out the bottle of vodka from where it had been stashed, hidden behind a pile of his clothes. He held it up, the clear liquid catching the dim light of the dorm room. “You in?”

For a moment, I hesitated, my mind racing with the implications of what he was suggesting. This boy was absolutely setting us up to kiss, no doubt about it. But there was something so tempting in the way he looked at me, so certain, so confident, that it made it hard to resist.

"Turn down the lights then."

“We’re gonna get hella drunk trying not to kiss each other,” His voice sounded a certain way that made my heart race. “Whoever gets drunk first loses, right?” He grinned, all cocky and challenging.

“You literally turn everything into a competition.”

“Just the way you like it.”

I rolled my eyes, setting my Bible aside as I stood up.

With a smirk, he moved to sit on the floor, unscrewing the bottle cap, the sound crisp and unmistakable. I joined him, sitting cross-legged across from him as he tipped the bottle towards me. “So,” he said, looking right into my eyes, “are you ready?”

I took a deep breath, knowing that after this, nothing might ever feel the same. But I couldn’t back down now. “Let's see who get to give in into kissing who first."

He tilted his head, studying me with a look that was all too knowing. “Alright, me first. If it wasn’t a sin, would you want to kiss me?”

I rolled my eyes acting like I wasn't dying inside feeling my heart stutter. He watched me intently, waiting, but I could see the hint of vulnerability in his eyes, like he genuinely wanted an answer. I took a shaky breath, my mind racing. Instead of answering, I took another drink, swallowing down the burning liquid and the truth along with it.

He let out a small laugh, the sound both amused and a little sad. “Figures,” he murmured. “You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

I shrugged, trying to play it off as casually as I could. “What can I say? I like winning.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Alright, next question then. Would you ever kiss someone just to see how it feels? No strings attached?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You just want me to say I’d kiss you.”

“Is that a yes?” He leaned in, eyes narrowing playfully.

“No, Minho, that’s not a yes.” But my voice came out weaker than I intended, and I could see the glint in his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was the vodka or his persistence, but I was feeling warmer, braver, more willing to lean into the game than I usually would.

Minho took another swig, then passed the bottle back to me, his eyes locked on mine. “Your turn.”

I hesitated, but the warmth spreading through my chest made me feel bold. “Alright, if I were…someone you really wanted to kiss, what would you say to make it happen?”

He arched an eyebrow, his smirk shifting into something softer. “I’d probably tell you that you look better up close than I imagined. That I’ve thought about it more times than I’d admit.”

There was something raw in his gaze, something that felt deeper than just a game. I swallowed hard, feeling the familiar heat rise in my cheeks.

"What about you what would you say."

Instead of answering, I raised the bottle and took a long, slow drink, feeling the vodka sear down my throat.

Minho watched me carefully, a smirk playing on his lips. “So…you wouldn’t say anything back? Not even a hint?”

I shook my head, the room feeling a little hazy now, warmth spreading through my veins. “No, Minho. I wouldn’t say anything. Because if I wanted to kiss someone, I wouldn’t be talking about it. I’d just…do it.”

He leaned forward, his gaze dropping to my lips for just a split second before returning to my eyes. “Like you did to Yena earlier? Less talk more action, I like that.”

I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light, though my heart was pounding. "You like everything."

He laughed softly. "Everything about you."

"What is wrong with you today."

"I just want a kiss."

"You've literally rejected everyone and chose to drink instead."

"I don't want to kiss them."

He spun the bottle, eyes narrowing on me as it whirled and slowed until it pointed…straight at me.

I froze, the teasing smile slipping a little from my face, and Minho’s smirk grew wider. “Looks like the bottle wants to see you take the L, Jisung,” he taunted, leaning in just enough for me to feel the heat radiating off of him.

That's when I understood what Minho was doing that night, He wanted me to want to kiss him and for a moment, I considered it—just leaning in, seeing what it might feel like to close the distance. But instead, I shook my head, breaking the tension with a laugh as I grabbed the vodka and took a long, sip.

Minho chuckled, leaning back on his hands with a shrug. “Still a chicken, huh?”

“You wish,” I shot back, setting the bottle down. “I’m just playing it smart. You’re the one who’s too afraid to just kiss me and get it over with.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? don’t you do it?”

I hesitated, heat creeping up my neck as I glanced down at the bottle. “Because…we both know you’re all talk.”

He scoffed, spinning the bottle again. It wobbled on the floor, slower this time, but eventually, it settled on me once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I muttered as He leaned forward again, close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin.

“Well?” he asked, his voice low, taunting. “Are you gonna take the drink again, or are you finally gonna prove me wrong?”

My stomach twisted as I reached for the vodka, taking another drink and feeling a bit hazy and  Minho laughed, a little louder this time, his cheeks already flushed from the alcohol.

“You’re so predictable, Jisung,” he slurred slightly, barely hiding the smugness in his tone. “You just keep taking the easy way out.”

“Says the guy who’s too scared to make the first move,” I shot back, grabbing the bottle and spinning it, feeling bolder with each sip. The bottle spun, faster than before, a blur between us until it finally slowed, landing…right on Minho.

He laughed, looking at me with a lopsided grin. “See, it’s fate. The bottle wants you to kiss me, Jisung.”

I shook my head, grinning despite myself. “Maybe fate’s just trying to get you to stop talking for a second.”

“Oh, is that it?” he teased, his voice softening as he leaned closer. “Well, if you’re so desperate for me to shut up, maybe you should just do something about it.”

I felt my heart skip, my resolve wavering for just a moment. But I didn’t let him see it; instead, I raised the vodka and took another long drink, the warmth spreading through me as I leaned back with a smirk.

He sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“Says the guy who’s two sips away from passing out,” I countered, laughing as he took the bottle for another spin. This time, when it stopped on me, he gave me a look that was almost pleading, his eyes a little glassy, the alcohol clearly starting to take its toll.

“Come on, Jisung,” he slurred, leaning forward. “Just take the L already.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, watching him struggle to keep his eyes open, his words slurring together. “You’re the one who’s about to take the L,” I teased, reaching for the bottle and spinning it again.

He huffed, crossing his arms and looking away. “Fine. Keep pretending you’re not interested.”

“Who’s pretending?” I shot back, unable to resist grinning as he looked at me, clearly amused by my statement. “You’re just upset because you’re gonna lose.”

“Jisung, I think you’re the one who’s in denial here.” He wobbled a bit as he leaned closer, his balance slightly off. “Admit it—you’re dying to kiss me.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Minho, you can barely sit up straight.”

He waved a hand dismissively, leaning back and squinting at the bottle as if trying to focus. “That’s just…part of my strategy.”

“Your strategy to lose?” I couldn’t help but laugh, reaching over to grab the bottle from him as he slumped forward a little, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“You think you’re so smart,” he muttered, shooting me a sleepy glare. “But I know you want to kiss me.”

“Keep dreaming,” I replied, spinning the bottle again. It landed on him this time, and he gave me a sleepy smirk.

“You’re just running out of excuses,” he whispered, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna give in.”

I shook my head, feeling my own eyelids getting heavy as the alcohol settled in, making everything feel a little hazy, a little softer around the edges. “You’re so cocky when you’re drunk.”

“Only around you,” he mumbled, his words slurring even more, but there was something genuine in his tone, something that made my heart skip a beat. He blinked slowly, his head nodding forward as he tried to keep his focus on me, but his eyes kept drifting shut.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” I teased, nudging him lightly, but he only let out a soft hum, his head dipping as he fought to stay awake.

“No…” he murmured, but his voice was barely above a whisper, and I could see his shoulders relaxing, his body leaning forward, swaying slightly.

“Looks like I win,” I said softly, but he didn’t respond, his head drooping until he finally slumped against me, his breathing soft and even.

I couldn’t help but laugh as he mumbled something incoherent, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked so unguarded, like a little kid drifting off to sleep.

“You’re such a baby, Minho,” I teased, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his forehead.

He shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open just enough to meet mine. “I’m your b…” he tried, but the words slipped away, lost in the fog of alcohol. His head dipped again, too heavy for him to hold up any longer, and he looked both defeated and adorable. I laughed, shaking my head at him.

But then his gaze lifted, and for a moment, his eyes cleared, sharpening as they fixed on me. “Why don't you wanna kiss me?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly serious, almost pained. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me the whole night, Jisung.”

My heart did a wild flip, my confidence suddenly wavering as I tried to brush it off. “Shut up, Minho,” I muttered, hoping he’d take it as a joke, though the words felt too heavy in my mouth.

Does he mean it?

It's not sounding like a joke anymore and it was scaring me.

"Sleep."

But he didn’t back down; his eyes stayed on me, soft yet intense, and he whispered again, this time his voice raw and needy. “Kiss me, please.”

He was staring at my lips, his eyes slightly glazed but unwavering, like he was baring something he’d been holding back for a while. The way he looked at me—like I was the only thing he could see in that moment—left me feeling vulnerable, my defenses crumbling against the weight of his gaze.

“Minho…” I started, barely recognizing my own voice, but before I could finish, he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a soft peck.

It was so gentle, almost too quick to register, yet it sent a surge of warmth through me that I couldn’t ignore. As he pulled back, his eyes stayed on me, searching my face, and suddenly, every inch of me felt electrified it was as if something snapped, some wall I’d been holding up for too long finally giving way.

I leaned forward almost in a rush, closing the gap between us and taking his lips again, this time deeper, bolder. My hands slipped to the back of his neck as I pressed into him, tasting the vodka on his lips. I felt him shudder slightly, his hands reaching up to grip my shoulders, his fingers pressing into me with a need that mirrored my own.

He responded eagerly, his tongue sliding against mine, a bit clumsy, his touch sending jolts of heat through me despite the lack of precision. His hands found their way to my neck gripping it and putting me in place as he sucked on my tongue.

We weren’t in any rush. The kiss was slow but desperate,a kind of desperation wrapped in softness. His lips moved against mine, pulling me deeper, anchoring me to him, and it was as if every unspoken word, every lingering glance we’d shared, was unraveling in that moment. I let myself get lost in the feeling of his warmth, the weight of his hands grounding me, guiding me.

He wasn’t fully in control, his touches sloppy and a little uneven, but I didn’t care. If anything, it only made me want him more, to close any distance that still lingered between us. I could feel him slipping, unsteady but insistent, like he’d been waiting too long to let this moment pass.

When we finally broke apart, our breaths mingling in the small space between us, he kept his hands on my shoulders, and he lolled forward resting on me.

“You’re so…infuriating,” I whispered, the words coming out more like an exhale than a statement.

He pulled back looking at me with a  smirked, his eyes still half-lidded but gleaming with satisfaction. “I knew you’d give in eventually.”

I rolled my eyes, but the smile pulling at my lips betrayed me. “You’re an idiot,” I murmured.

“Your idiot,” he replied, his voice soft but firm, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand.

And I couldn’t argue with that

Minutes later and I still I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I had kissed Minho—really kissed him—and now my mind was spinning with feelings I couldn’t quite place. My heart raced, and every nerve in my body felt awake, on fire. A part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but another part of me was just… stunned. The kiss hadn’t just been something impulsive; it had felt real.

I could hear Minho groaning as he tried to get up, but he only managed to flop down on my bed instead, half-laughing, half-exasperated as he surrendered to his own exhaustion. I chuckled at him, rolling my eyes, and he laughed too a warm, infectious sound that filled the room. But soon, the laughter faded, leaving only a quiet that felt thick, heavy, almost tangible. We lay there in silence, facing away from each other, yet I felt so aware of his presence, as if his very being was pressing against me despite the distance between us.

My mind drifted back to the kiss. I couldn't shake the memory of it, the feeling of his lips, the closeness. There was no denying that something in me had shifted. A strange warmth pooled in my stomach, spreading lower, stirring something I had only felt around women before. Yet here I was, lying in bed with my heart pounding and a growing tightness that I couldn’t ignore.

Why was I feeling this way toward him? I’d always known who I was, or at least thought I did. I’d had relationships, I’d been intimate, and yeah, I’d slipped up on a few things that didn't align with my faith but fuck it I was human and wasn't perfect, I have an history of not resisting temptations. But this—feeling this way about Minho—this was new. My mind raced with confusion, fear, curiosity, and… a deep, undeniable desire.

Without really thinking, I whispered, “Minho…?” My voice was barely audible, tentative.

“Mmhhm,” he mumbled, sounding half-asleep but responsive enough.

I hesitated, unsure if he was even really listening, but I pushed on, needing to know. “How do you feel?” I finally asked, turning around needing some sort of confirmation just to see his back against me, .

"I don't know if it's just me but I kind of feel.."

“Aroused?” He completed my statement and my eyes widened at his admission. He said it so simply, like it was no big deal, and I felt a shiver go down my spine. He turned to face me, his gaze unfocused, and I could tell he was still slightly out of it, his words coming out in a messy, almost lazy way. But the honesty in his eyes was clear.

“Would you… would you mind if I… jerk off?” The words slipped out before I could really consider them, my intoxicated brain failing to filter my thoughts. But Minho didn’t flinch instead, he looked at me, his expression unreadable, as if he was processing the question.

After a moment, he blinked, seeming confused. “I… don’t understand.”

Taking a deep breath, I felt a surge of heat and boldness, my hands reaching down to unzip my pants. There was no turning back now. My length was already hard, pulsing, and as I wrapped my hand around it, I felt a wave of relief mixed with tension. My breathing grew heavier as I started to move, the silence in the room amplifying every tiny sound.

Though the lightening was dim I could feel Minho watching me, I didn't know how we got here or why I'm suddenly doing this for his eyes but I was desperate for him.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of Minho unbuckling his own belt, and I glanced over, my breath catching. He’d joined me, his eyes hazy yet intent as he looked down at himself, exposing his own arousal.

“What… what do I do with mine?” he asked, his voice a soft whine, as he wrapped his hands around his length like he was asking for guidance.

Something in me snapped at that moment, and before I could think it through, I was moving toward him, crawling on top of him with a reckless confidence. “I can… I can suck it,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips as I leaned down,

I had never done this before or imagined it but I've watched series of gay p0rn on that pervert's laptop to know what to do.

Minho's eyes were barely open, half-lidded and glassy from one too many drinks. I hesitated just a little before I shifted on the mattress and got a hold of his length I felt him panick but seemed to relaxed as I gave him a few slow strokes before lowering my head to his erection, closing my mouth over his swollen tip and sucked it. Hard.

His hip snapped and his breathing intensified as he groaned satisfied with the pleasure I was giving him and I could immediately tell this was his first time, no doubt. Even though he was drunk out of his mind his body reacted in a way that made me know that this was all new to him.

His reaction thrilled me more and I took him deeper almost to the base then I released him just to glide my tongue along his length length, teasing him as he lost his mind.

"Oh Jesus." He muttered rocking his hips into my mouth as he moaned softly enjoying every bit of it , I wanted to look up at him to see his expression but I couldn't dare I was too terrified that he'd come back to his senses.

"Oh please... Jisung " I quickened my pace as I heard my name completely losing my mind  over it, my eyes shut and I took him completely in my mouth then stroking it up and he moaned louder which scared me.

The dorm was empty and everyone was outside but as much as I wanted to keep this going just so I could let him release in my mouth I couldn't risk someone hearing us and walking in , so I stopped it didn't take a moment before I heard him whining.

His eyes barely opened his hands pulling me back.

Fuck! He was leading me to my doom.

I had to pleasure both of us somehow without too much of a fuss.

We didn't have condoms in the dorm or anything to make this work.

I reached down under my bed my hand touch a book? No Not that. A cord. Not that either. I reached further. Got it.

A bottle of virgin oil

The one blessed by the reverend to use to pray on special occasions

This was a special occasion.

I poured it on my finger shoving both fingers into my ass as Minho watched me, his eyes still looking half opened. I squirmed in pain. It hurts real bad. I've never done it before. And wanted to give up because of the pain but I was already to into it to stop now.
I pushed In gently taking one finger out and pressing one in first.

And trying not to cry out.

He made a soft sound, his body melting into the bed, and even though he barely moved, I felt him respond. His lips pressed back with the smallest motion, like he was grounding himself there with me.

“Kiss me, please,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, slurred and unsteady. But there was something in his words, a hint of need and trust that made my heart ache in the best way.

I couldn’t hold back my smile as I kissed him again, slower this time, letting the moment linger as my hand found its way to his cheek, gently cradling his face.

My other hand continued adding more oil and shoving more fingers until I was sure Minho would fit.

Then I slowly guided his length into my hole and we both cry out.

I took a moment to breathe and adjust while he laid restless.

I started moving slowly but surely and he loved every bit of it not being able to close his pretty mouth or open his eyes as I rode him till my knee felt like they were going to pop and my legs gave out then I got off him not even stopping to catch my breath I crawled to his face to kiss him again.

Sucking his swollen lips and he didn't fail to kiss back.

"Do it to me..." He mumbled clumsy between kisses. "Please... Jisung do it to me."

"Do what to you?" I pulled back trying to understand but he couldn't express himself.

But I managed to catch the hint

I pulled his pants off completely, spreading his legs, pouring the oil on him and putting one finger inside of him as I distracted the pain with kisses on his lips because he seemed to love that so much.

I added more and more oil as I worked in my fingers slowly towards his prostate then his moans got so loud I could hear it echo through the walls.

Shit.

At this point I didn't care.

I just want to fuck this hot boy laying on my bed.

I didn't care if someone walked in on us they'll have to wait till I finish before punishing us.

I didn't think about tomorrow or what would happen to our friendship after this, I was just too caught up in the thrill of the moment knowing I'd never get this opportunity ever again.

"Jesus Christ!." He cried out, his thigh muscle trembling as my fingers rub his prostate.

I was embarrassed he was calling Jesus in this situation like he wouldn't send us both to hell after this.

I kiss him again to shut him up my fingers driving deeper and as I felt his body moving to the rhythm of my fingers.

"More." He moaned.

This man wrecked me right here.

I replaced my fingers with my dick starting up with a slow pace then picking it up, his moaning didn't stop, his hands clumsily trying to grabbed the sheets as he cried out he didn't take long before he came without warning and I followed immediately I saw his release.

I dropped down tiredly on the bed My whole body pounding and aching.

After the rush and adrenaline had died down, with my heart pounding violently in my chest, each beat echoing the chaos of what had just transpired.

What have I done?

The question looped through my mind, relentless and unforgiving. A wave of nausea washed over me, twisting my stomach into knots. I felt terribly sick, as if the weight of my actions had settled heavily inside me, suffocating any remnants of joy or satisfaction I might have felt moments ago. The thrill had evaporated, leaving behind a bitter residue of dread.

Hours passed, or perhaps it was only minutes. Time felt distorted, stretching and bending as I wrestled with my thoughts. I turned my head cautiously to look at him, and the sight of Minho sleeping so peacefully sent another pang of guilt through me. He looked serene, his chest rising and falling gently, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.

I can’t believe I did this to him.

I had crossed a line, one I could never uncross. I could only imagine the look of betrayal that would wash over his face when he woke up and remembered. He’s gonna hate me in the morning, I thought, a heavy weight settling in my chest.

A million scenarios played out in my mind, each more horrifying than the last. He might report me to the disciplinary committee, and I could already hear the whispers of my classmates, the laughter and ridicule that would follow. They would confirm the rumors, The thought of losing my scholarship, of my parents disowning me in shame, gripped me with a chilling fear that left me breathless.

Panic surged through my veins, and I felt trapped, suffocated by my own choices. I stood up abruptly, the floorboards creaking under my weight as I glanced at Minho one last time. He was still lost in his dreams, completely unaware of the turmoil within me.

Running away was my only option. So I did. I left in the dark of the night, my heart pounding in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. I didn’t take anything with me; I just left empty, leaving behind the remnants of what had been.

The weight of regret still hung heavy in my chest till this day, a constant reminder of everything that had happened that night. I wished I could take it all back, erase the decisions I made and the boundaries I crossed. Yet, here I was again, facing similar temptations.

My mind drifted back to the present But this time, I wouldn't give in. I was a fool for what I did years ago, succumbing to impulses that led to nothing but heartache and chaos. I convinced myself that I was different now, that I had grown from that person who acted on fleeting desires without considering the consequences. I discarded the thoughts that tried to creep back into my mind.

I managed to sleep through the night, despite the swirling emotions in my head. Minho lay on me, his weight comforting and familiar, and somehow it eased my troubled thoughts. As I drifted off, I found solace in the rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body providing a fleeting sense of peace.

But morning arrived too soon. I blinked awake, the sunlight pouring in through the window. I turned to my side, instinctively reaching out for Minho, but the spot beside me was cold and empty.

“Minho?” I called out softly, my voice hoarse from sleep. No response came, only the echo of my words hanging in the air. My heart raced slightly as I swung my legs over the edge of the enormous bed, the cool air hitting my skin and jolting me awake.

As I descended the stairs, the aroma of something delicious wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble. I paused briefly at the landing, catching sight of Minho in the kitchen, his back to me, actively busy making breakfast. The sight of him, shirtless and focused, sent a rush of warmth through me—he looked effortlessly handsome. But then it hit me, a sudden jolt of realization. Shit. A setup. My stomach twisted in knots as I swallowed hard, dreading the conversation that awaited us.

“Morning,” I said, forcing a casual tone as I walked down the last few steps and into the kitchen. Minho turned, a smile breaking across his face that made my heart race.

“Morning, Jisung,” he replied, his voice bright and cheerful, completely at odds with my apprehension.

“You woke up so early,” I said, trying to keep the conversation light as I leaned against the counter.

“Not really it’s like ten.” He continued chopping vegetables with a practiced hand, the knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board.

“Is it?” I asked, feigning surprise.

“Yeah, so glad it’s the weekend.” he said, glancing back at me, his eyes sparkling.

“Okay,” I responded dryly, my mind racing with thoughts of what might unfold.

“Should I help you in any way?” I offered, attempting to be polite.

“No, I’m good. Just come up close so I can get a good glimpse at that sexy chest tattoo”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his gaze as I lazily walked toward him. Minho’s eyes were glued to my chest, making me acutely aware of every inch of my exposed skin.

“Blessed, huh?” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” I shot back, unable to hide my grin.

“I’m guessing you want more tattoos?” he asked, drying his hands with a towel before turning fully to face me.

“Just a few more,” I admitted.

“I’m curious what they’ll be,” he prodded, his curiosity evident.

“Well…” I said, stepping closer and I could feel his warmth radiating off him, and it made my heart race. I took his hands, placing them on my neck, right by my collarbones. “I want one here.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyes widening slightly.

“I want it to say ‘Kiss me,’” I added, gauging his reaction.

Minho’s expression lit up, excitement flaring in his gaze as I brought his hands lower, resting them just above my pelvis.
He didn't react not pull away his eyes just followed where my hands took his.

“Here would say, ‘Suck me,’” I teased, my voice dropping to a whisper, watching as his eyes flickered back up to meet mine, surprise dancing in those beautiful depths.

I turned, bending slightly by the counter, trying to maintain the playful energy in the room. “And I want ‘Fuck me’ right under my spine,” I continued, my heart pounding in my chest.

Minho nodded, speechless for a moment, his mind clearly racing with thoughts. He turned away, as if searching for something to distract himself from my boldness.

“I made you coffee,” he said, reaching for a cup and handing it to me. I took a sip, the rich flavor filling my mouth, but I could still taste the tension lingering in the air.

“No thank you or any sort of appreciation?” he said, teasing me with a playful pout.

“Well, this is what I deserve after what you put me through last night,” I replied nonchalantly.

Minho laughed, the sound warm and inviting. “Sorry about that. My thoughts are hazy right now you better fill me in later.”

“Oh, so you don’t remember from last night?” I pressed, trying to read his expression.

“Not really,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair, the casual motion sending my heart racing again.

I watched Minho move about with the same ease he always had.

“You should be banned from ever drinking again.”

Minho paused mid-motion, his brow furrowing as he reached for something on the top shelf. "I should be banned just because I don't remember?” he replied, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

“Yeah because you were really reckless last night” I chuckled.

"Reckless isn't me forgetting last night, reckless is us four years ago getting drunk and having sex in the dorm."

My heart stopped. The cup of coffee I had been holding slipped from my fingers, tumbling through the air before shattering against the floor. The sound echoed through the kitchen, and my whole world came crashing down around me. I felt like I was going to collapse under the weight of his words.

“W-What?” I stammered. My heart raced, panic flooding my system.

I took a step back.

He remembers.

Chapter Text

MINHO.

Remember? Of course I Remembered.

Why is he asking me that?

Why would I forget something like that.

I remember every detail because I was aware and fully in control of what happened that night. Infact I had started it by initiating a kiss before it escalated to what it was.

Everything happened that night because I wanted it to happen, so why is Jisung acting like it was all him.

And just like Last night that I had put on an act just to get my way I did the same thing that night.

No doubt, I was very tipsy but I wasn't drunk out of my mind

It was an act.

An act to get him to kiss me so it seemed like it wasn't all intentional.

As I finished chopping the veggies, I tossed them into the pan to steam alongside the rice I had made earlier, the kitchen filling with the soft hiss of the skillet.

Jisung thought he had crossed a line, that he alone had been the one to initiate everything. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The memory of that night was as vivid as if it had happened moments ago. I remembered every single detail not through the blurry lens of a drunk haze, but with an almost painful clarity. I had let him believe that I was intoxicated, that my actions were swayed by the alcohol and not my own desires. But that was an act. I had been fully aware, each touch, each kiss a conscious decision, a decision that felt so inevitable it scared me.

The way he kissed me to me it wasn’t just a kiss. His lips against mine had ignited something deep within me. My heart had pounded, and my body had responded with a thrill so intense that I couldn’t stop myself. It was the first time I had ever kissed a boy, it was the first time I'd ever kiss anyone.
Everything I thought I knew about myself, every belief I had, seemed to evaporate in that single moment.

I could still feel the heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips as he moved against mine, tasting and savoring. Jisung had kissed me with such intensity that I found myself completely surrendering. It was as if all the barriers I’d set up over the years crumbled, and I wasn’t Minho the responsible one, Minho the careful one. I was just… alive, following a need I had barely understood until that night.

And yet, as much as I loved it, as much as I had wanted him in those moments, regret settled over me like a storm when the dawn arrived.

That morning, the sweetness of the night before soured in my mouth as reality set in. In the heat of it all, I’d let go completely, swept up in a moment that felt like freedom, like discovering a part of myself I didn’t even know existed. But in the light of day, it all felt wrong. I’d given in, crossed a line I’d never thought I’d approach, let alone cross.

When I woke up alone, the bed cold beside me, my heart sank. I thought maybe he’d just stepped out, maybe I’d find him somewhere around the dorm or at the chapel. But as hours turned to days, and days turned to weeks, the reality started to hit hard. Jisung wasn’t coming back. I searched every corner for the shared room he didn't leave a note .
No message, no sign of him—just silence where there used to be laughter, a void where our friendship once was.

For weeks, maybe months, I wasn’t myself. I drifted through the days like a ghost, barely speaking, barely acknowledging the people around me. Friends would ask if I was okay, but I had no answers for them, no energy to put on a brave face. Everything felt hollow, blurred. Nothing mattered anymore. It was as if the color had drained from the world, leaving only gray.

The emptiness was crushing, suffocating. I’d given up my closest friend, someone who meant more to me than I could ever say, for a fleeting moment. And for what? A stupid, reckless impulse. I had ruined something real, something that had been the best part of my life, for one night of indulgence.

In the depths of my guilt and confusion,
I turned to the only thing I thought might keep me grounded my faith. I went to every service I could find, clung to every prayer, seeking answers, guidance, something to make sense of the turmoil inside me. Sitting in the quiet of the chapel, I’d feel a temporary peace, a fragile comfort that let me breathe again, even if only for a moment.

I prayed for strength, for forgiveness, hoping that somehow, some way, I’d find a way to move forward, or at least to live with the emptiness that had hollowed me out. The only solace I found was in those quiet moments, a reminder that there was something bigger than my own guilt, something that might offer me a path back to myself.

And slowly, through that small glimmer of comfort, I clung to the hope that maybe one day, I’d be able to look back and find something worth salvaging from the wreckage. Until then, I held on to my faith as if it were the only anchor keeping me from drifting entirely away.

When I had came to the reality that my best friend wouldn't return back I tried to reach out somehow. I slipped out of the crowd heading for the dorm and I shut the door behind me, leaving the faint buzz of everyone’s chatter as they headed to the evening prayer. The empty halls only amplified the hollow ache inside me, an ache I’d tried for weeks to ignore. It was unbearable, the kind of feeling that clung to your bones, making everything seem smaller and grayer.

In my room, I sat at the desk, pulling out an old notebook I’d barely used. The blank pages stared back at me, taunting me, challenging me to find the words I’d been too afraid to say out loud. I tore out a sheet, the sound tearing through the silence, and started writing.

“Dear Jisung, it’s your best friend…”

I didn’t hold back. I poured out everything—the emptiness that had settled in since he left,
how each day seemed to drag on without meaning. The campus felt like a ghost town, every place a reminder of him, of us. I could hardly believe I was writing this, admitting how much I missed him, how badly I wanted to see him again

The words kept coming until I finally put down what had haunted me the most.

"When are you coming back?"

I stared at that line, feeling a strange emptiness as I read it over and over. Folding the letter carefully, I stuffed it into my jacket pocket and headed outside, riding my bike to the post office as if my life depended on it. But as I stood there, facing the counter, the harsh reality hit me—I had no address, no idea where he’d gone. I didn’t know where to send my words or even if they’d reach him. My fingers tightened around the paper until it crumpled, my frustration boiling over.

I tossed the letter into the trash, feeling emptier than before. The sound of it hitting the bin was so final, yet I couldn’t let it go. I drove back with speed, trying to outrun the ache, the guilt that clawed at me from every angle. I didn’t even realize where I was going until I looked up and saw a church in the distance, tucked away on the outskirts of town.

Walking inside, I found a quiet that somehow managed to still the chaos in my head. The faint scent of candles and incense hung in the air, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in weeks. I made my way to the altar, finding the reverend and spilling everything in a shaky voice.

“I did something… with my best friend,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. “I let it go too far, and now I’m drowning in it. I don’t know how to let it go.”

He listened quietly, his eyes understanding, as if he’d seen this pain before. “You’ve confessed, son,” he said finally, laying a hand on my shoulder. “That’s the first step. Keep your word and don’t let yourself fall again, and know that God forgives those who truly seek it.”

I nodded but it didn’t feel like enough. I felt like I was carrying this burden alone, that no amount of forgiveness could erase what I’d done or the emptiness left in Jisung’s absence. Turning away, I headed out of the church, his words echoing in my mind: Keep your word. Move on.

But as I rode back to the dorm, the memory of that night crept in, refusing to be silenced. I could still feel the way he’d kissed me, the softness, the warmth, the way everything else had fallen away. I couldn’t shake it, couldn’t pretend it hadn’t felt right in some inexplicable way.

By the time I made it back to my room, I felt just as lost as before. No amount of prayers or promises could fill the space he’d left behind. And with every passing day, that emptiness grew sharper, a constant reminder that Jisung was gone and no confession could bring him back.

I was lost in my thoughts, barely noticing the tension between us until I heard a soft, shaky whisper. “I’m sorry...” Jisung’s voice trembled, drawing me back to the moment. When I turned, he stood there, his face full of regret and shame that he’d probably been holding back for years.

"I’m sorry for doing that to you." He exhaled slowly, as though steadying himself to say what he’d wanted to for so long. "I’ve been wanting to ask you... to forgive me for taking advantage of you in that state. It’s been eating me up, but I thought... I thought you wouldn’t remember, so I didn’t bother."

“Jisung, I wasn’t...”

But he kept going, almost like he couldn’t bear to hear me. “I ruined the only friendship I’ve ever had. I was stupid. I was 18 and I—”

“Jisung,” I cut him off, my tone firmer. “I wasn’t drunk.”

The words landed like a stone. His expression froze, confusion and disbelief clouding his gaze.

“You... you weren’t?” he stammered, barely able to process it. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn't take advantage of me.” I said quietly, hoping the truth would sink in this time. I could see it in his eyes the struggle to let himself believe it.

“I don't understand...” he said, his voice faltering.

"I remember everything about that night Jisung and I was aware of what you were doing to me but I was the one who pushed it on and didn't want to stop you."

"What.." He blinked like he was still trying to process what I had just told him.

"Yeah."

"I thought.."

I sighed, rolling my eyes just a bit. “Look, it was a stupid decision we both played a part in it, Jisung. It wasn’t just you. I can’t believe you’ve spent all these years carrying that guilt.”

He looked down, at a loss for words. "I... don't kno—"

“If you’re going to apologize,” I continued, “then so am I.” I stepped closer, pulling him into a gentle embrace, feeling his tense form melt into mine as he sniffled softly.

“I’m still sorry,” he mumbled softly. “I just... hope you forgive me.”

I held him a bit tighter. “If God can forgive me for that night,” I murmured, “then who am I not to forgive you?”

Jisung lifted his head, eyes wet but filled with a glimmer of hope. “Really?”

“Yes, Jisung,” I smiled, letting the warmth reach my words. “I love you, but... guess who loves you even more?”

He rolled his eyes and I could feel the small sigh escape his lips. “Please don't say Jesus."

“Jesus.” I couldn’t help but chuckle a little as I saw his expression soften.

“Look...Let’s not dwell on the mistakes of the past. God’s merciful, and He forgave both of us as long as we open up our hearts and confessed with our tongues."

Jisung blinked, fighting back his tears as he pulled away, nodding slowly.

"Don't cry Jisung."

"This whole time I've been carrying that burden thinking you'd never forgive me , you'd never see me the same, I felt awful each time I thought ab—"

"It's okay you don't have to explain yourself, it's all forgotten now."

“Friends again?”.

“Best friends always.” I answered my heart feeling more relieved that I've felt in a long time.

"Breakfast is served."

We sat in silence over breakfast, the clink of silverware against ceramic plates the only sound filling the air. I watched Jisung eat quietly across from me, and despite the unspoken peace between us, something still gnawed at me, an answer I wasn’t sure I wanted but knew I needed.

The question slipped out almost unbidden. “Is that why you left?”

Jisung froze, his fork halfway to his mouth before he set it down gently, his gaze dropping to the table as if the words weighed too heavily to lift his eyes. Finally, he looked up at me, his expression raw. “You disappeared the morning after,” I said softly, pressing on, unable to mask the hurt that lingered even after all this time.

Jisung took a slow, steadying breath. “I... couldn’t face you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t even face myself. I’d never done anything like that before. It was terrifying, realizing what I was capable of.”

I could see the conflict in his expression, as though he’d spent years haunted by a night that, to me, had only felt like a distant ache. “Face me how, Jisung?” I asked, trying to steady my voice, though the frustration bled through. “I missed you every single day after you left. Everything felt different without you.”

He shook his head, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I thought... I thought you’d hate me. That you’d report me, turn me in... that you’d see me as something twisted.”

I leaned forward, the intensity of my own voice surprising me. “Jisung, I would never think that,” I said looking straight at him. “I value what we had—what we still have, more than anything. I wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize that. We could’ve moved past it, pretended it never happened if that’s what you needed.”

He looked at me, a flicker of understanding finally breaking through. “Maybe you could have, Minho, but not me.” He held my gaze, the sincerity in his voice laced with a vulnerability that made me pause. “Everything changed for me after that night." He bit his lips before adding.

You were... you were my bi awakening.”

WHAT.

I was the reason he’d realized he liked men, too? I didn’t know how to respond, a million thoughts clashing in my mind.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” I finally managed, my voice softer now.

A gentle smile flickered across his face, one that held a trace of relief. “You don’t have to say anything,” he assured me. “I’m just glad we’re clear on everything now... that we can finally get back to being the best friends we were meant to be.”

After breakfast I wanted to go cool off and Jisung had offered to clear up the mess and do the dishes while I chill out.

I slipped into the cold water of the jacuzzi, letting it wash over me as I tried to clear my mind. The chill of the water, the quiet around me, it was supposed to settle the chaos, to pull me out of my thoughts, but no matter what, my mind always wandered back to him. Jisung. He was just a few walls away, probably still rinsing off dishes from breakfast, yet even the short distance felt like it stretched miles.

I leaned back, closing my eyes, feeling the water lap against me as I tried to focus on anything else, anything that didn’t remind me of him. But it was impossible. Every thought I had felt like a string that somehow led back to Jisung.

I wondered, for maybe the hundredth time, if everyone felt this way towards their best friend or if it was just me. Because it felt too strange, too intense, to be normal. I didn’t feel this pull toward anyone else. It was only him. And the longer I knew him, the stronger it got. My eyes were glued to him anytime he was near; my hands itched just to reach out, even for the simplest, most innocent touch.

Maybe it was just because he was the only friend I’d ever really had. I wasn’t exactly someone with a wide circle. But even if that explained why I wanted to be around him, it didn’t explain why my heart felt like it beat faster whenever he was near. Why, whenever he leaned close, I found myself holding my breath, watching his lips move, catching myself staring like I was searching for something in him that I couldn’t name.

I thought maybe these feelings would fade after that night, years ago, it tore us apart afterward. I’d hoped that night would satisfy this longing, that the memories of it would be enough. But it was a lie. The years apart hadn’t faded anything.

I sighed and closed my eyes, saying a silent prayer in my mind, asking God to forgive me once again. For these thoughts, for the need I felt whenever he was near. I’d prayed once before, but maybe I hadn’t prayed hard enough; maybe that was why Jisung had left back then. Maybe that was why he’d left me alone to grapple with these thoughts, to wrestle with them in the silence he’d left behind. I’d clung to my faith during that time, hoping God would take away these feelings, make me see things clearly again. But Jisung was back now, and my mind felt just as clouded, just as tangled with questions and needs and feelings I couldn’t name.

Could this be something that friends felt for each other? Was it normal for best friends to want this closeness, this warmth? I’d always thought friendship was supposed to be different, but I’d never felt this with anyone else, so what did I know? I didn’t want him in my space; I wanted him in my arms. I wanted him to look at me and see something more.

I ran a hand over my face, feeling the cold water trickle down as I looked up at the sky, silently asking for guidance.

Soon the gates open and I saw my father's car coming inside and that's when I moved coming out of the water drying up my body.

"Good day sir ," He just got down and walked by Minho not even sparing a glance as he entered into the house.

I follow rushing towards him. "What are you doing here." He stood in the living room with his eyes scanning everywhere else.

When his eyes caught shirtless Jisung standing in my kitchen he turned back to me confused. "Why would you come here uninvited."

"I can't come to my son's house anymore?"

Jisung looked to us on hearing our voices  immediately startled.

"Good day sir?" Jisung immediately greeted and bowed.

"What is he doing here."

"Why do you ask?" I said arrogantly annoyed he's here. "It's none of your business."

"You missed service and I went to the dorm you weren't there."

"Well Jisung and I went to another church service we were invited to and I decided to drop by and show him my house."

"I learnt you both were absent since last night."

"Yeah so what, we were here together last night,."

"I see."

"You can leave now."

"Jisung." He called out and I frowned even more. "I hope you're we'll ready for the state competition."

"Oh yes we are sir."

"Make sure you win first place." His eyes eyed me.

"Ummm... the." Jisung stuttered. "The win isn't really up to me, it's just for the kids to enjoy and experien—."

"Win first place is what I said." He fully turned to me now. "Also I forgot to mention Han Jisung." He didn't look away from me. " Switch up the way you dress we wouldn't want to influence those innocent children would we now?"

Jisung didn't answer.

"I'll be on my way now." I watched him walk out and I looked to Jisung, he stood there, looking visibly shaken, his face pale. His hands trembled slightly, still clutching the damp towel he’d been using to wipe down the counter. Seeing him this way because of my father’s harsh words made something tighten painfully in my chest.

I approached him slowly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “He’s all bark, Jisung,” I said softly, trying to reassure him. But he pulled away, eyes downcast, and I could tell my words didn’t do much to help.

“I don’t know, Minho,” he mumbled, voice barely a whisper. “I think I should just… leave.”

“No.” The word slipped out more forcefully than I’d intended.

He hesitated, glancing up at me with wide, conflicted eyes.“He still thinks I look too feminine, Minho. And… me being here. Alone. With you.” His words trailed off, a tremor of vulnerability lacing his voice.

“So what? I don’t care what he thinks,” I replied, trying to sound as unbothered as I wished I felt. “Really, he’s—he’s an idiot.”

Jisung looked at me, hurt flashing in his eyes. “How could you say that?”

“Because he is,” I said bluntly, shrugging. I’d spent years learning to brush off my father’s criticisms and impossible standards, but I knew Jisung hadn’t. He was sensitive to every single one of my father’s comments, as if each word was a barb digging into his skin.

He shook his head, looking defeated. “I shouldn’t have come here. Now he's looking and us weird and probably thinking the worse”

I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. “My father wouldn’t think twice about me being alone in my own house with a friend, especially if it’s another guy,” I tried, my voice steady. “It’s nothing to him.”

