Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soft evening light crept its way around the long curtains in the living room of their apartment, casting the furniture in a soft glow. A muted hum came from the TV, playing something neither of them were watching. The half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the table had long since been forgotten. Minho sat slouched into the couch cushions, legs stretched out, one arm draped around Jisung, who was curled into his chest like the needy cat he was. 

Jisung had all but melted into him, curled tightly against Minho’s chest, his striped tail draped over Minho’s thigh like a claim. Soft brown cat ears twitched now and then, reacting to Minho’s heartbeat beneath him or the occasional sound from the street outside. His face was nuzzled into the crook of Minho’s neck, content and warm. He couldn't quite tell if the younger had fallen asleep yet, or simply just basking in their proximity.

Sometimes, Minho forgot just how far Jisung had come. It was easy to, when he was curled up in Minho’s hoodie, purring against his chest like he belonged there. But there had been a time when Jisung flinched at the sound of a closing door, when he didn’t speak unless spoken to, when he refused to sleep anywhere but the closet floor. He’d come from a place so dark, so unspeakably cruel, that Minho hadn’t expected to see any light left in him at all.

Jisung had been rescued from an illegal hybrid breeding ring, a filthy underground operation where hybrids were treated like livestock, not people. He was one of the lucky ones, if such a word even applied. He’d escaped during a police bust and made it to a shelter. When Minho found him there, small, skittish, with dull eyes and a tail that never stopped trembling, he’d known right away. This one. 

The road to recovery hadn’t been easy. It took months before Jisung smiled without apology, before he believed that affection wasn’t something you had to earn. Even now, pieces of that trauma still clung to him in subtle ways, in how he asked permission before cuddling up, how he apologized for things that weren’t his fault, how he panicked over the smallest mistakes. And then there were the legal limitations. Because he’d gone through the adoption process, Jisung had been labeled adoptable; a status that stripped him of rights that other hybrids held freely. No job. No license. No property. No independence.

Minho hated that word. Adoptable. Like he was something broken someone had taken in out of pity. Jisung wasn’t broken. He was healing. And he was doing a damn good job at it. 

Of course, Jisung had his moments. Recovery wasn’t linear, Minho knew that, but knowing it didn’t always make it easier to witness. He still thought about that night, just last week when the sound of shattering glass had pulled him out of the bedroom like a gunshot. He remembered skidding into the kitchen, breath caught in his throat, only to find Jisung kneeling on the floor, trembling and frantic.

There were shards scattered everywhere and Jisung was in the middle of it, bleeding and panicking, trying to sweep the pieces together with his bare hands. His knees were cut. His palms too. But the hybrid was more focused on cleaning it up, on fixing it, as if the punishment for breaking a glass would be worse than the pain of digging slivers of it out of his own skin.

Minho’s heart had dropped straight to the floor.

Jisung hadn’t even looked up until Minho crouched down slowly, hands held out like he was approaching a scared animal. His face was streaked with tears and snot, cheeks blotchy and flushed from the effort of not falling apart entirely. He was whispering apologies over and over again under his breath, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’ll clean it up, please don’t be mad.” Words that didn’t belong in a home like this. Not with Minho.

He hadn’t said anything at first. Just gently moved in, careful not to startle him, and lifted Jisung out of the broken mess with arms steadier than he felt. He’d set him on the counter, still shushing him softly, hands warm and sure as he cleaned each cut with care.

Minho remembered whispering, “You’re not in trouble. You’re never in trouble with me.” Again and again, until Jisung finally stopped shaking. And even then, his tail wouldn’t stop twitching.

Now, Minho could feel Jisung’s breath against his throat soft and even, warming the fabric of his hoodie. The hybrid had fallen still, a purring weight nestled against him, tail flicking now and then like it was dreaming. It was one of those rare quiet evenings, when the world outside didn’t matter, and the apartment felt like its own little universe.

He let his hand trace slow circles between Jisung’s shoulder blades, fingers brushing through soft tufts of fur where his sweater didn’t quite reach. Jisung always ran a little warm, but tonight he clung tighter than usual, arms looped lazily around Minho’s waist, cheek squished against his chest like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Comfy?” Minho asked, voice low.

Jisung made a sleepy sound, somewhere between a hum and a sigh. “Mhm. You’re warm.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Don’t care.” A faint twitch of his ears. 