“But that friend is me, Minho, don't you get it?” he replied, his voice shaking. “Your father once told me I was ‘throwing myself at men’ and that’s why they… harassed me.” His jaw tightened as he spoke, as if he were choking on the words. “And now he’s saying I should ‘dress more masculine’ so I don’t ‘influence’ the kids. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

I swallowed hard, taken aback. Jisung was right. Every word my father said to him was laced with judgment, degrading implications that he never should’ve had to bear.

“You’re right,” I said finally, my voice thick with regret. “You’re absolutely right, Jisung. And I’m… sorry. For everything he’s ever said to you.” I reached for his arm, pulling him a bit closer, hoping he’d understand the sincerity in my touch, even if my words fell short. “But, Jisung, you shouldn't care about what he thinks or make out of us being here together. Seriously… Fuck him."

Jisung flinched at my harsh words, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked away, clearly struggling to keep himself composed. I took a step forward and opened my arms, feeling him lean into me without a second’s hesitation. My arms wrapped around him, and I rubbed gentle circles along his back, his breathing slowing with every pass of my hand.

“I hate feeling like this this all makes me feel like teenage Jisung again." I immediately understood what he meant. "Can we… maybe just watch a movie or something?” he asked after a moment, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

“Yeah, of course,” I murmured, tightening my hold just a bit, savoring the warmth of him against me. “Or we could play video games, so I can beat you again.” I chuckled, feeling him laugh, a soft vibration that reverberated through me.

But as my hands rested against his back, they started to drift lower, almost unconsciously. My fingers skimmed the edges of his waist, drifting down in soft, exploratory motions until I felt the curve of his hips under my palms. It felt like I was trying to memorize him.

I knew I was pushing it, but in that moment, it was like my hands had a mind of their own. They shifted down further, finally coming to rest on the curve of his backside.

I closed my eyes savouring the feel of his ass.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, pulling back abruptly, his eyes wide almost amused, He seemed both horrified and like he was holding back a laugh. “What was that?”

I looked away quickly, trying to keep a straight face, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. “I, uh… I let my intrusive thoughts win,” I mumbled, avoiding his gaze. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye, and I could tell he was fighting the urge to laugh as he watched me fumble, speechless.

He folded his arms, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile as he regarded me, shaking his head. "That was so weird."

I finally met his gaze, my expression softening. “Yeah,” I said, half-smiling back.

We spent the whole noon of smack talk, a few rounds of games, and setting up our infamous bet whoever loses has to  clean and make dinner for both of us, I finally come out on top. Jisung groans dramatically, pretending the universe has wronged him in the worst possible way, but I just laugh, reminding him of the bet he set up in the first place. Victory feels sweet, especially when Jisung was my opponent.

As Jisung grumbles his way to the kitchen when I sent him to get a snack for us I make myself comfortable on the couch, clicking on a thriller movie I know he’s been wanting to watch. When he returns with dinner, we dig in, each engrossed in our own little world until the suspense of the movie draws us in together. Eventually, we’re both tucked into the couch, the room dim and the sounds of the movie filling the space.

My arm stretches out along the back of the couch, fingers lazily grazing near Jisung’s shoulder. I’m just close enough to feel him  and every so often, I let my fingers drift a little closer to him. I can see Jisung’s shoulders tense slightly whenever I do, like he’s both aware of my hand and trying not to let on. But he never says anything. It’s funny, really. That subtle reaction, his silence, his focus on the screen—all of it makes me more aware of just how close we are. Every time he doesn’t look over, doesn’t pull away, I feel a little braver. So I keep my hand there, letting it rest against the fabric beside him, almost touching, but never quite there.

As the movie builds, there are moments where the suspense has Jisung on edge, and I can’t help but give him a nudge, just to watch him flinch. He side-eyes me with that annoyed-yet-amused look, like he’s daring me to keep pushing my luck, but again, he doesn’t move away.

Finally, as the movie winds down, I moved off the couch to my room to go dress up, I came back down to him still on the Couch “Alright, I’m going to church. You wanna come with me?” I try to catch his eye, but he’s too wrapped up in the screen, just giving me a half-hearted “Mm-hmm,” without even looking.

“Seriously,” I say, a grin tugging at my lips. “I’ll be back later, but you know you’re still on the hook for dinner, right?”

Jisung mumbles a vague response, barely lifting his gaze from the screen. For a moment, I just watch him, there’s something about his focus, his easy comfort here with me, that keeps me lingering a second longer. I shake my head, chuckling to myself, and turn toward the door.

“Don’t burn anything,” I add with a smirk, but he just waves me off, still paying no attention.

As I leave, I realize I’m already looking forward to coming back, hoping that easy comfort, that subtle tension, will still be there, waiting for me when I return.

I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching softly beneath my feet as I took in the sight of the small, weathered church ahead. Its old stone walls seemed to blend with the quiet, untouched surroundings, the trees swaying faintly against the darkening sky. I’d driven far to get here, choosing a place on the outskirts of the city where no one would recognize me, where I could breathe without the weight of familiar eyes.

Inside, the scent of old wood and candle wax hung in the air, oddly comforting. The service passed slowly, the words blending together, yet giving me a strange sense of calm. Still, I could feel the restlessness under my skin, a buzz that never fully settled.

After the last hymn, I lingered, watching the last few people leave the confessionals. It wasn’t until the church grew mostly empty, with only the faint echoes of footsteps left, that I finally made my way over. Sitting down in the narrow booth, I felt the nerves gather, like they always did when I had to look at parts of myself I didn’t want to face.

The sliding panel shifted, and the faint silhouette of the priest appeared on the other side.

“Good evening, Father,” I murmured, my voice coming out softer than I’d intended.

“Good evening, my child. How can I help you?” His tone was gentle.

I took a steadying breath, forcing myself to find the words. “I… I’ve been struggling with something” I started, keeping my voice low. “There’s someone in my life… a friend. We’ve known each other a long time, and there’s history there, but lately, I’ve been… thinking of them in ways I know I shouldn’t.”

"What ways? Way that doesn't please the lord?"

"Yes." I admitted

There was a pause on the other side, the kind that made it feel like the words I’d said were hanging in the air between us, too loud, too clear.

“You’re finding yourself drawn to this person in a way that confuses you?” he asked finally.

“Yes,”

"Who is she to you and what's your history together."

She? I almost snarled at the statement.

"They are a really close friend I've known for years and we did a few things as teenagers years ago which God has already forgiven me for but I feel like I'm being tested again."

"I'm glad you know that, you shouldn't give in to whatever temptation thrown at you, what did the lord say about a hand causing you to sin?"

"That we should cut it off." My tone low as I said the words

"And if it's a friend causing you to sin you should do the same."

"But father they mean so much to me, I can't just remove them from my life."

"Is this girl also a Christian."

Girl?

"It's a man." I admitted also fed up with him assuming it's a woman. "And no he's not Christian, at least not anymore."

"My son, you will not see the kingdom of god if you continue to dwell on this feelings towards another man."

"Well I'm only thinking about it, it's only a sin when I act upon it right?"

"You should abstain from anything that'll cause you to sin."

"Father I don't want to have sex with him if that's what you think I'm just telling you that I feel a certain way towards this person and how do I stop feeling this way without it costing out friendship."

"If the feeling isn't lust then what is it?"

"It's not lust when I think of him I don't see him naked, I crave attention from him, I want him to only see me, to only talk to me."

"Does this person make you feel happy."

"Yes, whenever I see him I feel happy, I'm always happy around him, my hands always wants to touch him and feel him but not in a sexual way, he just bring out a soft playful side of me that no one else can"

"Do you have others friends and do they also make you feel this type of way."

"I don't have other friends."

"This is usually how you're supposed to feel towards your friends it's just the usual loving christian spirit the Lord put in you so don't think it's something else."

"Oh."

The silence that followed felt like it stretched out, pressing on me, waiting. Finally, the priest spoke, his voice calm and even. "We should pray."

I felt my chest tighten, and for a second as I bowed my head.

"Lord you have listened to your son, please guide him to the right path, give meaning to his confusing and give him the grace to abstain from sin and temptations. Amen".

"Amen. Thank you, Father,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

“You can always come back here. "

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, and muttered one last “thank you” before slipping out of the booth.

I started toward the car, that faint echo of the priest’s words lingering in my mind, grounding me as I prepared for the road back.

The house was quiet when I returned, darker than I expected. Only the faint glow of the TV illuminated the living room, flickering across the empty couch where a bottle lay tipped over on the floor.

“Jisung?” I called, flicking off the TV. No response. I picked up the empty bottle, shaking my head with a sigh. I wasn’t surprised to find him like this, considering he’d been pretty out of it when I left, but still.

Upstairs, the bedroom door was slightly ajar, and sure enough, there he was, sprawled out on the bed in what looked like an extremely deep sleep. His hair was a mess, his face flushed. He must’ve drifted off as soon as he lay down. Smiling a little to myself, I closed the door softly behind me and headed to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, I changed into pajamas and slipped under the covers beside him, propping myself on one elbow as I watched him sleep. The hint of a smile tugged at my lips, and I couldn’t resist reaching out, brushing a thumb along his cheek.

“Jisung…” I whispered, tracing the faint curve of his jaw, marveling at how peaceful he looked. “Sleep well.”

I thought he was out cold, but his eyelids fluttered, and his head turned just slightly toward my voice. “Minho… you’re back,” he mumbled, his words slurred with sleep. “How was… service?”

His eyes barely opened, just a small sliver of hazel before they fell closed again, and I couldn’t help but smile wider, a warm feeling spreading through me. I reached out and began running my fingers through his hair, slow and gentle.

"Service was nice, did you drink while I was away?"

He mumbled something inaudible in resources and I put my hand around him pulling him closer so I could hear
him better.

"What did you say?"

He slightly opened his eyes once again "I said you’re so handsome,” he murmured, his lips forming a slight pout.

“You’re more handsome,” I replied, amused and touched by the rare compliment.

He shook his head just slightly, and his voice dropped into a lazy, almost whiny tone. “Don’t say that… you’re gonna make me like you.”

“Really?” I grinned, thoroughly enjoying this sleepy honesty. “What if I want you to like me?”

“Go away,” he mumbled, though he reached out and pushed at my face weakly, turning away from me. I chuckled softly, watching as his breathing evened out again, clearly slipping back into sleep. I brushed my hand gently across his shoulder once more, letting him drift off.

At first, I thought about staying there, just to feel his warmth next to me. But part of me felt like I needed a little space to myself and more time to study the scripture and I wouldn't do that properly with Jisung in the same room with out want to be inside his skin. I was about to get up when something caught my eye—his phone screen lighting up with a notification. I glanced over instinctively, my heart skipping a beat as I read the words on the screen.

Mhnjin4: How about this weekend? I’ll be free to take you out.

Mhnjin4: You’re so sexy, Jisung. Do you do fan content?

Mhnjin4: Did you fall asleep already, baby?

Baby?

My heart dropped.

Who the fuck this is bastard and why was he calling my best friend his baby.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in my chest as I stared at the message. I felt my stomach twist. I shouldn’t have been so nosy, maybe, but curiosity pulled me in. I reached for his phone, taking it with me to my room.

Sitting down at my desk, I opened my laptop, searching up the bastard's profile and sharing it to someone I knew someone I've done business with a few times.

Minho: Hack this account.

User: 5 million won.

I transferred the money without a second thought, leaning back in my chair as I waited. I didn’t want to think about why this was bothering me so much all I knew was that I couldn’t ignore it. Jisung… he was someone I felt so close to, maybe closer than anyone else, and seeing someone else talk to him this way, even over a screen, stirred up something I couldn’t quite explain. I didn’t like it.

A notification came through a few moments later.

User: Done. What should I do with the account?

Minho: Take it down.

User: Done.

I searched the handle one last time, confirming it.

This account doesn’t exist.

Relief washed over me. It was petty, maybe even possessive, but I didn’t care. I felt better, knowing that whoever that person was, they couldn’t reach out to Jisung anymore.

Closing my laptop, I let out a long breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease. With that settled, I finally slipped under the covers in my own room, closing my eyes with a sense of quiet satisfaction.

In the morning, I’d go back to him, maybe tease him about making breakfast instead of dinner, and laugh about whatever nonsense he’d spouted in his sleepy state. But tonight, at least, I’d rest easy, knowing that he was still here, right where I wanted him.

Chapter Text

JISUNG.

The news hit me harder than anything I could’ve prepared for. Minho wasn’t drunk that night. He wasn’t just some half-aware participant in the chaos; he was aware. More than that—he had initiated it. He’d wanted it. And he said he enjoyed it.

WHAT.

My brain couldn't even begin to process it all.

What in the world am I supposed to do with that information now?

Every second of that night suddenly felt different, sharper, like a memory I’d remembered all wrong. My mind kept racing back to how I’d doubted myself, how I’d worried I’d crossed a line or pushed too far. But Minho? He’d wanted me to, wanted me close. He’d been the one to blur those boundaries, while I’d been trying to make sense of them.

I barely registered my surroundings as I walked across campus, the usual chatter of other students fading into background noise. Minho’s words echoed in my head, filling every silent moment between classes. Clingy and affectionate—that’s how he’d been acting around me lately, and it was driving me up the wall. He had this way of pulling me in, looking at me with eyes that made it impossible to pretend he wasn’t the center of my universe. How was I supposed to keep pretending that I wasn’t completely in love with him, when he kept brushing against me like he did, resting his head on my shoulder or shooting me these soft, private smiles that made me feel like the only person in the world.

With a sigh, I dismissed my second class of the day, glancing down at my phone, almost automatically thinking I should reach out to Nessa. She’d know what to say. If anyone could help me untangle the mess in my mind, it was her. But then, just as quickly, I remembered. The last time we’d spoken, I’d let her down—badly. She’d come all the way to see me, making plans just for me to ditch her at the last second because of Minho, I'm sure that's what angered her the most, she knows how I feel about Minho and felt like I chose him over her. I couldn’t even blame her for being mad, it was something I’d be mad about, too. But now, I didn’t even know how to start fixing that with her.

Still, my thumb hovered over her contact for a long second before I locked my phone and shoved it back in my pocket. I didn’t know what I’d say to her if I reached out now. I’d let too much time pass since that day, and honestly, I didn’t know if she’d even want to talk to me. But without her, I felt alone in all this—like I was floating in this weird space where Minho and I had crossed a line, but no one was there to help me process what it meant.

By the time I’d made it to the cafeteria, Felix and Jeongin was already seated waiting for me I made my order and joined them they was barely any one else around which brought a bit of calm to the surrounding But that calm shattered the moment I saw Minho and Changbin walk through the door. It wasn’t like they didn’t have a right to be here, but I hadn’t expected them to join us.

Felix noticed them first, flashing a wave. They came over, and without so much as a word of greeting, Minho leaned down and whispered something into Felix’s ear. Felix’s eyes widened, and then he got up, shifting over to make room as Minho slid in right next to me. I stared, still processing, as Minho settled beside me, giving me that playful, slightly smug smile of his, his gaze a little too warm.

"You good?” he said, his hand casually resting behind me, brushing my shoulder just enough to send a current through my skin. “You seem tired."

I forced a smile, trying to look as unfazed as I could manage. “Good… Just been busy with students and not the competition is this week I have to work with them extra hard."

He kept that smile, leaning closer. "Don't go too hard, if you need help just ask."

The way he said it, with that gentleness in his tone, almost like we were the only two people in the room, sent my heart racing. His hand moved slightly against my back, warm through the fabric of my shirt, and I swallowed, trying not to give away how much that one little touch was affecting me.

My attention moved Across from us, because I wanted to avoid Minho as much as possible. Changbin launched into a story about state competitors and how rigged things were, going on about the lengths some people went to just to win. I tried to focus, nodding along to seem like I was following, but the hand on my back was becoming more of a distraction than I could handle. When I felt his fingers slide lower, down to the small of my back, I froze.

He didn’t look at me, his eyes casually trained on Changbin as he talked. But his hand, it was sliding down, then slowly across until I felt his fingers on my knee, just resting there. A shiver ran through me, every nerve in my body firing up at once, and I hoped to god I wasn’t visibly shaking. He wasn’t just touching my knee, he was holding it, the pressure of his hand firm, grounding, in a way that almost felt possessive.

Changbin’s voice faded into the background as I glanced at Minho, only to find him calmly sipping his drink, his face as neutral as ever. Was he really just going to pretend this was nothing? Did he even know what he was doing to me?

Minho’s fingers tightened a bit, and I felt him move his hand up, inch by inch, just brushing the fabric of my jeans. He didn’t look my way, keeping up this charade of innocence, but I could see it in his eyes—a glint, just a hint of something teasing, something calculated. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Heat flooded my face, my pulse pounding so loudly in my ears I could barely hear the conversation around us. I was stuck, trapped in this space where I couldn’t move without drawing attention, couldn’t breathe without giving myself away. All I could do was sit there, feeling his hand slowly moving up my thigh, close enough to burn.

Why was he taunting me like this? Did he think I wouldn’t crack? Or was he waiting, testing, pushing to see just how far he could take this before I finally broke and gave in?

The worst part was, I could feel myself slipping, barely holding on. One more touch, one more moment of that hand inching higher, and I’d be lost. I’d fall, fall so hard I might never hit the ground again.

My mind raced with possibilities, with memories of the last time we’d crossed this line. I’d told myself I’d never go there again, that I couldn’t afford to risk it. But here he was, undoing me with just a touch, making it so damn hard not to give in. It took everything in me not to shiver, to keep my voice steady as I tried to join in on the conversation.

This man would be the death of me.

He tapped my thighs in a comforting way I couldn't understand it but all I knew was that I was absolutely loosing my marbles.

I need one chance

One more chance, my mind whispered.

Just one.

To show him the repercussions of what he caused me.

I'm older now, more experienced, more capable of handling it. I’d give him everything, more than he could ever ask for.
I'll have him wrapped around my fingers, begging and shaking. And if he left, if he moved on to some perfect, beautiful girl, and marries her I'd bet on anything that he'd think of me the whole time with her.

Just once chance.

He'll loose himself and I'll make sure of it. Then it'll be so hard for him to pretend that he doesn't like dick.

There's a thousand percent possiblity that day would never come.

The thought hurt, and it left a hollow ache I couldn’t shake. Because deep down, I didn’t want to be some passing memory, some brief fling he’d remember in flashes. I wanted more. I wanted all of him, without the games, without the walls. But maybe that was asking too much, wanting something real from someone who was so good at pretending.

Just as I felt myself sinking too deep, Minho turned his gaze on me, catching me watching him. For a second, his eyes softened, and I thought I saw something more, something almost vulnerable there. But then he smiled, that sly, knowing smile that sent my heart tumbling, and leaned in close enough that I felt his breath on my cheek.

“What do you want to have for dinner tonight?” he murmured, his voice low, meant just for me.

Why was he asking me that?

"Whatever you make is fine Minho."

"Okay baby."

Baby?

Am I hearing things.

My mouth went dry, a thousand thoughts spinning through my head, but I could only manage a nod, barely holding myself together as he drew back, looking like he hadn’t just ripped my heart out and set it on fire.

~

I slouched on my bed the entire evening staring down at my phone screen. I’d been trying to find the right words for what felt like ages now, typing out sentences and deleting them just as quickly. After days of silence, Nessa deserved more than a quick, half-hearted apology. She deserved honesty, even if I wasn’t sure she’d believe it.

I finally started typing again.

"Nessa, I’m so sorry for the other night. I didn’t mean to ditch you like that—It’s just… Minho was way too drunk to be alone. I should’ve return back after, and I really regret that. Please know it wasn’t intentional."

I pressed send, watching the message deliver,I couldn’t deny that I’d hurt her, and waiting for her reply only twisted the knife. The notification finally popped up, and I braced myself before opening it.

Her response was exactly what I feared it would be.

"Jisung, it’s not just about you leaving. You hung up on me. You keep doing this every time he’s around. It’s like I don’t matter as much to you as he does. You'd choose him everytime."

I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes even though I knew it would only make things worse. I couldn’t deny she was upset, but why did it always come back to this? This wasn’t some competition between her and Minho—at least, not to me. I typed out a quick response, careful to stay neutral.

"I’m sorry, Nessa. I didn’t mean for you to feel that way."

There was a pause before her next message arrived.

"Fine… I get it. I'm cool now even though the man you're in love with is a total douchebag."

I was almost laughing at the text because Minho was a douchebag that night but I was relieved She accepted my apology and before I could type out a reply my phone vibrated with an incoming FaceTime call from her. I stared at it for a second, then accepted, her face popping up on the screen.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice softer now. She didn’t look as annoyed as I’d expected, just a little tired.

“Hey, Ness,” I said, giving her a smile. "You good?"

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah I just wanted to make sure you actually got it. You owe me for leaving me hanging like that, you know.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps walking towards the bed cut me off. Minho appeared in the doorway, balancing two plates of food, He didn’t say anything, just grinned and made his way over, sliding onto the bed beside me as he set one of the plates in my lap. The warmth of his presence sent a tingle through me, and I couldn’t stop myself from watching him as he got comfortable, his gaze meeting mine with that same affectionate glint that always made my chest tighten.

“Is that him?” Nessa’s voice brought me back to reality, and I turned back to the screen, realizing I’d barely registered her question. She could definitely tell that Minho was the only one to steal my focus like that,  I cleared my throat, forcing my attention back to her.

“Yeah, Minho just brought dinner,” I replied, trying to sound casual. But I knew she could see the way my eyes kept drifting back to him, the way my focus slipped whenever he so much as shifted beside me.

“Must be nice,” she said, her tone light but with that edge of something unsaid. She didn’t push, though, just looked at me with a kind of resigned acceptance.

Minho, oblivious to our conversation, nudged my leg. “You gonna eat?” he asked, his voice playful. He leaned in closer, his knee brushing against mine under the covers as he set our plates on the nightstand with careful hands, but before I knew it, he was right on top of me, crawling closer until his chest pressed against mine, his arms wrapping around me in a lazy, possessive hug. He nestled his head against my neck, clearly trying to steal my focus from my conversation with Nessa. I shot him a look, but he just grinned, resting his chin on my shoulder like he had no plans to move anytime soon.

Nessa could see just a little peek of his head. That's what Minho wanted. He wasn't sneaky enough for me not to notice his motives.

"Tomorrow night would be great to make up for that night, how'd you feel about it."

I tried to keep my voice steady, even as I felt his warmth seep through my thin pajama shirt. “So, you’re saying I should come meet you tomorrow?” I asked Nessa, hearing the faint sound of laughter in her response.

“Yes!” she replied, her voice filled with excitement. “I found this amazing spot outside the city. You’ll love it—it’s quiet, peaceful, and definitely somewhere we can just… talk and you know fuck right after.”

“Yeah, sounds perfect,” I said, my heart doing this weird fluttering thing that had nothing to do with our conversation. The way Minho shifted on top of me, his chest pressing closer, was making it almost impossible to focus. I could feel his fingers teasing the buttons on my pajama top, and I tensed, shooting him a look as subtly as I could basically warning him to chill. But he just smirked, taking his sweet time unfastening the first button, then the next, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he exposed my chest inch by inch.

“Tomorrow, then,” Nessa said, bringing my attention back to the screen. “We’ll finally get a chance to really catch up.”

I forced a smile, trying to act normal, but Minho’s fingers were trailing across my chest now, tracing the edges of my tattoo in a way that made my feet tingle. I felt my voice waver as I spoke. “Yeah, sounds… sounds great.”

Nessa raised an eyebrow, her cheerful face fading into a curious stare. “You okay, Jisung?”

Minho’s eyes were on me, daring, challenging. He was already fully focused, every ounce of his attention on me, and it was so distracting that I could barely think straight. “Do you like it?” I whispered to him, half hoping he’d stop, half wanting to know.

He nodded, that quiet intensity in his gaze, and reached up to brush his fingers along my neck, his thumb ghosting across my jaw. It was so deliberate, so intentional, that I couldn’t ignore the message he was sending. He wasn’t just holding me—he wanted Nessa to know he was here, that he had all of me in ways she never could. His fingers brushed my cheek, tracing the curve of my face with a tenderness that both melted and infuriated me.

I caught his hand mid-motion moving my phone away from my face and mouthing the words, "Stop it". My eyes were sharp, hoping he’d get the hint. He seemed to hesitate, but eventually he nodded, withdrawing his hand. He settled his head against my chest, sighing as if defeated, but still, I could feel his steady as he laid motionless but still very much there.

“So,” I said, finally turning my full attention back to Nessa. “Tomorrow it is. I’ll make it work.”

“You better. It’s been too long since we’ve had a real night together.”

I managed a chuckle, a bit of relief seeping in now that Minho had finally relaxed. I let my hand settle over his back, hoping to ground myself more than anything, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing against me. It was like he’d accepted his place, not willing to leave but content just lying there.

We wrapped up the call a few minutes later, and the second the screen went dark, Minho lifted his head, his expression unreadable. “You’re really going, huh?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, but there was a hint of something behind his eyes—something softer, almost vulnerable. “Nothing. Just… make sure she doesn’t steal you away.” His tone was light, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely joking.

I smirked, pulling him closer. “She couldn’t if she tried.”

“So,” he started, leaning back slightly but keeping close enough that I could feel his warmth. “Where exactly does Nessa want to meet you tomorrow?”

I shrugged, pretending to be casual as I tucked my phone away. “Oh, you know. Somewhere outside the city,” I said, avoiding specifics and trying to keep my tone breezy. “She found a good place."

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with the vague answer. “And how are you planning to get there?”

“Well…” I hesitated, picking at a loose thread on my shirt, avoiding his gaze. “I was thinking I’d book a ride early, just to be safe. I mean, it’s kind of a long drive, and I don’t want to disappoint her by being late.”

He nodded slowly, watching me with an intensity that made me squirm a little. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “You can take my car, if you want.”

I blinked, stunned into silence. My mouth fell open, and I searched his face for any hint of a joke, something to explain why he’d just offered me the keys to his car. “Wait… what?”

He shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "You said it’s a long ride, and I’d rather you be comfortable than stuck in a cramped car from some ride service. Besides, I don’t mind.”

My heart stuttered, caught between disbelief and gratitude.

“You’re serious?” I managed, still barely believing it.

“Of course I am.” He smiled, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder reassuringly. “I trust you, and I know you’ll be careful. Besides, I kinda like the idea of you driving it.”

A smile started to break across my face, and before I could stop myself, I was practically throwing myself at him, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug. I could feel his surprise at first, but then he chuckled, his arms coming up to hold me close.

“Thank you, thank you!” I squealed, not even caring if I sounded ridiculous. I felt like a kid on Christmas, more excited than I’d been in ages.

He laughed, his chest rumbling against mine. “You’re welcome, Jisung. Just… try not to get any tickets, alright?”

I pulled back, grinning like an idiot. “I promise I’ll take care of it. I’ll even fill up the tank before I bring it back.”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes but still smiling. “You don’t have to go that far, but I appreciate the thought.”

I felt this warmth bloom in my chest. I didn’t know what to say, so I just grinned like an idiot, and he let out a quiet chuckle, patting my back like he was amused by my excitement.

Minho left the warmth of my embrace and settled himself back on the bed, carefully handing me my plate before taking his own. I took the plate, feeling this unexpected wave of appreciation for how he always made sure I had food, even without me asking. He didn’t have to do that. But he did, every time.

“This is really nice,” I murmured, looking over at him. He was watching me, a soft, small smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, Minho.”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “It’s nothing, honestly.”

Without even thinking, I found myself saying, “Whoever gets to have you is going to be so lucky.”

The words slipped out so quietly, like a confession I’d never meant to say out loud. My heart ached at the thought, but I kept my gaze down, afraid of what I might see on his face.

“You get to have me, Jisung,” he said lightly, his voice warm. “So what are you talking about?”

I glanced up, half-smiling. “I mean, like… dating-wise. Marriage-wise.” I looked away again, the food on my plate suddenly very interesting. “I really envy whoever gets to have you in that sense…”

“Oh,” he murmured, nodding slowly. "You’d still be my best friend. Even if I were dating someone or… whatever. I’d still cook for you, take you out… we’d live together, right?”

I chuckled, unable to help myself. He spoke with this pure, almost childlike belief in our friendship, like he didn’t quite realize how life could change. “You talk like kid Minho. Like being an adult doesn’t come with… responsibilities. And beside your partner wouldn't want her husband to have a bestfriend around especially if the best friend has fucked her husband before."

He tilted his head, studying me thoughtfully before taking another bite. There was a pause, the kind that usually made me nervous, but I felt strangely calm.

“Do you… have a girl?” I asked, hoping, maybe selfishly, that he’d say no.

He glanced at me, a bit amused. “A girlfriend?”

I nodded, trying to act casual.

“No, not really interested in relationships.” He shook his head, as if it were the simplest thing.

I raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

He shrugged, like he’d thought about it a hundred times already. “I don’t know. I just… don’t find myself liking or wanting to pursue any girl.”

Oh.

But you like kissing boys. You like begging them to open you up.

My mind immediately jumped to a dozen conclusions, each one more absurd than the last. But there was one intrusive thought that nearly made me laugh out loud, and I had to bite my lip to keep it in.  The idea was so vivid, I almost lost my composure.

“What’s so funny?” Minho asked, catching my almost-laugh and giving me a confused look.

I swallowed, trying not to let it slip. “Nothing,” I said, forcing myself to stay neutral.

Just the fact that you don’t seem to realize the rainbow shining brightly over your head.

I felt another laugh bubble up, but I stifled it, shaking my head as if it was nothing.

Minho’s eyebrows knit together, clearly still bewildered by my sudden amusement. “Jisung?” he asked, his tone playful but with a hint of impatience. “Say it.”

I looked at him, giving him my best innocent smile. “It’s nothing, for real.”

He raised his eyebrow skeptically, but he just shook his head, chuckling as if he’d just let me get away with something. And maybe he had.

As we wrapped up our dinner, Minho took our plates and went straight to the sink, clearly intending to handle the dishes. But tonight, I wanted to be the one to do it. I hated the idea of feelings useless because he basically does everything else.

I walked up behind him, pretending to stretch out before nudging him with my hip. “Move it, chef. You cooked, so I’ll clean.”

He laughed, resisting playfully. “Jisung. I really don’t mind—”

But I wasn’t backing down. I pushed him a little harder, and he stumbled back, feigning defeat, a grin tugging at his lips as he watched me take over. “Alright, alright, you win,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter, eyes fixed on me.

I slipped off my PJ shirt, which was damp from the splashes of water. Without thinking, I pulled it over my head and tossed it aside. When I looked back at Minho, he was staring.

He blinked continuously eyes not leaving my bare chest it was like he was seeing me for the first time.

"Anyone ever mentioned how sexy you are?"

I felt my face heat up, my heart skipping in pure panic. I knew he’d seen me shirtless before, but the way he was looking at me now? It was like something had changed. I laughed it off, rubbing the back of my neck to keep from showing just how flustered I was. “Oh, stop it. You’re just saying that,” I said, focusing on the sink, hoping the warmth in my cheeks would die down.

But he didn’t stop. I could feel his gaze, lingering, trailing over my chest and down to my tattoo, his eyes tracing the lines almost reverently. His voice lowered, a teasing edge creeping in. “If I was a girl,” he murmured, so quietly it was almost under his breath, “I’d be begging to have those titties in my mouth.”

I froze, my grip on the sponge going slack. “Excuse me?” I turned to him, wide-eyed, barely able to process what I’d just heard.

Did he seriously just say that?

Minho met my gaze, unfazed, his lips quirking in a smirk. “You heard me,” he replied, his voice smooth, every word deliberate. He tilted his head, that lazy grin never leaving his face as he repeated, slower this time, “If I was a girl… I’d be begging to have those big titties suffocating me” his eyes flickered to my chest. "And I'm not kidding."

It was like my entire body went on high alert. I felt my knees weaken, my heart slamming against my ribcage. I’d always known Minho was the type to say the most absurd thing with the most innocent looking face, but this? This was something else. There was a boldness in his gaze, a look that said he knew exactly what he was doing to me. And he did.

“Minho, I—” My voice came out breathy, almost like a squeak, and I could tell he noticed because his smirk only deepened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I wanted to say something, to challenge him, to tease him back, but I couldn’t. Words had all but abandoned me.

He laughed, giving me that knowing smile that drove me crazy. Then, casually as ever, he shrugged and turned away like he hadn’t just left my entire system on overdrive. “Just saying,” he muttered, but the way he shot me a sidelong glance, the amusement dancing in his eyes, told me he knew exactly the effect he’d just had.

I barely managed to get through the rest of the dishes. Every nerve was still buzzing, my brain trying to catch up with what had just happened. I felt like I was faltering on the edge of something I didn’t fully understand but desperately wanted to.

As I finished the last dish and turned off the water, I risked a glance back at.

"So..." he started, tilting his head with a grin. "What type of girl do you like?"

I shot him a look, feigning annoyance even though my heart was suddenly racing.

"Or… boy?" He added testing the waters, clearly waiting for a reaction.

"What type of girl or boy, huh?" I echoed, buying myself a moment.

"Hmmm...." I dragged. "I... I think I like someone who’s calm, but still outgoing and funny," I began, my voice softer, thoughtful as I put my feelings into words. "I want someone who really seeks me out, who wants my attention—because I’m willing to give it, you know?”

He nodded, listening, the humor gone from his eyes

“I want someone who’s gentle, funny, loyal, who doesn’t entertain anyone else to a… special level. Someone who notices the little things, who actually wants a future together. I’m not looking for a temporary, clumsy fling. I want something lasting. A love that feels like home. Someone I can tell everything to, like a best friend.”

The room fell silent, and for a moment, I felt so exposed, like I’d laid my heart out in front of him without really meaning to. I looked away, embarrassed, until he broke the silence with a smirk.

“Ohhh, so no curves or biceps or, you know, a pretty face or abs?”

I rolled my eyes, laughing a little, grateful he’d lightened the mood. “Well, if that comes with the package, then… okay!”

He nodded, looking thoughtful. There was a seriousness in his gaze I wasn’t used to seeing. “I know I sound… delusional,” I added quickly, trying to brush off the vulnerability that had crept into my voice.

But he shook his head, his expression softening. “No, Jisung. You deserve someone like that. And I pray you find that person—someone who has all those qualities you’re looking for.”

I swallowed, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. I didn’t know what to say. I could feel my cheeks heating up, my mind racing through everything I’d just said, wondering if he’d read between the lines. Wondering if he realized that maybe, just maybe, some of those qualities reminded me of him.

“Thanks, Minho,” I managed to say, barely more than a whisper. But the look in his eyes told me he understood, and that was enough.

~

I’d been pacing around the dorm for the past half hour, making sure everything was in order before heading out. I’d kept it casual—baggy jeans, a soft lavender sweater, the kind that always felt comforting. After checking my reflection one last time, I grabbed my cologne and gave myself a quick spritz, feeling that tinge of excitement you get when you’re about to see someone .

My phone buzzed on the bed with a message from Nessa, and I moved to pick it up. Right then, the door swung open, and Minho walked in.

"Hey," I greeted, glancing over with a smile, but he barely looked my way. He muttered something that was probably a greeting, then went straight into the bathroom without another word. I blinked, watching the door close, confused.

As he showered, I waited, hoping I’d get a chance to talk to him before heading out. When he finally emerged, I tried to ask, "So… where’ve you been?”

But he only shrugged, evading the question with a vague, “Around.” And just like that, he was walking past me again, barely sparing a look. There was something off about him tonight—something tense. But I brushed it off, deciding not to worry too much.

"I’m about to head out,” I told him, but Minho only nodded, pulling his keys from his pocket and tossing them to me as he made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Thanks,” I muttered, watching him go, a weird feeling starting to settle in the pit of my stomach. But I shook it off, grabbing my essentials. I sent Nessa a quick text to let her know I was leaving the dorm, then made my way outside.

Finding Minho's car where he usually parked it, I clicked the remote and heard the familiar beep as the doors unlocked. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I took a moment to settle, setting my bag in the passenger seat. I started the car but

Nothing happened.

A beat of silence passed as I sat there, staring at the dashboard. My heart sank, and a cold feeling crept over me as I tried again. The engine didn’t even attempt to turn over. It was like the car was completely dead.

My fingers tightened around the wheel as I took a shaky breath, the excitement I’d felt just minutes ago fizzling out.

As soon as I realized the car wouldn’t start, I dialed Minho without a second thought. He came out within minutes, looking genuinely concerned as I explained how it wouldn’t turn over. He slid into the driver’s seat and tried starting it himself, but the engine was dead silent.

With a sigh, he stepped out, frowning at the hood as he did a quick check. He tried starting it a couple more times, but it was just… dead.

“What the fuck!” I groaned, frustration bubbling up as the night stretched on, growing colder and darker. Minho was still fiddling under the hood, looking focused, but I couldn’t help the edge creeping into my voice. My phone buzzed again—Nessa, calling to check in.

I answered and explained the situation, my voice tired. She suggested I take a cab, but I already knew what the issue would be no driver was going to want to go that far out of the city this late. It was just my luck tonight.

We spent another three hours outside. My legs felt stiff from alternating between standing and sitting on the cold ground, watching as Minho tried one thing after another with the car. The frustration in his face was obvious, and honestly, mine was too. Nessa called again, but I canceled the call. My patience was nearly gone by then, and that’s when it finally hit me.

It was all a little too good to be true, wasn’t it? That Minho would actually want to let me take his car, to go see Nessa of all people? I didn’t need any more evidence. I’d been so eager that I hadn’t even questioned it. But now, with every stalled attempt he made to fix the car, the truth started to glare right back at me.

I felt the anger simmering under my skin as I turned and walked back to the dorm, not even waiting to see if he’d fix it or not. I could hear him calling after me, but I didn’t stop.

An hour later, Minho came back, slipping wordlessly into the bathroom. I could barely look at him when he finally joined me in bed, my frustration coiled tight.

“Did you fix it?” I asked.

He hesitated. “No, I’ll take it out to get fixed tomo—”

“Cut the crap, Minho!” I snapped, my patience snapping with it. “Just admit it—you didn’t want me to see Nessa. You didn’t have to pretend to help me only to put on some act to stall me.”

“Jisung…” His voice softened, and he reached out to touch me, but I jerked away before he could.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, turning over and pulling the blanket up, blocking him out completely.

MINHO

For days, Jisung barely looked my way. It was like he’d decided that I didn’t even exist anymore. Every attempt I made, every word I tried to say to him was met with a wall—thick, cold, and unbreakable.

I tried everything. I’d cook for him, leaving plates of his favorite food on the table, hoping he’d look at me with even a hint of that usual warmth in his eyes. But he’d just take the food without a word, not even glancing in my direction. I couldn’t get past the silence. Every time I tried to speak, to say something, anything, it was like I was talking to a stranger. A stranger who wouldn’t even give me the time of day.

was desperate, aching to explain, to tell him that I hadn’t meant to hurt him—that I’d done it because… because I couldn’t bear the thought of him with someone else. But how could I say that without sounding like I’d done it for purely selfish reasons? How could I make him understand?

Every time he avoided me, every cold look, every sidestep felt like another punch to the gut. I leaned against the doorframe sometimes, watching him, wanting so badly for him to look back, for him to see how much this was killing me. But he’d just leave the room, barely acknowledging me.

It hurt more than I could’ve imagined, seeing him act like this, seeing him slip further away from me. And I knew—I knew it was because of what I’d done, the way I’d tried to keep him close, to keep him with me, without letting him choose for himself. I knew how much he hated feeling controlled, and still, I’d done the one thing I knew would make him pull away.

And now he was gone, even though he was right here in front of me. And every time I tried to reach out, to fix it, he slipped further from my grasp.

The morning light slipped through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the kitchen as I walked in. There he was, Jisung, standing at the counter, stirring his coffee, looking as calm and focused as ever. Seeing him there, lost in his own little world, I couldn’t help myself. My feet moved before my mind could catch up, and within seconds, my arms were wrapped around his waist, my face nuzzling down to the warmth of his neck.

He sighed, his body tensing for a second before he tried to pull away. “I’m sorry, Ji,” I whispered, holding him close, hoping he’d give in, even just for a moment.

He pushed at my arms.

My heart ached. “How long are you going to keep torturing me?”

“For as long as it takes for you to learn the boundaries you shouldn’t cross.” He broke free, giving me that annoyed look. It stung, but I backed up, resting my hands on the counter behind me, meeting his gaze.

“I wouldn’t cross them ever again, I promise,” I murmured. I knew I sounded desperate, but I didn’t care.

His eyes flickered, skeptical, untrusting. “I don’t trust that promise, Minho.”

“Please…” I let the word hang. But he just shook his head, not softening at all.

“Minho, do you even understand the weight of what you did?” His voice rose, his frustration slipping out in each word. “You literally offered to let me use your car, so I don't book a ride and rely on you just to keep me from seeing her. What is wrong with you?”

My jaw tightened, and the words spilled out before I could stop them. “I’m jealous, okay? I lose my mind when I see someone else even look at you. Is that a crime?” His expression shifted, but I pressed on, heart racing. “Do you think I wanted to pull off that stunt for the fun of it? I’m losing it, Jisung. I know she likes you, I know you like her, and it drives me insane. Do you know how cringe it is to  fake being drunk just because I knew she wanted to sleep with you. And I couldn’t handle that thought…” I slammed my hands on the counter. "Offering you my car just to stop you was a stupid Idea and—

"You…faked being drunk that night at the club?”

I rolled my eyes, frustration flaring up. “Seriously? That’s what you’re picking out of this?”

"Yes because what the fuck Minho Grow up!"

I almost flinched as he yelled.
“I know I haven’t made any smart decisions lately. Actually I haven't made any since you returned, I’ve been a mess. And I’d be lying out of my ass if I told you I regretted getting away with things. I didn't, I was happy." My eyes darted away as he looked at me like I was crazy. "I know it was wrong. I know I crossed a line. So, I’m here, apologizing, and I promise you I’ll try not to let it happen again.” I swallowed, hoping he’d see the truth in my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no words came out. For a long second, we just stood there, the silence almost too heavy to bear. But then he stepped forward, and I wrapped my arms around him again, holding him close, relieved that he hadn’t turned away completely.

"You do not own me Minho." He finally said.

I sighed. "I do not own you Jisung."

"I don't know what the problem is with you I don't even like Nessa that way, me and Nessa are just friends."

"But you fuck her and her boyfriend."

He looked at me. "Yes and that's all we are."

"You seem to like her a lot Jisung you're very fond of her"

"Minho..." He warned.

"I know I should mind my business."

"You know I want something long lasting and not a poly relationship, so I can't be with her even if she wants me to."

"Oh." So Jisung doesn't like her. Great.

“Happy now?"

"Yes baby."I exhaled, a small smile tugging at my lips as I buried my face into his neck, letting the warmth of his skin ground me. In a sudden burst of boldness, I placed a gentle kiss there, feeling the way his body tensed for just a moment before he relaxed. He didn’t say anything about it, and neither did I.

"Just know that if you ever do something like that again, I’m done. I won’t even look back.”

Eventually, he pulled back, slipping out of my hold, and even though I wanted to pull him back in, I let him go. I’d pushed my luck enough for one morning, and for now, this was enough.

~

The next day was the state competition, the sky clear, the kids gathered around the bus, chattering and bouncing in anticipation.
Jisung was busy organizing the last few details, checking with the students, making sure everyone was ready. He was focused, probably stressed, and I could see how much it meant to him. I wanted to tell him to relax, that they’d all do great. But instead, I went with what I felt might mean the most right now.

“Good luck,” I murmured, my voice warm, hoping he’d hear the sincerity in it. I let my hand rest on his shoulder for a second, and when he finally looked up, I gave him a smile that I hoped was reassuring. “You’re going to be amazing, Jisung. They’re lucky to have you.”

He didn’t smile back. He just nodded, his gaze sliding away from me as he turned to the students to do a quick headcount. My heart sank, but I swallowed the disappointment. I deserved it, after all, for everything I’d done recently. So I pushed the feeling down, focused on the kids, and started sharing every bit of encouragement I could muster.

“Alright, champions!” I said, clapping my hands and grinning wide. “You’re all going to do great out there. You’ve practiced, you’ve put in the work—today, it’s just about having fun.”

They all looked up at me, eyes bright with excitement and a few nervous smiles.
One of the kids raised a small fist. “Fighting!” they yelled, and the others echoed it, laughing as they jumped onto the bus, buzzing with energy. I waved at them, and, unable to help myself, I called out, “Fighting!” one last time, my gaze lingering on Jisung as the bus started to pull away. He didn’t look back, didn’t wave. Just stared straight ahead. But I waved all the same, keeping up the smile until the bus disappeared down the road.

Back in the dorm, I turned on the TV, finding the channel airing the competition.  They were giving it everything, and I wished I could be there in person, cheering them on.

Finally, the results came, and my hands were clenched so tightly my knuckles ached. Second place. They’d won second place.

The students beamed with pride, patting each other’s backs, celebrating. The announcer handed they people who won first place a bouquet of flowers. But the student seemed happy they've never gone this far in years,  I caught a glimpse of Jisung off to the side, watching his kids with that small, proud smile of his. Even from here, I could see how proud he was of them, and I felt a rush of relief and pride too, seeing them standing there with their medals. They’d done it.

It was a moment I wished I could share with him, to be there by his side, soaking in the win and sharing the joy. I watched the screen as they took a group photo, Jisung surrounded by his students, all of them cheering and laughing.

Jisung returned to the dorm later than I thought he would, his face clouded, shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had settled on them. I felt my own excitement falter as he shuffled in, barely acknowledging my greeting and the huge bouquet of flowers in my hands. I’d been bursting with pride, ready to celebrate with him, but the dim look in his eyes made me pause.

“Jisung,” I said softly, following him as he stumbled toward the bed. He lay down heavily, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the ceiling, beyond me.

I put down the bouquet and settled on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke his arm gently. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Nothing. Not even a glance my way. He looked almost hollow, a far cry from the man I’d watched on screen earlier, his pride shining through as he stood with his students. My heart twisted. “Jisung,” I tried again, scooting closer, my hand slipping down to cradle his face, hoping to bring him back to me. “Talk to me.”

Finally, he blinked, a sigh escaping as he turned his head slightly, just enough to meet my gaze. “Your father,” he murmured, voice low, strained. “He called me to his office. Kept me there for hours, lecturing me about the competition. Said second place wasn’t good enough, that I’m too soft on the kids, and I shouldn’t be proud of the win—said if I acted proud, it’d make the kids weak.”

I could feel a swell of anger rising within me, my hands curling into fists on the bed. “That ass head!” I slammed my hand down in frustration, the bed frame creaking beneath the impact. “Jisung, don’t listen to him. He’s got no idea how much work you and those kids put into this. Second place is incredible! I’m so proud of you, and I’m sure the kids are over the moon too. Our school hasn’t even been in the top ten since you left.”

He gave a small, bitter laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “He was really mad about second place. He talked like I was the one competing, like I’d disappointed him personally. I don’t know, it just… it made me feel so small. Like no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, the frustration evident in every word. “It’s suffocating, Minho. Being around him… it’s like there’s no air it just makes me feel like young Jisung again all those eyes watching me making me have sleepless nights all because I wanted first place because to them that what matters, first place is what makes me important to the place.”

I leaned forward, taking his hand in mine, pressing my lips against his knuckles. “Jisung, the kids are happy. I’m happy. You’re happy, and that’s what matters.
Earlier, when you stood there with them, you looked so proud, and it was all that mattered to them.” I searched his eyes, willing him to see himself the way I saw him—someone who’d done something amazing, something his students would remember for the rest of their lives.

“You… you saw me?” he asked softly, his gaze finally meeting mine, a flicker of warmth breaking through his exhaustion.

“Of course I did,” I murmured, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I watched the whole thing, cheered for your team the whole time. I was here, rooting for you like an idiot, pacing the whole time. They did great, Jisung. You did great and I was so pissed only first place winner get flowers, so I got you flowers even way bigger and prettier than their."

He sat up finally noticing the bouquet on my desk then he smiled, but it was faint, a ghost of his usual brightness. “Thank you,” he whispered.

I stood up, stretching out a hand to him, hoping to lift his spirits just a bit more. “Come on. Let’s go out and celebrate.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at me skeptically. “Celebrate second place? Really?”

“Yes, baby,” I insisted, grinning as I reached for his hand. “Take my hand. Let’s go make a night of it.”

He hesitated for a moment but finally let out a soft chuckle, his fingers slipping into mine as he sat up slowly. “I guess it couldn’t hurt,” he mumbled, his tone slightly more relaxed.

The bowling alley lights flickered with all the chaotic colors that seemed to suit the night perfectly. Jisung and I had gotten to the lanes a bit later than usual, but it didn’t matter—less people meant more space to goof around without caring about anyone watching. Jisung was lining up his shot, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to calculate his aim.

“Don’t miss this time,” I teased, leaning against the ball return. “I don’t think I could handle the heartbreak of you failing… again.”

He shot me a glare over his shoulder, lips twisting in that half-smile that told me he was going to do anything possible to prove me wrong. “Watch and learn, Minho,” he replied, his tone dripping with confidence. But as soon as he let the ball roll down the lane, it veered left, missing every pin and ending in a hollow thunk. He stared in disbelief, and I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

“Oh, the heartbreak,” I said dramatically, clutching my chest. “It’s almost too much.”

Jisung turned to me, eyes narrowed as he marched up, but the corners of his lips twitched in amusement. “Fine, Mr. Pro Bowler. Let’s see you do better.”

I stepped up, grabbing my ball and doing my best to look as serious as possible. I lined up my shot, focused on the pins, and released. The ball rolled straight down the lane, knocking all but one pin. I shrugged and turned back to Jisung, smirking.

“That’s how it’s done,” I said, giving him a playful nudge as I walked back. We kept up the playful teasing throughout the game, laughing, taunting, and tossing competitive jabs at each other until neither of us even cared who was winning.

After a while, we decided to grab drinks at the lounge, winding down after all the goofing around. The lounge area was dimly lit, the bar glowing softly against the darker, quieter atmosphere. We each ordered something strong, something to take the edge off a little.

Jisung looked incredible tonight. His jeans hugged his hips in just the right way, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from lingering as he leaned forward, taking a sip of his drink. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Your ass looks great in those jeans.”

He almost choked on his drink, his cheeks flushing as he stared at me, wide-eyed. “That's so of the blue”

"Is it?" I grinned, raising my glass to him. “Just saying what’s on my mind.”

He shook his head, still trying to compose himself, but there was a smile playing at his lips. “i fucking hate you” he muttered, but there was a softness in his tone.

His ass looked sexy what's wrong with me saying it. I bet everyone else thinks the same.

We settled into a comfortable rhythm, talking about all kinds of things. We reminisced about the times we’d spent together back in school, laughing over the silly moments and little stories we’d nearly forgotten. It felt easy and natural, like we were slipping back into something familiar. Somehow, the conversation drifted to church, of all things, Jisung told me he didn't expect me to treat him the same and be okay with his "sexual orientation" and his "lifestyle"

I took a sip of my drink, trying to find the right words. “...I honestly don't see people and see homosexuals sinners or liars, I don't like categorizing people into an umbrella painting them as what society see them as” I paused, glancing at him to see if he was following. He was watching me intently, his gaze softer now, more understanding. “It took me a long time to… to be okay with being here and I know they are thousands of people like me that doesn't know their place on earth and that's I will continue to see people as humans and not those labels I don't want anyone to say I treat them differently because of how they identified as, how they look, act or what they believe in  and God doesn't either, he used prostitutes and prosecutors to carry out his missions and blessed them in the end."

Jisung’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his hand resting on my arm it was the first time he didn't roll his eyes when I suddenly drift off conversations into gospels.

His phone rang immediately and he answered immediately and from the way he answered it was a family member and moments later he said goodbye and hung up.

"We should do something fun." He said  seconds after hanging up.

"What do you wanna do another round of bowling so I can beat your ass."

He chuckled unfazed by my teasing. "We could do that or I could give you a lap dance?"

My heart skipped.

"A lap dance?" I said making sure I heard it right the first time.

"Yes baby." He smiled.

Shit.

I felt something in my stomach and down my pants as he smiled he raised his eyebrows. Waiting for a response.

My brain completely freezing with no thought in sight.

Did he just call me baby back? I've been calling baby as a tease because I loved the way he always reacted to it.

I was about to respond when the bartender came over, sliding a drink across the table in Jisung’s direction. “Compliments of someone across the lounge,” he said, nodding toward the opposite side of the room.

Jisung looked as confused as I felt, glancing over his shoulder to see who’d sent it. “Who?” he asked, leaning slightly to get a better look.

The bartender nodded toward a shadowed corner, and I barely made out a man in the dim lighting. He was sipping his drink, his gaze fixed on Jisung in a way that made my blood boil. I felt a hot flash of irritation, my fingers tightening around my glass as the guy finally set his drink down and started walking over, looking way too confident for my liking.

Jisung looked over at me, probably noticing the way my expression had darkened. He raised an eyebrow, like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. I forced a casual smile, though it felt tense. “Popular tonight, huh?”

He gave a little shrug, looking as thrown off as I felt. The guy finally reached us, standing at the edge of our table with a stupid grin.

Yes the bastard was ugly up close.

“Hey,” His gaze settling a little too comfortably on Jisung. “I saw you earlier and just… couldn’t resist.”

I felt my jaw clench as I watched him. The audacity, right in front of me, like I was invisible.

"Do you know him?" I asked Jisung maintaining my tone not wanting provoke him again.

Jisung shooked his head.

The guy—the audacious intruder—sat himself down at our table, cracking a dumb smile at Jisung before turning his attention toward me. The look on my face must have been a giveaway I could feel my jaw tightening, my irritation likely written all over me.

"He doesn't know you or need you to buy him a drink."

“Oh, I hope I’m not interrupting a date,” he said smoothly, eyeing both of us. “I spotted you two and thought you looked like brothers.”

Jisung chuckled, almost too easily, and glanced my way with that comfortable, easy-going smile. “We’re best friends,” he replied, as if that simple fact made everything clear. But hearing the words "best friends" felt like a dagger twisting my gut—more than I expected. For the first time, I wished we weren’t just best friends, not in this moment, not when this guy was here, clearly trying to wedge himself into our night.

Interrupting right when I was gonna receive a lap dance from my best friend because of course I was gonna say yes.

“Nice to meet you both. I’m Beomjun.” The guy held out a hand toward Jisung and I looked around wondering how asked him to introduce himself, Jisung of course took  it politely, even warmly, as they exchanged greetings. I hate having a softie for a bestfriend.

"Nice to meet you, too," Jisung replied, his tone a little friendlier than I’d like, a bit too accommodating.

Beomjun’s gaze lingered on Jisung with a glint in his eye, and he let out a low chuckle. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” he said to Jisung, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. He tilted his head, a hint of curiosity flashing in his expression. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before. Have we met?

Oh my god so old school.

I have zero bitches and even I won't use this dumb lines.

Jisung blinked, surprised, and then they were off, delving into a conversation about possible mutual friends, old schools, or places they might have crossed paths. My mind was swirling with so many responses, none of which seemed like the right thing to say. Somehow, I’d ended up as the third wheel in a conversation I didn’t even want to be a part of, and I could feel every nerve in my body bristling.

With every question Beomjun asked, and every enthusiastic answer Jisung gave, I could feel my patience wearing dangerously thin. It wasn’t even the words they were exchanging; it was the way Beomjun kept glancing at him, leaning in a little closer, filling the small space between them with his presence in a way I couldn’t ignore.

The last straw came when Beomjun let out a hearty laugh, his hand lingering on Jisung’s shoulder just a little too long. Jisung smiled back, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and laughter, oblivious to how much this was gnawing at me.

In that moment, I couldn’t help but feel like I was fading into the background, like I’d been pushed out of my own space. My thoughts scrambled as I tried to find a way to pull Jisung back, to remind him that I was right here, but I wouldn't be able to do that without causing a scene which I promised Jisung I'd never do.  I needed to get us out of this situation, or I was going to combust right there at the table.

I forced a grin, though my voice came out a bit clipped. “Jisung we are fast approaching the time for the gates to close.” I said, hoping he’d get the hint.

Jisung looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Oh, it's okay.” he said, but it sounded like an afterthought, like he’d almost forgotten I was there.

What?

Did he even hear me right?

Beomjun chuckled, completely unfazed. “I know a few good spots around and I would love to take you out.”

I didn’t even bother hiding my irritation now. “Jisung wouldn't have the time.” I said, giving Jisung a pointed look.

Beomjun turned to me eyeing me down and I could feel Jisung glancing between us sensing the tension.

“Does your brother always act this way?"

"We're not brothers." I said sharply.

"How do you tolerate this piece of junk.” Beomjun said and I could feel Jisung's disappointed expression fixed on me.

"He's a bit tipsy, he doesn't have any tolerance for alcohol."

"So what do you say?" He leaned back, giving Jisung a final, appraising look. “ Let me take your out, It’s not every day you meet someone like you.”

Jisung didn't look too pleased with his "flirting" but also wasted no time to accept bowling with him

We had barely made it to the bowling alley before Beomjun was back at it, trying to charm his way deeper into Jisung’s good graces and every move he made only grated on my nerves more. Jisung seemed oblivious, laughing at Beomjun’s jokes, grinning at his stories, completely unaware of how this was eating at me.

Trying to keep my cool, I ordered another drink, though I barely tasted it as we walked toward the lanes. Jisung and Beomjun went ahead, already laughing about something I hadn’t even caught. I could feel myself slipping into that dreaded third-wheel role, watching from the outside as they joked, nudged, and shared grins like I wasn’t even there.

Beomjun shot me a polite smile, clearly trying to be friendly, but I wasn’t having it. "Minho you have a great friend, how’d you two meet?” he asked, casually spinning a bowling ball in his hand, all friendly-like.

I narrowed my eyes. “Not in some bar, if that’s what you’re asking,” I muttered, keeping my tone low and flat. His face fell slightly, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t interested in giving him the satisfaction of a real conversation.

He tried again, probably trying to smooth over the tension. “Bowling’s one of my favorite things to do, you know. Jisung was saying he hasn’t had a real competition in a while and I'm about to put him to the test."

I shrugged, barely looking at him. “He and I do plenty together."

Beomjun looked a little taken aback, his friendly demeanor faltering. “Right…” he said slowly, clearly sensing that I wasn’t about to be friendly. But instead of backing off, he turned his attention fully to Jisung again, like I wasn’t even in the room.

That was fine by me; I wasn’t interested in whatever he had to say. But then he started getting a little too close, his arm slipping around Jisung’s shoulders, pulling him in as they laughed over some inside joke I couldn’t quite make out. It was like he was flaunting his position, rubbing it in my face. I clenched my jaw, trying to focus on my bowling score rather than the way he leaned in to whisper something in Jisung’s ear, drawing out that stupid, radiant smile I loved so much.

I watched as Beomjun’s hand snaked lower, lingering around Jisung’s waist, his fingers casually brushing against his hip. And Jisung, either oblivious or too caught up in the moment, just laughed along, perfectly at ease. But I’d had enough. There was a line—and Beomjun was crossing it.

There was a line too for me.

I don't own Jisung.

He's free to talk with whoever he wants and I didn't want to cross that line and make him mad

The rest of the game was a blur; I bowled each frame with a single-minded focus, my shots hitting the pins with unnecessary force. I barely registered the scores. All I could think about was the way he’d looked at Jisung, the ease with which he’d tried to take my place, to worm his way in as if he belonged.

But no

The second Beomjun put his hand on Jisung’s lower back, I felt my grip on the night slipping. He was doing too much—far too much—constantly finding ways to touch Jisung, like his hand just couldn’t stay in one place. Each time he laughed, he’d lean a little closer, his fingers drifting casually over Jisung’s shoulder, down his arm, or lingering at his waist. I couldn’t stand it. This wasn’t some casual friendliness, and the guy knew exactly what he was doing.

I tried to stay calm, taking long swigs of my drink, pretending not to notice the way Beomjun’s hand would brush over Jisung’s side it felt like a fire was slowly building inside of me, each touch another spark. Then, the breaking point came—Beomjun, with a cocky grin, exchanged numbers with Jisung. Right in front of me.

Before I knew it, I was watching myself slam my drink down on the table, hard enough that the glass shattered, the liquid spilling everywhere. Heads turned, and the noise of the lounge seemed to pause for just a second as I stood up. My eyes met Jisung’s for a brief moment, and he saw it—the anger, the frustration, everything I couldn’t keep under control. I didn’t even wait for a reaction; I just turned and left, pushing through the doors and out into the cold night air.

I found a dark corner outside, the faint buzz of neon signs flickering nearby, and leaned against the wall. My arms crossed tightly over my chest as I tried to shake off the heat that still pulsed through me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Least of all Jisung.

It wasn’t long before I heard the lounge doors open again, and I saw Jisung stepping out, his eyes scanning the dark alleyway. When he spotted me, he walked over, and I didn’t even bother to look at him. My gaze stayed fixed on the ground as he got closer.

“What just happened?” he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and annoyance.

I stayed silent, jaw clenched, barely able to keep my temper in check. I didn’t want to look at him. I was sure my expression would say more than I wanted to let on. Folding my arms tighter, I leaned harder into the wall, hoping he’d just give up and go back inside.

But he didn’t. He strained to see my face, standing there in the dim light as he tried to figure me out. “Minho?” he pressed. “What’s your problem?."

I let out a scoff, finally breaking my silence. “Honestly, Jisung, I’ll wait out here. You can go back to your new boyfriend. I don’t care.” My voice was sharp, each word edged with bitterness that I couldn’t hold back.

He took a step closer, frustration building in his voice. “Bro, you’re so complicated! What’s the point of going back in there when you were being a complete asshole to him?”

I shook my head, exhaling sharply as I tried to keep my temper in check. “Shit, Jisung. Just go home with him, really. Leave me out here so I don’t do something you’d hate.”

Finally, Jisung sighed, stepping up to me, leaning his back against the wall beside me, shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t get you, Minho. I really don’t…” he murmured, his voice softer, like he was finally trying to understand.

I don't get me either, I never acted this way or cared enough about someone to go to this extreme. Maybe it was the alcohol because I could feel myself slipping.

But it was Jisung who made me feel like this.

Jisung who made me feel like he owned me and that's why I never let anyone come close to me because I am for Jisung and I never let anyone go to him because he is mine.

I scoffed, finally letting the irritation spill out. “That guy was basically throwing himself at you right in front of me.”

"And you were being rude." He glanced at me softly. He didn't look mad or anything. My eyes paused on his slightly parted lips, those exact mouth that did wonders to my dick years ago. I could never forget how good it felt.

I moved from the wall my heart racing as i closed the gap between us.

His eyes looked at me tired basically predicting what disappointing thing I was going to do next.

"Minho.." I ignored his warning tone he didn’t understand the way I saw him, the way I felt about him, it tore something open inside of me. I shoved my fingers through his hair eyes still on his lip but he was looking away from me.

“Minho I get that you see me as your younger brother and want to protect me from—”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence because I am pressing my body against his and taking his lips in mine.
cc

Chapter Text

JISUNG.

Minho is kissing me?

What.

This is a dream

There's no way I'm actually feeling the lips of the love of my life on mine, I'm too shocked to react.

Too freaked out to kiss back.

Something about this moment doesn't feel real.

But here he was kissing me against the wall in the dark. Hungrily forcing my mouth open for him. Desperately pressing his body against mine. I could feel it. A boner.

I could barely breathe, my mind swirling with every confusing, maddening thought as I tasted the lingering hint of alcohol on Minho's lips. The man I'd secretly craved for years, the one I'd carefully told myself was off-limits, the same Minho who wanted to get me back into my faith was here, kissing me so recklessly, so raw, too good to be real.

He's hard.

He's very hard and drunk because it was all I could taste on him which quickly snapped me back to reality, and I pushed him away, my heart pounding like it might burst out of my chest

Shit.

Minho stumbled a step back, looking stunned, like a kid who'd just had his candy stolen. His lips parted, and he whined, "Why?" with this soft, needy look in his eyes that only made me more confused.

I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around what just happened. I didn't even know where to begin-did the universe hit some kind of cosmic button and scramble everything? What was going on? This was Minho. Minho, the straight, conservative guy who'd avoided anything remotely close to this for as long as I'd known him. How had he gone from that to kissing me.

"Are you crazy?" I blurted, still half-panting from the intensity of it all. "You're acting like an animal get yourself together, Jesus Christ!" I wiped his kiss off my mouth.

He took a step closer, and I could feel the desperation rolling off of him in waves. His eyes were pleading, and I could see he wasn't fully himself he'd had more than enough to drink tonight. The scent of whiskey was strong as he shifted toward me, filling the small space between us with its sharpness. I let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the wall, trying to create some distance between us, but he only moved closer.

"Please, Jisung," he murmured, his voice raw and low. "Kiss me back."

I scoffed, even as my heart betrayed me by speeding up at his words. This man had completely lost his mind. But as much as I wanted to shake my head and laugh it off, I knew I didn't have the strength. Playing it cool, acting like this didn't affect me, was the only thing keeping me grounded. But it wasn't even a second before his lips found mine again, and this time, there was nothing cool or controlled in the way he kissed me. It was messy, desperate, and I... I gave in. Because with Minho, I had zero willpower. None.

You wouldn't blame me though, I'm human there's only so much I can take.

He pressed against me, his hands cupping my face. And maybe it was the alcohol or the heat of his touch, but I found myself kissing him back with just as much hunger, feeling everything I'd held back for so long finally rushing to the surface. My fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, and for a brief moment, it felt like nothing else mattered but the way his lips moved with mine, the way he tasted, the way he was holding onto me like he needed this just as much as I did.

But then he murmured something incoherent against my lips, a frustrated complaint, and it struck me just how far gone he was. His words slurred slightly, and I could see the hazy look in his eyes. He was definitely drunk, and all I could think of was that this was a mistake. The last time we'd been anywhere close to this was four years ago, in another drunken haze, and it had left me with a wound that took forever to heal.

I knew I should stop him. My mind was practically yelling at me to put an end to this-to push Minho away before things got any more out of hand. He's not himself again, I reminded myself, and that little voice kept repeating it, the reminder of all the reasons I shouldn't let this happen. Tomorrow, he'll move on with his life in Christ because apparently god was forgiving, he'd act like this was some weird dream or blame it on the alcohol, and I'd be left alone, dealing with the aftermath, the guilt, I'm the one god wouldn't forgive.

Minho's hands slid down my sides, lingering like he was savoring every inch of me, and I could feel the heat radiating from him as his fingers found the waistband of my trousers. He tugged, teasing me, making me gasp against his mouth. That sound, my own reaction, only seemed to spur him on.

I felt him press closer, his body practically pinning mine to the wall, his hips grinding against me in a way that made my head spin. My heart was racing, and before I knew it, a groan slipped out of me, muffled against his lips.

I told myself I'd stop him in just a second. I just... I wanted to enjoy this a little longer.
I couldn't get over the way he whispered my name, low and rough, like he couldn't get enough-it was everything I'd wanted and told myself I could never have. My hands gripped his shoulders, trying to ground myself, but it only drew him in closer. Each shift of his hips against mine built the tension higher, until I couldn't ignore the way my body responded to him. I was hard, achingly so, and every slight movement only seemed to make it worse.

"Minho..." I managed to whisper, not sure if I was pleading for him to stop or keep going. He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his expression soft but intense, and there was something in his eyes that made it impossible to say no. I could feel myself slipping further, but in that moment, I didn't care. All I wanted was this. I savoured his kiss before I forced myself to push Minho off, even though every fiber of my being wanted to pull him closer instead. My voice came out louder than I expected, a little shaky but firm. "Back away, Minho. Don't come close to me again."

He blinked, his mouth parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He just looked at me, a mix of surprise and hurt in his eyes, and the way he swayed in place was a reminder of just how far gone he was. "You're drunk, and you're being totally irresponsible," I snapped, trying to ignore the lingering taste of him on my lips. "You're making us go backwards with this issues again we just fixed our friendship what more do you want."

He didn't answer, which only made me more frustrated. The silence between us felt unbearable, and every second that passed seemed to make my own thoughts spiral further out of control. I reached out, grabbing him by the collar, maybe a little harder than I meant to, and started walking him toward the car. He followed without a word, stumbling over his own feet a few times, which only made my grip tighten.

When we finally reached the car, I held out my hand. "Keys." He fished them out of his pocket, handing them over without protest, eyes fixed on me in a way that made my chest tighten. I wanted him to argue, to fight back, anything that would make me feel less like I was doing this alone. But he just looked at me, soft and obedient, following every instruction like he didn't have a single will of his own at that moment. The way he simply listened, no questions asked, sent a shiver through me that I tried to shake off.

"Get in the passenger seat. I'm driving."

He nodded and moved around the car, sliding in as I got behind the wheel. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I adjusted the mirrors and buckled in, all while my mind raced with what had just happened. As soon as I started driving, the silence returned, heavy and suffocating, and I could feel Minho's gaze on me. I couldn't bring myself to look back at him. I knew if I did, if I saw that intense, unwavering stare, I'd lose whatever thin thread of control I still had left. My head was an absolute mess, and I was fighting for every ounce of composure I had to keep myself grounded.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Why would he kiss me.

Halfway through the drive, with nothing but the hum of the engine and thought we didn't dare to say. I felt a warmth on my thigh. I looked down, my breath catching slightly as I realized Minho had placed his hand there. He wasn't moving it, wasn't gripping or squeezing, just resting it there like that was where it belonged. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel, my knuckles going white as I tried to pretend like that simple touch wasn't affecting me, wasn't igniting everything I'd tried to bury.

My thoughts were a blur, each one worse than the last. His hand on me felt like a brand, heat seeping through my jeans and traveling up my spine. I kept my gaze straight ahead, trying to focus on the road, on anything that wasn't Minho or that damn kiss or the way his hand felt like it was claiming a piece of me that I'd kept guarded for so long.

My mind kept replaying every second of the kiss, every detail, like it was a film loop stuck on repeat. I didn't want to admit how much I'd wanted it, how good it felt to give in to it, even if just for a moment. But I knew I couldn't let myself go there again-not with him. Not when he was like this. The struggle to keep myself in check, to ignore the ache building in my chest and the obvious evidence of just how much I wanted him, was the hardest thing I'd done in a long time.

I wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but my throat felt tight, and I couldn't bring myself to form words. And still, his hand stayed there, a silent reminder of everything we couldn't-shouldn't-be.

As we neared the dorm, I kept my eyes locked on the road, avoiding even a quick glance at Minho. "Alright," I said, voice tight as I gripped the wheel. "When we arrive at the gates I want you to go straight to the room and take a nap. You need it."

Immediately, he started to protest, his voice desperate. "No, Jisung, I don't want to go to bed. I want you." His hand reached over again, settling low, too low, and I felt his fingers brush over me. My body tensed, my breath hitching as I finally turned to him, eyes wide. But his face-his face was all innocence, those pleading eyes, lips slightly parted, like he had no clue what he was doing to me.

"Minho, hands off," I commanded, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

He looked me dead in the eye, the smallest hint of defiance in his gaze. "No."

"Oh my god," I hissed through my teeth, feeling his hand move, trying to stroke me through my jeans. My entire body reacted, that single touch making me go feral. "Lee Minho, I am begging you, in the name of the god you serve, get your hand away from me." He didn't move I had to grab his wrist, yanking his hand away with what little control I had left.

He huffed, almost like a child being told "no," his brows furrowing. But he didn't fight back as I held his wrist, not this time. I drove forward, focusing on the road until we finally arrived at the dorm, where I pulled into the parking spot and turned to him, my voice softer, pleading. "Minho, please. Go inside, go to bed. Tomorrow's Sunday, remember? You have church."

He wouldn't even look at me, just shook his head, and I could see the frustration etched into every line on his face. "Minho," I whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder, "please don't do this."

With a shrug, he brushed my hand off, his expression hardening as he pushed open the car door and got out without another word. I watched him walk toward the gate, and the moment he was out of sight, I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes as I let out a shaky breath.

What the hell had just happened?

I could still feel the ghost of his touch on me, could practically smell the alcohol on his breath from how close he'd been.

Sitting alone in the car, I tried to get my breathing under control, but the image of Minho's face, his hand reaching toward me, his whispered words-those wouldn't leave my mind. Each memory played on repeat, igniting everything I was desperately trying to extinguish.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, counting to five. Then, exhaling slowly, I forced my body to relax. Another deep breath, and then another, trying to focus on the sensation of air filling my lungs, pushing away the tension, until the storm inside me started to settle.

But it wasn't enough. Not tonight. I needed something stronger, something to hold on to when all I wanted was to run straight to him. So, without letting myself hesitate, I got out of the car, shut the door, and headed toward the chapel.

Inside, it was dark except for the soft glow of candles flickering along the altar. It was quiet, the kind of silence that sinks into your bones, and I felt my pulse finally start to slow. I knelt down at the front of the altar, my knees pressing into the hard floor, my gaze lifting up to the cross before me.

"God," I whispered, the word almost a breath. "I know... I know I shouldn't be here and I don't even remember how to pray probably and you wouldn't answer prayers from me." I closed my eyes, forcing myself to keep going. "But please, for once just ignore the fact that I'm a terrible person and listen to me. Listen to me for Minho's sake. He's confused-lost tonight, and he needs your guidance. Please, help him see reason, bring him back to himself. If he's going to act like this, let him at least do it with a clear mind."

I felt a surge of emotion, raw and unrestrained, the kind I usually kept locked deep inside. "I can't-I can't walk into that dorm tonight, not like this. You know me, you know my intentions are nothing more more than fucking him and don't look at me weird because you were the one that made us have hormones." I sighed. "On a more serious note i won't be able to stop myself. I don't want to betray him, betray our friendship again. So I'm begging you," I said, staring at the cross above me, my heart aching, "please help me. Help me stay strong, help me fight temptation. "

For a long while, I stayed there, my hands pressed together, whispering whatever prayers I could find in the back of my mind. Hoping at least god would respond for minho's sake.

I rose from my knees, feeling a calmness settle over me.

But I knew I couldn't go back to the dorm yet. Not when the risk of giving in felt too close, too real. I needed more time, something to wash away every lingering thought that threatened to take control. So I stepped outside, the cold air hitting me, sharp and grounding, and I turned down the empty street, not caring where I went. Just needing to walk, to let my feet carry me away from everything in my head.

For almost two hours, I wandered the streets, barely looking at where I was going, barely feeling the ache in my legs or the chill in the air. The world was quiet, and slowly, so was my mind. I let myself think about the past, about how long I'd been carrying this weight, this feeling I'd buried for Minho, how much I'd given up to keep it hidden. I tried to remember why I'd done it, to remind myself that it was for the best-for both of us.

As I neared the dorm once more, I looked up at the sky, at the stars barely visible through the city lights. I let out a long, tired breath, hoping, praying that Minho was already asleep by now. Because as much as I'd managed to quiet the storm inside me, I knew that one look from him could bring it all crashing back.

I paused outside the door, gathering myself for a moment longer before finally stepping inside.

I stepped inside the dorm, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The first thing that caught my eye was a huge bouquet of flowers on Minho's desk, their colors still vivid even in the dim light. My heart gave a little leap he's so sweet. But I couldn't let myself get wrapped up in that right now. There were bigger things to worry about-like Minho.

I turned to our bed and froze. There he was, lying on his side, shirtless and in nothing but his briefs, his figure barely covered by the sheets. Why was he doing this to me? After all that had happened tonight, he had to look like... this? I clenched my jaw, forcing my gaze up to the ceiling to pull myself together.

I'm hard again.

But, thankfully, he looked asleep. And that was my saving grace. Now, I could slip into bed, keep my distance, and survive this night without crossing any lines. I moved quietly, practically tiptoeing as I slipped under the sheets, careful not to make a sound. As I lay on my back, staring up, I let myself exhale silently. relieved.

Then I heard it: "I'm not sleeping." Minho's voice cut through the silence like he'd been waiting all night to say it. "You're gonna have to stay out the whole night if you really want to avoid me, because I'm wide awake."

My heart dropped straight to my stomach. I turned my head, and there he was, watching me, his eyes clear and focused. The alcohol was long gone, and I could tell he'd taken a shower; his skin was fresh, all traces of the night erased. Everything, except the look in his eyes.

I sighed, my eyes rolling up to the ceiling, hoping he'd sense the fatigue and reluctance weighing down my every thought. "How are you feeling?" I asked, praying he'd brush off tonight as just the foggy aftermath of too much alcohol, that he'd laugh it off and save us both from... whatever this was.

"Horny," he said, his voice as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

My breath caught in my throat, and despite myself, my eyes flickered over to him. He looked calm, but the way he stared back at me was anything but.

"Please help me out," he murmured.

I choked out a laugh, trying to pull myself out of this strange, unreal haze. "You're still drunk, Minho," I said, shaking my head, trying to convince myself as much as him. There was no way he could be serious. "No, this isn't happening. I'm not letting this happen again. We-"

"I'm not drunk." His voice had a clarity to it that stilled my heart. The silence hung between us, tense and waiting, until he broke it, calling out to me again in that familiar voice, but softer, pleading. "Jisung..."

I laid there stiff, closing my eyes pretending not to hear him trying to hold onto whatever scrap of control I had left and for a moment it was working until Minho's voice sliced through the quiet.

"Would you mind if I... jack off?"

My eyes shot open, and my heart slammed in my chest. He couldn't be serious. But with Minho, everything felt like a test, a challenge that forced me to the very edge of my sanity. Lord Jesus, he had to know what he was doing to me. There was no other explanation.

Beside me, I heard him shift, the subtle rustling of fabric, and in a split second, it hit me he was actually taking off his briefs. My throat went dry, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out any rational thought. I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the pulse of heat flooding through me as I heard his hand start to move, the quiet, maddening sound of skin against skin.

I turned my back on him, pressing my eyes shut, trying to keep my mind clear. I whispered a half-desperate prayer under my breath, asking God for a strength that, quite frankly, I wasn't sure I even had. Anything to keep me from turning back toward him, anything to keep me from taking the bait.

But he was relentless, his words teasing at my resolve. "You don't want me?," he whispered, like he was inches away.

That was the most ridiculous thing ever the person I love so dearly asking me if I didn't want him.

"I can't believe a few sips of alcohol could make my best friend beg for... gay intercourse." I knew, in the pit of my stomach, that every part of me was dangerously close to betraying every promise I'd made to myself.

"Jisung look at me." His voice was low, taunting, with an edge that almost sounded tender. "I know you want to... you want look at me-your pathetic best friend because I'm doing all of this for you."

Minho was a devil. No, he was the devil, a temptation given flesh, sitting there pushing me toward the edge with every soft breath, every quiet, teasing word.

My mind fought, begged for control. I couldn't look. I wouldn't. I was barely hanging on, clinging to some desperate hope that if I just kept my gaze fixed on the ceiling, this would somehow pass.

But no prayer could stop my body from betraying me. Helplessly, like some force had taken over, I found myself turning to him, drawn to the sight I'd been denying myself, eyes helplessly trailing over his flushed skin, his hand moving rhythmically. And as much as I wanted to deny it, every nerve in me was alive, every part of me locked onto him and his gaze me.

"What the fuck Minho really."

Like I wasn't drooling at the sight of it. My eyes zeroing in on his hard long dick. I'm not built for this type of torture. His perfect body almost sitting up his knees far apart, his arms. fuck his arms, I could cum just from watching this because the thrill I felt in my heart, in my dick and my ass hole was intense.

He cupped his dick with his palms, his finger teasing his tip.

Oh hell nah

Who even taught him this.

Oh.

He watched me, his hips moving in the most seductive way making me want to scream because there's no way I would be able to sleep without fucking this man. He's really asking for it.

His gaze turned to his hard length moving his hand up and down letting out a strained breath.

I gulped for the hundredth time tonight, I want to have him in my mouth and suck him dry, my filthy brain already imagining the taste of him already wishing to touch him and fuck every bit of tonight's audacity out of him.

He finally released himself and turned his gaze to me for approval and I couldn't say anything his eyes traveled down my pants and he got his answer and this motherfucker smiled.

"Do I have your attention now or do I need to shoved it down your throat."

I was shocked by the boldness of him to say that. I could feel my heartbeat thudding in my brain I couldn't think straight.

Suddenly I forgot about our friendship or how we'd both react to this tomorrow morning. But the fear is still there I'm definitely not thinking about it but I'm feeling and that's what's stopping me from making a move.

But all of that disappeared when he said two words.

"Come here." And I was crawling towards him like a dog, like I had no self control. My eyes stopped on his dick and I couldn't, I wanted to, he wanted me to. He moved up to me kissing my lips softly for encouragement as his hands moved under my shirt and seconds after he's pulling it over my head.

His Brown eyes trialing down my chest and with his mouth slightly opened before slowly taking my nipples in his mouth and sucking on it and I moaned wishing it was my cock in his mouth. I felt his hands slide lower clumsily trying to undo my buttoned

"I want to see your dick." He cupped it through the fabric and that's when it registered to me that Minho wanted me too.

"Minho please you're killing me." I sounded like he was taking away my dignity because in reality he was.

"Stop holding back Jisung... I know what you're capable of." He dragged on my pants pulling me to fall on top of him and that's when I combusted, moments later my pants are flying across the room .

I'm finally stroking myself and he laid back watching me with clear eyes, I leaned back to him kissing him hard and rocking my erection against his. I'm sucking his tongue, our lower bodies grinding together creating a friction that couldn't keep both of us quiet moaning in each other's mouth and feeling the vibration through our bodies.

"Fuck." I grunt pulling back to catch my breath and moving again to kiss his perfect jawline.

"Minho please tell me to stop." I begged hoping he'd finally put a stop to this madness I was partaking in. "Minho... I'll only listen to you, please tell me to stop." I moaned as he rocked his lower body harder against mine.

I pulled back looking to his eyes for an answer. "Should I stop?."

He smirked in a way that made it seem like I sounded ridiculous, then next thing I felt was his hands on my neck shoving me down, slamming my back onto the bed and he climbed on top of me and my breathing intensified.