Minho rolled his eyes but didn’t stop petting him. Honestly, he’d never admit how much he liked it too. The weight of Jisung sprawled across him. The lazy thump of the hybrid’s tail. Jisung shifted just enough to peek up at him, eyes bleary but content. “You’re my favorite person.”

Minho blinked. “I’d better be.”

Jisung smiled, slow and sleepy, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t hold it back. He only tightened his arm around Jisung’s waist and tucked his face into the hybrid’s hair.

There was a time when Jisung didn’t say things like that. When trust was a fragile thing, easily spooked. But now, he was warm and pliant in Minho’s arms, blinking up at him with love so open it was almost unbearable.

“You remember we’ve got dinner at Felix and Chan’s tonight, right?” Minho said, voice low but teasing.

Jisung’s eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and slow to focus. He let out a small, whiny mewl, nuzzling closer. “Can’t I just stay here?”

Minho chuckled, running his fingers through the fluffy fur on the back of Jisung’s neck. “But think about Felix, he’ll be so sad if you don’t come. And you promised Chan you’d try their new recipe.”

Jisung’s ears twitched, his tail flicking in mild defeat. “Felix is going to pout.”

“Exactly. You don’t want to hurt his feelings, do you?” Minho smiled.

After a long pause, Jisung sighed, stretching out his limbs reluctantly and sliding off Minho’s lap. “Alright, alright. I’ll get my shoes.”

Minho watched as Jisung padded over to the door, his soft feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor as he followed him over to their collection of shoes on the floor. 

“Almost ready?” Minho asked.

“Almost,” Jisung murmured, tying his laces with a clumsy but determined focus.

Minho grabbed the keys from the counter as Jisung adjusted his hoodie, tail flicking with quiet energy. As Minho opened the door, Jisung sprung right up, interlocking their fingers together. 

The ride was peaceful. Jisung loved looking around out the window, watching the buildings pass, people walking down the sidewalks, trying to catch a glimpse at some of the boutique window displays. This evening, the streets were mostly empty, the sky painted in early dusk, streaked with watercolor clouds. Minho kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting lightly on Jisung’s thigh, thumb tracing small circles. Minho’s soft touch kept sending warm shivers into his belly, basking in the fond touch. 

It certainly was a later dinner, Jisung and Minho had learned a long time ago that if they didn’t want to walk into quite the explicit kitchen scene, they should probably show up a little later than was requested.

“Are you excited for Chan’s cooking this time?” Minho asked, eyes flicking to the road, then to Jisung.

“Yeah, I think he said something about a new shape of pasta,” Jisung said, yawning. “But if he makes it spicy again I'm making us leave.”

Minho laughed, the sound soft, warm. “You say that every time.”

“Yeah, and yet every time I end up staying. You should reward me for my bravery.”

“Isn’t Felix’s baking reward enough?”

Jisung hummed noncommittally, leaning his head against the window. “True. True.”

Jisung leaned the side of his head back against the passenger window, looking up at a tall skyscraper downtown while they waited at a red light. Jisung lowered his gaze down to the crosswalk countdown watching the numbers fall until they received a green light. 

As soon as the light went green Minho pulled forward. Jisung saw it out of the corner of his eye, a tall flash of headlights barreling toward them from the cross street. A car. Going too fast. Ignoring its red light.

Instinct screamed through his body. It happened too slow, but somehow Jisung couldn’t get himself to gather the words to warn Minho. He didn’t know if it would have been better to scream for Minho to stop or accelerate. 

The impact hit like a thunderclap. The world twisted sideways, metal shrieking, glass exploding into glittering shards. The airbags deployed with a brutal force, air rushing from Minho’s lungs as the seatbelt bit into his chest. His vision blurred.

Jisung tensed up and closed his eyes before his head was slammed brutally against the frame of the car. Pushed by the incoming truck, the car was drug across the intersection.

As soon as the car came to a stop and Minho actually processed what had just occurred, he swore loudly as he turned his head. Through the haze, he saw Jisung slumped in the passenger seat, blood trickling from his temple, lap full of glass shards, his face slack, ears limp. His tail was still.

The door of the car had pinched around his arm, no doubt it had been broken, Minho felt a wave of nausea wash through him as he saw the unnatural bend that had now stuck out in his forearm.

Minho couldn’t breathe.