Who is this Lee Minho because he's definitely not my best friend.

Who is the horny demon possessing his body because please don't stop make me cum before you go back to hell.

My eyes flutter closed when grips my dick but he didn't stroke it, I opened my eyes fearing the demon has left him and now I'm back facing conservative Minho and he's about to freak out to why we're both naked and why I had my leg wide open.

"You're mine Jisung do you know that?"

Oh hell nah. Not this shit again.

"Minho.."

"I'm just letting you know. You belong to me and I'm never letting anyone else get this far with you. Ever." Then he started stroking my length dead slow and his mouth found my nipples again sucking so hard making me loose myself and thrusting my hips as he jack me off because I was greedy and wanted him to increase the pace. I don't know how long this side of Minho is going to last so I might as well snatch this opportunity.

"Let me suck you off please." I find myself saying because yes I wanted to pleasure him more than anything in this world and hear him react to how good my mouth feels.

He didn't argue his crawl on me kneeling right in front of my face, gosh he's so desperate.

"Don't go easy on me Minho, I can take it."

His eyes didn't leave mine watching as I licked his precum off his tip, pumping him and kissing him before taking it into my mouth, his hands suddenly make an appearance in my hair his fingertips digging in. I gagged and pulled back when he arched his back forcing more of his length in.

Must have scared him. He pulled back as soon as I gagged but I took him in again sucking him all the way to the base and pulling back to give him more sloppy strokes.

"Mhmm." He whimpers unable to keep himself still pulling back from the intensity.
I let him get himself proceeding to take him again then he grabbed my neck pushing me back on the bed.

"Too intense for you huh?" I teased.

"I want to save it for when I fuck your sexy ass."

It was unbelievable to hear dirty words come out of his mouth.

"We can't. We don't have any protection."

"I do." He moved off he bed and I just laid there like a sack of potato with my hard dick watching his naked ass bent over on his desk and brought out a sachet of condom and lube throwing it at me.

I was surprised. He hovered over me again.

"What? When did you get this, how do you even know about it."

"What did you think I did with the two hours you gave me, I watched gay p0rn and went to the store" He tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on my lips "Still think I'm drunk?"

No baby I think you're possessed.

I spread my legs open for him. "You can punish me by just shoving your dick in without stretching me out."

He looked like I threw him off.

"Why would I do that?"

"Aren't you mad at me for entertaining another man right in front of you?"

He didn't answer. He just poured a lube on his finger teasing the crease of my ass before sliding it in and I hissed. It's been a long while since I had anal sex and it felt all new.

"Kiss me." I whispered then he lowered his head placing gentle kisses all over my face before kissing my lips as he teased and explored my hole. Moments later I'm crying out as he added a second finger, squirming because he going in deep and almost reaching the sweetest spot.

"Stop teasing just fuck me." His cheeks flushed with more arousal and he's rolling the condom on his length and he get a hold of mine punishing me with slow strokes as his tease my hole with just his tip making me loose my mind, he wants me to beg for it but I'm not giving him that satisfaction.

"If you tease me one more time I'm going to bend you over." I sat up cupping his balls as a threat.

"Okay."

"Okay?" I furrowed my brows. "This is the part where you beg me to let you fuck me." I tilted my head. "Or did you skip this part of the gay p0rn."

"Oh fuckk Jisung please."

"Please what?"

"Please let me fuck you."

"Ughh." I let go of his balls laying back on the bed rolling my eyes "You're boring me to death."

"Please Jisung I'll do anything I'll suck you off right after, please just let me and I won't cum until you cum first."

I smiled. Watching him stroke himself waiting for me to give him a go ahead. I'm loving this demon Minho.

I kissed him whispering telling him how much of a good boy he was begging for my ass.

He groaned so loudly as he slowly ease the tip of his dick in my ass.

"Ugh." I grabbed his arms unable to contain how big he was inside of me, I could barely move at first but eventually I eased up to it , he added more lube and leaned forward after I encouraged him to go deeper.

Both my legs on his shoulder and he thrust deeper, his eyes full of lust watching me bite my lips trying to hold back my moans , he pulled me in tighter holding my thighs and pumping me more harder with each thrust hitting my prostate and I let myself moan so loudly and his shoved his fingers down my throat but the sound of skin smacking skin could still be heard loud and clear and now I was the one begging.

"Nghhhah please slow down."

"Please.."

"Please."

He paused breathless and so was I. It took me a moment to pull myself together.

"Please... Minho just look at me and then you fuck me as hard as you can when I say go."

He didn't respond.

"Okay?"

He nodded, his dick still inside me my body aching to move to it,to drive him nuts but I started stroking myself slowly, making him watch and I have never seen such greedy eyes before, he looked like want to eat me raw. I continued stroking, my mouth wide opened, driving myself to the edge before I make him continue. And his obedience did nothing but turn me on more, he leaned down kissing me his eyes still watching me satisfy myself .

"You're so sexy. So fucking sexy." He said before twirling his tongue on my nipples and I was so close to shooting.

"Fuck me Minho." He moaned at my command thrusting into me slowly then picking up the pace, pounding into me like he'll never see me again, he slapped my hands off my cock jacking me and fucking my ass the same time.

"I'm coming." I cried out all my muscles tensed at once but as promised he kept his going for a couple seconds before his climax catches up to him as he lost himself in the rhythm, he let out a loud grunts, I could tell he didn't want to stop he empty every bit of strength he had inside me before collapsing on the bed. I nudged him before he lazily pulled out of me.

And he was out in what felt like two seconds I heard soft snores from him and that's when the guilt came again. I wanted to kill myself my head was screaming because what did I just do and why am I coming back to my senses after the whole thing.

Shit.

I've done it again.

It felt like I had taken advantage of him again.

I was disgusted with myself.

I blinked up at the ceiling, my mind already racing through a hundred different plans for slipping away, a hundred ways to avoid facing. My body ached, my limbs felt heavy, but somehow the urge to run was overpowering, pushing me to ignore every sore muscle as I started to move.

I can't be here I can't face him in the morning.

I needed to leave but I'm too beat up to even move.

But I tried.

I'm running away again.

Pussy.

Can't face the consequences of my own actions.

I managed to sit up slightly moving

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as my feet touched the cold floor, bracing myself to stand. But then, before I could take another step, I felt a strong pair of arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back down.

"Jisung," Minho's voice was low clouded with sleep, but there was something unmistakably desperate in his tone. I turned to face him, and his eyes-dark and wide open-searched mine with a kind of raw vulnerability that made my chest tighten painfully. His expression was pleading, his brows knitted as he clung to me, making no attempt to hide the fear and sadness that filled his gaze.

"Please... don't go. Not again," he murmured, his voice so soft but so firm. "I don't think I can take waking up alone again and wondering where you've gone." His hands tightened around me, grounding me in place as he spoke, his words raw with a kind of honesty that left me speechless. "Stay..."

Words felt lodged in my throat, stuck somewhere between guilt and shame and the overwhelming urge to bolt. I slowly settled back down onto the bed, facing him this time. He didn't let go, pulling me closer until our faces were inches apart, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

Minho brushed his thumb gently across my cheek before leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. The tenderness of the gesture almost undid me. My walls, those ironclad defenses I'd built up over time, seemed to crumble piece by piece

"Goodnight, Jisung," he settled back against the pillows, his arms still holding me as if he couldn't bear the thought of letting go.

I didn't reply, but I let myself relax against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. I stayed there, listening to him breathe, feeling his arms wrapped around me. Somehow, the urge to run faded.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself just stay, surrendering to the quiet comfort of being held, to the warmth of Minho's presence beside me. And as the minutes slipped my mind settled.

I wasn't scared of tomorrow.

Because whatever happened between us just now was mutual.

~is it too late to warn y'all to skip this chapter? 😀

Chapter Text

JISUNG

I woke up feeling like my body had been put through a shredder and stitched back together haphazardly. Every muscle ached, every joint protested as I shifted under the covers, groaning softly. My head throbbed, and my stomach twisted, not just from hunger but from the lingering exhaustion that seemed to have settled in every corner of my body.

For a moment, I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the events of last night swirling in my mind. The memories were fragmented, disjointed-flashes of skin to skin intimacy, heavy sounds of moans and hint of alcohol through it all I wasn't sure I wanted to revisit those moments right now. My chest felt heavy, like something intangible was pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

It took a while before I finally mustered the will to move, throwing the covers off and forcing my feet to touch the cold floor. The ache in my legs made me wince, and I realized just how bad I'd pushed myself last night. I needed to clean up, to pull myself together, but even that felt like a nine to five.

Worse thing.

Minho wasn't here.

That realization hit me like a cold wave as I glanced around the room. No lingering presence, no warm plate of food waiting for me, no little note scribbled with his annoyingly neat handwriting. Usually he'd leave something-a gesture, no matter how small-to show he cared. But today, there was nothing. Just silence.

I sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at the empty space where he'd usually be. It was Sunday. Church day. That's probably where he'd gone, though he hadn't said anything about it before leaving. Still, it felt... different. Off.

The sheets smelled faintly of sweat and the remnants of last night's chaos. I groaned, pulling myself up with shaky legs and stripping the bed. The process felt grueling, my body protesting every movement, but I pushed through, tossing the soiled sheets into the laundry pile and replacing them with fresh ones.

Once that was done, I dragged myself to the bathroom. The reflection that greeted me in the mirror was rough. My hair was a mess, my eyes dull and rimmed with shadows. I looked as beaten as I felt. The shower was lukewarm just as I want it and by the time I was done, I felt a little more human, but the strangeness of the morning still clung to me like a shadow. I threw on a clean shirt and some sweatpants, padding into the kitchen.

Still nothing. I was expecting at least something from him that would make me feel less empty but only the faint sound of birds outside could be heard.

It didn't feel like him to leave without a word, not when I'd woken up like this, clearly in no state to fend for myself. I tried not to let it get to me, but the hollow feeling in my chest only grew.

I busied myself making something to eat without taxing my aching body. It helped distracting me from the dark feeling I felt everytime I thought of him at least for a little while, but the moment I sat down at the table, the stillness of the apartment crept back in.

I chewed slowly, staring out the window at nothing in particular. Today felt... weird. Wrong. Or maybe I was just being paranoid. Maybe Minho had left early for church and didn't want to wake me because I clearly needed the rest. Or maybe... maybe he was upset.

The thought lingered, gnawing at the back of my mind. Last night had been... intense. I'd let my walls down, let him in again after promising myself I'd never go down that road again when I'm still not over the first one, and now, in the harsh light of day, I wasn't sure where that left us. Did he regret it? Did I?

I wanted to call him, to ask him where he was, to hear his voice and maybe reassure myself that everything was fine. But a part of me hesitated. What if he didn't want to talk to me? What if he needed space? Last night was probably too much for him to take in.

I sighed, running a hand through my still-damp hair. I needed to do something. Anything. Sitting around with my thoughts was suffocating. I grabbed an energy drink from the fridge, cracking it open and taking a long gulp. The sharp, sugary flavor jolted me awake just enough to get moving.

Back in my room, I surveyed the mess. The sheets had already been changed, but everything else still bore the chaos of last night. Pillows were tossed carelessly on the floor, clothes scattered everywhere, it was all still a mess left for just me to take care of.

I started tidying up, folding clothes and putting them back where they belonged. The repetitive motions were comforting, giving me something to focus on besides the gnawing regret in my chest. As I worked, I found myself reaching for my phone, my fingers hovering over Nessa's contact.

I thought about texting her, telling her everything but... this felt different. I could already imagine her reaction the way her voice would tighten, the inevitable judgment in her tone.

Maybe I was overthinking it. Or maybe I wasn't ready to face her telling me how stupid I was for letting that happen. Either way, I locked my phone and shoved it into my pocket, deciding against it.

The room was mostly clean by the time noon rolled around, but it still felt suffocating. It wasn't the mess that was the problem, it was the dark feeling of everything I wanted to forget.

My phone buzzed on the desk, and I snatched it up, desperate for a distraction. It was a message from Felix.

"Hey, you free? I'm going to get a haircut wanna come, I need emotional support."

Relief washed over me as I typed out a quick reply.

"Yeah, I'm in. When and where?"

I grabbed my jacket and keys glancing back at the freshly cleaned space before stepping out. The air outside was crisp, the sun bright against the clear sky. It felt good to be moving, to leave behind the stagnant atmosphere of my room.

I met Felix at the gates of the institution. He was leaning against the iron bars, scrolling through his phone, but the second he noticed me, his face lit up with that familiar, friendly smile.

"Hey, Sungie," he greeted, pocketing his phone as he stepped toward me.

"Hey," I replied, my voice sounding more strained than I intended. I forced a half-smile and fell into step beside him.

For a while, we walked in comfortable silence, exchanging a few words here and there about the weather or how quiet the institution felt on Sundays, he also mentioned how he never sees me in Sunday school or any church program or prayers and I lied that I'm always there and just said the crowd makes it hard to find people.

"Yeah right." It was silent until Felix glanced over at me that the quiet broke.

"You okay? You seem like you're zoning out," he said, his tone light but laced with concern.

"I'm fine," I lied quickly, brushing a hand through my hair. "Just tired."

Felix didn't seem convinced, but he didn't push. He sighed and shook his head, his smile dimming slightly. "So, where are we going again?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

Felix hesitated before answering. "Big chop on my hair "

I blinked. "Wait. Why?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze. "The reverend thinks my hair's too long. Says it makes me look..." He paused, then sighed again. "...too feminine. Said it might set a bad example for the kids."

The words hung heavy in the air, and I stopped in my tracks, staring at him. "What? That's ridiculous, Felix. You don't have to cut your hair because of that."

He turned back to face me, a small, resigned smile on his lips. "i don't want to either but he's bringing the kids into it. I don't want to cause trouble, you know? And if cutting my hair keeps the peace..."

"Felix." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You shouldn't have to do it just because someone else has an outdated idea of what's acceptable."

Felix's shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked torn. "It's not just about me, though. I don't want the kids thinking it's okay to challenge authority or go against what they're taught. I don't want to influence them in the wrong way."

"Influence them how?" I pressed. "By being true to yourself? By showing them it's okay to express who they are? That's not a bad influence, Felix. That's what they need."

He gave me a weak smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're always good at making a point, Jisung. But sometimes, it's not that simple."

I could see in his expression that he didn't really want to cut his hair, He was trying so hard to fit into a mold he didn't belong in, to meet standards that didn't make sense.

"It's your hair, Felix," I said softly. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

He stayed quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing over the ends of his long, golden locks. "I don't want to," he admitted quietly. "But I feel like I don't have a choice."

There it was-that deep-rooted struggle between what he wanted and what he felt he had to do.

"Promise me you'll think about it," I said. "Don't make a decision just because someone else tells you to."

Felix met my gaze, his expression softening. "I'll think about it," he said, though it sounded more like a way to end the conversation than a real promise.

We skipped going to the salon texted Jeongin instead It was Felix's idea to text Jeongin.
Jeongin replied quickly, saying he was free and wanted to head to a park nearby where his friend Chan was playing soccer. The plan sounded casual enough, so we agreed.

We arrived at the park Kids were playing tag on the playground, families were having picnics, and the soccer field was nearby . Chan's game had already started, and Jeongin led us to the edge of the field, waving enthusiastically at his friend.

Chan, spotting Jeongin immediately, waved back with a bright grin before focusing back on the game. Jeongin couldn't stop smiling after that, his eyes glued to the field.

Felix nudged him playfully. "You've got a serious fanboy look going on right now. Should we give you two some space?"

Jeongin rolled his eyes but didn't respond, his gaze still on Chan. Felix and I shared a knowing look before settling onto the grass.

For a while, we just enjoyed the atmosphere. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and the shouts from the field blended with the distant sound of kids laughing. Felix leaned back on his hands, his head tilted toward the sky. "It's weird," he said suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence.

"What is?" Jeongin asked, tearing his eyes away from Chan briefly.

"That Minho hasn't shown up yet," Felix replied. "Like, there's never a day when we hang out without him magically appearing and trying to steal Jisung away."

I scoffed at the comment, crossing my arms over my chest. "Right," I muttered.

Felix raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jeongin turned to me too, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah, what's up with you today, You've been quiet all afternoon."

"It's nothing," I said quickly, but their skeptical looks told me they weren't buying it.

"Nothing, huh?" Felix pressed. "You've been zoning out since we met up. Spill."

I sighed, feeling cornered. "It's just... Minho and I had a little misunderstanding, that's all."

Jeongin frowned, concern etched across his face. "A misunderstanding? About what?"

"It's not a big deal," I insisted, but the words felt hollow.

Felix leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Not a big deal, but it's got you all moody and distracted? Come on talk to us."

I hesitated, my gaze falling to the grass beneath me. I didn't want to drag them into the mess that was my mind, and beside they are straight conservative homophobes and even if Jeongin was dating Chan he'd still act homophobic because he still doesn't know that I know.

"It's just... complicated," I finally said, hoping that would be enough to satisfy them.

Felix sighed, clearly not convinced but choosing not to push further. "Well, whatever it is, I hope you two work it out."

I forced a smile, but the strange feeling in my chest only grew heavier. Minho wasn't here, and for the first time, I wasn't sure if I wanted him to be.

The game ended with Chan's team victorious, and Jeongin looked ready to explode with pride. As the players shook hands, Chan jogged over to where we were sitting, his face flushed and shining with sweat.

"Hey," he greeted, his breath still heavy from the game. "Didn't know you guys were coming." His eyes flickered to Jeongin, lingering there longer than necessary. "Hi."

Felix, being Felix, immediately chimed in. "Jeongin wanted to see his favorite player in action."

Jeongin rolled his eyes, but the slight blush creeping onto his cheeks was impossible to miss. "It's not like that," he mumbled, though his shy smile betrayed him.

Chan grinned, his gaze softening. "Well, thanks for coming. It means a lot."

The way they looked at each other-like no one else in the world existed-was painfully obvious. I'd seen it before, felt it before. That subtle electricity that crackled between two people, unspoken but undeniable. And for a brief moment, I was jealous-not of them, but of the simplicity of it. The ease with which they seemed to connect, unburdened by complications.

Chan turned to the rest of us. "Since you're here, let me treat you guys. There's this spot nearby that has great drinks."

Felix perked up immediately. "Free drinks? I'm in."

Jeongin, clearly trying to play it cool, just nodded. "Sure, why not?"

I followed along silently, feeling like the odd one out.

The place Chan brought us to was cozy, tucked away from the park. It had a laid-back vibe, with dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. True to his word, Chan paid for our drinks, though I couldn't help but notice how he hovered near Jeongin the entire time, their conversation flowing effortlessly.

Felix and I exchanged a few glances, silently acknowledging the budding connection between the two. But while Felix seemed amused by it, I couldn't shake the hollow feeling growing in my chest.

The drinks were good, and the laughter around the table was infectious, but I couldn't fully immerse myself in it. My mind kept drifting back to Minho, to the way he hadn't texted or shown up unannounced like Felix had joked about earlier.

By the time we decided to call it a day, the sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, the sun dipping low on the horizon. Chan waved us off, his focus still mostly on Jeongin, who lingered just a little longer than the rest of us before catching up.

As I made my way back to the dorm alone, the familiar knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I didn't know what to expect when I got there. Would Minho be waiting, ready to brush off everything as though nothing had happened? Or would there be an uncomfortable tension widening gap between us?.

But when I opened the door, the room was empty.

At first, I thought he might have just stepped out, but as the minutes stretched on, it became clear that he wasn't coming back anytime soon. His absence hit me harder than I expected.

I sank onto my bed, staring at the neat space where his things usually were. The silence was deafening, amplifying every thought swirling in my head.

Where was he? Was he avoiding me? Did last night mess things up more than I thought?

Guilt gnawed at me, each unanswered question cutting deeper. I hated myself for overthinking, for letting my mind spiral like this. But I couldn't help it. The room felt colder without him, emptier. And as the hours dragged on, I found myself wishing more than anything that he would just walk through the door and say something. Anything.

But he didn't. And as the evening turned to night, everything became almost unbearable.

It was 11 p.m., and Minho still wasn't back.

My thoughts swirled into a storm of anxiety, crashing over me in relentless waves. Did he regret last night so much that he couldn't even face me anymore?

I hated this. I hated everything about this.

I hated that I had given myself to him so completely. That I'd let myself believe, even for a moment, that it could mean something more than just a mistake. That I'd woken up to the most excruciating pain, both in my body and my heart, and he hadn't even been there. Had he really held me last night, begging me not to leave? Or had that all been hallucinating?

I definitely know one thing for sure that Minho would come back eventually and he'd have convinced himself that none of it mattered. He'd call it a slip-up, a moment of weakness, and he'd repent. He'd say God had forgiven him, and that he was stronger now, purer. And me?

I'd be the sinner. The one who dragged him down. The one to bear the weight of the blame.

The thought made my stomach churn, bile rising in my throat. I hated this. I hated feeling like this.

But most of all, I hated being in love with him.

My chest tightened, Tears burned in my eyes, blurring my vision as I sat up in bed. The room spun around me, I couldn't sit here anymore. I couldn't let these thoughts consume me.

I threw the covers off and stumbled to my bag, my hands trembling as I rummaged through it. There it was. My vape.

I had hidden it away months ago, vowing not to use it again. It wasn't allowed in the institution, and I had promised myself I'd leave it behind, along with all my bad habits. But tonight, I didn't care. Tonight, I needed something-anything-to drown out the chaos in my head.

I collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the bed as I brought it to my lips. The first inhale was harsh, burning my throat and filling my lungs with a bitter, artificial sweetness. I exhaled slowly, watching the cloud of vapor dissipate into the air.

It didn't fix anything. It didn't make the pain go away. But it numbed the edges, just enough to keep me from spiraling completely.

How could he do this to me? How could I let him?

I buried my face in my knees, the vape clutched tightly in my hand. I didn't know how much longer I could keep pretending that I was okay, that I wasn't falling apart from the inside out.

I hated him for it. I hated myself for caring so much.

And as the night stretched on, I couldn't help but wonder if this was what love was supposed to feel like-heavy, suffocating, and utterly consuming. Or if I was just a fool, chasing something that was never meant to be mine.

I felt like shit. Not just physically-though that was bad enough-but emotionally, mentally, in every possible way.

What hurt the most was the realization that he hadn't taken care of me. Maybe he didn't know how to. Maybe he didn't even think about it. And wasn't that worse? That I could give so much of myself to him, only to wake up alone, left to patch myself together without so much as a second thought from him?

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as my thoughts drifted to Jeongin and Chan. Their relationship was so tender, so beautiful in its simplicity. I could still picture the way Jeongin's face lit up when Chan waved to him during the game earlier. That smile had been pure, unguarded, filled with a love that didn't need to be complicated to be real.

I envied that.

I envied the way Chan seemed to know exactly what Jeongin needed, how he made him laugh and supported him in a way that was so effortless, so genuine. It was the kind of love that felt steady, unshakeable. The kind of love that felt like home.

And then there was me. Stuck in this confusing mess of emotions with a trio situationships , Minho, my best friend, my...whatever he was. Was he just a friend? Was he more? Did last night mean anything to him at all, or was it just another mistake, another moment we'd both pretend never happened?

I hated the uncertainty. I hated feeling like this-like I was caught in some game where the rules kept changing, and I was always the one left behind.

Why couldn't it be simple for me? Why couldn't I find something that lasted, something that felt real? Instead, I was stuck in this endless cycle of threesomes and casual flings and best friends with benefits-whatever the hell that even meant.

I wanted more. I wanted someone who would stay. Someone who would see me, all of me, and choose me anyway. Someone who would take care of me when I was falling apart, who wouldn't leave me to clean up the mess alone.

But most of all, I wanted Minho to be that person.

And that was the cruelest part of it all.

Because no matter how much I wanted it, no matter how much I wished for it, I couldn't make him love me the way I loved him. I couldn't make him stay when he always seemed to be running, even if he didn't realize it.

I took another drag from the vape, the bitterness filling my lungs as my chest ached with a longing I couldn't shake.

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly as I tried to push the thoughts away. But they lingered, heavy and unrelenting, reminding me of everything I wanted and everything I couldn't have.

The next day came with a dull ache that seemed to seep into every part of me. I forced myself to get up, to go through the motions, to make it to class even though I felt like a shell of myself. My head was still scrambled, my heart an even bigger mess but I couldn't let myself stay in bed and rot. Not again.

When the break came, Jeongin and Felix convinced me to go to the café with them. I didn't really want to, but I also didn't want to be alone. Maybe being around them would help distract me from the noise in my head.

But then I saw him.

Minho.

He was sitting at a table near the window with Changbin. The sunlight streaming through the glass caught his face just right, highlighting the slight curve of his smile, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

My heart stopped.

So he was okay. He looked fine, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't left me to wake up alone, like he hadn't ignored me all night. He didn't even notice me walk in.

He probably didn't care.

He probably hated me.

"Jisung?" Jeongin's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He followed my gaze and frowned. "You should go talk to him if you're gonna stare at him all day."

"No." My voice was firmer than I expected, and I quickly looked away, forcing my focus onto the table in front of me.

"You're just gonna let whatever it is eat you up?" Felix chimed in, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Yes."

Felix sighed, and Jeongin gave me a look like he wanted to say something else, but he let it go. I appreciated it. The last thing I needed was more pressure to confront Minho when I was barely holding myself together.

The conversation shifted after that, but I wasn't really there. I nodded when it seemed appropriate, offered a half-hearted laugh when Jeongin said something funny, but my mind was elsewhere.

Minho.

The way he looked so carefree, so at ease with Changbin, while I was falling apart. The way he hadn't even bothered to look up, to notice me standing there.

My thoughts were already spiraling again.

I needed to talk to Nessa.

I didn't care if she scolded me or told me I was being stupid. I didn't care if she laughed or if she didn't understand. I just needed someone to hear me, someone to remind me of my worth because I feel worthless.

Later In the night, I stared at my phone for what felt like hours before finally pressing Nessa's contact. The screen glowed as it rang, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room, my palms were clammy. I didn't want to do this, but I needed to.

She picked up on the third ring. "Jisung? Hey, what's up? It's late."

The warmth in her voice made my throat tighten. I almost hung up, almost chickened out, but I forced myself to stay on the line. "Hey, um... I need to talk to you about something."

Her tone shifted immediately. "What happened?"

I let out a shaky breath, pacing the room. "I messed up, Nessa. Like... really messed up."

"Okay, take a breath. What happened?" she pressed, her voice calm but laced with concern.

"It Minho."

"Not him again? Is it that bad?"

"Yes."

"On a scale of one to ten how bad is it?"

"Eleven."

"Shit. What did you do that's so bad it's not like you slept with him or something." She chuckled lightly not thinking that was the case of my emergency call but it certainly was and she got the message when I got too quiet and she gasped.

"Jisung?"

I hesitated, biting my lip. How was I supposed to say this? "I know... I let things get out of hand." I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause on the other end, the silence deafening. "What do you mean, 'out of hand. You took advantage of him again?"

"No... It was mutual this Time." I said quickly, the words tumbling out like they burned. "It wasn't planned-it just... happened. We were drunk, and one thing led to another, and-"

"Jisung, are you dumb?" she cut me off, her voice sharp and incredulous.

I winced, gripping the phone tighter. "Nessa, I know it sounds bad, but-"

"'Sounds bad'? Jisung, it is bad! What the hell were you thinking? You slept with Minho?"

I flinched at her words, sitting down on the edge of my bed. "It wasn't like that. We were drunk, and-"

"I don't care if you were drunk, high, or whatever," she snapped. "You let this happen with him? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Nessa, please," I pleaded. "You don't understand. It wasn't just me. He was... he wanted it too."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, I'm sure he did. And let me guess, now he's going to wake up, go to church, and tell himself it was just a mistake. He'll pray for forgiveness while you sit here, blaming yourself for everything, like you always do."

Shit. She's right.

I hated that she was right.

Fuck. How do I fight back.

"It's not like that," I said weakly, but even as I said it, her words hit too close to home.

"Jisung," she said, her voice softer now but no less firm. "You've been through this before. How many times have you let straight guys-especially the homophobic ones-cross the line with you because they gave you some scrap of attention? How many times have you been hurt by it?"

"This is different," I argued, though I wasn't sure I believed it myself.

"Is it?" she shot back. "You've told me about guys like Minho before. They're always so curious, so drawn to you because you're everything they repress about themselves. They use you to figure themselves out, and when they do, they leave you with the mess. Do you really want to go through that again?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

She sighed, her frustration evident. "Jisung, I love you, but you're being stupid. You're letting your feelings for him cloud your judgment. He's not going to suddenly change who he is because of one or two drunken night. And even if he does feel something for you, do you really think he's ready to face that? To face what it means for both of you? I think you keep forgetting he is straight and religious and how much this hybrid of men obsess over gay sex even you of all people should know this."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped them away. "I don't know nessa..." I admitted, my voice breaking. "I don't know what to think or feel anymore. I just... I can't help myself around him."

"I know. " she said softly. "And that's what scares me. You're going to let him hurt you, Jisung. You're going to let him break you because you love him. And I can't stand to see that happen to you again."

I didn't know what to say, didn't know how to defend myself when she was right.

"I just... I needed to tell someone," I whispered finally.

"I'm glad you told me," she said after a moment. "But please, Jisung, be careful. Don't let him drag you down. You deserve better than this."

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me, and we stayed on the line for a while longer. She didn't push anymore, and I didn't offer anything else. When we finally hung up
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as her words replayed in my mind. She was right. About everything. But knowing that didn't make it any easier.

The week dragged on, and with each passing day, I felt myself sinking deeper. It wasn't just the gnawing pit of anxiety or the way my stomach twisted every time I saw Minho in the halls-it was everything. The silence, the distance, the complete absence of him from the dorm. He was still there, somewhere, in my life but no longer part of it in any real way.

I'd started smoking again. The small stash I'd hidden away for emergencies had somehow dwindled to nothing in just a few days. Each drag burned my throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste that matched the mood I couldn't shake. I told myself I'd stop again, but that promise rang hollow. It was easier to lean into the habits that numbed me than to face the mess I'd made.

Minho was everywhere and nowhere. We shared the same space, crossed paths on campus, but he wouldn't even glance in my direction. It was like I didn't exist, like I hadn't been the person he held so tightly that night, begging me for attention and whispering things I couldn't forget. He'd moved on, or maybe he hadn't even registered it as something to move on from. For him, it might have been a mistake. For me, I couldn't drop for a lifetime.

Felix and Jeongin tried their best to keep me afloat. They dragged me out of the dorm whenever they could, forcing me into their plans. I even went to church with them once, though I didn't know what I was hoping to find there. Salvation? Redemption? Minho?

The latter, as it turned out.

It was the last place I expected to see him, and yet there he was, sitting in one of the front rows with Changbin. My eyes found him before my brain registered what I was doing. He looked... Great. Maybe it was the lighting or the way he held himself, but he seemed more at peace than I'd ever seen him.

His eyes caught mine suddenly, and my breath hitched.

He looked surprised like I was the last person he'd expected to see there. And maybe I was. I held his gaze for a moment, long enough to see the faint flicker of recognition in his eyes. Then I looked away, pretending I hadn't noticed him.

I felt his stare burning into the side of my face for the rest of the service, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Another week passed, and Minho still didn't come back to the dorm. I stopped expecting him to. The space that used to feel too small for the both of us now felt too big, too quiet. I tried to fill the void with noise-music, TV, anything-but it wasn't the same.

It was Friday and I finally gave in to Nessa's constant nudging to meet up. We'd been planning to get together for weeks, and I figured some time away from the institution and everything tied to it would do me good.

We stayed in a hotel room downtown and spent the night catching up, drinking, and laughing like old times. She didn't bring up Minho, and I didn't offer anything. She tried to get far with me but I wasn't in the mood of any of it and she respected it.

By the time I got back to the dorm the next morning, I was exhausted but lighter. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again.

But when I opened the door and stepped inside, all the air rushed out of me.

Minho was there.

He was sitting on our bed, his back to the door as he sorted through a pile of papers. His presence filled the room instantly, shoving aside the emptiness I'd grown used to.

My heart stopped. Then it stuttered back to life, pounding painfully in my chest.

He turned slightly at the sound of the door, and when our eyes met, neither of us said anything. The silence was deafening, heavy with everything we hadn't said to each other over the past two weeks.

"Hey," he said finally, his voice calm, almost casual.

"Hey," I replied, my own voice barely above a whisper.

I didn't know what else to say, what else to do. So I just stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at him like he was a ghost.

And in a way, he was. The ghost of everything I'd wanted, everything I'd ruined, everything I couldn't have.

I slowly walked into the room and I set my bag down quietly, deliberately keeping my gaze elsewhere as I began to strip out of my clothes, eager to hit the shower and wash away the weight of everything-the night, the the past two goddamn weeks of hell.

But no matter how much I tried to ignore him, I couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on me. It was heavy, burning, pulling at me like he wanted something from me but didn't know how to ask.

I was shrugging out of my shirt when his voice broke the silence.

"So, are you planning to tell me where you were since last night?" And as if to cool down the audacity he just spew he added.
"I was worried."

The casual calmness in his tone made me freeze mid-movement something in me snapped.

I turned to face him, my expression cold as ice. "Oh, you were worried?" I spat. "But you weren't worried enough when you left me here after we had sex to take care of myself and deal with the aftermath all alone? Were you worried about how I felt during the two weeks of silence after you fucked me and ran back to God to cover your sins?"

Minho flinched, the words landing harder than I thought they would. His jaw tightened, and I could see the faint flicker of guilt in his eyes. But I wasn't done.

"And now," I continued, my voice rising, "you're worried that I wasn't home last night? Worried enough to ask, just
to make sure I didn't go off and fuck Nessa or someone else, right?"

"That's not what I meant, Jisung." His voice was quiet now, tinged with something I couldn't quite place-regret, maybe, or frustration.

"Fuck you and what you meant."

I didn't wait for his response. I turned on my heel and marched to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me with a force that rattled the frame.

Inside, I leaned against the door, my chest heaving as the adrenaline coursed through me. My hands were trembling, and I clenched them into fists to steady myself, my nails digging into my palms.

I hated this. I hated him.

No.

I hated that even after everything, a part of me still wanted him to fight for me. To explain, to apologize, to make it right.

The thought made me feel sick.

I took long cold shower.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, the room was quiet, but I could hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen-clinking plates, a chair sliding across the floor. Minho.

I sighed, running a towel through my hair. Of course, he was out there acting like nothing was wrong. I ignored and slipped on some clothes.

I glanced around the room, our bed joined together annoyed me more than it should, the reminder of how we used to share this space so easily. With a surge of determination, I grabbed his bedframe and shoved it to the far edge of the room. The legs screeched against the floor, and I didn't care if it made a racket. Then, I pushed my own bed to the opposite side, creating a gulf between us as wide as the one I felt inside.

Satisfied, I flopped onto my bed, grabbing my phone. My fingers flew over the screen as I texted Nessa.

Jisung: Minho's back. After two weeks of ignoring me.

Nessa: Ignore him too. Completely. Don't even give him the time of day.

I wanted to laugh at how easy she made it sound, but she was right. I didn't owe him anything, not after everything.

Minho stepped in, holding two plates of food. His eyes swept the room, landing on the rearranged beds. His face didn't betray much-just the slightest flicker of recognition before he looked away and walked toward me.

He stopped beside my bed and placed one of the plates down.

"I don't want your food," I said not even looking at him. "I'll order something."

There was a pause. I could feel his gaze on me, that soft, pleading look he always had when he wanted to get under my skin. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let it work this time.

"Get this plate off my bed, or I'll kick it off," I said coldly, finally meeting his eyes.

His face fell, but he said nothing. With a quiet nod, he picked the plate up and went to sit on his bed-the bed I'd pushed as far away as possible.

I watched him from the corner of my eye as he stared at his food. He took one spoonful, then another, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. He set the fork down and turned to me.

"Jisung," he started, his voice soft.

I didn't answer.

"I'm sorry."

That made me look at him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped together as if in prayer.

"For everything," he continued. "For being such a jerk. For ignoring you. For leaving when I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have left you alone. I was scared, and I handled it all wrong."

His voice cracked on the last word, and it made my chest tighten in ways I didn't want to acknowledge.

"I don't know how to fix this," he admitted, his eyes glossy. "But I want to try. I miss you. I hate that I made you."

I stared at him, my throat dry. His words hit me harder than I wanted them to, but anger still simmered beneath the surface.

"Sorry doesn't fix two weeks of silence," I said, my voice low. "Sorry doesn't undo how you made me feel like shit. Like I didn't matter to you. Like I was just- just an object for you to mess with and throw away." I stopped, my voice breaking.

"You do matter to me," he interrupted, his tone desperate. "You matter so much it scares me. That's why I-"

"Ran?" I finished for him.

He looked away, guilt written all over his face.

I wanted to scream at him, to throw his words back in his face and tell him they weren't enough. But the truth was, I didn't know what I wanted. Closure? Reassurance? Him?

But I remembered I had done the same too years ago. Coming to terms with yourself might be the hardest thing ever and I wonder how hard it must have been for him too.

"I wished I had handle it way differently."

I hated how easily my frustration was fading, how his apologies sounded so genuine me.

I sighed, running a hand through my damp hair. "Just... don't expect things to go back to normal overnight," I said finally.

Minho nodded, relief softening his features. "I don't. I just want a chance."

I didn't answer. Instead, I turned back to my phone, pretending to scroll as my mind raced.

MINHO.

The hope that Jisung would forgive me had been eating away at me all day. I knew I didn't deserve it not after how I'd acted. Fear and doctrine had driven me to make some terrible decisions, to shut him out when all I really wanted was to pull him closer. But if there was one thing I was certain of, it was that I wouldn't rush him. Jisung deserved his space, and I was determined to respect that, no matter how hard it was to stay on the sidelines.

I understood why he moved the beds. The way they were positioned now screamed of a need for separation, a physical boundary to mirror the emotional distance between us. And while it stung, I couldn't blame him. I'd put him through hell these past two weeks. If I were him, I wouldn't want me close either.

So I kept to myself, staying out of his way as much as I could. I stayed on my bed, laptop balanced on my knees, half-watching some program online but not really processing any of it. My thoughts were entirely elsewhere

Then, out of nowhere, he came over.

At first, I thought he was just passing by, but then he stopped in front of me. Before I could say anything, Jisung leaned down and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

I froze for half a second before tossing my laptop aside without a second thought, my hands coming up to hold him tightly. His weight settled on my lap, his chest pressed against mine, and all I could focus on was the sound of our breathing slow, steady, and completely in sync.

"I missed you," Jisung confessed, his voice muffled against my neck.

My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. "I missed you way more, baby," I replied, my voice soft but filled with everything I couldn't put into words.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at me, but he stayed seated on my lap, his weight grounding me in a way I didn't realize I needed. I felt like I was on top of the world with him like this so close, so open, like all the walls between us had momentarily disappeared.

"Can you take me shopping? I just got my paycheck," he said with a small smile, his tone light.

"Sure," I said without hesitation. I didn't need to think twice. For Jisung, I'd say yes to anything.

Minho, would you sell your soul so I could get ice cream?

Yes. Yes, I would.

The thought made me chuckle internally because, honestly, I probably would. He had that kind of pull over me.

"Really?" he asked, his smile growing as he climbed off my lap. I couldn't help the disappointment that hit me when he moved away, but the sight of his happiness made up for it.

"Yes, really," I said, standing up and brushing myself off. My eyes fell to his waist, the way his shirt hung loose around it, and I instinctively reached for it, letting my hand rest there for just a moment.

"Do you want to get dressed or-"

"What's wrong with my outfit?" he interrupted, mock indignation flashing across his face.

"Nothing," I said with a smirk, my hand still lingering on his waist. "It's perfect."

It was. He was.

Moments later we were walking out the dorm, Jisung right beside me as we made our way to my car. Jisung walked beside me, his steps light, almost playful. As we reached the car, his voice cut through the quiet.

"Can I drive?"

The words came out casual, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Yes," I said without hesitation, handing him the keys before I could even think about it.

His eyes widened briefly in surprise before a small smirk tugged at his lips. My heart stuttered at the sight of it, and-God help me-my dick twitched. I clenched my jaw, fighting to keep my composure as I made my way to the passenger seat.

Sliding in, I forced myself not to smile as he started the engine, his hands firm on the wheel. There was something stupidly attractive about the way he looked behind the wheel of my car, his focus shifting as he adjusted the seat and mirrors.

The silence in the car was... awkward, almost suffocating. I hated it. I hated the way it stretched between us, reminding me of all the distance I'd put between us these past few weeks.

I cleared my throat, deciding to break it. "So... what are you shopping for?"

His eyes stayed on the road, but his lips quirked up just slightly. "Clothes, body care stuff, skincare," he listed off casually.

I nodded, relieved the ice was breaking. "Sounds like a lot. Why not drag Felix along? I'm sure he'd love it." I almost slapped myself as I let my thoughts out still bitter that he chose Felix to shop with him one time and Sid he had a better style.

"I was going to," Jisung said, glancing at me for half a second before focusing back on the road. "But then I thought... I wanted to bond with you."

Those words hit me like a freight train. My brain short-circuited, replaying them over and over. I wanted to bond with you.

I almost squealed. I almost kicked my feet like a kid who'd just gotten their first crush. My toes actually tingled with excitement, but I somehow kept it all locked inside, nodding like the most casual, normal guy in the world.

"Oh," I managed to say, my voice calm despite the internal chaos. "That's... nice."

"Nice?" He snorted, giving me a side-eye glance. "That's all you've got? Nice?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Fine. It's great. Amazing. The highlight of my week."

"Better," he said with a smug smile, his attention back on the road.

I watched him for a moment, the way the evening light hit his face, the way he seemed so at ease behind the wheel. My heart swelled, I wanted to kiss him.

Random thought.

When we got to the store.

We shopped for his Products first Jisung led the way, pushing the cart while I followed close behind, more invested in watching him than in whatever he was picking up.

First came the skincare products. He carefully inspected each item, reading labels with a focus that made me smile. The guy looked adorable squinting at ingredients he probably didn't even understand. He tossed in a face cleanser, a moisturizer, and a few serums before turning to me.

"Do you use anything like this?" he asked, holding up a small bottle of toner.

"Soap and water?" I replied with a shrug, and he gave me the most disappointed look I'd ever seen.

"God, you're hopeless."

I grinned as he rolled his eyes and added more products to the cart. Next were body washes-he made me smell every single one he picked up, debating out loud which scent was better.

"This one's nice," he said, holding up a bottle of something labeled Ocean Breeze.

I leaned in to sniff. "Smells like dish soap."

He glared at me, then placed it in the cart anyway.

After that, we moved to the perfumes. He sprayed at least ten different ones on those little tester strips, sniffing each with the same intensity as before. I swear, he could've been a professional critic with how serious he was taking it. Eventually, he settled on two-one warm and spicy, the other fresh and citrusy.

Then we reached that aisle.

At first, I wasn't paying attention, distracted by some random snacks near the checkout area. But when I glanced back, my eyes immediately landed on the small boxes Jisung was casually placing in the cart: condoms and lube.

I froze.

"What... what are those for?" I asked, my voice coming out higher-pitched than I intended.

Jisung didn't even look at me. "Idk, I just want to have it, just in case."

"Just in case of what!?" I demanded, stepping closer and lowering my voice.

He finally turned to me, his expression completely unreadable. "Just... in case."

That was it. No explanation, no elaboration. He shrugged and moved on to another aisle like it was nothing, leaving me standing there with my brain doing somersaults.

What the hell was he planning?

By the time we got to the cashier, I still hadn't gotten an answer. Jisung started unloading the cart onto the conveyor belt, his face perfectly calm, while I kept side-eyeing the condoms and lube like they were some sort of explosive.

When the cashier rang everything up, Jisung reached for his wallet, but I was faster. I handed over my card before he could even swipe his.

"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

"Paying," I said simply.

"You didn't have to do that-"

"I wanted to," I cut him off, giving him a look that left no room for argument.

He hesitated, then smiled softly. "Thanks."

I nodded, trying not to let his smile mess with my head too much.

As we left the store and headed toward the clothing brand store, the condoms and lube lingered in the back of my mind. Whatever Jisung was planning, I had a feeling it was going to drive me insane.

I focus on Jisung as he darted between racks, holding up outfits and asking my opinion. Half the time, I barely even registered what he was holding up because all I could see was him-the way his eyes lit up when he found something he liked, the way he chewed his bottom lip when he wasn't sure.

When he disappeared into the changing room, I sat on a nearby bench, trying to keep myself calm.

You're here to make things right. Don't make it weird.

But then he stepped out.

The outfit wasn't even extravagant-just a fitted sweater and jeans that clung to him in all the right places-but I couldn't stop staring. The deep green of the sweater made his skin glow, and the way the jeans hugged his hips...

I was on my feet before I even realized it.

"Wow," I breathed, moving closer to him. My hand instinctively reached out to touch his arm, trailing down to his waist. "You look... really pretty."

Jisung blinked at me, his lips parting slightly in surprise. "Pretty?"

"Yeah," I said softly, my thumb brushing over the fabric at his waist. "Really, really pretty."

His cheeks turned pink, and he looked away, mumbling something under his breath that I didn't catch.

He tried on a few more outfits, but that green sweater stuck with both of us. When he finally decided on it, along with a couple of other things, we headed to the register.

I didn't even wait for him to reach for his wallet this time. I pulled out my card and handed it to the cashier before Jisung could protest.

"Are you serious?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Completely," I said with a grin, signing the receipt.

As we walked out of the store, bags in hand, Jisung nudged me with his shoulder. "Are you doing all this to make up for being a jerk last week?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Maybe. Is it working?"

He rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. "I'll let you know."

When we got to the car, I instinctively headed for the driver's side, but Jisung's hand on my arm stopped me.

"Can I drive again?" he asked, holding out his hand expectantly.

I didn't even think twice. "Yes."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he smirked as he took the keys. I walked around to the passenger side, trying not to grin like an idiot as I settled into my seat.

He adjusted the mirrors like he owned the car. My chest tightened with a weird sort of affection, and suddenly I want to get Jisung his own car, but I kept it to myself.

"So," I said, breaking the silence as he pulled out of the parking lot. "What's next?"

"Dinner," he said without hesitation.

"And who's paying?"

Jisung smirked, shooting me a quick glance. "You, obviously. Gotta keep making up for being a jerk."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Fair enough."

We arrived, the restaurant was perfect. Dim lighting, soft music, and an ambiance that felt far too intimate for two people who were just trying to fix a friendship. I watched Jisung as he scanned the menu, his lips pursed in thought.

"You're gonna love the steak here," I said, trying to fill the silence.

"Yeah?" He glanced up at me, one brow raised. "And what if I want pasta?"

"Then you're wrong," I teased, smirking. "But you'll still enjoy it."

He rolled his eyes but smiled, and something in my chest tightened.

The meal went smoothly-or as smoothly as it could when I was hyper-aware of every single move Jisung made. The way his lips wrapped around the edge of his glass, the quiet laugh that escaped when he found my attempts at small talk amusing, the way his hand absentmindedly fiddled with the silverware-it was all too much.

But I had to play it cool. For both our sakes.

When the waiter cleared our plates and we settled into the easy lull of conversation, I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table.

"Hey," I started, my voice casual, "would you want to spend the rest of the weekend at my place?"

Jisung's brows furrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Are you setting us up to fuck?"

I almost choked on my water. "No!"

He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced.

"Jisung, I wouldn't do that," I said firmly, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "We're past that now. It was just a stupid slip-up that we'd never let happen again."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and then he nodded. "oh really?"

"Yeah won't happen again. We're best friends first before anything else." I assured him but as much as I wanted to believe it wouldn't happen again, I knew better. My body was already betraying me, the way my pulse raced every time he smiled, the heat crawling up my spine just from sitting across from him. It was impossible.

"Okay," he said finally, shrugging. "We can spend the weekend at your place."

"Great." I smiled, a bit too wide, and he laughed softly at my enthusiasm.

"Are we going there tonight?"

"Yes."

He nodded and smiled.

After we were done, I paid the bill, I kept stealing glances at him. He seemed relaxed, that earlier and he was making stable looks in my eyes now that pretty much gave me butterflies.

On the drive back to my apartment, the air was filled with a comfortable silence. I let him fiddle with the radio, his music choices making me chuckle at how random they were.

When we arrived we took no other turn we were both tired and I manage to help Jisung with his stuff and we showered and barely talked to each other. I was already in bed when Jisung climbed onto the mattress, spreading himself out with nothing but his shorts on, his skin glistening faintly from his night routine.

I tried to focus on anything else-on sleep, on breathing evenly, on the gentle hum of the AC-but it was impossible. Jisung was just there, stretched out and texting on his phone, his screen illuminating his features in the dim room.

I turned onto my side, closing my eyes tightly, willing my mind to shut off. But then I heard him chuckle quietly at something on his screen, and I gave up.

Shifting closer, I reached out and slid an arm around his waist, pressing myself into his side. My lips found the smooth curve of his neck without thinking, and I

"What's wrong?" he murmured, turning his head slightly to glance at me, his voice low and teasing.

"Nothing. I'm just jealous you're texting Nessa and I want attention," I admitted, not even trying to mask the longing in my voice.

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head as he turned back to his phone. "You're so needy."

Ignoring his dismissal, I nuzzled closer, letting my lips trail along his neck again. His skin was warm, soft, and smelled faintly of the body wash we'd picked out earlier.

I moved lower, letting my lips brush against his collarbone before trailing down to his chest. Jisung's fingers found my hair, his touch light as he began to stroke lazily, like he wasn't fully paying attention.

But I was. I kissed higher, grazing his nipple with my lips before sucking on it lightly, my hand splaying across his abdomen to steady myself.

"Minho..." His voice was softer now, almost hesitant, but he didn't stop me.

I flicked my tongue against him, drawing a quiet sigh from his lips, and my hand moved lower, skimming the waistband of his shorts before slipping my hands underneath gripping his dick.

Jisung tensed and turned to me "Minho.."

"Yes baby?".

"You said..."

"Forget what I said." I murmured slowly stroking him and feeling his grow hard and bigger under my touch. he exhaled, his body relaxing against mine as I palmed him gently. His fingers tightened slightly in my hair, and I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips as I kissed my way back up to his neck, murmuring against his skin.

"You still busy texting?"

Jisung's hand in my hair tightened as I continued, his body arching subtly under my touch. I smirked against his skin,nipping softly at the sensitive spot just beneath his ear.

"I wanna taste you." I murmured, my voice low and teasing, the vibrations sending a shiver through him.

He didn't respond at first, his breathing uneven, and I knew I was getting to him, I moved a bit faster letting my finger tease his tip and a low moan slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

"Minho..." His voice was breathy now, almost a plea, and the sound shot straight through me.

I kissed along his jawline, my free hand sliding up to cup his face, tilting it toward me. His phone slipped from his fingers, forgotten, landing softly on the mattress beside us.

"Do you want me to continue?" I teased, my lips brushing against his as I spoke.

"Yes please." he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed as another moan escaped him when I began to stroke him slowly, deliberately.

"Promise not to text Nessa."

His hands moved to grip my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I shifted on top of him, our bodies aligning perfectly. His legs parted slightly to accommodate me, and I couldn't help but press myself against him, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.

"I won't text her."

"You like this, don't you?" I whispered into his ear, my lips grazing the shell of it

"Shut up, Minho," he repeated, but his voice was weaker now, breaking on a moan as I quickened my movements.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent as I worked him, his sounds filling the quiet room. Each gasp, each moan was driving me to push him more, and I couldn't stop myself from kissing and biting softly at his neck, leaving faint marks that I knew would be there tomorrow.

"Don't stop," he finally breathed, his voice trembling, his hands clutching at me desperately now.

I chuckled softly against his skin, my teeth grazing his collarbone. "Cute." I freed his dick and he didn't let me go.
"Ugh Please... I won't text Nessa." His body ached for my touch.

"I'm taking you in my mouth." I said and his eyes shot open and looked at me unsure.

"Minho you're not that gay yet?"

I didn't listen I already pulled his shorts halfway down exposing his sexy dick.

"You sure you can take all of that?" He teased.

I scoffed in response. I'm gonna show him that I want him more than Nessa does and even if I'm still new to all this i still wanna give him the best. I've had my dick in his mouth and it felt like heaven and I want him to feel it too. I leaned down grabbing his dick giving it a few stroke as he laid there, watching me. His breaths unstable again.

I kissed the tip like he did mine and gave little licks around it, making sure to savour every inch of him. I could feel him slightly shuddering beneath me and I loved it. I'm going to swallow every bit of him till he begs me to let him go.

Jisung came the second I wrap my lips around him. He let out a loud moan and shivered underneath me as I still sucked him down to the base take all of his release in my mouth.

He couldn't take it, he pulled me off him.

"What happened?"

He rolled over his stomach laid flat on the bed still getting himself together. "I don't know." He breathe out almost laughing at himself. "what the fuck was even that I'm embarrassed."

I didn't hear him because I was staring at his bare ass that looked like he was arching for me I didn't know how I went from kissing it to sliding my tongue in and making Jisung groan and tremble.

"More." He begged in the sexiest way possible and I had made up my mind that was going to ruin him tonight.

--

I woke up at the crack of dawn, the faint glow of early morning light seeping through the curtains. Jisung was still fast asleep, his face relaxed, lips slightly parted as his chest rose and fell steadily. A small smile tugged at my lips as I watched him, the memory of the night before flashing in my mind.

Carefully, I slid out of bed, making sure not to disturb him. I scribbled a quick note and placed it on the pillow beside him before grabbing my things and heading out for morning mass.

By the time I returned a couple of hours later, the sun was fully up, and the apartment felt warm and quiet. I opened the door quietly and stepped inside, finding Jisung still in bed, sitting cross-legged with the note I had left in his hand.

The moment his eyes met mine, his face lit up, a bright, sleepy smile spreading across his lips. It was the kind of smile that could melt glaciers, and it hit me square in the chest.

"You're back already?" he asked, his voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

I walked over to him, pulling him into a hug as I kissed the top of his head. His hair was soft against my lips, and I couldn't resist the warmth of his body as he leaned into me.

"I went to the first mass," I explained, my voice low and soft. "I wanted to be back early so I could spend the rest of the day with you."

Jisung looked up at me, his cheeks flushing faintly as his smile grew. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," I said simply, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

"Thanks.... for also taking care of me before you left," he mumbled shyly, his gaze dropping to his lap.

I couldn't help but chuckle, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "cute," I said, and the way his blush deepened was enough to make my heart swell.

The rest of the day was blissfully simple. After a quick breakfast, we moved to the couch with a pile of snacks, alternating between playing games and watching movies.

Jisung's laughter filled the room as I pretended to be annoyed at losing yet another round of Mario Kart. He was sitting close to me, his shoulder brushing mine as he gloated playfully.

Later We ended up sprawled on the couch, a movie playing in the background as Jisung's head rested on my shoulder. .

As he snuggled closer, my arm wrapping around him instinctively, I realized there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

The morning started like any other Monday, with me buttoning up my shirt and getting ready for the regular Monday going back to that institution. Jisung was sprawled lazily on the couch. He had one arm draped over his face, his phone in the other hand.

"Baby, you're not going today?" I asked, pausing to glance at him.

Jisung raised a hand to his lips, signaling for me to be quiet. I frowned, watching as he brought his phone to his ear, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Good morning, Father Lee," he said smoothly, his tone so calm and convincing it startled me. My hands froze on my buttons, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah, it's Han Jisung. I'm calling in sick today, sir. I have the flu."

Flu? My eyes narrowed as Jisung shot me a quick look and nodded, his expression unreadable.

"Don't worry too much," he continued, sounding almost saintly. "I'm taking medication, and I'll be well soon. Okay, have a great day."

He hung up and tossed the phone onto the couch like it was nothing, then turned to me with a smirk that made my stomach flip.

"Why'd you call in sick?" I asked, still trying to process what just happened.

Jisung walked up to me, his hand pressing against my chest as he tilted his head. "I just wanted to spend the whole day indoors... getting fucked by you."

The words hit me like a freight train, the heat rising in my face and pooling somewhere lower. My mind blanked for a second, trying to process if he had really just said that.

Before I could respond, he smirked and walked past me, heading upstairs like he didn't just drop a bomb on me.

"Shit," I muttered, my heart racing as I grabbed my phone and followed him up the stairs.

I hit call, the phone ringing twice before I heard my father's voice. "Minho?"

I stepped into the bedroom and stopped dead in my tracks. Jisung was on the bed, completely naked, his hand moving slowly over himself, teasing and deliberate.

"Minho," my father's voice came through the phone again, sharper this time.

I swallowed hard, my voice shaky as I tore my gaze away. "Sorry, Father. It's... hard to talk-I caught the flu."

"Oh," he said, his tone softening. "I understand. Take the day off, but no excuses tomorrow."

"Thank you," I mumbled, ending the call without waiting for a response.

I dropped the phone to the side, my attention immediately snapping back to Jisung. He moaned softly, his movements quickening as his eyes locked on mine, full of challenge and desire.

I climbed onto the bed without hesitation, my cross necklace dangling from my neck as I leaned over him. Jisung reached up and tugged on it gently, his lips curving into a smirk.

"Take it off. It bothers me," he said, his voice low and commanding.

I didn't hesitate, yanking the chain off and tossing it away.

"Good boy." He kissed me on the lips then gave me the most mesmerizing pair of eyes I'd ever seen and it drove me nuts.

Jisung and I spent the entire day in bed. Kissing, fucking and sucking.

Chapter Text

MINHO

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend?

Why was I thinking about that now.

Jisung and I had made it clear what we were to each other. "Best friends."

Boyfriend.

The word repeated itself in my head like a mantra I hadn’t asked for, like a melody stuck on loop.

"Best friends."

We’d said it enough times to make it sound convincing, but the word felt more like a placeholder than a definition. And thinking about it now… thinking about how we’d spent the past week tangled up in the nastiest, sweatiest, most electric sex I’d ever had in my life, I couldn’t ignore it. There was no way we could just keep being best friends.

I'm loosing terribly

And

He warned me about this.

We had a whole conversation about it.

Jisung hadn’t laid it out plainly.

A week back, I remember being sprawled out on top of him, my body sticking to his with the sweat of our post-climactic haze. He was lying there, his head tilted back, fingers twirling a vape lazily between them. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and I couldn’t help but marvel at him, how utterly perfect he looked.

After minutes of our release he asked if it was okay to vape in my room, his tone so casual, as if we weren’t both naked and wrecked from the best time of our lives.

Of course, I said yes. How could I not? He looked hot doing it. Everything about him was magnetic, down to the way his lips wrapped around the device and the smoke curled out of his mouth.

And then, without thinking, I said it. The question that had been gnawing at the edges of my brain.

“What are we?” it's been aching in my head and I needed a definition of what we were to each other.

His brows furrowed slightly, just a flicker of thought crossing his face before he answered. “Friends. Best friends.”

That answer didn’t sit right. Not with the way he looked at me. Not with the way his fingers had skimmed over my bare back just moments before.

“I don’t think so, Jisung.” My hands moved instinctively, tracing circles over his chest as I said it.

“Why not?” He sounded amused.

“We can’t be friends. At least not like this.” I couldn't meet his eyes even though I was aware he was staring at me.

“We can,” he countered smoothly, dragging from his vape, blowing out smoke.
“As long as none of us catches feelings, we’re good.”

Feelings. That word lingered, heavy and unresolved.

"There's no way we wouldn't catch feelings we're setting ourselves up if we continue."

"Do you want us to stop, aren't you enjoying it?"

"I am." And I didn't want us to stop but I want more, I wanted a term to the relationship we're having even if it's just sexual.

"If you're enjoying it and I'm enjoying it I see no problem. And as long as you think of it as casual none of us are gonna get those feelings.. okay." I nodded. "People have meaningless sex and hookups it means nothing but pleasure."

"Oh. So we're just doing this for pleasure." I finally looked at him and he darted his eyes away from me.

"I guess so." He wasn't sure then he chuckled to cover up the uncertainty. "What else would we do it for other than to please each other.... It's not like you can actually be in love with another man." His tone dropped mid sentence.

"You're right.. I Know in my heart that I just want pleasure and wouldn't catch feelings because I am straight and I wouldn't wanna go against my religion."

"Great cause I just want sex." Hearing him say that made me feel hollow but I let the feeling roll off my back.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I rested my head on his chest and I could hear the thud quicken but maybe it because we just had the most intense sex ever.

"I have another question."

"Go ahead."

"If you get a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?” I pushed further. “What then?”

"What then?"

"Yes what would happen to us."

“We’d have to stop then.”

Stop. The idea of stopping frustrated me even though the time wasn't here yet.

“But I don’t wanna stop.”

I looked at him, really looked at him, hoping he’d see the truth in my eyes, but his face betrayed nothing cool and calm as ever.

“Minho…” He started, a warning in his voice.

“I’d be so jealous,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t want you to have someone else.”

He raised a brow, his lips quirking into a small smirk. “You’d be too caught up in your relationship to even care about mine.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” I shot back. “I’d want to be your girlfriend.”

The words spilled out before I could stop them.

He chuckled, clearly amused. But I wasn’t kidding. Not even a little.

“Minho…” He shook his head, brushing his hand against my jaw and pulling me in for a soft kiss. “You’re so cute when you talk like this.”

“Make me your girlfriend,” I said, my voice soft but insistent.

He smiled again, a little wider this time. “Are you high off me blowing smoke in your face?”

“No,” I replied. “I’m just saying… If I were a girl, I’d definitely date you. Marry you, in fact.”

His eyes softened at that, the smirk fading into something more genuine. “You don’t have to be a girl.”

“I do,” I said, more seriously than I intended. “Because you know two men can’t be in love.” I can't imagine two men claiming to be in love with each other. Still, I was laying on top of one hoping he'd see me as more than a friend, giving his loyalty entirely to me.

He paused, his brows knitting together as he took another drag from his vape. “That's to you..  But I’d date you too, if I was a girl.”

“No, Jisung.” I shook my head, my heart racing. “I don’t want you to be the girl.”

“Why not?” He asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Because I want you to be the boy, and I’d be the girl.”

He laughed softly, his hands finding their way to my waist, holding me firmly in place. “Why is that?”

“You’re so perfect as a boy,” I murmured, my fingers brushing over his flushed cheeks. “And I love you this way. I wouldn’t want you to change in any way. I want to be the one who changes for you.”

“So you don’t want me as a girl. You want to love me as a boy?” He asked, his voice quieter.

“Yes.” I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

His cheeks turned pink under my lips, and he looked away for a moment before laughing softly. “That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that’s so gay, bro.”

“Is it?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded, his laughter contagious.

"Me having sex with you doesn't make me gay but saying that does?"

"Yes."

"You're crazy and I'm not gay."

"I know you're not Minho. I'd say you're adventurous but I'm the only person you've ever had sex with so that wouldn't sound right."

"You're the only person I want to have sex with."

"That's so gay."

We both laughed it off, but the conversation stuck with me. It had altered something deep in my brain, a fundamental shift I'd say.

I wasn't the same after that conversation.

I realized a couple things.

I didn’t think of Jisung as a friend.

I didn’t just want sex.

I wanted him.

All of him.

His smile, his quirks, his laughter, his everything.

I wanted his loyalty.

I wanted that title.

Boyfriend.

I worked so hard for the bestfriend title just to figure out I want to be his boyfriend instead.

We spent another weekend at my house before returning back to the dorm on a Sunday evening we step into the room and settled the few things we brought in and my eyes caught him looking around the room, his eyes scanning the walls, his movements unhurried. His gaze lingered in the spots where once hung crosses, framed scriptures, and the small painting of the Virgin Mary that I kept in every space I inhabited.

Finally, he turned to me, his lips curling into a slight smirk. “Why’d you take them down?”

I scratched the back of my neck, feeling a flush creep up to my ears. “It’s weird,” I admitted. “Every time we… you know, it feels like they’re staring at us.”

He blinked at me for a moment before his smile widened, a soft laugh spilling out. “Oh.” He nodded as if it all made perfect sense. “I thought I was the only one who thought so.”

“You did and didn’t say anything?” I pointed out, crossing my arms and leaning against the desk.

Jisung shrugged, his smile turning mischievous. “I didn’t want to be an asshole all the time.”

“You should’ve told me,” I said seriously, my tone softening. “I don’t care. Always tell me things. I’d do anything you want.”

He rolled his eyes at that, playful and dramatic as ever, but there was a calm in his expression that he couldn’t hide. Stretching out his arms, he said simply, “Come here then.”

There was no hesitation. I crossed the room in a few strides, his arms wrapping around my waist as soon as I got close enough. He tugged me down onto the bed with him, the faint smell of his cologne filling the space between us.

“You mean it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the playfulness giving way to something more serious.

I nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face. “Yeah. If it bothers you, or if you just want something different, you tell me. I don’t care what it is.”

He tilted his head, studying me for a moment before smirking again. “What if I asked you to put them all back up?”

I groaned, dropping my head onto his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“You’re right.” He laughed, the sound vibrating against me. “But it’s nice to know you’d do it if I asked.”

I lifted my head to look at him, his brown eyes shining with that familiar mischievous spark. “I would,” I said honestly. “But I’d complain the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He grinned, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched.

We stayed like that for a while, the world outside the room fading into nothingness.

How could he still call us best friends when we acted like this?

I glanced at the time, I had to be in church in an hour enough time for Jisung to suck me off before I leave.

And he did.

My toes tingled as I walked to the church already hearing the praises coming from inside, it felt to comforting to be here, I wished Jisung felt the same way I felt about church too but he doesn't even want to be around it, even when I asked him to come along with me he still refused.

I was seated at the mid section just because I didn't want my father's gaze to be on me the whole time.

I sat there hearing the choir sing and soon enough the voice were fading and the only voice I could hear was the one I'd spent my night getting extremely busy with.
Everything about him seem to make me oblivious to every other thing happening around me, the warmth of his touch, the sounds he made—they were all I could think about. My heart raced with every flash of memory  his lips wrapped around me, the way his eyes looked up at me with that teasing glint, and the way his body responded to me. His moaning. It was impossible to focus on the sermon.

I shifted uncomfortably, gripping the edge of the bench I shouldn't be thinking about this in the church  “Forgive me, Father,” I murmured under my breath, though I wasn’t sure who I was apologizing to—the church the heavens above, or myself.

Every time I closed my eyes to pray, another memory hit me so vividly, Jisung beneath me, his body trembling as I took him apart piece by piece. The way he called my name, over and over, like it was the only word he knew.

I am clearly a finished man.

I established that when the woman beside me asked me what was wrong and if I was having a fever.

I scoffed. I couldn't even answer her.

By the time the service ended,  I stayed behind, kneeling before the altar long after everyone else had left. The soft hum of the organ echoed through the empty hall as I closed my eyes, my hands clasped tightly together.

“Lord, help me resist this temptation,” I whispered, though even as the words left my lips, I knew they weren’t entirely true. Did I really want to resist? Or did I just want to justify the fact that I never would?

When I finally stood to leave, excited that I was going back to the temptation I begged God to keep me away from.

And I was gonna fall for it over again.

I didn't care anymore.

The dorm was dark and quiet when I returned, the faint glow of the streetlights slipping through the curtains. Jisung was still asleep, his face half-buried in the pillow, his bare shoulders peeking out from under the blanket.

My heart softened at the sight of him. He looked so cute so different from the version of him that had driven me to distraction earlier. Carefully, I slipped into bed beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close.

He stirred slightly, his voice groggy as he muttered my name. “Minho… how was the service?”

“It was good,” I said softly, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Mm,” he hummed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I was thinking of you the whole time."

He scoffed.

And it hurts that he didn't believe that I was thinking of him, I kissed him again, unable to stop myself. “Goodnight, Jisung,” I whispered, though I knew I wouldn’t sleep much that night. Not with him in my arms. Not with the way he had taken over every part of me—body, mind, and soul.

It was another evening after lecturing the whole day I needed to relax. I was sprawled on my bed, laptop balanced on my knees, half-watching some action movie that had been playing for the last thirty minutes. My focus drifted in and out until the door opened, and Jisung walked in, tossing his bag onto the chair with a dramatic huff.

“Took you long enough,” I said, pausing the movie and looking at him.

Jisung ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had,” he said, kicking off his shoes and collapsing into the chair. “The sisters and reverends had complaints. About the way I dress.”

I raised an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean? You always dress fine.”

He scoffed, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if it were evidence. “Apparently, it’s ‘too much.’ They were lecturing me about how it could ‘affect the kids’ or give the wrong impression. Can you believe that? I wear jeans and button-ups half the time. What’s wrong with that?”

I didn’t have an immediate answer, watching as he stood up and started pulling off his clothes. First his jacket, then his shirt. He turned to me, his expression expectant.

“What’s wrong with the way I dress, Minho? Be honest.”

I shook my head, leaning back against the headboard. “Nothing. You dress perfectly fine. Better than fine, actually. You just stand out, that’s all.”

Jisung frowned, his hands pausing on the button of his jeans. “Stand out?”

“Yeah,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “You’re confident. You don’t blend in like the rest of us, and that probably makes them nervous. It’s not about what you’re wearing—it’s about the fact that you’re unapologetically you. That’s intimidating to people who don’t know how to handle it.”

He tilted his head, considering my words as he stepped out of his jeans. “It’s not just me, though,” he said, pulling on a loose pair of sweatpants. “They mentioned Felix too. Said we both looked ‘too feminine.’ Like that’s a bad thing. They're pressuring him to cut his hair and it's just crazy."

And now I was getting annoyed at the thought of someone criticizing either of them for something so ridiculous. “They’re wrong,” I said firmly. “You and Felix are perfect exactly as you are. You don’t need to change anything for anyone.”

Jisung sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he turned to me with a small smile. “Thanks, Minho,” he said softly. “I needed to hear that.”

I gave him a reassuring smile, but my chest tightened at the way he looked at me—like I’d just lifted some invisible weight off his shoulders.

"I really hope Felix doesn't cut his hair because of that and you don't change your style either."

"I won't."

“You should go take a shower,” I said, nodding toward the bathroom. “Come back, and we can watch this movie together. It’s pretty good.”

His smile widened, but then it faltered. His eyes widened, and he gritted his teeth, turning away from me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up again.

Jisung hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as if debating whether to say it. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he muttered, “I have a date in an hour.”

My heart dropped.

A date.

“Oh,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. “Who’s the lucky person?”

Jisung glanced at me, biting his lip before shrugging. “Just someone, we’ve been talking, and they asked me out. I figured, why not?”

Why not. The words echoed in my head, and I hated how casual they sounded.

“Right,” I said, forcing a tight smile. “Makes sense.”

He turned back to grab his towel, and I could see the faint hint of guilt in his expression.

I wanted to asked him why he was still going out on dates and putting himself out there when we were together and thinking about it now I just remembered we're not together we're just friends having casual sex so I just swallowed my stupid question before I ruin his mood. And as if he could read my mind mind he turned around.

“Minho,” he said, his tone softer now. “It’s not a big deal, okay? It’s just a date.”

But it was a big deal. At least to me. I wanted to say something anything to make him stay, to make him see that I didn’t want him going on dates with anyone else. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, I just nodded, watching as he disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the room, and I sat there, staring at the paused screen of my laptop, wondering how the hell I was supposed to compete with someone I didn’t even know.

When he came back out, towel-drying his hair and looking effortlessly beautiful, I couldn’t stop myself from staring as he got ready. He noticed, of course, flashing me a playful grin.

“Don’t wait up for me,” he teased, grabbing his jacket from the chair.

I forced a laugh, waving him off like it didn’t matter. “Have fun,” I said, though the words tasted bitter.

"I will."

"If anything goes wrong and he ends up being a jerk just call me to come pick you up okay baby?"

"Okay."

When the door closed behind him, the silence was deafening.

I laid back on the bed, the movie still paused on the screen, but I couldn’t bring myself to press play. Instead, I stared at the ceiling, replaying his words over and over in my head.

It’s just a date.

You’re jealous again Minho.

I slumped onto the bed, running a hand through my hair as I stared up at the ceiling. Jealous didn’t even begin to cover it. I felt... Furious. Like the idea of Jisung laughing, smiling, or—God forbid—kissing someone else was enough to drive me insane.

I thought about what he’d said before. How intimacy was just casual to him. How sex was just sex. I’d tried to believe him, to convince myself that this was nothing more than a convenient arrangement between friends. But every time he touched me, every time he said my name with that breathless voice, it felt like more.

And now he was gonna give that feeling to someone else it felt too much to take in

Would he come back tonight? Or would he stay out? Would the date go well?

My stomach twisted and my hands visibly trembling

“Minho, you don’t own him,” I muttered under my breath. “You have no right to feel this way.”

But it didn’t stop the ache in my chest, or the way my thoughts spiraled.

What if the date went really well? What if this person was everything Jisung wanted, and I was nothing more than the friend who happened to share his bed? What if I was already losing him, and I hadn’t even realized it?

I sat up abruptly, the sudden movement making my head spin. I needed to do something—anything—to get out of my own head. My laptop sat on my lap, taunting me with the idea of going there to ruin it , I could literally stalk his date and do something dramatic and get away with it  but I knew better, I don't want to ruin it for Jisung knowing me and him would never be because we were both men so I ignored the stupid thought.

I'll let Jisung be and find the dream person who's everything he asked for in a partner.

And I'd deal with the fact that it's not me.

But for now I'll just enjoy the sex.

There was no way I’d be able to focus on a movie without being tempted to stalk his date.

I need to go for a walk. I grabbed my headphones and headed out.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, turning up the volume on my music. The beat pounded in my ears, drowning out the noise in my head, but it couldn’t drown out the truth.

The realization hit me like a freight train, even though I’d felt it creeping up on me for weeks—months, maybe. Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every time I felt my heart race when he smiled at me—it all made sense now. I’d been in love with him this whole time, and I’d been too stubborn, too scared, to admit it.

Because admitting it meant facing the reality that he didn’t feel the same way.

And I also couldn't feel the same way. Not with my beliefs.

I walked for what felt like hours, the streets blurring together as I tried to outrun my thoughts. But no matter how far I went, they followed me.

When I finally made it back to the dorm, it was late. The lights in the hallway were dim, and the faint hum of someone’s music leaked through a door down the hall. I hesitated outside my room, my hand hovering over the doorknob.

Would he be back? Or would I open the door to find the room empty, his absence another reminder of the distance growing between us?

I turned the knob and stepped inside, my breath catching when I saw him.

Jisung was there, lying on his bed, one arm draped over his face as he stirred at the sound of the door. His clothes were different, a clear sign that he’d changed after his date.

“You’re back,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

He moved his arm, blinking up at me sleepily. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough from sleep. “I was wondering where you went."

“i took a walk” I said, closing the door behind me. I leaned against it still holding my breath my eyes scanning his face for any sign of how the night had gone. “How was it?”

He yawned, stretching out on the bed like a cat. “It was... fine.”

Fine. The word was both a relief and a dagger.

“That’s it?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

He shrugged, sitting up slightly. “They were nice, I guess."

"He was better than the picture and he didn't want to sleep with me after the first date and he talked about wanting a long lasting relationship."

My heart stumbled in my chest. “So it Did go well?"

He looked at me, his gaze soft and unreadable. "Yeah."

"That's great I'm so glad you finally get to find the person you wanted."

"I didn't... He's still not the one I want." His eyes darted away.

“oh."

I didn’t know what to say. Relief flooded through me, but I fought to keep it from showing on my face.

“I feel like giving up ” Jisung said, lying back down and throwing an arm over his eyes again.

I crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of my bed and watching him. “You shouldn't, okay.” I said quietly.

He didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“i wished I just stayed with you and watched the movie” he mumbled the way he said it made my heart swell.

"I don't think we could have watched movie."

He smiled. "Yeah."

My heart was still racing, but for the first time all night, it didn’t feel like it was breaking.

We laid tangled up in each other's embrace the whole night.

The next morning I barged into Changbin's dorm room, It was barely 7 a.m., but I was too worked up to care about the early hour—or the fact that Changbin was clearly still in bed cuddled up with his boyfriend Felix.

Felix was the first to stir, blinking sleepily as I barged in and closed the door behind me. I ignored his groggy “Good morning” and marched over to the bed. Without hesitation, I jumped onto it, jostling Changbin awake.

He groaned, pulling the pillow over his head. “What the hell, Minho? Do you know what time it is?”

Felix, meanwhile, was unfazed. He pulled the blanket up over his head, seemingly used to my antics.

“What do you want?” Changbin muttered, his voice muffled.

I didn’t waste time. “How do I ask Jisung to be my boyfriend?”

That got their attention.

Felix yanked the blanket down, sitting up so fast he almost hit his head on the headboard. His eyes were wide as he stared at me, his disbelief palpable. “Jisung? Like Han Jisung?”

I nodded, trying to keep my expression serious despite the way my stomach churned just saying it out loud.

Felix gasped, his face lighting up like I’d just told him the most exciting secret in the world. “Wait, really?” He turned to Changbin, shaking his shoulder insistently. “Did you know about this?”

Changbin groaned again, rolling onto his side to face us. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Of course I know,” he grumbled. “This idiot never shuts up about him.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the heat rising to my face. “I do not.”

“You absolutely do,” Changbin shot back, propping himself up on one elbow. “Every time we hang out, it’s ‘Jisung did this’ or ‘Jisung said that.’ You’re obsessed, dude.”

"Well he's my best friend."

"There you go you perfect excuse to cover up the fact you're in love with him."

Felix giggled, his excitement contagious. “I can’t believe this. Minho and Jisung.” He clapped his hands together, beaming. “This is so cute. I always thought you two were really close, but I didn’t want to assume—”

“We don’t have a thing,” I interrupted, even though my face was probably betraying me. “Not yet, anyway. That’s why I’m here. I need advice.”

Changbin sat up fully now, rubbing his eyes. “You’re asking me for advice? About relationships?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “You’ve been with Felix for, what, two years? Clearly, you’re doing something right.”

Felix smiled at that, leaning against Changbin with a soft expression. “He’s got a point, Binnie. We’re pretty great together.”

Changbin sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Fine, fine. But first, you’ve got to tell us everything. Does Jisung know how you feel? Have you guys talked about it? Or are you just assuming he’d want to date you?”

I hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I mean... we haven’t talked about it directly. But we’re close. And, you know, we’ve... uh...” I trailed off, realizing too late that I probably shouldn’t mention the whole friends-with-benefits situation.

Felix’s eyes widened, and Changbin raised an eyebrow. “You’ve what?” Changbin prompted, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I haven't really talked to Changbin since Jisung and I started messing around.

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

“Oh my God,” Felix gasped, covering his mouth. “You’ve hooked up, haven’t you?!”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Yes but this isn’t about that,” I muttered.

Changbin laughed, the sound deep and amused. “Minho, you’re a disaster. You’re out here hooking up with a bisexual man and then wondering if he’d want to be your boyfriend? What if he thinks nothing of it?”

"Wait Jisung is bisexual?" Felix asked still surprised.

"Yes" I responded to Felix and focused back on Changbin. "The thing is he already thinks nothing of it and wants me to do the same."
The words hit harder than I expected, and I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. “That’s why I’m asking for help,” I said, my voice quieter now.

Felix softened at that, his teasing demeanor fading. “Hey,” he said gently. “If you’re serious about this, then just be honest with him. Jisung’s a good guy. If he cares about you and it seems like he does he’ll listen.”

Changbin nodded, his expression more serious now. “Yeah, just tell him how you feel. But, like, don’t overthink it. You don’t have to make it a big deal or anything. Just talk to him.”

I nodded slowly, their words sinking in. It sounded so simple when they said it, but the thought of actually confessing my feelings to Jisung made my chest tighten. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if I ruined everything?

Felix must have sensed my hesitation because he reached out and patted my knee. “You’ve got this, Minho. Just be yourself. That’s the version of you Jisung already likes.”

Changbin snorted. “If he likes you now, he’s probably already seen the worst of you. So, really, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

I shot him a glare, but I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

Felix beamed, clearly proud of himself, while Changbin flopped back onto the bed with a groan. “Great. Now, can we please go back to sleep?”

I laughed, standing up and heading for the door. “Fine. I’ll leave you lovebirds alone.”

The rest of the week had been a test of nerves I didn’t know I possessed. Every morning when I woke up and saw Jisung’s texts, or when he popped by to hang out and shoot the breeze, I felt the question burning at the back of my throat. But I wasn’t ready—not yet.

I needed everything to be perfect.

I’d made up my mind I was going to ask him. I just needed the right moment.

It was the weekend, and I’d invited Jisung to my house to spend it together. He arrived with his usual effortless charm, tossing his bag onto my couch and flopping down like he’d lived there his entire life.

“You ready to party tonight?” he asked, his grin infectious.

I nodded, the nerves already creeping in. “Yeah, sure. Let’s make it a good one.”

By the time we arrived at the club, the music was thumping so hard I could feel it in my chest. The room was packed, the crowd a sea of moving bodies and flashing lights. But none of it mattered because Jisung was with me.

And Jisung looked like a god.

He always did, but tonight? He was radiant. His fitted shirt clung to his body in all the right ways, and his confidence seemed to radiate off him, drawing eyes wherever he went. I knew I wasn’t the only one staring, but the way he kept his focus on me made it feel like we were the only two people in the room.

We danced together, our movements syncing effortlessly. His smile, his laughter, the way he brushed against me—it was intoxicating.

After a few drinks, Jisung leaned close to me, his breath warm against my ear. “I’m  horny,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat.

“I’ve been thinking about how I want you to manhandle me,” he continued, his tone so casual it was almost maddening.

I didn’t know how to respond. The words caught in my throat, my shyness taking over.

But Jisung wasn’t done. He leaned back slightly, his eyes locking onto mine. “You look handsome tonight.” he said, his voice softer now but no less bold. “And so fucking hot when you’re on top of me.”