“Jisung…?” His voice cracked as he tried to reach for him, tried to speak louder, tried to-

“Jisung can you hear me?” Minho panicked as he tried to reach over to the hybrid. 

“Jisung, baby, come on- look at me,” Minho pleaded, voice shaking as he fumbled with the jammed seatbelt, finally clicking it loose with a trembling hand. He leaned across the crumpled console, cupping Jisung’s cheek, careful not to touch the bleeding side of his head.

Jisung’s eyes fluttered, unfocused, his breath shallow.

Minho hurriedly looked around, his own side of the car had been mostly untouched, he saw a couple of bystanders standing outside of their own cars, some coming to help, others calling emergency services. 

Minho let out a soft, cracked sob. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Help’s coming.”

A couple of nearby civilians came up to the car, asking Minho if he was okay, he couldn’t even begin to think about himself, all he could do was stumble over words trying to explain the unconscious hybrid in the passenger seat. 

In the distance, sirens began to wail growing closer, but Minho barely heard them. All his attention was on the blood trickling past Jisung’s ear, the way his chest barely rose with each breath, the way his soft ears hung limp against his messy hair. He felt so utterly helpless. He had no idea what to do. 

“You’re gonna be fine, Sungie,” Minho whispered, pressing a cut on his neck closed as he supported his neck. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Jisung stirred just faintly, lips parting, but no words came out. His fingers twitched weakly in his lap. His tail gave one slow, frightened flick.

And then his eyes rolled back, and he slumped completely.

“No. No no no,” Minho gasped, pulling back just as flashing red and blue lights lit up the shattered windshield. Tires screeched to a stop, doors slammed open, voices shouted. Minho barely registered them. He reached for Jisung again but strong arms gently pulled him back.

“Are you ok sir?” The paramedic asked but Minho's attention was only on one thing.

“Sir, we’ve got him, his breathing is faint but it's still there. We need you to stay still,” another paramedic said, trying to check Minho for injuries. He didn’t feel anything. Nothing but Jisung’s blood on his hands.

He didn’t even remember how they dragged him out of the car.

He just kept asking, over and over, “Is he okay? Please, just tell me he’s okay.”

“Sir, we need you to remain calm. You were both in a very severe car crash. We are going to do whatever we can to help you both. I need you to stay still while I check you for possible injuries.” the woman calmly spoke. 

“He- His arm. It's- His arm is broken. And… and…and his face- he’s got a cut on his head and neck-” Minho frantically tried to croak out. He realized now that he was full on crying. 

“Don’t worry sir, the paramedics team is fully examining your hybrid. I need you to calm down and tell me your name, and any pain you might be experiencing right now.” 

“My name-” Minho choked, trying to focus, but his thoughts kept slipping like water through trembling fingers. “Minho. Lee Minho. But I’m fine, I swear, just please help him.”

The paramedic gently guided him to sit on the curb as another team worked around the crushed vehicle, carefully lifting Jisung onto a stretcher. Minho saw the hybrid’s ears twitch faintly, his neck covered in a large brace, his tail limp and half-tucked between his legs, ear fur matted with blood.

Minho made a move to stand, to follow, but a firm hand pressed against his shoulder. “We’re taking him to Seoul General,” the woman said. “You’ll be right behind us. You’ve got a mild concussion, possibly bruised ribs. You need to be looked at too, Mr. Lee.”

Minho didn’t argue. He couldn’t. His limbs felt too heavy to fight. Even as they loaded him into a separate ambulance, strapped him down, and took his vitals, all Minho could see was Jisung’s face, pale, still, his head cradled in the hands of the EMT, bandages already being wrapped around the worst of the wounds.

The ride to the hospital was a blur of flashing lights and internal chaos. Minho barely remembered getting out of the ambulance or being led through the bright halls, barely registering the antiseptic sting in the air or the way his hands had started to shake again.

He only truly snapped back when they told him Jisung was being rushed into emergency imaging, and that he couldn’t follow.

“Wait- he doesn’t do well alone,” Minho argued, rising too fast and stumbling. “He- he panics when he wakes up in strange places- please, just let me be there when he wakes up-”

“We’re going to make sure we sedate him for the scans,” the nurse said gently, catching him. “He won’t wake up just yet. But when he does… we’ll come get you.”

Minho sagged into the nearest chair as the doors swung closed. And for the first time since the crash, the silence caught up with him. His ears rang. His hands were stained with drying blood. And somewhere behind that wall, Jisung was unconscious and broken. Minho clutched his arms around himself and waited.