My face burned, and I had to look away. He laughed, his confidence only growing as he reached for my hand.

“What’s wrong?” he teased. “Don’t you feel the same way? Or are you thinking about church again?”

I wasn’t thinking about church. I was thinking about him. About how to ask him to be mine.

Before I could gather my thoughts to respond, Jisung got impatient and pulled me through the crowd, his grip firm and insistent. He led me to a quieter corner of the club where the music was a little less deafening and the crowd thinned out.

“Sit,” he commanded, pushing me gently into a chair.

I obeyed, still too caught up in my own thoughts to argue.

And then he climbed onto my lap.

Settling himself right on top of me. His hands rested on my shoulders, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that left me breathless.

“Why are you acting shy tonight?” he asked his lips quirking into a smirk. “I can make you talk you know that right?"

His movements grew bolder, his touch more daring. He leaned in to kiss me, his lips soft but insistent, his hands trailing down my chest. Every touch, every look, every word from him was designed to unravel me, and it was working.

“Jisung,” I managed to say, my voice strained.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “Hmm?”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Let’s go.”

"What are you gonna do to me when we leave."

"Let's go Jisung." I touched him through his pants and he got the message

“Finally.”

He stood up, pulling me with him as we made our way out of the club. My mind was spinning, my emotions a tangled mess of desire, nerves, and something deeper—something I knew I couldn’t keep to myself much longer.

Tonight, I thought. Tonight, I’ll tell him.

That night, the moment we stepped into my room, the air was charged with something primal, something we couldn’t contain. Jisung barely let me close the door before his hands were on me, pulling me into a kiss that left no room for hesitation. It was desperate, messy, and everything I craved.

He grunts as I took over him, eagerly thrusting to his hips feeling out hard dick rubbing against each other through our pants.

"Fuck. Take it off." He commanded and  I cornered him up against the wall grinding on his crotch as I worked on taking his clothes off.

“You teased me all night.. time to pay for it.” I turned him around and smack his bare ass that echoed through the wall.

His lips parted slightly, a faint gasp escaping as he nodded. “Show me, then. Do your worst.”

I kissed the back of his neck down to his back the waist I lowered myself tracing kisses down his body till I got to his waist and asked him to turn back around and now I was on my knees with his hard length just inches away from my face. I took him into my mouth entirely before he even had the time to brace himself.

"Oh shit." I heard him say as I grabbed his ass and squeezed them hard sucking him all the way to the root. I pulled back flicking My tongue and his tip the greedily taking him against bumping my head to a steady rhythm reaching for his heavy balls.

He moaned softly grabbing my hair and pulling it hard. He loved what i was doing to him but he couldn't hold himself I could feel him slipping and barely able to keep himself to the ground.

"Minho st—stop" He barely cried out. I pulled back slowly watching him trying to steady his breathing and I catch my breath too.

"I don't wanna come yet." He finally said.

"You're so weak." I teased.

Then he smiled like an idiot.

I stood up taking his lips again with my hands around his neck.

"You're stalling." He complained between kisses then I pulled back dragging him over to my gaming desk pushed my equipment out of the way and bent him over on the desk , his head on the desk.

"Hand behind your back baby."

He did what I asked without hesitation, I touched his ass again giving it another squeeze.

"You're so mine." I said knowing if we were both in our right minds I wouldn't say that and he would disagree. But we weren't, he was moaning instead.

"You don't know how much I want you do you?"

"Show it to me." He moved his ass to feel my dick teasing it just right and I felt myself coming to life.

"Jesus Christ Jisung, You're a fucking pervert."

I immediately sprinted towards my drawers reaching for the lube and condoms and before I got back was impatiently stroking himself.

"I said hands behind your back Jisung." He whined but put the where I told him to. "I'm Sorry baby I'm very close."

"Hold it in till I'm done with you."

I watched him gripped his cock head as I lubed up my fingers and wore the condom, he squeezed it trying to delay his release.

"Jisung... Look how hard I am for you?" I groaned grinding my erection on his ass cheeks.

"Fuck Minho don't do this to me." He whined again moving his ass desperately angling it to my length. I wanted to fuck him more that I want my next breath but I enjoyed teasing him.

I entered him with one finger slowly working up inside which produced a strangled moan from him and I didn't know if it was my fingers inside him or the fact I was thrusting on his ass cheeks instead of hole.

His breath hitched when I added more fingers pushing them into his tight hole.

"You ready baby?"

"Yes please I need more give it to me." He begged. "You're tormenting me and my poor dick."

With that I pulled out my fingers and angled my dick into his tight hole slipping in we both groan at the new feeling, he held on to the edges of the desk tightly. I clutch onto his hips driving deep inside him and pulling out completely just to slam into him again.

"Fuck. Do that again."

I did. I did it again and again until he couldn't take me anymore, until he was completely drenched and out of him mind.
I pounded into him like my life depended on it making it hard for him to hold on to the desks making him scream and say incoherent words.

I was the same too. I went so hard that I could feel my heart pounding in my head and my ears making weird sounds.

But I didn't stop not until he begged me to.
I fucked him harder. Hips snapping, balls slapping his ass with each sloppy thrust.

"Jisung." He responded with soft moans.
"I’m going to give you everything you’ve been begging for.”

The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, his moans and cries mingling with my own as I pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

My hands held Jisung hips in place while the other found his dick, i pulled his hands away from it, holding it myself slowly stroking it and I bend over to him on the desk kissing the back of his ears, hitting his prostate and stroking him faster His body shuddered under me, and I knew he was close..

"Fuck Jisung come in my hands, I want to feel it."

Jisung came immediately that statement left my mouth. "I love you. I fucking love you." I confessed loud and clear as I felt his hot jizz in my palms. The sight of him like that, so completely lost in the pleasure I gave him, was enough to send me over the edge. I released right after forcing myself to pull out as I reached for him, both of our bodies shaking,we could barely move. It took us forever to find our way to the bed.

After a while of silence laying up looking at the ceiling panting. That's when it registered in my head that I told Jisung I loved him and this time I wasn't gonna say Jesus love him more. It was kind of embarrassing I said it in that moment but I did mean it and I hope Jisung knows it to.

That I loved him.

And it wasn't the christian type of love. Jesus isn't involved in this.

Jisung turned to me, his face flushed which made my heart skipped is he gonna acknowledge what I said, my eyes traveled down to his lips swollen from all the kissing. “I didn’t think you had that in you,” He said hiding a grin.

I chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “I told you I’d give you everything you wanted.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss me softly this time.

I was gonna tell him tonight but we just has the best sex ever and I don't wanna ruin it so I'd save it for tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'd tell Jisung clearly.

--

I quietly slipped out of bed during the early hours of the next morning careful not to disturb Jisung. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, his soft breaths and slightly parted lips almost enough to make me stay. But I had plans.

For the past week, I’d been wracking my brain for the perfect way to tell him how I felt. After everything we'd shared, I couldn’t keep pretending that this was just casual. I’d crossed a line, fallen for him, and I needed him to know.

I spent hours hand picking what he would like, Jisung loved accessories—rings, bracelets, necklaces, you name it. I picked out pieces from different brands, ensuring each one matched his taste. Then, I found a sleek, branded box to hold them all.

At a flower shop, I lingered over the bouquets before selecting one I knew he’d love, vibrant, colorful blooms that matched his bright personality.

By the time I got back, my arms were full,  I opened the door quietly, my eyes landing on Jisung sitting cross-legged on the bed, a mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. His hair was still a little messy from sleep, and he looked so effortlessly beautiful that my chest tightened.

He looked up at me and smiled. “What’s this for?” he asked, setting his coffee aside as his eyes lit up with curiosity.

I handed him the flowers first. “Yours.” Then I placed the box on the bed. “And also yours.”

His face brightened instantly as he reached for the box. “Oh my goodness, these are so cute! Ahhh!” He squealed, lifting the lid to reveal the carefully curated accessories. His fingers danced over the pieces, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Ugh, I love having a rich best friend,” he teased, picking up the small note I’d tucked inside.

But then he paused. His smile faltered slightly as he looked at me. “What’s the occasion?”

“I like you,” I said. No hesitiation, no beating around the bush.  “I failed with the rule of not catching feelings, and now I like you more than a friend would...And I would love if we... if we were boyfriends instead of friends,” I added, my voice quieter now, uncertain as I noticed the shift in his expression, the excitement draining from his face, replaced by a blank, unreadable look. My chest tightened as I watched him toss the note aside.

Jisung’s eyes darted to the sheets, and his fingers clenched briefly before he stood abruptly. "Pack it up. I don’t want your gifts, and I don’t want to be your boyfriend either.”
He didn’t look at me as he spoke, his voice cold and decisive.

My throat went dry, my heart twisting painfully as he reached for his coffee and got out of the bed leaving the room without another glance.

The voices in my head screaming at me. I should have just kept my feelings to myself.

My body felt numb and heavy, my stomach upset.

This is what rejection feels like.

It feels like shit.

Chapter Text

JISUNG.

A week passed. Days and days of trying to pretend Minho didn't exist.

I'd perfected the art of avoidance by now-dodging his gaze, conversation, pretending not to see him in the halls, and making excuses when Felix and Jeongin planned anything that involved him. It wasn't easy, especially since they also started to notice, but I didn't care.

Every time I thought about him, I felt like I was going to snap. There's no way the man I was in love with had turned into another version of every man who had ever broken me. It made my stomach churn, made my chest ache in ways I couldn't put into words.

I thought Minho was different. He wasn't supposed to be like them.

But he was.

And now, every time I pictured his face, every time I remembered his stupid confession, it was like I couldn't see him the same way anymore. Everything about him gave me the ick now. I couldn't see him the same again.

I hated it.

I hated that he'd done this to us.

We were so perfect and I was enjoying every bit of it. Even though I had it in the back of my mind that that's all we could ever be.

The worst part was that it wasn't even the first time I'd been here.

Men always got like this.
Especially the straight ones, It was a pattern I knew all too well. They'd want me, lust after me, crave the intimacy we shared. And then, inevitably, they'd confuse their feelings of desire with something deeper. They'd come to me, all earnest eyes and pretty words, and tell me they wanted more.

But it was never about me.

It was about what they could get from me.

They didn't want a relationship because they loved me. They wanted exclusivity. They wanted the loyalty and devotion that came with being a "boyfriend." But they never gave it back. They'd tie me down with their promises and expectations, and then I'd be left standing there, wondering why I always felt so alone.

I hated it.

I hated the way it made me feel-used, discarded, like I was only good for one thing. No one ever stayed, no one ever lasted, no one ever saw me as something more than a sex experience, no one ever loved me for me. And now, Minho.

It hurts more because I love him.

And if I let him in he's going to hurt me in the most brutal way possible after I stayed loyal to him the whole time and then he'll run off when things got rough and would deny ever looking my way and would marry a woman.

And God.

God would forgive him.

But never me.

I am the evil doer and he just happened to fall into my sweet temptation and would obsess over me for while before he return back to his senses.

And would blame it all on me.

When that time comes I know for a fact that I'm going to hate him.

That's what I'm avoiding.

That's why I rejected him

Because I don't want to hate him.

So I'll avoid him by throwing myself into my routines, hoping that the busyness would drown out the noise in my head. Work, errands, meetings with friends who didn't involve Minho-I scheduled my days to the brim, desperate to avoid thinking about him.

But it was useless.

He was everywhere.

Even when I wasn't looking, I'd catch glimpses of him in the spaces we used to share. The café we frequented, the paths we walked, the places where we'd laughed and talked and been us.

God, I missed him.

But then I'd remember his face that day, the way he looked so sincere when he told me he wanted to be my boyfriend, and my sadness would turn to anger.

How could he do this to me?

How could he ruin everything?

Wasn't sex enough for him?

God.

This was unbearable. The fact that he'd caught feelings now, after everything, made me feel like a joke. Like I was some sort of game, some challenge he'd "won." He didn't love me. He didn't even like me. He just enjoys gay sex.

Not really.

I'm confused.

I've dealt with straight religious men in the past, they enjoy the sex only, It was an obsession they couldn't understand, they never look at me, some even have to cover my face with a cloth or close their eyes or force me to make my voice lighter or call me their ex wife's and girlfriend's name, they'll threaten me not to look up at them while I was on my knees and their length in my mouth. They'd hit me if I made a sound or seem somewhat masculine in anyway.

But Minho.

He was the first to look at me. The first to take care of me, To say my name , To tell me he loved me. To boldly tell me how much he wanted me, To compliment me and tell me how perfect I was, To begged me and plead for me. He was the first to give, he wasn't stingy like the rest, he loved giving the way he loved receiving.

It didn't feel like just casual meaningless sex.

We were making love to each other.

Fuck he was so perfect I could worship him.

Minho didn't treat me like a sex instrument.

But still. I wasn't convinced.

Maybe it was an act, Men love to put on an act at first. Then their true colors show.
They loved the idea of me. They loved the thrill of the chase, the heat of the moment, the way I made them feel. But when it came to making me feel loved, to giving me the affection and care I craved, no one ever delivered. I was always left wondering why I wasn't enough.

And now Minho was doing the same thing.

The days dragged on, every day harder than the last. My chest felt heavier, my emotions more volatile. I went through the motions like a robot, plastering on fake smiles and nodding along to conversations I wasn't really present for. Inside, I was crumbling, but no one saw it.

By Friday, I was at my breaking point.

I'd spent the entire day avoiding Minho, ducking into side hallways and pretending to be busy whenever I thought he was near. But as I walked home that evening, I couldn't stop the flood of emotions that hit me all at once.

I hated him.

I hated him for making me feel this way.

But more than anything, I hated myself for still loving him.

I slammed the door of my dorm room shut, sinking to the floor as the tears I'd been holding back all week finally spilled over. It was like a dam breaking, all the pain and frustration and heartbreak pouring out of me in waves.

Why couldn't I just be normal?

Why couldn't I have the kind of love I wanted?

Why did it always have to hurt so much?

I buried my face in my hands, my sobs echoing in the walls. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely and utterly alone.

And worst of all, I couldn't even blame Minho for it.

Because deep down, I knew this wasn't his fault.

It was mine.

I was the one who kept hoping, who kept dreaming that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. I was the one who let myself believe that someone could actually love me the way I wanted to be loved.

But I was wrong.

I was always wrong.

And now, all I could do was pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and try to move on. Again.

I went on with more days, I kept my schedule packed, ensuring I was always surrounded by people who wouldn't pry too much-Jeongin and Felix, mostly. They were good at keeping things light, at talking about anything and everything without digging too deep into the things I didn't want to say.

Felix had this way of radiating warmth, like the sun after a week of rain, and Jeongin's teasing always made me laugh even when I didn't want to. They were my little escape from the chaos Minho had stirred in my heart.

I avoided Minho brushing off his attempts to reach out. I couldn't deal with him, not yet-not when the memory of his confession still felt like a fresh wound.

And then there was Nessa.

She'd been calling me relentlessly, texting at all hours with her usual mix of concern and stubbornness. I didn't want to burden her with my problems; she had her own life, her own challenges, and I hated the idea of dragging her into my mess. So I ignored her calls, sent short replies to her messages, and hoped she'd let it go.

But Nessa being Nessa, she didn't.

She called me again late one evening, just as I was settling into bed after a long day of pretending to be okay. I stared at the phone, debating whether to answer, but the sound of the ringtone got so relentless that I couldn't just ignore.

I sighed, finally picking up.

"What?" I said, my voice tired and clipped.

"Don't 'what' me, Jisung," she snapped back. "You've been dodging me all week, and I know something's wrong. Spill."

"I'm fine," I lied, even though I knew she wouldn't buy it.

"Bullshit you're not fine. You're never this quiet unless you're going through something. So tell me what's going on before I show up at your place and drag it out of you myself."

I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Nessa, I really don't want to-"

"Jisung." Her voice softened, but there was still an edge of insistence. "Come on Talk to me."

And just like that, the dam broke.

"It's Minho.. again" I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "We've been... sleeping together for a while now."

"Sleeping together??"

"Wait what, the last time you told m-"

"It happened again and again and again."

"Welll that's very strange but you should be happy right, you literally love him you should snatched this opportunity before he comes back to his senses."

"I know I was happy with just the sex to feed me fantasies but now he-he wants more."

Nessa was silent for a moment, but I could feel the weight of her attention through the phone. "Go on," she said, her voice calm but urging.

I took a shaky breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. "He said he likes me. That he wants to be my boyfriend. And it just-it hurt, Nessa. It hurt so much because he's doing the same thing all those other guys did."

"oh."

"They all get too attached," I said bitterly. "They confuse the sex with love or whatever and start acting like they actually care about me. But it's never about me. It's about the exclusivity, the loyalty they want. They want me to be their boyfriend so I can't be with anyone else, but they never actually give me what I need. They never love me the way I want to be loved."

"And you think Minho's doing the same thing?"

"Of course he is!" I exclaimed, my voice rising. "Why would he be any different? He's straight and religious and you know my history with does species of men." I sighed.
"It's sad we've been hooking up for weeks and-"

"No wonder you've been avoiding me, you have a lot on your plate".

"It's not like that... Minho is really possessive and-"

"It's okay I get it."

Another long pause. Then, "But what if he does like you. I know it's sounds impossible because of his beliefs and stuff but what if you've changed his mind."

I scoffed. "Minho wants me to go back to God and you think I can change his mind?"

"Well you never know."

"You don't know either."

"You're so wrapped up in your fear of being hurt that you're not even giving him a chance," she said, her tone laced with frustration. "Minho's might not be like those other guys. He's your friend. You know him."

"That doesn't mean anything," I snapped. "Friends can hurt you too."

"And so can you," she shot back. "You're hurting him right now by avoiding him and assuming the worst. He might just be as confused about himself maybe you should ask him for clarity."

Her words hit like a punch to the gut.

"I..." I trailed off, unable to form a coherent response.

"Jisung," she said, her voice softening again. "I get it. You've been hurt before. You're scared. But you're also in love with Minho, aren't you?"

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yes," I admitted quietly.

"Then why are you doing this to yourself? To him?"

"And what if he's just using me for the sex and when I do stay loyal to him and get caught up in my feelings he leaves me for a god fearing woman and then he act like he doesn't Know me at all. I can't risk that. I can't risk giving Minho the opportunity to hurt me and I end up hating him. I love him way to much to do that. So I rather we just never make anything out of this and it harder for me because I'm delusional over the way this man acts towards me but I know he can never see me the way he sees a woman."

"And how many women has he seen?"

I couldn't answer.

Because the answer was none.

I was his first sex experience.

His only sex experience.

He told me he's never felt any type of way towards a woman before.

And he told me in bed that he only wanted to have sex with me.

Shit.

I'm screwed for life.

Her sigh was heavy, filled with a mix of sympathy and exasperation. "Jisung, you're so stuck in your head that you're not even letting yourself be happy. Minho loves you, and from what you've told me, he's been nothing but good to you. Don't you think he deserves a chance to prove it?"

I wiped at my eyes. "I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You can," she said firmly. "But only if you let yourself. Stop running, Jisung. Face him. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. You might be surprised at what happens."

"He'll break my heart. I don't want him to break my heart."

"Jisung baby. If he breaks your heart you can always fall back to me I'll be here for you surely."

Later that evening i was alone in the room, the soft hum of the overhead fan filling the silence. I sat at the edge of the bed, fiddling with my phone, pretending to be engrossed in some meaningless scroll through social media. My heart raced in my chest when I heard the door creak open, and Minho walked in.

I didn't look up.

He moved around the room, placing a small pile of folded laundry on his dresser and tidying up the stray items he must've noticed scattered around. I caught glimpses of him from the corner of my eye-his sleeves rolled up, his expression calm.

I clenched my jaw, determined not to acknowledge him.

Minho made his way to the small kitchen space, clattering softly as he rummaged through the fridge. The faint aroma of garlic and spices filled the air as he began cooking something. I forced my breathing to remain even, but the smell was almost comforting in its familiarity.

"Jisung," he said entering back into the room . "I made extra if you're hungry."

I didn't respond, didn't even glance his way. My fingers tightened around my phone, scrolling through the same post for the third time.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him hesitate, as if he were debating saying more. But then he turned away, his shoulders stiff but composed. His face betrayed a flicker of hurt, but he swallowed it quickly, burying it beneath that calm mask he always wore so well.

He finished eating in silence, cleaned up then disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the sound of running water as he showered, each drop echoing like a reminder of the widening chasm between us.

I hated it. I hated how this felt. But I didn't know how to stop it.

When he came back out, his damp hair clung to his forehead, and he smelled faintly of soap and the minty freshness of his toothpaste. He moved with the same calm energy, pausing to kneel by the bed and clasp his hands together.

I watched him from the corner of my eye as he prayed quietly, his lips moving soundlessly. Ever since I told him seeing people praying around make me itch in a way he stopped saying his prayers out loud.

When he finished, he climbed into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He settled on his side of the bed, his movements careful, as though he were trying not to disturb me.

"Goodnight, Jisung," he said softly, his voice carrying the faintest hint of exhaustion.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

Instead, I turned to face the wall, my back to him, my throat tightening with the weight of everything I couldn't say.

I could feel his eyes on me for a moment, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between us. But then he shifted, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come, but it didn't. The silence between us was unbearable, filled with all the things I wanted to say.

The morning light filtering through the curtains hit my face, pulling me out of a restless sleep. I turned over, instinctively reaching out to the other side of the bed, but my hand landed on empty sheets.

Of course. It was Sunday. Minho was at church.

I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet of the room settle over me. My mind betrayed me, drifting to memories of him. Not the memories I should've been dwelling on his laugh, his teasing and how fun it is to have him around but it was the other ones. The ones I couldn't forget, no matter how hard I tried.

I could almost hear the echo of our ragged breaths, feel the slick heat of his skin against mine, the way his hands gripped me like he couldn't get enough.

The raw desire in his eyes when he looked at me, the way his lips felt as they pressed against mine, hungry and insistent. Every sound he made, every grip, every groan, every kiss, every word in those moments
was all seared into my memory, playing on repeat in my head like a taunt.

"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. I wanted those moments back.

And I could've had them if Minho hadn't ruined everything.

The heat pooling in my stomach made me curse again. My body ached with the memory of him, the ghost of his touch .

I wanted him.

I wanted him now.

I was horny just thinking about him and every night we fucked like we belong to each other.

I want to have those nights back.

Before I could stop myself, my hand was moving. I sat up, pulling my shorts down just enough to free myself, my breath hitching as I wrapped my fingers around myself. My movements were slow at first, as though I was testing the waters, but my mind was already lost in the memories.

I closed my eyes, letting the images take over. Minho's hands on me, his lips trailing down my neck, his voice in my ear. The way he whispered my name like it was a prayer. The pressure built, and I let out a shaky breath, my hand finding a rhythm that matched the pounding in my chest.

I was so lost in the haze of it all that I didn't hear the faint clatter from the kitchen.

When I opened my eyes, the sound of movement registered the kitchen door flung opened revealing Minho with a shocked face seeing me .

Minho stood there, holding two bowls of rice, his expression frozen in shock.

Time seemed to stop.

The bowls slipped from his hands, crashing to the floor with a loud, shattering sound. Rice scattered everywhere, and the ceramic split into jagged pieces, but neither of us moved.

My heart dropped into my stomach, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him, wide-eyed and horrified.

Minho's eyes darted between me and...well, me. His lips parted as though he was going to say something, but no words came out.

Heat rushed to my face, a flush so intense it felt like I was on fire. I scrambled to pull my shorts back up, fumbling and cursing under my breath.

"Minho," I managed to choke out, my voice hoarse and strained. "I-"

But what could I say? There was no explaining this away.

Minho blinked, his face unreadable for a moment, and then he cleared his throat, bending down to start picking up the shattered bowls. "I, uh... I didn't mean to walk in on-"

"Don't," I interrupted, my voice sharper than I intended. "Just...don't."

He paused, straightening up to look at
me again, and this time, there was something in his eyes-something that looked a lot like hurt.

"I was just bringing you breakfast," he said quietly, his voice carefully neutral. "I didn't think you'd be...busy."

I flinched at the word.

Why would he say that.

"I'll give you some time to finish up."

He didn't wait for a response, turning and walking back out of the room without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the mess-both on the floor and inside my head.

I buried my face in my hands, groaning in frustration.

I'd ruined whatever fragile wall I had struggled to build up.

And the worst part?

I still wanted him.

Instead of him walking out. I wished he fucked me instead.

Moments later I was in the bathroom.
This was, without a doubt, the most awkward and humiliating experience of my life. My cheeks burned just thinking about it, and no matter how many times I splashed water on my face at the bathroom sink, it didn't cool the heat crawling up my neck. I scrubbed my hands unnecessarily long, stalling as much as possible, but eventually, I had to face the music.

After I threw my clothes back on, I stepped out of the bathroom, and there he was. Minho, crouched on the floor, carefully picking up the last remnants of the shattered bowls and sweeping up the scattered rice.

I hesitated in the doorway, guilt twisting in my chest. "I... I'm so sorry," I said, my voice timid.

Minho didn't look up right away, just brushed the broken pieces into the dustpan with a quiet focus. "It's okay," he said simply, his tone even and calm.

"That must've been... God, that must've been such a scare," I added, wincing as the memory of his expression flashed through my mind. "I really didn't mean-"

"Jisung," he interrupted, straightening up to empty the dustpan into the trash. "It's fine. Really."

"I didn't know you were still in-"

"Jisung it's all good. Honestly."

Still, I couldn't let it go. "I'm sorry for ruining breakfast," I blurted, as though it could somehow make up for the situation. "I already ordered food for us, so you don't have to cook again."

That's when he stopped, his gaze snapping to mine. There was something unreadable in his eyes, a glint of mischief that made my stomach flip then he nodded before disposing the mess.

"Were you thinking of me?" he asked, completely out of the blue.

My heart stuttered, and for a moment, I thought I'd misheard him.

"What?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Minho crossed his arms, leaning casually against the counter like he hadn't just set me on fire with one sentence. "You know...when you were touching yourself." His voice was smooth, deliberate. "Was it me?"

I froze. My brain short-circuited. My legs felt like jelly, and the room suddenly felt too small, too warm, too everything.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to deny it, laugh it off, change the subject-anything but admit the truth. But before I could even think of a response, he kept going.

"Because I thought of you," he said, his voice low and intimate, like he was confessing a secret. "A few days ago. In the bathroom." He was looking at me now. "I even called your name."

I couldn't breathe.

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips he was clearly enjoying my reaction, though his expression still held a certain softness, like he wasn't trying to overwhelm me-just tease me.

"Minho..." I managed to choke out, but it sounded more like a plea than anything else.

"Maybe I shouldn't have said that," He tilted his head slightly.

"You think?"

"I still want to know."

"Can you just forget it." I snapped, rolling my eyes even as I felt my knees threatening to give out. My annoyance was real, but it didn't stop the heat pooling in my stomach, the way my body betrayed me just from hearing him say those words.

The smirk widened. "You're annoyed," he observed, a hint of a laugh in his voice. "But you're turned on, too, aren't you?"

I glared at him, even though I knew he was right. "You're infuriating."

"And yet," he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave, "you're still thinking about it."

Fuck.

I turned my head sharply, trying to hide my face, but I knew I wasn't fooling him.

"You should have call me to help you."

I stood there, completely stunned, my body frozen even as my heart raced. The intensity in Minho's gaze sent shivers down my spine, and before I could process what was happening, he was closing the gap between us.

His hands found their way to my lower back, slipping around my waist with a confidence that made me feel weak. The next thing I knew, his lips were on mine-soft, warm, and so inviting that I kissed him back without thinking.

Because yes I've been craving him the whole thing I avoided him.

My hands instinctively clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer as if he were the only thing grounding me. He deepened the kiss, his grip on me tightening, and before I could register it, he reached down, grabbing my butt and effortlessly pressing me against the wall.

The sound that escaped me-a needy, involuntary groan-only seemed to spur him on. His lips trailed along my jaw, his breath hot against my skin, while his hands moved with purpose. One hand slid down, slipping into my pants, and I felt my entire body ignite.

But that was when reality hit me.

"Minho, no," I gasped, pulling away abruptly, my palms against his chest as I tried to put some distance between us.

He paused, looking at me with a mixture of confusion and frustration. "Why not?"

I didn't have an answer ready. My mind was a mess-a storm of desire, fear, and anger swirling together so violently that it left me breathless.

"Because... because this isn't right," I managed to say, my voice trembling. "We can't keep doing this, especially you.".

His hands dropped to his sides, but he didn't step back. His eyes searched mine, trying to make sense of what I was saying. "What do you mean? What's not right about it? You want this. I know you do."

"That's not the point," I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. "You think this is just about... wanting, you're straight and religious."

"I'm not straight."

"What? You don't know what you're saying Minho."

"I haven't been straight since the first day you fucked me and I liked it."

"Oh myy god."

"What?"

"Liking gay sex doesn't make you not straight."

"You can't be straight and like gay sex... And you keep excluding the fact that I also like you."

"Please don't. You don't like me I promise you, if can give you the sex you want as long as you keep being straight."

Minho scoffed.

"I'm not straight."

"Shut up you are!!!"

He rolled his eyes at me.

"Your father will kill me, both of us but especially me, he's gonna say influenced you so you can't."

"I'm not gay. What's it called when you can only like one person and if it's not that person you can't love anyone else."

"Huh."

"I love you Jisung."

My heart stopped.

He sounded so believable I wanted to trust him so bad but I couldn't.

".. And" he continued. "I don't mean it in a Christian way."

"You don't know know what love it."

Minho frowned, his jaw tightening as he stood his ground. "Then tell me what it's about. Explain it to me, Jisung, because I'm not the one who's running away every time I try to get close to you."

My chest tightened at his words. "You don't get it," I said, shaking my head.

"Then make me get it!" he shot back, his voice rising. "I've been trying, Jisung. I've been trying to show you how much you mean to me, but all you do is push me away."

The intensity in his voice sent a pang of guilt through me, but it didn't erase the frustration bubbling up inside me. "You think just because you say you like me, I'm supposed to believe it? That I'm supposed to forget how this always ends?"

Minho's expression softened, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. "I'm not them, Jisung. I'm not the people who hurt you."

"But you could be," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "You could be exactly like them, and I can't go through that again, Minho. I can't."

He took a step back then, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let out a heavy sigh. For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of our uneven breathing.

"Baby..."

"We can't do this,"

Minho's eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line as he waited for me to continue.

"If this is going to continue," I said, trying to steady my breathing, "you need to throw your feelings aside. We can just keep it casual-sex between friends, no strings attached, nothing else. That's it."

"I want to be your boyfriend, Jisung," he said, his tone low but steady, like he'd been rehearsing this. "Anything other than that, I don't want."

"I'm offering you what you want," I said, biting back the tremor in my voice.

"Sex isn't what I want."

"You want sex and my loyalty," I snapped, my temper flaring. "And I'm not giving that to you."

There was a pause, his eyes searching mine as if looking for something-anything-to latch onto. Then, he stepped back, his face unreadable as he made his way to the other side of the room.

"Okay then."

"Okay?" I echoed, disbelief flooding my tone.

"I'm not going to be your sex toy, Jisung," he said, his words cold and deliberate. "I'd rather go back to being friends with no sex at all."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him. "What are you even talking about? You're saying you want to be my boyfriend, but you'd prefer to stay friends with no sex at all?"

"You heard me," he said, his voice calm and collected, but there was an edge to it, like he was barely holding himself together.

"You're that petty, huh?" I shot back, crossing my arms in defiance.

Minho didn't respond right away. He just walked to the bed, slipping under the covers with an air of finality that made my stomach twist.

"I want you," he said, his tone softer now, almost gentle. "And if it takes forever to convince you that I actually do like you, then I'll wait."

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. "Fine then. Just don't come back begging me for sex or start acting like a maniac when you see me with someone else."

Minho didn't flinch at my words which was a bit strange that I had to repeat it again and he didn't care He just glanced at the door and asked, "Is the food here yet?"

Without waiting for an answer, he got up and left the room, leaving me standing there, my chest tight and my mind reeling. He didn't look back, didn't say anything else-just walked out as if I hadn't just thrown every defensive wall I had at him.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the closed door, trying to make sense of what just happened. My heart felt heavy, conflicted, and yet, somewhere deep down, I couldn't ignore the small part of me that hated how easily he walked away.

Moments later he came back with our breakfast and we just ate in silence and got caught up in our own little tasks before later settling down together in the evening to watch a movie on his laptop.

We'd just finished one movie, and now he was searching for something else to watch. The soft hum of the computer and the occasional click of the mouse were the only sounds breaking the silence between us.

His arm was loosely draped around me, his warmth seeping into my skin. I stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the ache that had been building inside me all evening. It wasn't just physical-I wanted more than just his body. I wanted him.

I turned my head, watching him for a moment, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. My chest tightened. I hated how he could act so casual when I felt like I was on fire inside.

"I'm horny," I blurted, breaking the quiet.

Minho scoffed softly, not even glancing at me. "Of course, you are."

I frowned, shifting closer. My arm snaked around his waist, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt. I pressed my face into his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his skin.

I knew him too well. I knew he couldn't resist me, no matter what he said earlier about wanting to stop the sex and focus on something more meaningful. That was bullshit. He loved this-loved me in this way-even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Minho," I murmured but he didn't respond or even acknowledged me. "Look at me." my voice pleading.

I was the one needy and begging for his attention now.

He sighed and finally turned his head, his dark eyes meeting mine.

"Kiss me," I whispered. "Please."

His gaze softened for a brief second before he pulled back. "I can't."

"Why?" I pushed, my hand trailing down to guide his to the waistband of my pants. I pressed it there, letting him feel the need he always stirred in me. "Come on, Minho. I know you want me."

He stared at me, unphased. His hand slipped out of my grip, and he turned back to the screen.

"The movie's starting," he said flatly, his tone betraying no emotion.

I sat there, stunned, as he ignored me completely. My pulse quickened, anger and embarrassment bubbling up inside me.

"Minho-" I started, but he cut me off by turning the volume up slightly.

That was it. He didn't just ignore my words; he ignored me.

The rest of the night passed in suffocating silence. No matter how many times I shifted closer, pressed myself against him, or whispered teasing words, he didn't budge. It was like a wall had gone up between us, and I was on the outside, clawing to get back in.

When the movie ended, he simply closed his laptop, gave me a soft "goodnight," and rolled onto his side, his back to me.

I stared at him in the dim light, my chest tight and my thoughts racing. The rejection burned, but what stung more was the nagging feeling that maybe this was more than just him being stubborn. Maybe I was wrong-maybe he didn't want me the way I thought he did.

And yet, even as the doubt crept in, I couldn't shake the ache inside me. I didn't just want sex. I wanted him.

But he wasn't letting me have either.

Chapter Text

JISUNG.

It was night cold and grey but oddly soothing. I was sitting in a branch up of the old tree, my spot whenever I needed to get away from everything.

I wished life hadn't been so different for me and things came easy. Money wasn't a problem and I wouldn't be stuck here, trapped in this endless cycle of pretending, just to survive.

I didn't even notice the faint sound of footsteps approaching until laughter broke the quiet. My gaze snapped downward, and there they were Jeongin and Chan, walking together toward the gates.

Jeongin's playful teasing carried through the air as he poked fun at Chan. "You're terrible at paying attention to time. How does anyone trust you to keep track of anything?"

Chan chuckled in response, throwing an arm around Jeongin's shoulders and pulling him in close. Jeongin let out a small laugh, his hands lightly tapping Chan's back.

"You're gonna miss me right?" Jeongin said softly.

Chan hummed, the sound warm and affectionate, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Jeongin's lips. The moment was brief but tender, their silhouettes illuminated faintly by the dim streetlight nearby.

They lingered for a second longer before Chan slowly pulled away, taking a step back but keeping his eyes on Jeongin. As he walked toward the gates, he turned every few steps to wave, his grin wide and boyish. Jeongin waved back, his smile soft but amused.

Just as Chan neared the gates, still waving enthusiastically, his foot caught on the uneven pavement, and he stumbled backward, landing on the ground with an audible thud.

A laugh burst out of Jeongin, loud and unrestrained, and before I could stop myself, my own chuckle escaped. The sound carried into the quiet night, and Jeongin froze mid-laugh, his head whipping around to face me.

I gasped, the realization hitting me too late. My hand flew to my mouth as if that could somehow undo what had just happened.

"Jisung?" Jeongin's voice was curious, his eyes narrowing slightly as he squinted up at the tree.

I stayed frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell was I supposed to say now?

I climbed down from the branch as quickly as I could, leaves crunching beneath my feet when I landed on the ground. Jeongin stood there, arms crossed, his expression unimpressed.

"I swear I wasn't spying," I blurted out, brushing my hands against my pants nervously. "I just happened to be on the branch."

He raised an eyebrow. "What did you see."

"Nothing I swear, it was too dark to see anything."

"Chan and I are just good friends."

"Sure" I said quickly, holding my hands up in surrender.

Jeongin tilted his head.  "You're not going to tell anyone what you saw, are you?"

"I'm not," I promised, shaking my head. "I wouldn't do that."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. "I hate having to sneak around and hide the fact that he's my boyfriend." He walked over to the base of the tree and sat on the grassy patch beneath it.

I hesitated for a moment before sitting down across from him. "I get it," I said quietly. "But you don't really have a choice, do you? You'd get in trouble."

Jeongin glanced at me, his expression softening. "I can trust you with it, right?"

"Actually," I began, scratching the back of my neck, "I've known about the two of you since the first day you introduced him. I saw you with him that night."

His mouth fell open slightly. "Oh."

"Do you feel like you can trust me now?" I teased lightly.

Jeongin gave a small, breathy laugh. "Thank you for not saying anything. And even if you had, I'd just tell everyone that you're sleeping with the reverend's son."

"What?!" I exclaimed, my voice a little too loud in the quiet night. "You know?"

He scoffed, clearly amused. "You both are pretty obvious, Jisung. Chan lives really close to Minho's house, and I've seen you coming and going a few times."

"Shit," I muttered, leaning back against the tree trunk.

Jeongin smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I also know you've deconstructed."

I looked at him in shock, and he grinned wider. "I have a lot of dirt on you."

I couldn't help it, I laughed, shaking my head at how casual he was about the whole thing. "You're dangerous, Jeongin."

"And don't you forget it," he shot back, leaning back on his elbows with a smug grin.

"How long has it been?"

"Hmm."

".. With Chan"

"Ohhh."

"It's been a long while."

"I see."

The distant sounds of crickets filled the silence between us before Jeongin spoke up again.

"It's not easy, you know," he said softly, his eyes fixed on the ground. "Hiding who you are, pretending to be someone you're not, just to keep everyone else comfortable."

I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I can't imagine how hard it must be for you and Chan."

Jeongin gave a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I love my religion," he said. "I grew up in it, and it's still a big part of me. But I love Chan, too. He's... everything to me."

I tilted my head, intrigued. "How do you manage both? Doesn't it feel like you have to choose one over the other?"

Jeongin sighed, leaning back on his hands. "At first, it did. Chan used to be religious, too, but not anymore. He walked away from it a long time ago. That made it even harder when we first met. I was confused about my feelings for him because, you know, being with someone of the same sex is supposed to be a sin."

"And Chan?" I asked.

"He thought I was baiting him," Jeongin admitted with a bitter laugh. "He thought I was going to lead him on or try to 'fix' him because of my faith. It was a mess. We argued so much at first. But then... I don't know, we just gave each other a chance. Slowly, things fell into place."

I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying.

"Chan makes me feel the most loved I've ever felt," Jeongin said simply, his smile softening. "He respects me and my beliefs, even though he doesn't share them anymore. And I respect him for that. It doesn't affect our relationship in any way."

I furrowed my brow. "But doesn't your religion-"

Jeongin cut me off. "I don't care what my religion says about same-sex marriage. I'm going to marry Chan anyway."

"What?" I blinked, taken aback.

"Chan proposed to me months ago," Jeongin said with a grin, pulling his knees to his chest. "And I said yes."

I sat there, stunned. "You're telling me you're a Christian, and you still want to go against what your religion says about your love?"

Jeongin shrugged, unbothered. "I know what people will say. I've heard it all before. But this is my life, Jisung. I'm not going to let anyone, not even a religion, dictate who I love or how I live."

I stayed silent, staring at him as his words echoed in my mind. I had always thought religion and same-sex relationships couldn't coexist, that someone like Jeongin wouldn't even want a long-lasting relationship with another man and even if be felt that way about another man he'd just use him for his desires and run back to God but here he was, proving me wrong.

He wanted to marry Chan.

As I sat there, my thoughts drifted to Minho. My heart pounded as I thought about him.

Could this be us? Could Minho actually like me the way Jeongin loved Chan?

The doubt crept in immediately. Minho was Christian, too, and confused. He was afraid of what it meant to act on his feelings.

I looked back at Jeongin, who seemed so sure of himself, so confident in his choices. Was it really possible to have that balance? To love someone deeply, even in the face of so many contradictions?

"If you're thinking of him he definitely likes you, more than a friend " Jeongin asked suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I looked at him, startled. "What?"

"Minho," he said with a knowing smile. "I'm sure you have no idea how much you mean to him and how he'd only see you in a room."

I swallowed hard, unable to answer.

"I've noticed it and I'm sure others have too."

I didn't know. But for the first time in a while, I wanted to believe it.

We spent more time out talking about how it felt to be here and be different.

Later on I walked back into the room, Minho was lying on the bed, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was soft, composed, but laced with that unmistakable authority he always carried. It didn't take long to realize he was on the phone with a student.

"Don't let it overwhelm you," he said, his tone patient. "If you're committed to doing the work, it will get easier. Take it one step at a time, okay?"

I crawled onto the bed without a word, trying not to disturb him, but the mattress dipped under my weight, and he turned to glance at me. His arm reached out almost instinctively, pulling me closer as he whispered, "Where have you been?"

His voice tickled my ear, soft and intimate, but before I could respond, he turned his attention back to the call.

I settled against him, resting my head on his chest as his arm stayed loosely wrapped around me. My fingers idly played with the fabric of his shirt, brushing over his ribs, anything to pass the time. He didn't push me away, didn't flinch, just kept speaking calmly into the phone.

When the call ended, he sighed, setting his phone on the nightstand and turning to me fully. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," I said quickly, meeting his eyes.

He didn't move his arm from around me, and the familiarity of the gesture made my chest tighten. I let myself linger in it, his warmth, his presence, the way he seemed so natural holding me .

"We should spend the weekend at your place," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Minho gave me a knowing look, the corners of his mouth curving into that sly smile I both hated and loved. "Are you setting us up to fuck?"

I snorted, rolling my eyes. "No."

Obviously, I was.

"Why would I do that?" I added quickly, trying to sound offended.

His smile widened slightly, but he didn't press it. "Where were you the whole evening?"

"I was outside with Jeongin," I replied.

"Choose one. Outside with Jeongin or inside with me?"

"Inside with you," I said, leaning closer to him, "if you promise to suck me off."

Minho's laugh was low and soft, but his face remained impassive. "You're not getting any boyfriend benefits from me, Mr."

He pulled his arm away from me, and I whined in protest, turning to face him fully.

"You're not gonna cuddle me too?" I asked, pouting deliberately.

"No."

"Fine then." I narrowed my eyes. "Let's see how long you'd last before you break."

"Definitely longer than how I last inside you," he said smoothly, smirking at my reaction.

"Are you thinking about it?" I teased, moving closer.

"It's hard not to think about," he admitted, his tone unchanging.

"Give in then."

"Would you be my boyfriend?"

"No."

"Then I'm not giving in."

I groaned loudly, turning my back to him and tugging the blanket around myself like armor. "Fuck off, then."

"You fuck off," he retorted, ripping the blanket off me and wrapping it around himself instead.

I gasped at the audacity, glaring at the back of his head. "You're the worst."

"And yet, here you are," he said without looking at me.

I sighed.

~

Felix, Changbin, Minho, Jeongin, and I were huddled together during our lunch break days after, laughing over a debate about which video game had the best storyline. It was one of those rare moments when we all had time to just sit, unwind, and talk about nothing and everything.

As the conversation shifted, Changbin brought up the institution closing for the holidays and asked if we'd remain here spend it with our loved ones back home. “I’m staying here,” Felix said casually, shrugging. “No point flying back to Australia just for a break.”

“Same here,” Changbin immediately agreed.. “My family lives in the city, so it’s easier for me to just stay put.”

Minho nodded. “Yeah, I’ll stick around too. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be.”

All eyes turned to me, and I leaned back in my chair, trying to sound indifferent. “I’ll probably go home for a week or two,” I said. “But I wouldn't  stand being there for too long.”

We all laughed, except for Jeongin, who had been unusually quiet. The conversation naturally shifted to him, and Felix asked, “What about you, Jeongin? Got any plans?”

Jeongin hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. He seemed to be searching for the right words, which immediately put all of us on edge.

“I’m… moving away,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. “This is going to be my last week here.”

The silence was immediate and deafening.

“What?” Felix exclaimed.

"Moving away?"

"Yep.. I won't come back next session or ever."

Felix wide eyes already glistening with tears. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Jeongin shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “It wasn’t something I planned,” he admitted. “But… the opportunity came up, and now it’s happening. I’ll be leaving the country.”

"You're leaving the country." Felix burst into tears right there, his face buried in his hands. “You can’t leave! Why would you leave?"

Minho leaned forward, his expression unusually serious. “Jeongin you love being here."

Jeongin offered a strained smile, his words carefully measured. “Yeah.. but I just… I want to start fresh. Somewhere new, where no one knows me.”

I knew.

I remembered his quiet confession last night, how he talked about Chan proposing, about their dreams of moving somewhere they could live openly, without fear or judgment. He was leaving because he had something worth fighting for—someone worth building a new life with.

As the weight of it settled on me, I felt a single tear slide down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, hoping no one had noticed. But Minho had. His hand reached out, patting my back gently, wordlessly. I forced a weak smile and shrugged it off, pretending nothing had happened.

Felix, meanwhile, was still sobbing. “Please don’t go,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I going to hate being here with no Jeongin.”

Jeongin reached over, placing a hand on Felix’s arm. “I’ll reach out I promise.” he said softly. “ill surely miss everyone."

"Well miss you too, I wish you the best of luck." I said Pushing back my chair, I stood abruptly.  I said, my voice steady despite the knot in my throat and the tears I was holding back. “Please Excuse me.”

I walked away before anyone could stop me, before the emotions clawing at my chest could spill over.

I wasn’t upset with Jeongin—not at all. In fact, I admired his courage, his determination to fight for the life he wanted.  I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The world felt too heavy in that moment, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending I wasn’t carrying it.

I sat in the dim corner of the hallway, my knees pulled to my chest as the weight of everything Jeongin had said hit me all at once. My chest felt tight, the kind of tightness that made it impossible to hold back the tears even if I wanted to. And I didn’t want to.

He was moving away—leaving everything he’d built here, leaving us—all so he could live freely with the person he loved. Jeongin was lucky, so damn lucky, but the reality of why he had to leave made my heart ache. He couldn’t even tell everyone the truth. He was scared—scared of judgment, of rejection, of what the world might say about the love he had with Chan.

The thought broke me. Hot tears streamed down my face as a sob escaped my throat. I buried my face into my arms, trying to muffle the sounds, but it was no use.

I didn’t even hear Minho approach. I only realized he was there when I felt the soft weight of his hand on my back, his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles.

I didn’t look up. I couldn’t.

He didn’t say anything, and I was grateful for that. There were no forced words of comfort, no clichés about how it would be okay. He just stayed there, behind me, his presence grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

Eventually, I shifted, leaning back slightly until my shoulder touched his. His arm wrapped around me without hesitation, and I let myself collapse into him, my head falling against his chest. I cried harder then, overwhelmed by everything—the sadness of Jeongin leaving, the joy that he’d found something so worth fighting for, the unfairness that he had to fight for it at all.

Minho still didn’t speak. He just let me cry, and gave gentle pat on my back the only signs that he was there. But that was enough.

~

The weekend at Minho’s house was a chaotic compilation of teasing, competing, and moments so soft I almost forgot how much we irritated each other sometimes. It started with breakfast, which turned into a full-blown competition over who could make the best pancakes.

“Jisung, you can’t just add chocolate chips and call it gourmet,” Minho scoffed as he whisked his batter.

“Excuse me, Mr. Michelin Star,” I retorted, sprinkling way too many chips onto the batter just to spite him. “At least mine won’t taste like cardboard.”

“Bold words for someone who just used pancake mix out of a box.”

“I’m sorry, did you grow the wheat for your flour yourself?” I shot back, smirking when he glared at me.

When we finally sat down to eat, Minho took one bite of my pancake and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, fine. They’re good. But not as good as mine.”

“Keep lying to yourself,” I said, stealing his fork to take a bite of his stack. “Wow, bland. Just like you.”

“Bland?” he said, setting his fork down. “You better run.”

I barely had time to react before he tackled me onto the couch, pinning me down as I squirmed beneath him. “Take it back,” he demanded, his hands hovering dangerously over my sides.

“Never!” I gasped, knowing exactly what was coming.

He didn’t hold back, tickling me mercilessly until I was crying from laughter. “Say it,” he taunted, his grin wide as he leaned closer.

“Fine! Fine! Your pancakes are better!” I finally gave in, panting as he let up.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, sitting back smugly.

Moments later Minho leaned against the kitchen counter as I rifled through his fridge. “You’re going to eat me out of house and home,” he said, crossing his arms with that signature smirk.

I shut the fridge door and grinned. “Eat you? That’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

He rolled his eyes, but I caught the flicker of amusement in them. “Always the same with you. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“But it’s so cozy there,” I replied, stepping closer. “You like it too.”

“Do I?” he asked, tilting his head. “I seem to recall being the one who says no every time you get handsy.”

“Only because you’re trying to pretend you’re not as thirsty as me,” I shot back, trailing my fingers lightly along his arm.

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Thirsty? Sure. For water, maybe.” He sidestepped me effortlessly, pulling open a cabinet to grab a glass. “You, on the other hand, look like you’d crawl on all fours if I asked you to.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said, closing the space between us again.

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a laugh. “Go meet your boyfriend.” he said, his tone mocking. “I’m not available.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Boyfriend? What boyfriend?”

“The one preventing you from dating me” he said, pushing past me with a smirk that made my stomach flip.

“That’s not funny,” I said, though I couldn’t hide the heat rising in my cheeks.

“You think I’m joking?” Minho turned, leaning against the counter. “You’re obsessed with me, and it’s kind of pathetic.”

“Obsessed?” I stepped closer, invading his space. “You’re the one who invites me over knowing damn well I’ll try something.”

Minho’s expression didn’t waver. “You’re cute when you’re desperate.”

I hated how much his words sent a shiver down my spine. “And you’re annoying when you act like you’re above it all.”

“Maybe I am,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “Or maybe I just know you’re full of it.”

I reached out, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “I’m not full of anything, but I could be—”

He cut me off with a sharp look. “Too bad you have no boyfriend to fill you up."

“You’re so annoying,” I muttered, stepping back in frustration.

“And you’re so easy,” he shot back, his smirk returning.

Despite his words, I couldn’t miss the way his gaze lingered a moment too long as I turned away. This push-and-pull was exhausting, but damn it kept me coming back for more.

The competitive edge melted as the afternoon rolled on, turning into something softer. We ended up on the couch watching a movie, Minho stretched out with my head resting on his chest.

“Do you ever stop fidgeting?” he murmured, his fingers lazily combing through my hair.

“Do you ever stop being so perfect?” I countered, and he snorted.

“That was so cheesy, I might actually vomit,” he said, but the way his hand kept stroking my hair told a different story.

The sweetness didn’t last long, though. As soon as the movie ended, I decided to push my luck.

“Minho,” I said, drawing out his name in that way I knew he couldn’t ignore.

“What?” he asked, not even bothering to look away from his phone.

I climbed onto his lap, straddling him with a mischievous grin. “Let’s do something fun.”

His eyes finally flicked up to mine, unimpressed. “Define fun.”

“Something that involves less clothes and more hands,” I whispered, leaning down until our faces were inches apart.

“Get out of my face” he deadpanned, though I didn’t miss the way his hands instinctively settled on my waist.

“Come on,” I murmured, brushing my lips against his jaw. “You know you want to.”

Minho’s grip tightened, but then he pulled back, smirking. “Nice try. Go take a cold shower, Jisung.”

I groaned, flopping off him dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

“You” he shot back, standing up.

I took a cold shower just like he recommended and I came back to him with just my robe wrapped around me.

Minho smirked at me from where he was lounging on the couch, wearing nothing but his briefs, looking entirely too smug. His laptop lay discarded beside him, and his eyes sparkled with amusement as I entered the room.

“I thought you were taking a cold shower?” he teased, sitting up slightly.

“I did,” I muttered, crossing my arms, trying to appear indifferent. “It didn’t work.”

Minho let out a low laugh, the sound crawling under my skin in the most infuriatingly pleasant way. “That bad, huh?”

I rolled my eyes, but my gaze betrayed me, drifting to the waistband of his briefs. “You could at least wear more clothes. You’re not helping.”

He arched an eyebrow, leaning back as if inviting me to look. “And you could stop staring, but here we are.”

“Fine,” I shot back, my cheeks burning. “If you’re going to be like that, I might as well take them off for you.”

Minho’s laugh turned into a snarl of amusement, and he shook his head. “You’re cute when you’re desperate, you know that?”

Before I could respond, he patted his thighs, a silent invitation that sent a jolt through me. “Come here,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

I didn’t hesitate. Dropping my defenses, I crawled onto his lap, still wrapped in my robe. His hands rested on my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush against each other.

“What else do you want to do?” he asked, his tone challenging.

“To you?”

“Yes,” he said, his grip tightening slightly. “After you take them off, what would you do? I want every twisted detail.”

A nervous smile crept onto my face as I tried to summon the confidence I felt moments ago. “I’d…” I started, my voice catching. “I’d take my time. Start by kissing you everywhere, but not where you want it.”

His lips quirked up, intrigued. “Go on.”

“I’d take you in my mouth,” I said, my voice steadier now, “hungry, relentless. I wouldn’t stop until you begged me. And right when you’re about to lose it, I’d make you hold it in.”

Minho’s eyes darkened, his smirk softening into something far more intense. “And then?”

“Then,” I continued, emboldened by the way he was watching me, “I’d make you go on all fours, take control, and make you—”

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my boldness. “All fours, huh?” he said, his voice dripping with challenge as his hands found their way to my waist, steadying me on his lap.

I nodded, my smile faltering slightly when I saw the way his gaze darkened, curiosity and something deeper flashing in his eyes. He leaned back, his arms stretching across the back of the couch like he was settling in for a show.

“Go on,” he urged, his tone low and inviting. “Don’t stop now. You’ve got my attention.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. “I’d… take my time,” I started, my voice trembling slightly. “Trail my lips down your back, leave marks you’ll feel for days, and then…”

Minho tilted his head, clearly enjoying the way I squirmed under his gaze. “And then?”

“And then,” I continued, steadying myself, “I’ll fuck you hard, Make you forget how to think, how to breathe. Make you call my name.”

He let out a low chuckle, his hands sliding to my thighs as he pulled me a little closer. “You really think you could handle that?”

I glared at him, feigning confidence. “Try me.”

He smirked, his grip tightening slightly. “Cute,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less teasing. “You talk a big game for someone who’s shaking in their robe.”

“I’m not shaking,” I protested, though my voice betrayed me.

Minho leaned forward, his lips brushing against my ear. “Yes, you are,” he whispered, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

I wanted to retort, but the words died in my throat when he shifted beneath me, his hands trailing up my back with a deliberate slowness. “I think,” he murmured, his tone turning playful again, “you just like riling me up.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, my cheeks burning.

He leaned back, his grin widening. “Keep playing, Jisung. We’ll see how far you get before you beg me instead.”

That was the last straw. My confidence cracked, and I buried my face in his shoulder,

Minho chuckled, his hand coming up to rest on the back of my head, pulling me closer. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky I haven’t thrown you off this couch.”

“You could try,” he said, his lips brushing against my temple.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, his face so close to mine I could see the teasing glint in his eyes. “I hate you,” I lied.

“No, you don’t.”

He was right. I didn’t.

"You're not going let me are you?"

"Let you what?"

"Fulfill my fantasies."

"Are you gonna let me be your boyfriend?"

"No."

"Then No."

He moved my body off him.

Have a good night.

I was awake half of the night.

Because  he left me starving.

Starving of him.

~

The dressing mirror's bulbs highlighted me and my finishing touches for the night.

My reflection stared back at me, confident and sharp, my outfit hugging every curve in just the right way. Nessa had texted me twice already, reminding me not to bail. I adjusted the neckline of my shirt, a sly grin creeping onto my lips. Tonight was going to be fun.

The door creaked open, and Minho stepped in. He was freshly back from church, still wearing his white button-up shirt tucked into dark slacks, though his tie hung loose around his neck.

“oh My,” he said, his voice warm but teasing, as he leaned against the doorway. “You look... stunning.”

I turned to him with a soft laugh. “Of course I do.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, his hands immediately finding my waist as he stood behind me. His gaze locked on mine through the mirror, his chin resting on my shoulder. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his voice low and deliberate. “It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” I quipped, adjusting my lipstick as if his words weren’t melting me inside.

His grip on my waist tightened just a little, and he nuzzled his face into my neck. “You’re so pretty, I want to eat you up,” he murmured against my skin, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down my spine.

I laughed, pushing him back slightly. “Too bad I’m not edible.”

He smirked, his lips brushing against my jawline. “Fine. If I can’t eat you, I’ll just suck you instead.”

The words sent a jolt through me, and I turned my head to look at him fully. “Do you mean that?”

His smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I do. Want me to prove it?”

My heart skipped a beat, but I didn’t let it show. “Yeah, go ahead. Suck me right now.”

His expression didn’t falter, but the chuckle that followed was infuriating. “I don’t perform boyfriend duties for random men.”

“Not funny, Minho.” I pouted, crossing my arms. “You can’t just say things like that and leave me hanging.”

“Sure, I can,” he teased, stepping back but not letting go of my waist. His laughter was light, but I could see the smug satisfaction behind it.

I huffed, turning back to the mirror and smoothing my hair. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep me around.”

Ignoring him, I threw a glance at the clock. Nessa would be blowing my phone in any minute. “You should come with me,” I suggested casually, checking my earrings.

“To the club?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

He shook his head, leaning against the edge of the dresser. “Not really in the mood tonight. You go have fun.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly why I wanted him there. The idea of him watching me dance, noticing the attention I got, would drive him crazy. He hated when I flirted, and tonight, I was going to push his buttons just enough to make him crack.

“Too bad you won’t come,” I said lightly, pulling on a sleek jacket to complete my outfit. “Guess I’ll just be alone with Nessa then.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the slight shift in his posture. It was subtle, but the way his jaw tightened for a split second told me I’d hit a nerve. He recovered quickly, though, playing it cool as he shrugged.

I bit back a smile, knowing I’d won this round.

“Alright, then,” I said, standing up and adjusting the jacket.

“Wait." His voice stopped me mid-step.

I turned to face him, feigning innocence. "What?"

He was already grabbing his own jacket, a resigned look on his face. "I'll come with you."

"Why?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because," he said, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, "there's no way I'm letting you take a cab looking like this. It's dangerous."

My grin threatened to break through, but I kept it at bay. "If you say so," I replied, heading for the door.

Behind me, Minho muttered something under his breath, and I knew tonight was going to be far more entertaining than I originally planned.

The pulsating beat of the music wrapped itself around me the moment we stepped into the club, the air electric with flashing lights and the buzz of excitement. The crowd swallowed us up instantly, and the familiar figure of Nessa emerged through the haze.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around me without so much as a glance at Minho. She didn’t greet him, and I wasn’t surprised. Nessa knew exactly how he felt about her and didn’t care enough to pretend otherwise.

“Let’s start with shots,” she said, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the bar.

Minho lingered behind, his presence fading as Nessa and I dove into the night. We ordered a couple of shots, the burn of tequila warming my throat as we clinked glasses and cheered to nothing in particular. She pulled me into the crowd, her laughter infectious as we danced and shouted to each other over the music.

But then, like a tug on the edge of my consciousness, I felt his gaze.

I glanced back toward the bar, and there he was—Minho, sitting by himself, a drink untouched in front of him. He wasn’t looking at the crowd or the dancers. His eyes were locked on me. Even through the sea of moving bodies, I felt the weight of his stare.

“Jisung!” Nessa’s arm looped around my shoulder, snapping my attention back to her. She leaned in close, her voice competing with the music. “I’m so happy you’re here. You’ve been holed up for too long!”

I forced a smile, nodding along.

“But seriously,” she continued, “why’d you even bring him?”

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of him. “Minho?”

“Yes, Minho. He’s just going to brood in the corner all night. He doesn’t even like me, so why is he here?”

I hesitated. The truth sat heavy on my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Instead, I looked back toward the bar, but the crowd shifted, blocking my view of where he’d been.

“Hello? Earth to Jisung?” Nessa waved a hand in front of my face, snapping me back to her.

I plastered on another smile. “He won’t bother us. We’ve got it all figured out. Just friends, no sex, no drama. He was just my ride here, that’s all.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my excuse.

“Forget about him,” I added, trying to sound convincing.

But I couldn’t forget about him. Not when the thought of him lingered like a shadow, heavy and consuming.

Even as Nessa kept talking, even as the music pounded in my ears and the lights flashed around us, all I could think about was Minho. Was he still at the bar? Was he still watching me? Or had he already decided that this was a mistake and left?

I couldn’t shake the image of him sitting alone, his eyes fixed on me as if he were trying to read my thoughts.

“Jisung!” Nessa’s voice pulled me back again. “Are you even listening?”

I nodded quickly, but my mind was far from the conversation. All I could think about was the man I told her to forget, the one I swore wouldn’t get under my skin tonight.

But Minho had always been impossible to ignore..

Finally, I found an excuse to escape, weaving through the crowd and heading back to where I’d left Minho. He hadn’t moved. His head was tilted slightly, eyes scanning the room, but as soon as he spotted me, his entire demeanor shifted. His face lit up, and something inside me twisted.

“Hey,” I greeted softly, trying to steady my voice.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice warm and familiar, a tether pulling me closer.

“Here all by yourself?” I teased, leaning against the bar.

“Well, I came in with a beautiful man, but he left me for someone else.” His words were playful, but there was an edge to them.

“Pfft. You said you just wanted to drive me here,” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, but…”

“But what?” I pressed, my pulse quickening. “Say it.”

“I should be the one dancing with you, not Nessa.”

The admission made my stomach flip, For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Too bad I don’t perform boyfriend duties for random men,” I quipped, trying to mask how much his words had affected me.

He laughed, and it was unfair how divine he looked under the dim lights of the bar. His smile was disarming, and I hated how much I wanted to kiss him right then and there.

But Minho wasn’t the type to make things easy.

And now I was starting to believe he'd never let me have my way unless I agreed to being his boyfriend

“Would you fuck her tonight or me?” His voice was calm, but the challenge in his eyes was anything but.

“You don’t get to tell me who to fuck, Mr.,” I shot back, though my voice wavered slightly.

“Too bad,” he said with a shrug, leaning back against the bar. His gaze didn’t waver, though. It pinned me in place. “I still don’t get why you’re punishing me like this.”

“I’m still impressed with how you haven’t snapped yet.”

“I’m trying to win you over,” he admitted, and it was so soft I almost didn’t catch it over the music.

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way my heart raced. "You're cute."

Before I could push him further, Nessa appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my arm and dragging me back toward the dancefloor.

"Come on! You didn't come here to brood at the bar!" she exclaimed, her grip firm.

Minho didn't fight her. He just sat there, watching as she pulled me away.

Something in my chest ached as I glanced over my shoulder. Why wasn't he fighting back? Minho would usually do anything to keep her from pulling me away, and now he was just letting it happen.

Nessa led me to the dancefloor, but I stopped short before we could get swallowed by the crowd. I stayed near the edge, where I could still catch glimpses of him at the bar.

The music blared, the lights flashed, and Nessa kept talking, but I wasn't listening.

My focus was on the man I couldn't have, the one who was watching me just as intently as I was watching him.

Minho didn't move. He didn't need to. His presence was magnetic, and every stolen glance made my heart ache more.

I wanted him. I always did. But tonight, it felt different. The push and pull between us was unbearable, and no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, Minho was the only thing I could think about.

The music switch from a pop song to a more seductive sound and suddenly the room seemed fogging. Nessa’s body moved effortlessly against mine, her rhythm perfectly matching the new tempo. She was grinding on me, her hands grazing my arms, but my focus wasn’t on her.

It was on Minho.

He was still at the bar, sitting with the same calm demeanor he always carried, but his eyes were locked on me. There was an intensity in his gaze, one that made my heart pound faster than the bass thundering through the speakers.

And then a shadow disrupted the connection.

A man—stepped into view, cutting off my line of sight. He was lean, dressed in a snug shirt that seemed to emphasize his confidence. He approached Minho with a drink in each hand, offering one to him.

They started talking.

I couldn’t hear them over the music, but the sight alone was enough to make my chest tighten. Minho leaned in slightly, and the guy did the same, their body language too casual, too familiar.

Nessa was still dancing, her movements becoming more deliberate, but I couldn’t feel her anymore. My entire body went numb as I fixated on them.

Why was he talking to someone else?

He came here with me.

I tried to pull myself back to the present, forcing my attention back to Nessa. She smiled, saying something I couldn’t hear, but her voice barely registered. My eyes darted back to the bar, and my stomach twisted.

The guy was closer now, leaning on the counter, his attention fully on Minho. Minho didn’t move away. He didn’t stop him.

I shoved Nessa off me, startling her.

“Jisung, what the hell—”

But I wasn’t listening. My feet carried me across the crowded room toward the bar. Every step felt heavier than the last, but as soon as I reached him, Minho’s face lit up. That damn face.

“Oh, this is the friend I came with?” he said, his voice light, but his eyes betrayed something deeper.

The guy turned, giving me a casual nod. “Oh, hello.”

I ignored him, locking my gaze on Minho. “What do you want with him?” I asked, sounding rude because that exactly how I intended to come off.

Minho blinked, surprised, but I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “You said you wouldn’t drink tonight. Why did you let him buy you a drink?”

He opened his mouth, but I didn’t stop. My focus shifted to the stranger. “He doesn't want you around, he's with me.”

The guy chuckled, clearly amused. “Oh, chill,” he said, glancing between us. “You sure you both are just friends?”

Before Minho could answer, the words flew out of my mouth. “He’s my boyfriend. Now back the fuck up.”

The world seemed to pause. Both of them stared at me, Minho’s eyes wide with shock.

I turned back to him, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the bar. “Come on,” I muttered, but he resisted, his feet planted firmly.

Confused.

“Jisung…” His voice was soft, unsure.

I turned to face him, my frustration boiling over. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

His hesitation melted the moment our lips touched. His hands found my waist, pulling me closer as the noise of the club faded into the background. When I pulled back, his eyes searched mine, as if trying to decipher what had just happened.

I didn’t give him time to think. I grabbed his hand again, dragging him toward the exit. The cool night air hit us as we stepped outside, but the moment was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Jisung!”

I turned to see Nessa standing near the door, her arms crossed. Her gaze flicked between me and Minho, her confusion evident.

“You’re leaving… with him?” she asked, her tone edged with disbelief.

“Yes I'm leaving.” I said firmly, glancing at Minho. “With my boyfriend.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but I didn’t stay to explain. I held out my hand, and Minho handed me his keys without a word. Sliding into the drivers seat, I closed the door.

“Goodnight, Nessa,” I called out, my tone final.

Minho got into the passengers seat, as my hands grippy the steering wheel, starting the car. Neither of us spoke as I pulled onto the road.

We drove off into the night, we I  finally parked in front of his house. The soft hum of the engine faded into the stillness of the night. I turned to him and he was already staring at him

Still very confused.

“You’re mine, Minho. Do you know that?” I said, breaking the quiet.

His lips twitched in a faint smirk. “Well, I wasn’t aware.”

I leaned closer, my voice firm. “Are you aware now?”

He looked away, his profile illuminated by the dim streetlight outside.

“You belong to me,” I said, my tone softer this time. Reaching out, I touched his shoulder, letting my fingers trace the line of his neck. He flinched slightly at the contact but didn’t move away. Slowly, he turned his head back to me, his eyes searching mine.

“Say it,” I whispered.

“Say what?”

“That you belong to me.”

His brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “You’re confusing me, Jisung,” he said, his voice low. Without another word, he opened the car door and stepped out, heading toward the house.

I followed him, frustration bubbling under my skin. By the time I reached his room, he had already stripped off his shirt, his toned back facing me as he rifled through his drawers.

“That dude was just being nice,” he said without turning around. “And you made a scene.”

“Made a scene?” I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Take a wild guess where I learned it from.”

He sighed, clearly exasperated. “Stop yelling.”

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to take a deep breath. My voice was quieter but no less intense as I said, “Fine. I got jealous. Punish me for it if you want, but do you have any idea how it feels to spend all this time suppressing how in love I am with you?”

Minho froze, his hands pausing mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to face me, his expression stunned.

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

“Yes, I am,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to stay composed. “I’ve been in love with you since we were eighteen. Since that night in the pool after you sent Father Dooyoung out of the church. That's when I knew what I felt for you wasn't what friends felt of each other."

His jaw dropped slightly, but he didn’t say anything, still processing my words.

"You've been in love with me this whole time.?"

“Of course, you don’t know,” I continued, a bitter laugh escaping me. “You don’t know because I’ve been hiding it—because of our friendship, because of your religion. You don’t know because I was scared you’d hate me.”

“Jisung…” His voice cracked as he stepped closer, his face softening.

“You don’t know,” I said, my voice trembling. “You don’t know you were my bisexual awakening. You don’t know because I knew yor thought your beliefs wouldn’t align with what I feel. If I had told you back then you'd have rejected me in a instant. You'd hate me and go tell the others that they were right about me being a faggot."

He stared at me, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he closed the distance between us, his hands gently cupping my face. His thumbs brushed against my cheeks as his lips pressed against my jaw, then my forehead.

“You of all people should know I could never hate you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I fucking love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as his words sank in. “Do you still want to date me?” I asked, our foreheads touching.

A small smile spread across his face. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said, his voice firm and certain.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the ground and twirling me in the air which caught me by surprise. He set me down gently on the bed, his body hovering over mine as he looked down at me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

“You’re mine, Jisung,” he said, his voice low and possessive.

“And you’re mine,” I replied, my hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders.

As his lips found mine again.

Then he chuckled between kisses. "You being my boyfriend now doesn't feel real."

"It would if you go on all fours."

~

The early morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. I stirred first, feeling the warmth of Minho’s body pressed against mine. He was still fast asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful. I couldn’t resist leaning in, my lips brushing gently against his.

"Mmm," Minho whined, scrunching his face without opening his eyes. "I want more sleep."

I chuckled softly. "Okay, baby, but it’s Sunday, and you already missed the first service at church."

"I’ll make it to the next one," he mumbled, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder.

I glanced at the wall clock again. "Second service started over 30 minutes ago."

A groan escaped him. "I’ll have to skip church today, then."

"Oh, okay then," I said, feigning innocence.
"You good?"

He shooked his head. "I’m so sore," he muttered, his voice muffled against the pillow.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound spilling out before I could stop it.

"Don’t laugh," he pouted, cracking one eye open to glare at me.

"You said I could fulfill my fantasies," I teased, smirking at him.

"Yeah," he sighed, stretching lazily, "And you delivered." Finally, he opened both eyes, his gaze locking onto mine.

"Come on, let’s get cleaned up," I said, tugging gently at his arm.

"Mmm, I’m too weak," he whined again, closing his eyes and pulling the sheet tighter around himself.

"I can’t carry you," I joked, poking his side.

His eyes flicked toward the door, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"What?" I asked, leaning down to cuddle against him.

"I thought I heard my name," he said, his voice laced with confusion.

I turned his face toward mine, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "You must be hearing things," I said, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Just as I leaned back, the door suddenly flew open with a loud bang, slamming against the wall.

"Minh— Blood of Jesus!"

Minho shot up in bed, clutching the blanket to his chest, while I scrambled to cover myself with the rest of it.

Minho's father looked like he had seen a ghost.

Chapter Text

MINHO.

"Jisung," I murmured, still groggy as I leaned against the headboard.

He spun to face me, his eyes wide with worry. "How are you so calm?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

"Because your dad walked in on us!" he hissed, throwing his arms in the air. "He saw us, Minho!"

I shrugged, throwing the blanket off. "So?"

Jisung blinked at me, stunned by my indifference. "So? Your dad is like the king of religious conservatism. He runs this whole place. You think he's just going to let it slide?"

I stood, stretching, and gave him a small smile. "He can think what he wants. I don't care."

"You should care!" he snapped, running a hand through his messy hair. "You live here. You work here. Everything you've ever known is tied to this place!"

"And yet, none of it matters compared to you," I replied simply, walking over to him. I placed a hand on his cheek, but he pulled away, clearly still rattled.

"Minho, this isn't a joke," he whispered, voice trembling. "He could ruin your life."

He was right he could.

I sighed and tilted my head. "I'll handle it. He's my father before anything else so don't panick."

---

By morning, Jisung had hardly slept, while I was as calm as ever. I woke up to find out I had lost access to alot of things , I didn't bother to tell Jisung about it so he wouldn't feel any guilt.

I drove us back to the institution parking just outside the dorms. Jisung clutched the edge of his seat as if it would save him from drowning.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked for the millionth time.

"Yes," I said firmly. "Stay here."

"Minho-"

"Trust me, just stay here I'll come back."

He hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line, but eventually nodded. "Okay."

I stepped out of the car and headed to the dorms. It didn't take long to realize something was wrong. The door to our building was sealed shut, a large padlock hanging from the handle. I frowned, my chest tightening.

Without hesitation, I made my way to the main institution building. My feet carried me straight to my father's office, a place I'd visited countless times but never with dread gnawing at my stomach.

When I pushed open the door, he didn't even look up.

"Do you have any idea the disgrace you've brought on this family?" he spat, his voice cold and cutting.

"Good morning to you too," I said dryly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind me.

His gaze snapped up, his eyes blazing with anger. "Don't you dare take that tone with me! Minho. This-" he gestured wildly "-this is unforgivable."

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What exactly is this, Dad? Loving someone?"

His expression hardened. "It's not love. It's sin. And you've made a mockery of everything this institution stands for."

"Okay like the institution is going to collapse over the fact that I like another man." I rolled my eyes

"You're having that attitude, you better stick to it, stick to it when I take every you own and you end up with nothing and when you come back to your senses you'll come crawling back like the prodigal son that you are.,"

"I hope I never come back to my senses."

"You'll see, gay relationships never last and when the time comes you'll continue on that path don't look back."

"You're a disgrace at the sight of the lord."

"No I'm not, you preach love and acceptance, but only for people who fit your mold. That's not faith. That's hypocrisy."

"Enough!" he barked, slamming his fist on the desk. "You are no longer welcome here, Minho. Not as a teacher, and not as my son..

My heart broke at his words but I didn't flinch. "Fine," I said after a long moment. "If being your son means living a lie, I don't want it."

"Leave!!!"

"Never come back."

"You're an abomination."

"You're not my son."

"You'll regret this your entire life,"

He continued yelling like a crazy person as I walked out, I saw Changbin and Felix standing in the hallway, their faces pale. They'd clearly heard everything.

Changbin opened his mouth, but I held up a hand to stop him. "Don't let anyone find out about you two," I said quietly, glancing between them.

Felix's eyes widened, and Changbin frowned. "Minho-"

"Just take care of each other, I'll Miss you both." I said before walking past them.

I headed back.

Jisung sat up straight when I returned to the car, his eyes searching my face. "How did it go?"

"We're moving," I said simply, starting the engine.

"Moving?" he echoed, his brow furrowing.

I glanced at him, offering a small smile. "We're no longer welcome here."

His face fell, guilt washing over him. "Oh no, baby, I'm so sorry. Shit, it's all my fault."

"It's not," I assured him. "We'll just move to another country and start a new life."

His eyes widened in disbelief. "What?"

I placed a hand on his knee, squeezing gently. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," he whispered without hesitation.

I smiled, and after a moment, so did he.

"We'll find another place where we're both welcome," I said softly.

"What about your dad and the church?" he asked hesitantly.

I looked out the window, my jaw tightening. "Dead to me."

Jisung's hand found mine, and he squeezed it tightly. "I'm so sorry," he said again, his voice barely audible.

I turned back to him, my resolve firm. "Don't be. You're worth it, Jisung. You've always been worth it."

He nodded fighting back the tears.

"I don't have ownership to any properties anymore, we're gonna stay in a hotel for a while then figure ourselves out."

He nodded and the tears rolled down his face and I encouraged him to stay strong and we were going to be okay.

And we were

Ten Months Later we were in Italy.
It was everything I had hoped for and more. The warmth of the sun against my skin, the smell of fresh pastries in the morning, and the sound of Jisung's laughter echoing through our modest yet beautiful apartment made it feel like we had stepped into a dream.

Jisung had landed a better-paying job almost immediately after we arrived, and I had thrown myself into building multiple businesses from the ground up. It was hard work, especially without my family's wealth to fall back on, but I didn't mind. In fact, I relished the challenge-it felt like I was truly earning my place in the world for the first time.

And Jisung? He was my anchor through it all. His unwavering support, his endless energy, and his habit of sticking to me like glue kept me going. He even started coming with me to a new church I found-a place where I didn't have to hide who I was or who I loved. He wasn't there for any spiritual reason; he was just impossibly clingy and wanted to be around me as much as possible. I didn't mind. Every time someone asked, "Who's this?" I'd proudly respond, "The love of my life."

I had cut off all ties with my father and the old church. I didn't want them knowing where we were or what we were doing. We were building a new life, far away from their judgment and constraints.

Jisung's family, on the other hand, was everything I had never known a family could be. His mom treated me like her own son, his dad gave me quiet but steadfast support, and his sister doted on both of us equally. They welcomed me into their lives with open arms, even with their beliefs. They saw the love Jisung and I shared and embraced it.

Over time, Nessa and I developed a surprising friendship. She was the first person I confided in about my plans to propose to Jisung. She offered advice, helped me brainstorm ideas, and reassured me when I worried about how to make it special enough.

I laid on my bed with my laptop propped against my knees, I was in my zone. The dim lighting of the room set the perfect atmosphere as I double-checked details for the plan. A mixture of anticipation and nerves kept my mind busy, my fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard. It was supposed to be a secret—a grand surprise for Jisung that I’d been plotting for weeks.

The door creaked open, and Jisung walked in, radiating his usual playful energy. Before I could look up, he leaned down and pressed a series of kisses to my cheek.

"I'm not buying you anything, babe. Seriously," I said flatly, though I couldn’t help the slight twitch of amusement in my lips.

“Damn, I can’t even breathe without you thinking I want something in return,” he shot back, a dramatic hand clutching his chest.

"Don't you?"

“No.” He pouted, crossing his arms.

“Okay then,” I said nonchalantly, keeping my gaze on my screen.

He tilted his head, leaning closer. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” I tilted my laptop slightly, blocking his view.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing. Mind your business,” I replied, shooting him a pointed look.

Jisung rolled his eyes, already suspicious. “I’ll find out. I always find out what you’re up to.”

I sighed, knowing he wasn’t bluffing. “It’s a surprise,” I muttered, hoping that would throw him off.

He arched an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, is it the surprise trip where you’re planning to propose?”

My heart stopped. My hands immediately slammed the laptop shut as I stared at him, my eyes wide.

“How did you find that out?”

Jisung cackled, his laugh echoing through the room. “Out of everyone you could tell about these things, you chose Nessa?”

I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He reached over, plopping down on the bed beside me. “I wanted to act clueless too, but I’m very excited for it.”

I shot him a glare, my lips twitching between annoyance and affection. “I knew Nessa was a fraud. I shouldn’t have trusted her with such information.”

Jisung grinned, unbothered by my irritation. “It’s so cute you already want to propose to me. Ahhhhh!” he squealed, throwing himself onto the bed, bouncing slightly as his excitement bubbled over.

I couldn’t help but laugh, my annoyance melting away as I watched him squirm with joy. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining as he clutched the pillow like it held the secret to his happiness.

“Well, there goes the element of surprise,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” he teased, sitting up on his knees and leaning toward me. “You’re still going to propose, right? I promise I’ll act surprised if you want.”

I rolled my eyes, leaning back against the headboard. “Don’t push it.”

Jisung giggled, throwing his arms around me in a tight hug. “You’re the best, you know that? I love you so so much.”

“I love you more,” I muttered, my heart warming at his affection.

As he buried his face in my shoulder, I realized that even if the plan wasn’t a secret anymore, it didn’t matter. Seeing him this happy, this eager—it was worth it. Proposing to Jisung wasn’t about perfection or surprises. It was about us.

Life was perfect. It felt like a fairytale come to life.

Until the morning everything shifted.

I was making coffee in the kitchen, humming to myself as I waited for Jisung to join me. He appeared moments later, his hair a tousled mess, his favorite oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder. He shuffled to the counter, grabbed his mug, and sipped quietly, his phone in his other hand.

It was an ordinary morning until he set his coffee down and looked at me, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

"Minho," he said, his voice soft but firm.

I turned to him, a smile tugging at my lips. "What is it, Sungie?"

He hesitated, biting his bottom lip-a habit he had when he was nervous.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my heart rate picking up.

"My...your dad called me," he finally said, his words like a thunderclap in the serene morning air.

I froze, my mind struggling to process what he had just said. "What?"

"He called me," Jisung repeated, his voice quieter this time. "This morning. While you were still asleep."

My chest tightened, a mix of anger and anxiety surging through me. "How did he even get your number?"

"I don't know," he admitted, setting his phone on the counter. "But he called, and he...he wants to talk to you."