He stood shakily and walked toward the reception desk, where a nurse was typing something quietly into her terminal. She looked up as he approached, eyes softening slightly when she saw his face.

“I… I don’t have my phone,” Minho started, voice hoarse. “It was in the car crash. Is there any way I could make a call?”

The woman gave a gentle nod and reached into the drawer beside her, producing a corded phone and sliding it across the counter. “Of course. Just dial nine to get out.”

Minho murmured a thank-you and picked up the receiver with numb fingers, dialing Chan’s number from memory.

“Hello? This is Chan, how can I help you?”

“Chan,” Minho exhaled sharply, voice cracking under the weight of everything. “It’s me.”

Recognizing his voice immediately, “Minho? Where are you? You and Jisung are so late, Felix started getting worried.”

“There was… there was an accident.” The line went quiet for a beat.

“What?”

“A car hit us. Ran a red. We were on our way to dinner,” Minho’s voice hitched. “Jisung was in the passenger seat.”

“Oh my god.” Chan’s voice turned frantic. “Are you okay? Where are you now?”

“Seoul General. They took him for scans and he’s not awake.” Minho swallowed, throat burning, forcing the tears down. “His head hit the frame. There was so much blood, Chan his ears weren’t moving. I don’t know if-” Minho couldn't get himself to finish the sentence. 

“Okay, okay, breathe,” Chan interrupted gently, trying to anchor him. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m coming. We’ll be there soon, alright? Felix and I will be there.”

Minho nodded even though Chan couldn’t see him. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“Don’t thank me. Just stay put. We’re on our way.”

Minho hung up and handed the phone back to the nurse, ignoring her sympathetic look, then turned and slumped back into his seat.

The waiting room door creaked open.

Minho didn’t look up at first because he didn’t want to. The only door he was watching was the one that led back to Jisung.

After every nurse had come out of the door he had hoped that they could bring any sort of news about Jisung. Anything. Fuck. Minho needed to know how he was doing. 

He heard the shuffle of familiar footsteps, a quiet gasp, and a voice, soft, trembling.

“Minho…”

He finally lifted his head.

Felix stood just a few feet away, eyes glassy with fresh tears, his arms wrapped tightly around a small cloth-covered bundle Minho recognized the distinct shape of a Tupperware container even through the haze. Chan was right beside him, his jaw tense, worry written across every line of his face.

Minho didn’t realize how bad he must look until he saw their reactions. His bruises had started to purple along the side of his temple and jaw. Dried blood traced faint lines down his neck. He hadn’t bothered to clean his hands, and they were still smeared with evidence of Jisung’s pain.

“Oh god,” Felix whispered, eyes welling again as he crossed the room. He dropped to the chair beside Minho and set the container on the floor, reaching out with trembling hands to gently take one of Minho’s in his. “You’re...are you okay? Minho, you’re shaking.”

Chan sat on Minho’s other side, firm and grounding. “Talk to us, man.”

Minho stared at their hands for a moment, Felix holding his, Chan’s fingers barely brushing his shoulder, and then his mouth opened and it all started to spill out.

“The light turned green. We pulled forward, and then this car came out of nowhere. It was so fast. I didn’t even have time to stop. Jisung saw it. I saw him see it. He didn’t even scream.”

Felix’s lip wobbled. “He hit his head so hard,” Minho whispered. “They said he’s stable, but he hasn’t woken up yet. They think he might have a concussion, maybe worse. He wasn’t moving. I- I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t answer.”

Chan nodded slowly, brows furrowed with quiet understanding.

Felix unwrapped the cloth and pushed a sealed container into Minho’s hands. “I brought some food,” he murmured. “It’s still warm. I thought… you probably haven’t eaten anything.”

Minho blinked at it.

“No,” he said faintly. 

Chan stood slowly. “I’m going to talk to the front desk, see if we can get updates. You just rest, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Minho nodded, just barely. He didn’t feel like eating anything. How could he eat when Jisung was in the imaging room, sedated, alone, bruised, cut, surrounded by doctors and Minho was sitting here. Felix leaned his head gently on Minho’s uninjured shoulder, voice small. “He’s gonna be okay, Min. Jisung’s tough. He has you.”

Minho hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he felt the gentle pressure on his shoulder.

He startled upright, blinking blearily in the dim hospital lights. His body ached from every muscle stiff to his head still pounding, and for a split second, he couldn’t remember where he was. He felt Chan and Felix remove their heads from his shoulder as well. 

Then he saw the nurse’s kind eyes, her hand still lightly resting on his shoulder.

“Mr. Lee?” she said softly.

Minho’s throat was dry. “Yeah?”

She offered him a small, warm smile. “I have an update about your hybrid.”

That was all it took. Minho was fully awake now, heart stuttering as he stood too quickly, ignoring the sharp protest of his ribs. “Is he...? Is he awake?”

She shook her head gently, but didn’t let his panic spiral. He felt Felix rest a hand on his arm squeezing it for comfort.

“No, not yet,” she said. “But he’s stable. His scans cawme back and honestly, it’s nothing short of a miracle. His head injury is serious, but there's no internal bleeding, no skull fracture. He has a concussion, definitely a significant one, but the imaging shows that everything else is in relatively good condition. He’ll need rest. Lots of it.”

Minho felt a weight drop from his chest, only to be replaced by a new one, more manageable, but still heavy. “But his arm… and his ribs?”

The nurse nodded. “His left arm is broken, a clean break, and we’ve already set it. He’s got two fractured ribs. Nothing that’ll require surgery, thankfully, but they’ll be painful for a while.”

Minho let out a long, unsteady breath, one hand dragging over his face.

“He’s a lucky one,” she added gently. “It could’ve been so much worse. He's tough.”

Minho nodded slowly, his eyes stinging. “Can I see him?”

The nurse paused for only a moment, then gave a small smile. “He’s been moved to a private room. Let me take you there.”

Minho followed her through the quiet halls, every step a blur. Chan and Felix quietly trailed behind him, letting Minho process everything at his own pace. It wasn’t until the door creaked open that he fully processed what he was seeing, Jisung lying still in the hospital bed, bandages wrapped around his temple, his arm secured in a sling, an oxygen tube resting just beneath his nose. His tail was curled gently beside him, unmoving.

But he was breathing. The heart monitors were beeping steadily, that had to be a good sign? Minho stepped in slowly, approaching the bed like if he moved too fast, Jisung might vanish. He stood silently at the side of the bed, eyes fixed on the hybrid’s peaceful face. Even now, bruised and bandaged, Jisung looked impossibly soft.

Minho reached out, gently brushing his fingers along the back of Jisung’s hand. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re really gonna be okay.”

Chan wordlessly pulled up a chair behind Minho, allowing him to sit down beside the bed, not letting his gaze leave the cat hybrid for one minute. 

Chan and Felix were quietly holding on to each other, silently trying to grapple with all that had happened in the last couple of hours. It was supposed to be a fun evening with the four of them, full of laughs and glasses of wine. 

Felix, ever the mischievous kind, would always make sure to keep topping off Minho’s glass at dinner just enough to tip him into a warm, lazy haze, ensuring he’d be too tipsy to drive home. It wasn’t even subtle anymore. It had become an unspoken tradition: Felix getting his cuddles in with Jisung, Minho pretending not to notice, and all of them ending the night sprawled on couches, tangled in blankets, falling asleep to the hum of late-night cartoons.

Tonight was supposed to be that kind of night. Not this.

Felix sniffled softly, eyes still red-rimmed, his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of Chan’s sleeve. His other hand clutched the small cloth bag he’d packed before they’d left with still warm containers of pasta and soft-baked cookies. A tiny piece of comfort. 

The chair by Jisung’s bed was stiff, narrow, and unkind to his bruised back, but he didn’t care. He sat hunched forward, fingers curled around Jisung’s unbandaged hand, his forehead resting just barely against the edge of the mattress. Jisung’s arm lay still, the monitors above him softly blinking green and gold, machines murmuring their mechanical lullabies.

Chan stood quietly by the door, arms crossed, his brow drawn. Felix was perched on the windowsill, arms wrapped around his knees, his tear tracks dried but not forgotten.

The silence had stretched on for too long.

“Minho,” Chan said gently, his voice low, “it’s getting really late.”

Minho stirred but didn’t lift his head. “You don’t have to stay,” he murmured, voice thick from exhaustion. “Really. Thank you both… for everything. I mean it.”

Felix frowned, clearly not wanting to leave. 