I shook my head, my stomach churning. "I don't want to talk to him. He doesn't deserve that."

Jisung stepped closer, his hands resting gently on my arms. "I didn't tell him anything, Minho. I didn't even confirm we were here. I just...I thought you should know."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I don't want him dragging us back into his mess, Jisung. I've worked too hard to let him ruin this for us."

"He can't ruin anything," Jisung said firmly, his grip on me tightening. "We're stronger than that. But if there's something you need to say to him...or if there's anything unresolved, I'll be here for you. Always."

The shrill sound broke the calm, and Jisung glanced at the screen, his smile fading. I caught the look on his face and immediately felt a ripple of unease.

Without thinking, I grabbed the phone and answered it.

“Hello?”

There was a pause, then a voice I hadn’t heard in nearly a year spoke, tentative and soft. “Minho, my son, is that you?”

I felt a surge of anger at the sound of his voice, the kind that tightened my chest and made my grip on the phone instinctively tighten. “I’m not your son.”

Jisung sighed beside me, the sound gentle but enough to pull me back from the edge. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, his hands coming around me to hold me. The warmth of his touch helped, but only a little.

“Is Jisung with you?” my father asked, his tone cautious.

“What do you want?” I bit out, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage.

Jisung leaned against me, his chin resting on my shoulder as his arms slid around my waist. His silent support was everything, even as my father’s words began to twist the knife.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “For what I said, for pushing you away... You’re the only family I have, Minho. I wish I could go back and take back those words.”

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Well, it’s too late now. I have a better family. Jisung’s family treats me better than you ever did.”

“Minho, please,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ll change. I’ll do better.”

Those words sounded empty to me. Memories of cold stares, harsh words, and years of feeling unworthy flashed through my mind. I had spent so long waiting for an apology, for a sliver of remorse. But now that it was here, it felt meaningless.

“If there’s something I’d go to hell for,” I said, my voice low and steady, “it’s definitely not loving another man. It’s never forgiving you. Don’t ever call me again.”

Before he could respond, I hung up.

Jisung pulled me into a hug as soon as the phone left my hand. His small frame pressed against mine, his arms strong and comforting. I buried my face in his hair, inhaling the familiar scent of him as the weight of the call began to settle.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, but it wasn’t sadness that overwhelmed me—it was relief. Relief that I was finally free of the ties that had once bound me to a life of fear and repression. Relief that I had chosen my happiness over his approval.

“I’m okay,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Jisung’s head. “I’m okay.”

He tilted his head up to look at me, his brown eyes filled with nothing but love and concern. “You’re sure?”

I nodded, brushing my thumb over his cheek as I smiled. “I’m happy. I’m in love. I have you and your amazing family. I don’t need him. And I don't see why he's telling me to return back after not caring if I've even been alive this whole time."

"I understand."

"I'm only focusing on you."

Jisung’s smile returned, soft and radiant. “Good,” he said, tightening his arms around me. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go, Minho. Ever.”

"I love you."

"I love you more."

We got married almost a year later, adopted pets along the lines and we couldn't be more happier.

The end.

Chapter Text

MINHO'S POV

I stood just outside the terminal with my luggage, my breath visible in the icy chill. Two weeks. I had been away from Jisung for two weeks, and it felt like a lifetime. Work trips weren't unusual for me, but this time, the timing was cruel. Being away during the holiday season was something that didn't sit right with me, but I hadn't been able to say no.

It was December 23rd, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to be home with him. The thought of spending Christmas together had kept me going through countless meetings and sleepless nights in hotels. I loved Christmas-everything about it-the warmth, the lights, the togetherness. But I wasn't sure if Jisung felt the same way anymore, we'd never really talked about how he viewed the holidays now.

I unlocked my phone, pulling up our chat and typing out another text. "Just landed. Waiting for my ride. Can't wait to see you."

I was rereading his last text-"Hurry up babe. I miss you."-when a woman approached me. She looked friendly enough, but her eyes stayed on me just a little too long.

"Hey there, long trip?" she asked, smiling.

"Something like that," I replied politely, keeping my responses short.

"You waiting for someone?"

"No, just my ride," I said, trying to signal the conversation was over.

She didn't take the hint. "Do you need company?"

"No."

"Oh you seem so selective you don't even want to look at me."

"There's not much to look at." I said my eyes still fixed on my phone tracking my Uber.

Do you have a type?" she asked, leaning in slightly.

I blinked, caught off guard by the question then finally looked at her. "Yes," I said, smiling politely but firmly. "And I'm happily married to him."

The woman's eyes widened slightly before she stepped back with a nervous laugh. "Oh, I see. Well, happy holidays!"

"Same to you." I gave her a nod, relieved when she walked away.

Just then, I saw my Uber pull up, the driver rolling down the window to confirm my name. I loaded my luggage into the trunk and slid into the backseat, pulling my phone back out as the car started moving.

I wasn't just tracking my route home. I was also tracking something far more exciting-the car I'd been shipping for Jisung. I'd finally bought him a car and for Christmas. I always liked the idea of him driving and he always drove mine which wasn't much of a problem because I barely used it but figured I wanted him to have one of his own.

As I scrolled through the delivery updates, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. I smiled the moment I saw Jisung's name flash on the screen.

"Hey, baby," I answered, unable to hide the warmth in my voice.

"Where are you now?" His voice was impatient, bordering on a whine.

"I'm almost home, okay?" I chuckled, leaning my head back against the seat. "Why are you being like this? You ghosted me half the time I was away, and now you're blowing up my phone?"

"Just get home," he said, his tone softening but still insistent.

"Okay, baby," I said with a laugh, shaking my head.

I hung up, my heart aching just a little from how much I missed him. I pictured him pacing around the apartment, probably stealing glances out the window every few minutes.

The ride home felt longer than it should have, but when we finally pulled up to the building, I practically jumped out of the car. I grabbed my luggage, tipping the driver generously before heading inside. My chest felt tight with anticipation as I rode the elevator up, each ding of the floors making my heart race.

I arrived at the door to our apartment and it was unlocked and I stepped right into the apartment, in that moment I felt like I'd walked straight into a Christmas wonderland. It was like Santa himself had gone overboard with the decorations. Strings of colorful lights hung across the ceiling, soft bells jingled faintly in the distance, and the warmth of the room was so inviting it made the cold December air outside feel like a distant memory.

I barely had time to take it all in before Soonie, Dongie, and Dori came trotting up to me. They were clearly as excited as I was to be home. I bent down, scooping each one up in turn, cradling them in my arms as they purred contentedly.

"Hey, babies," I whispered, kissing the top of each of their heads. "Where's Dad."

As I stood there, my eyes landed on the massive Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. It was tall and bright, covered in ornaments that sparkled like stars. Beneath it, there was a pile of neatly wrapped presents, and stockings hung from the mantle with our names-mine, Jisung's, and even the cats'.

"Baby," I called out, my voice soft as I took it all in. It was perfect.

I reached for the remote, turning off the TV that had been playing softly in the background. "Han Jisung," I called again, louder this time, but there was no response.

The aroma of something sweet wafted through the air, drawing me toward the kitchen. I stepped inside, expecting to see him there, but all I found were trays of freshly baked cookies and a counter piled high with candies. My brows furrowed. That was odd.

"Is he playing some kind of trick?" I muttered, wiping my hands on my jeans before heading toward the bedroom.

I was halfway there when the thought hit me. Did he leave the house with the door unlocked? That didn't sound like him.

But as I pushed open the bedroom door, all my worries evaporated. There he was, peacefully sleeping on the bed. He looked so small and soft, curled up in his white pajamas, socks on, his chest rising and falling steadily.

My heart melted instantly. The decorations, the cookies, the tree-it all made sense now. He must have spent the whole day turning the apartment into a Christmas haven, and now he was completely wiped out. My poor baby.

I glanced toward the chair by the closet and noticed a neatly folded pair of pajamas that matched the ones he was wearing. A small smile tugged at my lips. He'd even thought of me.

Quietly, I grabbed the pajamas and slipped into the bathroom to shower and change. The hot water did wonders for my travel-weary body, but my mind stayed on Jisung the entire time. When I was finally clean and dressed, I crept back into the bedroom and slid into bed beside him.

Carefully, I wrapped my arms around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He stirred slightly, mumbling something under his breath, but didn't wake. I couldn't stop staring at him, at the way his lashes rested softly and the little pout of his lips.

"I missed you so much," I whispered, brushing my thumb across his knuckles.

He shifted again, leaning into my touch, and I smiled, pulling back just enough so I wouldn't disturb his rest. As much as I wanted to talk to him, to kiss him awake and tell him how much I loved everything he'd done, I didn't have the heart to wake him.

For now, I was content just being here, in the same bed, with the love of my life. It was the first time in weeks that I felt truly at peace. Christmas hadn't even started yet, but I already knew it was going to be unforgettable.

I stayed in bed, my eyes on Jisung as he shifted in his sleep. I didn't move much-just enough to brush my fingers lightly against his arm. The small touch was all it took for him to stir, his lashes fluttering as he slowly opened his eyes.

"Minho-WTF!" he exclaimed, jolting up in surprise before practically leaping into my arms. "You scared the crap out of me!"

I laughed, holding him close as he buried his face in my neck. "Hi, baby."

"When did you get back?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look at me, his wide, sleepy eyes filled with surprise.

"Almost an hour ago."

"Muah, muah, muah," he hummed, peppering my face with kisses until I started laughing again, my hands coming up to cup his cheeks.

"Easy, hamster," I teased, grinning as he paused, his expression shifting into an exaggerated pout.

"Well, excuse me for missing you!" he said dramatically.

I leaned forward, cutting him off with a kiss. It was soft and sweet, and the way he melted against me had my chest aching with how much I'd missed him.

"You're already changed," he mumbled when we broke apart, his fingers tugging lightly at my matching pajamas. "I have plans for us tonight, you know."

"I saw, baby," I said, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. "You did a great job putting all those decorations up."

"It's nothing," he said shyly, his cheeks tinting pink as he pulled back a little. "I know you absolutely love Christmas, and I didn't want to disappoint you after your long trip."

"Thank you," I said earnestly, my voice soft.

He stood up, grabbing my hand and tugging me along. "Are you hungry? I made cocoa, banana bread, cookies... I even bought a bunch of sweets. Oh, and I tried making popcorn, but it ended up a complete disaster."

The way he sighed, all dramatic and disappointed, had me wrapping my arms around his waist as we made our way to the kitchen.

"I don't know what we'll eat while we watch Christmas shows," he continued, his tone still a little defeated.

"We could eat each other out," I teased, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"Oh my goodness, Minho, you're so dirty!" he exclaimed, his face going bright red as he swatted at my chest.

"Dirty? You were the one sending me pictures of your dick the whole time I was away, then got mad and ghosted me because I wouldn't send one back," I shot back, raising a brow at him.

He stopped in his tracks, his pout returning in full force. "I didn't ghost you," he mumbled, turning away to open the microwave them didn't say anything else after.

"Got nothing else to say, huh?" I teased, leaning against the counter as I watched him.

"Fuck off," he snarled, his cheeks pink as he busied himself with checking the cocoa.

"Okay, then," I said, laughing under my breath. "I'll just take the banana bread and hot cocoa."

"Whatever," he muttered, still refusing to look at me.

"Not you having an attitude the day I get home," I said, shaking my head as I reached for Dori, who had followed us into the kitchen. I scooped her up, stroking her soft fur as I turned and made my way toward the living room.

Behind me, Jisung huffed loudly, but I could hear the faintest hint of a laugh in his breath. It didn't take much to get under his skin, and I loved every second of it.

I stretched out on the couch, Dori nestled contently on my chest, her little body rising and falling with my breaths. I stroked her fur absentmindedly, the soft weight of her soothing as I flipped through channels with the remote. The scent of cocoa and banana bread filled the air, and soon, Jisung emerged from the kitchen, balancing the treats on a tray. He set them down on the coffee table, clearing his throat dramatically.

"Umm, excuse Dori," he said, narrowing his eyes playfully at her. "That's my spot."

I smirked, my hand still on the remote. "I'm not letting you on me if you're gonna have that same attitude you had earlier."

Jisung pouted, crossing his arms before relenting. "I'm sorry, okay? I missed you so much, and I'm acting crazy. Can I please have my spot now?"

I sighed, shaking my head with exaggerated defeat. "Fine." I gently tried lifting Dori but she meowed and I looked back at Jisung.

"Watch your back Dori." Jisung immediately climbed onto my lap, nestling against me.

"What are we watching?" I asked grabbed the remote.

"The red one," he answered vaguely, pointing to the screen.

"Okay," I said, settling on the movie he wanted.

As the film started, I felt his hands on my legs, his fingers tracing absent patterns. His touch was soft, but something in the way he was acting made me pause.

"So... did you see anyone on your trip?"

"Yeah, I saw lots of people, actually. I was surprised how many people were turning up to the job even with the holidays,"

"Oh..." he murmured, his fingers still moving. "I meant... like... did you see someone. Like... a sexual encounter or... I don't know."

A knot twisted hard in my chest immediately I understood what he meant my stomach flipping with a mix of hurt and frustration. I pulled my legs away from him, sitting up straighter.

"You're asking if I cheated on you? Is that it?" My voice was sharper than I intended, my brows furrowing.

"What the fuck, Jisung?"

"Baby, that's not entirely what I meant," he said quickly, his hands going up defensively. His face was flushed, and he looked genuinely distressed. "We've just... never been apart since we moved in together. I had low moments, and I overthought... like, what if you met someone who'd change how you feel about me?"

I stared at him, stunned. "Jisung," I started, my voice softer now, "even my beliefs didn't change how I feel about you. So, what the hell are you talking about?"

He looked defeated, his shoulders slumping as he gulped, meeting my eyes hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Minho," he whispered.

I exhaled deeply, leaning forward to cup his face, my thumbs brushing his cheeks. "It's okay, my love, but you have to trust me. I know you'd never cheat on me, and I wouldn't even dream of doing the same to you. Fucking hell, Jisung, no one else in my life matters to me except you." Dori meowed softly beside us, and I chuckled, correcting myself. "...And maybe our three little felines. But the point is, you should trust me."

"Okay," he said softly, nodding as his lips quirked into a small, shy smile.

I smirked, my hands sliding down to his waist. "Do you need us to go into the bedroom so I can show you how much I fucking missed you? Because, trust me, the pictures of your sexy dick weren't helping matters."

He giggled, his laughter like music to my ears, and before I knew it, he moved to hover over me, his weight making Dori jump off my chest indignantly.

"That's right, know your place," Jisung teased the cat, his tone smug as he looked down at me.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Don't threaten our kid."

"She's fine," he quipped, leaning down to kiss me deeply, his fingers threading through my hair.

In that moment, nothing else mattered

After the movie, Jisung was practically buzzing with excitement. He darted under the tree, grabbed a box wrapped in shiny paper, and plopped it right onto my lap, grinning like he'd just outsmarted Santa himself.

"Open it," he urged, eyes bright and hopeful.

"Now?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I held the box up for inspection.

"Yes, now! What's the point of waiting?"

I sighed, smiling at his eagerness. "You know patience is a virtue, right?"

"Yeah, well, I don't have that one," he shot back, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the bedroom.

By the time we were lying on the bed, I was holding the box in my hands, and Jisung was squirming beside me like a kid waiting for candy.

"Okay, okay, I'm opening it," I said, laughing at his impatience. I took my time peeling back the paper, knowing it would drive him insane.

"Minho!" he groaned, throwing a pillow at me. "Hurry up, or I'm doing it myself!"

Finally, I relented, tearing the wrapping paper off and lifting the lid. My breath caught in my throat. Inside was something I'd wanted for years but could never find-a rare anime figurine, perfect in every detail.

"No way..." I whispered, my fingers trembling as I picked it up carefully.

"You like it?" Jisung asked, suddenly quieter, as if he was nervous I wouldn't.

"Like it?" I turned to him, my chest tight with emotion. "Jisung, I love it. How did you even find this?"

"It was really hard." he said, looking proud of himself.

I put the box down gently on the nightstand before pulling him into a kiss, my hands cradling his face as I poured all my appreciation into the moment. When we finally pulled back, I whispered, "Thank you. You didn't have to do this, you know."

"I wanted to," he replied, his cheeks pink. "You've been talking about it forever. I wanted to make you happy."

"You make me happy just by being here," I said, my voice soft.

We settled into the bed after that, Jisung curling into my side like he belonged there. I wrapped an arm around him, my heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

"How did you deal with yourself in New York."

I scoffed. "I don't know honestly I was really occupied most of the time.'

"Hmm."

"What about you?"

"It was horrible, never leave me again. Especially of you're not willing to send me back picture of your dick."

I laughed. "Now that I'm here you can see it in person."

"Yeah."

I felt his hand start to wander under the blanket. At first, it was innocent-his fingers traced slow circles on my chest, moving lower to rest on my stomach. I thought nothing of it, enjoying his touch. Then his hand slid under the waistband of my pants, and I froze.

I didn't stop him. I stayed still, letting him do what he wanted. His fingers grazed my skin, softly and I could feel my pulse quicken.

"Jisung," I murmured, my voice low.

He glanced up at me, his cheeks flushed, but he didn't stop. His eyes searched mine, looking for any sign that I wanted him to.

I didn't.

Jisung shifted in my arms, and I felt his hand slip further down, brushing against my skin with more intention. I didn't say a word, watching as his determination lit up his face.

He moved over me, his lips grazing mine before trailing down my neck. "Just relax, baby," he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring.

"Jisung..." I began, but my words caught in my throat when he kissed down my chest, his hands slipping beneath my waistband to pull my pants lower.

His gaze flicked up to mine, full of mischief and love. "Let me take care of you, okay?"

I nodded wordlessly, already too far gone in the way his touch made my skin tingle.

Before I could process it, Jisung was between my legs, gently gripping my thighs. He kissed along my hipbones, teasing me in a way that made me squirm beneath him.

"You're already so worked up," he teased, his fingers brushing against me, sending sparks up my spine. "Missed me that much, huh?"

I swallowed hard, unable to answer, my body betraying how much I had missed him.

I was hard very hard.

Hard and sensitive too because it's been so long.

It's the longest we've been without each other's touch I moved my leg feeling slight tingle as I felt his breath on my erection.

"Stay still." He held my thighs firmly.
Then his mouth was on me, warm and soft, and I couldn't hold back the sharp gasp that escaped me. He worked slowly at first, his tongue and lips drawing out sensations that had me gripping the sheets.

"Jisung..." My voice came out shaky, and I hated how sensitive I felt, but he only smirked, clearly enjoying every second of my reaction.

He took me deeper into a pleasurable rhythm that left me stoked. Every movement of his mouth sent waves of pleasure coursing through me, and I could feel myself unraveling under his touch.

My hands found their way into his hair, tugging gently as I tried to ground myself, but it only seemed to spur him on.

"Argh fuck."

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, filled with that same playful mischief that made my heart ache with how much I loved him.

I tried to hold back, to stay composed, but it was impossible. Every flick of his tongue, every hum of satisfaction he let out as he worked on me, had me trembling beneath him.

"God, Jisung," I breathed, my voice barely audible.

He pulled back just enough to smirk up at me, his lips glistening. "I want to fuck you like this."

I groaned, covering my face with one hand as my cheeks burned, but I couldn't hide the way my body responded to him.

He didn't give me a chance to recover, taking me back in with even more intensity, I was on the edge, my breaths coming in short gasps as my whole body tensed.

Jisung didn't let up, his hands holding me steady knowing I was already so close to the brink. I called out his name, my voice breaking and that's when he stood at the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the hem of his pajama top before slowly pulling it over his head. My hand stilled on myself as I watched, the air in the room suddenly feeling ten times hotter. His frame was lean but had become noticeably more muscular-broad shoulders and defined arms catching my attention.

And then my eyes caught something else. Tattoos.

"Holy shit," I murmured, leaning forward as he dropped his pajama pants, revealing another inked design low on his hip.

His lips curled into a smirk. "You like them?"

I couldn't tear my gaze away as I reached out, fingers brushing the fresh ink on his arm. "You mentioned them in a text, but didn't want to show me till I got back."

My hand trailed lower, finding the one on his hip, just above the curve of his thigh. I traced the outline, marveling at how it looked on his skin. "This one's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" he echoed with a teasing grin, climbing onto the bed until he was straddling my waist.

My breath hitched as his body pressed against mine, the warmth of his skin making my own burn hotter. He leaned in, lips grazing my neck before his teeth sank in softly, making me groan.

"I missed you so much," he murmured against my skin, his voice low and full of need. He rolled his hips down, grinding against me in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had my head falling back against the pillows.

"Fuck, Jisung," I whispered, unable to hold back the way my body responded to his.

"I've been thinking about this every night you were gone," he admitted, his lips moving to my earlobe, which he sucked on gently. His voice dropped to a near growl. "You don't know how bad I want to top you tonight."

I cursed under my breath, the words sending a jolt through me. My hands found their way to his hips, gripping tightly as I tried to ground myself.

"Jisung you're killing me." I admitted, my voice rough with need.

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark with desire and a sly grin playing on his lips. "Good. I want you to feel exactly how much I've been missing you."

Jisung didn't waste any time. As soon as his lips left my ear, he leaned down to kiss me deeply, his hands pressing against my chest to keep me in place. I was used to being the one in control, guiding the rhythm, setting the pace. But tonight, he wasn't giving me any room for that.

I let out a low groan, my head pressing back into the pillow when he wrapped his hand around me.

"Jisung baby I'm going to cum if you stroke me I'm too sensitive right now." I gasped, my voice louder than I intended.

"Shhh," he teased, his voice dripping with mischief. "I'll go slowly and you be a good boy and hold it in for me until I tell you to let it out."

"Umph." That's all I could let out and his hands slowly moved up on down my length he stayed a little on my tip putting a bit more pressure and causing me to moan.

"I love it when you moan like that ."

He moved lower, his mouth brushing against my chest, my stomach, and lower still until I felt his breath on me. I tensed, gripping the sheets as he took me in his mouth.

He continued teasing my tip slowly until I couldn't take it anymore

"Fucking hell, Jisung," I groaned, my hips bucking slightly before his hands pinned them down.

"Stay still,"

I usually would've argued or tried to take back control-but not tonight. Tonight, I was completely at his mercy, and I didn't mind one bit.

When he finally pulled away, my chest was heaving, and my body was trembling. But he wasn't done. He climbed back up, straddling me, his hands running over my chest and his lips claiming mine again.

"I'm not done with you yet," he whispered against my mouth, his voice raw with desire.

I let out a shaky laugh, my hands finding his hips. "Do whatever you want, baby. I'm all yours."

He chuckled reaching for the lube on the night stand.

I managed to move putting my knees on the bed bending over with my hands on the pillow just the way he liked it.

I heard him put on the rubber then he turned me over to the previous position I was in with my back on the bed and he spread my legs opened.

"Jisu..."

"I want to look into your eyes while we fuck."

My cheeks were burning as I slowly felt his fingers inside me and his leaned his head to mine our nose touching and I could feel his hot unstable breathing,

"Shit." He cursed as I grabbed his ass and smacked it hard.

"Hurry up." I said eagerly now being able to contain it all, I would burst in any moment. He added the third finger and second later I was in need for him.

"You're taking so long." I whined taking his fingers out and he teased me placing his hands on my dick which I immediately pushed his hands away. "Fuck me already."

He did.

He guided his erection slowly inside me and from that moment we were both loud and inaudible the walls echoed the sound of our voices, his name falling from my lips again and again, matched only by the way he gasped and moaned as he lost himself in me. It was raw, passionate, and completely overwhelming, leaving us both breathless and tangled in each other by the time it was over.

I pulled him into my arms, kissing the top of his head as our breathing slowed. "That was amazing." My legs still wrapped tightly around him and my head pounding.

He laughed softly, snuggling closer and we both fell asleep within minutes.

The next morning I woke up to the soft hum of Jisung's voice, muffled but distinct, coming from the bathroom. My body instinctively reached for him in the empty bed, only to feel sheets beside me. I groaned and sat up, rubbing my eyes. It was still early, sunlight just coming up. The sound of his voice was light and cheerful-too cheerful for this hour.

Curiosity turned into suspicion as I listened closer. Who was he talking to? I threw the covers off and padded towards the bathroom, determined to find out.

Pushing the door open, I leaned on the frame and watched him for a moment. He was standing in his pajamas, holding his phone to his ear, his smile wide and eyes sparkling with mischief.

Jisung jumped slightly, startled by my presence, but quickly recovered, flashing me that sweet, disarming smile of his.

I stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. "Who is it?" I whispered.

He didn't respond he was too caught in this conversation to pay attention to me.

"Who are you talking to?" I said this time loud enough for the person on the other end of the phone to hear.

He out his hands between his lips shushing me.

And that only fueled my jealousy. "Jisung," I walked closer, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him into me. My grip tightened slightly, a silent reminder of how serious I was. "Tell me who it is."

He tilted his head back, laughing softly, clearly enjoying how riled up I was getting.

"Is it Nessa?"

That can't be right we both fell out with Nessa a while ago and haven't spoken with her in months.

He still didn't answer and oh god was I furious that he was being all smiley and giggly this early in the morning and to someone who wasn't me. Of course I'm jealous." My hands trailed down his sides, sliding beneath the waistband of his pajama pants. He's definitely brought out the attention whore in me and this was the only way to get his attention.

My hand gripping his dick.

He inhaled sharply at the contact, finally turning around to face me hanging up the phone. "It's my sister. I was talking to my sister."

Oh.

My face heated immediately. "Well...you should've just said that," I muttered, dropping my hands and stepping back.

"You didn't give me a chance!" He reached up, cupping my face and pressing a quick kiss to my lips. "You good baby?"

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, letting him pull me into a hug.

We decided to shower together, though it was less sensual and more playful, with Jisung splashing water at me every chance he got and me retaliating by stealing the conditioner he desperately needed.

Once we were dressed and in the kitchen, I took charge of breakfast. Jisung, however, seemed incapable of giving me space. He was either leaning on me, holding onto my arm, or wrapping his arms around my waist as I worked.

"You're clingy today," I said, glancing at him over my shoulder.

"Damn I can't be around my husband anymore?" His voice was soft, almost shy, and it made my chest tighten.

I turned to look at him, pausing my work to press a kiss to his forehead. "Yes. You can and you can also help me with the food instead of holding me."

He smiled, his cheeks tinged pink. "Why are you making so much food, anyways?" he asked, peeking over my shoulder. "This is enough to feed an army."

"I have a surprise for you," I said, turning back to the stove.

"What kind of surprise?" His excitement was immediate.

"You'll see. It's your first Christmas gift of the day."

Jisung practically vibrated with energy after that, hovering around me and trying to guess what the surprise could be. I refused to give him any hints, enjoying the way his curiosity grew with every passing minute.

"Can't you just tell me?" he whined, tugging at my sleeve.

"Nope," I said, popping the 'p' as I plated the food. "You'll find out soon enough."

I carefully set down the plates on the dining table, glancing at the spread of food I'd worked on. Jisung was right behind me, as usual, his curiosity bubbling over as he hovered around, trying to decipher what was happening.

"Why are you being so secretive?" he asked, leaning on the chair and narrowing his eyes at me. "You're up to something."

I smirked but didn't answer, heading back to the kitchen to grab the last dish. He followed, of course, his excitement growing with every step. "Minho, come on, just tell me! What is it?"

"Patience is a virtue, baby," I teased, setting the dish down and straightening up. At that exact moment, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment.

Jisung froze, his wide eyes snapping to me. "Who's that?"

I smiled knowingly, wiping my hands on a towel and gesturing toward the door. "Your present is here."

His jaw dropped. "What? What did you order? What did you do?"

"Go find out."

He darted toward the door, his excitement practically radiating off of him. I followed at a slower pace, leaning on the wall and folding my arms as I watched him eagerly unlock the door.

As soon as it opened, Jisung's squeal pierced the air. "Oh my God!"

Standing there, grinning since they'd been in on the plan the entire time, were Changbin, Felix, Jeongin, and Chan. Felix had a small bag in hand, Jeongin was holding a box wrapped in shiny paper, and Changbin and Chan were just smiling warmly.

"Surprise!" they all said in unison, their voices overlapping.

Jisung immediately launched himself at them, pulling all four of them into a chaotic group hug. "You guys! What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and joy.

Felix laughed, hugging him back. "Minho invited us, of course."

I walked up behind him, smiling as I leaned on the doorframe. "Merry Christmas, Sungie."

He turned to look at me, his eyes wide and glassy with emotion. "How did you guys even get here in Italy."

"I flew them out."

"What!" Jisung was still in disbelief

I nodded. "You've been talking about how much you missed them. I thought it'd be nice to plan a little reunion"

Jisung's face broke into the biggest smile, and he ran back to me, throwing his arms around my neck and kissing my cheek repeatedly. "You're the best, Minho. Seriously."

"Okay, okay, save some of that for later," I teased, laughing as I wrapped my arms around him. "Let's not keep them standing in the hallway.

The moment Jeongin stepped into the apartment, Jisung completely lost it. His breath hitched audibly, and before I could say anything, he darted forward and practically leaped into Jeongin's arms.

"Innie!" Jisung cried, his voice cracking with emotion as he clung to Jeongin like he hadn't seen him in years-which, to be fair, was close to the truth.

Jeongin stumbled back a step, laughing as he caught Jisung in his arms. "Whoa, easy there, hyung! I'm not going anywhere!"

"I thought I'd never see you guys again." Jisung wailed, his face buried in Jeongin's shoulder. "You have no idea how much I missed you guys."

Felix stepped closer, his usual bright smile softening into something tender. "I know the feeling," he said, his voice quiet and full of warmth. "I honestly thought we'd never all be together like this again." His eyes glistened, and he wiped at them quickly, laughing to cover his tears. "Damn it, Jisung, don't make me cry too!"

Jisung pulled back from Jeongin, still sniffling, and turned to Felix, throwing his arms around him next. "I missed you all so much," he whispered, his voice shaky. "You don't understand..."

Changbin laughed.

I stepped forward, unable to just watch anymore. Wrapping my arms around Jisung from behind, I pulled him away gently, cradling him against my chest. "Alright, alright, let's give everyone some breathing room," I murmured, stroking his back. "Come here, baby."

Jisung melted into me, still sniffling, his fingers clutching at my shirt.

Once everyone was inside and settled, we moved to the dining table. The spread of food I'd prepared had everyone murmuring their thanks and amazement.

"This looks incredible," Chan said as he took his seat. "Thanks for putting this together, Minho."

Felix smiled brightly, inspecting the plates with an appreciative eye. "Your plating is amazing. You've got a real eye for detail."

I chuckled, feeling a little shy under the praise.

Jisung sat next to me, his head resting on my shoulder, still sniffling a little. I kept one arm around him, my hand gently stroking his hair. He sighed, leaning closer, and I kissed his forehead softly.

Once we started eating, the conversation flowed naturally, nostalgia, and updates on everyone's lives.

"So, how's work treating you these days, Minho?" Changbin asked, taking a bite of his food.

"It's been good," I said, glancing at Jisung, who was happily nibbling on his food. "Busy, but manageable."

Felix grinned. "You two are still as adorable as ever."

Jisung blushed, hiding his face in my shoulder.

"What about you, Chan?" I asked, steering the attention away. "How's everything going on your end?"

"Pretty good, actually," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Work's a little crazy, but I can't complain. Life's been treating me well."

Jeongin piped up next, how he'd taken up a new hobby since he did nothing but be a spoiled house husband. Felix shared updates on his career, and Changbin talked about the same.

The conversation eventually turned to relationships, and everyone took turns sharing update
The talk continued, filled with the kind of ease that only comes with close friends reuniting after a long time. Jisung stayed nestled against me the whole time, his quiet sniffles eventually fading into content sighs.

The laughter had started to subside as we sat around the dining table, the warmth of the evening settling in like a comforting blanket. Jeongin suddenly turned to Jisung, a curious glint in his eye.

"So, hyung," Jeongin began, leaning forward slightly, "how's it been for you and Minho, you know, living together?"

I turned to Jisung as well, more intrigued than I cared to admit. I wanted to hear his answer just as much as Jeongin did, maybe even more.

Jisung paused, his eyes flickering to me for a moment before he smiled, that soft, genuine smile that always made my chest tighten. "It's amazing," he said, his voice light but sincere. "Honestly, I love living with Minho. It's easy, you know? We were roommates for so long before this, so we already knew how to handle each other's quirks."

I felt my lips twitch into a smile, unable to help myself.

"And now," Jisung continued, "it's even better. We've grown so much together. It's like... we're in sync, you know? I wouldn't have it any other way."

My heart melted at his words. I didn't try to hide my grin this time, letting it spread across my face. God, I loved him.

Jisung must have noticed because he glanced at me and blushed slightly, his hand briefly brushing mine under the table.

"What about you, Jeongin?" Jisung asked, shifting the focus. "How's it been living with Chan?"

Jeongin groaned dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "Terrible at first," he admitted with a laugh. "The first few months were rough. We argued all the time, about everything-chores, schedules, even what to have for dinner."

The table burst into laughter, and Jeongin shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "But we worked through it. Now we're good, like really good. Honestly, I can't get enough of him."

Felix, who had been quietly sipping his drink, smiled softly at Jeongin, and I caught the tender look he sent his way.

Curiosity got the better of me. "What about you, Felix?" I asked. "It's still a bit surprising you both haven't left the institution."

Felix nodded, setting his glass down. "We're not planning to leave anytime soon, but maybe in the future. A lot has changed there, though." He hesitated, glancing at Changbin, before continuing. "Even your father, Minho. He's... softer now."

That caught me off guard. My father? Softer? I frowned slightly, not understanding what he meant.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

Before Felix could answer, Changbin cut in, his tone more direct. "We got caught together and was outted and report to the board by a sister."

The table went silent, everyone's attention snapping to Changbin and Felix. Concern on every face.

Felix gave a reassuring smile, waving off the tension. "It's okay. He didn't do anything to us, didn't chase us out of the church or anything."

Changbin nodded. "It was weird, honestly. He just... let us be. I guess he didn't want to lose more people dearest to him."

Jisung glanced at me then, his eyes searching for a reaction. But I felt nothing. No anger, no relief-just indifference. My father's choices now didn't matter to me. Not after everything he'd done, everything he'd said.

I'll never forget the side of him that told me I wasn't welcome

He already lost me a long time ago.

I felt Jisung's hand slide into mine under the table, his grip firm and grounding. I glanced at him briefly, his gaze full of silent understanding.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that, laughter gradually filling the room again. Drinks flowed, stories were shared, and the heaviness of earlier moments began to fade.

As the night wore on, it was clear that it was time for the others to leave, but Jisung wasn't having it.

"There's plenty of room here!" he protested, standing up as Chan and the others got ready to go. "You don't have to leave tonight. Stay for a few more days!"

Chan chuckled, patting Jisung on the shoulder. "We'd love to, but we've got stuff to get back to. Next time, though, okay?"

Jisung pouted, crossing his arms. "Fine, but only if there's a next time soon."

As the door closed behind them, Jisung sighed dramatically and turned to me, his lips curving into a small smile. "Thank you for today, Minho," he said softly, stepping closer to wrap his arms around my waist.

I held him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Anything for you, love. Anything."

Moments later Jisung and I cleaned up together. The night had been perfect-laughter, memories, and Jisung's friends filling the space with warmth. But my mind was elsewhere, fixated on one thing: the unopened presents under the tree.

I dried a plate and set it down, stepping closer to where Jisung was rinsing glasses. I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, my lips lingering for a moment.

"Baby," I murmured, letting my voice drop an octave, sweet and teasing.

"What?" he asked, not even glancing my way as he continued his task.

"Can I open another present Tonight?"

He ignored me.

"Please, baby, just one. Let me open one present tonight."

He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes as he handed me the last glass to dry. "Minho, no. You can wait until tomorrow like everyone else."

"But-"

"Nope."

I pouted, stepping closer to him, my arms wrapping loosely around his waist as he wiped the counter. "Come on, baby. Just one. Pleeease?"

He groaned, finally turning to look at me. "Minho, no! And besides, my presents seem worthless now compared to yours. You obviously got me better ones."

I tilted my head, feigning hurt. "Worthless? Are you kidding me? Your presents are the highlight of my year!"

He huffed, crossing his arms and looking away. That little pout on his lips was adorable, and I couldn't help but smirk.

As he turned back to clean the cabinet, I moved behind him, sliding my hands over his hips and then lower, for his weak spot I hovered close, my body pressing firmly against his.

"Baby," I whispered against his ear, letting my hands trail down slowly.

"Okay, fine! You can open just one but I also have to open another of yours." he finally caved, his voice strained as he wriggled out of my grip.

I didn't waste a second, grinning like a child as I darted over to the tree.

"Which one?" I asked, glancing back at him.

He rolled his eyes but pointed at a box near the front. "That one. Since you're so desperate."

I grabbed it eagerly, sitting down on the floor to unwrap it. My fingers worked quickly, peeling back the festive paper to reveal a sleek, vintage watch. My jaw dropped as I picked it up, the craftsmanship and detail instantly catching my eye.

"Jisung," I said softly, turning it over in my hands. "I've always wanted one of these."

He was leaning against the doorframe, watching me with a slight scowl, his arms crossed. "You like it?"

"Like it?" I stood up, striding over to him. "I love it. I love how you absolutely know everything I want." I looked and him with the softest smile ever pulling him into a tight hug, my arms wrapping securely around his frame. The vintage watch was snug on my wrist, and every glance at it made my heart swell. I nuzzled against his neck, whispering softly, "I love it, Sung. I love you to death." He wriggled in my arms, still pouty despite my gratitude, but I didn't let go. Instead, I peppered his face with kisses, landing them on his cheeks, forehead, and even the tip of his nose.
"Thank you so much. Ughh now I'm excited to open another." I took another bigger box shaking it.

"Can I open this one?"

"Hell no." He took it from me frowning at me and I folded me arms and reached for it again.

"Babe no."

Jisung huffed, his arms folding dramatically. "Okay, okay. Enough of that," he grumbled, but I caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. Then, he glanced up at me, his pout softening. "So which of mine am I opening."

I reached for the box I had set aside earlier, handing it to him with a sly smile.

Jisung eagerly took it, shaking the box and giving me a suspicious look. "This better not be too much, Minho. I'm serious."

I smirked, leaning casually against the counter. "Too much? Why would I ever do that?"

His eyes narrowed, and then he made a playful jab. "You didn't, like, stuff my entire family in here, right?"

I burst out laughing, stepping closer to him. "Do you hear yourself right now?" I swatted his ass lightly, earning a surprised yelp from him. Then, I slung my arms around his neck, flexing just enough for my biceps to press against his throat.

Jisung's cheeks turned pink as he grinned shyly. He loved whenever I did this to him he once told me how much he loved the feeling of me choking him.

"Open the box, Sung," I said, releasing him but staying close.

He carefully peeled off the wrapping paper, revealing a smaller box inside. His brows furrowed as he gasped dramatically, shaking it again. "Oh, it's small... Wait," he said, suddenly suspicious. His eyes darted to mine. "Did you get me a ring, baby?"

I crossed my arms, feigning nonchalance. "Open it and see."

He shook his head, pouting again. "Minho, we're already married. I don't need another ring." He paused, holding up his hand to show me the simple, elegant band I had given him. "See? I still wear this every day. It's perfect. I don't need a new one."

I softened at his words, remembering how much that ring meant to both of us. I got it with my ID it's the ring that you could only purchase once in a lifetime. "Just open the box, Jisung," I coaxed gently.

He sighed but finally opened the smaller box. His expression turned puzzled as he pulled out a key. "A... key?" His eyes flicked to the engraving on it, and suddenly, his jaw dropped. "Wait, what? Is this for a car?"

I grinned, my excitement finally spilling over. "Yeah. It arrived a few hours ago."

Jisung blinked at me, his mouth agape. "No way. You didn't. Minho!"

"Come on," I said, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the garage.

"No fucking way Minho if you got me a car I'm going to fucking kill you."

"You better killed me now."

"Min..ho st-op." He managed to get out getting a bit emotional.

"Come on cry baby."

When we stepped inside, the sleek car sat waiting for us, gleaming under the lights. Jisung's hands flew to his mouth, his eyes wide as he took it in.

"You really did this?" he whispered, looking at me with awe.

I nodded, slipping my arm around his waist. "Merry Christmas, baby."

Jisung turned to me, his eyes glistening. "Minho, this is... I don't even know what to say. Thank you."

He flung his arms around my neck, pulling me into a kiss. "You're the best husband ever!!"

I chuckled against his lips. "No you are."

He sniffled looking at the car once again.

"You want to get in and give me a little ride so you can ride me later."

He scoffed smacking my shoulder. "You stupid gay whore wtf am I supposed to do with a Lamborghini."

I laughed.

"You keep outdoing me when it comes to gifts just because you're rich, Fuck you!"

"What's the point of having a rich husband if he isn't buying you expensive shit."

"Go away you're pissing me off ."

"Come here baby." He slowly nested in my arms crying his eyes out.