 “I promise I’m okay here. I just… I don’t want him to wake up alone.” Minho said, finally sitting up, eyes red but warm.

“You're good to him,” Chan said, offering a sad smile. 

Minho offered them a tired smile, one that barely held. “Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to, but… I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t.”

Felix sniffled and stepped forward, wrapping Minho in a quick but fierce hug. “Text us if anything changes. No matter what time.”

“I will,” Minho promised.

Felix made sure to leave the leftover food nearby. He knew that Minho most likely wouldn’t eat while Jisung was asleep, but nevertheless left it in arms reach. Chan gave his shoulder a squeeze before they slipped out into the hallway, their footsteps fading with the closing of the door.

The room settled into quiet again, soft beeping the only soundtrack to Minho’s heavy eyelids. He leaned forward, resting his cheek on the back of Jisung’s hand, feeling the faint warmth of his skin.

“I’m right here, Sungie,” he whispered, his voice nearly swallowed by sleep. “Just rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And soon, the room fell still with Minho asleep, and Jisung breathing slowly and steadily beneath the pale hospital lights.

The hospital room was quiet in the early hours before dawn, the kind of stillness that only existed between the fading of night and the rise of morning. The city outside hadn’t yet stirred. Pale blue light filtered faintly through the blinds, not sunlight but just the cold promise of it.

Minho was slumped over in his chair, one arm still resting protectively on the side of Jisung’s bed, the other limp in his lap. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep again, but exhaustion had a way of creeping in through the cracks. Even in rest, though, his brows were furrowed, like he was still watching over Jisung somewhere in his dreams.

“...Hello?”

The sound was barely more than a whisper. Fragile. Disoriented.

Minho’s eyes blinked open, heart lurching at the sound. His head snapped up, and for a second he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it until he looked toward the bed and saw wide, unfocused brown eyes blinking slowly up at the ceiling.

“Jisung?” Minho gasped, immediately straightening up in the chair. “Oh my god. Jisung, you’re awake.”

The hybrid’s ears drooped, restrained by the bandages on his head, his expression scrunched in confusion. “What... what happened?”

“You,” Minho’s voice cracked as he leaned forward, eyes frantically scanning Jisung’s face, his arms, his chest, checking for pain or panic or anything that might say this wasn’t real. “You were in an accident. We were hit. You hit your head. Do you remember any of it?”

Jisung’s nose twitched slightly, his brows pulling together. “I don’t… my head hurts.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, just stay still. Don’t move, you’ve got a broken arm and some ribs,” Minho said quickly, one hand reaching for the call button and pressing it urgently. “I’m getting the nurse. Just don’t worry. You’re okay now. You’re safe. Everything is going to be okay. Try not to move, baby.” At this point Minho couldn't quite tell who he was trying to convince.

Jisung nodded faintly, as if he were still trying to convince himself that what he was seeing was real, that Minho really was there, voice shaking and eyes full of tears. His tail gave the faintest flick under the blankets.

Minho turned back to him, his hand finding Jisung’s uninjured one again. He held it gently, grounding both of them in the moment. “You scared me so bad,” he whispered. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

Jisung’s ears flattened again, eyes fluttering with exhaustion, but his fingers curled weakly into Minho’s. “Not that easily.” Minho smiled faintly at the remark, well at least Jisung still had his sense of humor.  

A nurse burst in through the door, calling softly to another just outside, the room quickly beginning to stir with movement and quiet urgency. But Minho didn’t let go of Jisung’s hand not for one second.

“Well, someone’s finally decided to join us,” she said warmly, eyes crinkling. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m Ryujin, I’m one of the nurses on staff this morning. Can you tell me your name?”

Jisung blinked up at her slowly, pupils still a little dilated. “...Jisung,” he mumbled, voice scratchy.

“Good,” Ryujin nodded. “And do you know where you are?”

Jisung’s gaze drifted to the pale ceiling, then to Minho, before returning to her. “Hospital?”

“Excellent,” she smiled. “You remember what day it is?”

Jisung’s ears flicked slightly as he thought. “Friday. Or… maybe Saturday now?”

“Close enough,” the nurse chuckled. “And who’s this sitting next to you?”

Minho held his breath. Jisung’s eyes immediately landed on him again, and even through the fog, they softened. “Minho. My boyfriend.” Minho exhaled, almost collapsing forward again. His heart was still hammering in his chest, but his vision swam for an entirely different reason now pure overwhelming relief. 

The other nurse was checking the IV lines and vitals monitor, giving Minho a thumbs up as numbers started to stabilize. “Jisung, you suffered a severe concussion in your accident, along with 2 broken ribs and a fracture in your forearm. It's going to take a long time for you to recover, and it's crucial that you limit physical activity, stay away from any electronics or screens, and reduce mental strain.” She offered softly before turning to Minho, “but all things considered his injuries are pretty light in comparison to what they could have been. He’s lucky.”

Minho nodded silently, brushing his thumb over Jisung’s hand, overwhelmed with gratitude and still riding the edge of fear. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You can thank him for waking up,” Ryujin said with a wink. “We’ll run a few more checks and get the doctor in here shortly, but right now? He’s doing really well.”

Jisung looked tired already, his eyes fluttering between open and closed. “I just wanna go home,” he whispered.

Minho leaned in, brushing a hand through the matted tufts of brown hair. “Soon, Sungie. I promise. You scared the hell out of me.”

Jisung’s tail twitched weakly beneath the sheets. “Didn’t mean to,” he mumbled. Minho just smiled and kissed his forehead. “I know.”

The front door creaked open with the softest click, the entire house dim as all of the curtains had been shut, filtering out the sunlight in the windows and casting a warm golden glow around the edges of the walls. The air smelled faintly of something sweet, Felix’s doing, no doubt.

After hours of observation at the hospital, Jisung finally begged the nursing staff enough to let them discharge him. All of his tests came back clear, considering his state after the accident.

Minho stepped in the apartment first, supporting Jisung with a careful arm around his waist. The hybrid looked pale, dark circles still visible beneath his eyes, his movements slow and cautious, as if the world around him was still a little too fast. One arm was in a sling, his ribs wrapped tight under his shirt, and a gauze pad was taped just above his temple. His ears drooped slightly, not from sadness but pure exhaustion.

“Home,” Jisung whispered, as if the word itself might melt away all the weight pressing down on his body.

Chan and Felix were already in their living room, insisting they be there as soon as the pair arrived, heads snapping up at the sound of the door.

“Jisung!” Felix rushed over first, wincing as his volume came across a little too intense for Jisung, carefully skidding to a halt before he could collide with the fragile boy. His arms opened and then quickly retracted with a nervous bounce. “I... Can I hug you? Wait no, you probably-”

Jisung gave a weak laugh and leaned in, allowing Felix to gingerly wrap his arms around his side, avoiding the injured spots. Chan came up right behind him, offering Minho a small nod of gratitude before ruffling Jisung’s hair with a fond, quiet touch.

“Welcome back,” Chan murmured, his voice low and warm. “You had us scared for a while there.”

Jisung’s tail gave the smallest flick. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… be scary.”

“You’re not scary,” Felix said quickly, drawing back to smile at him. “You’re perfect. Just… gonna be a little fragile for a couple weeks.”

Minho huffed a quiet laugh, watching as Felix led Jisung back to their room, thankful that all the blinds had been pulled shut in favor of the hybrid's new sensory sensitivity. Knowing Felix, the blankets had already been fluffed and extra pillows were probably stacked like little marshmallow walls. Felix had even brought out one of Jisung’s favorite plushies; a soft, rabbit-shaped thing they won together at a fair.

“We’ll take care of things,” Chan said quietly to Minho, as Jisung settled back with a sigh. “You don’t have to worry about anything inside the house. Just focus on the car insurance, the claim, all that crap. We’ve got him.”

Minho looked over at the hybrid now curled up on the couch, eyes barely open, his ears twitching just enough to know he was still listening. Something tight in Minho’s chest loosened just a little.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Really.”

Felix had already begun fluffing the blanket around Jisung’s legs. “He’s gonna be so spoiled, you won’t recognize him in a week.”

Minho smiled faintly. “He already is.”

Chapter Text

Jisung’s recovery had, thankfully, been smooth. Or as smooth as it could be for someone nursing fractured ribs, a broken arm, and a brain injury. He spent most of his days sleeping on the couch or in their bed, curled under soft blankets with his ears twitching at every distant sound, his tail tucked close. The swelling around his head had gone down, and his bruises, though still stark, were slowly fading to softer purples and yellows.

The concussion was still the main concern. The doctors had warned them that symptoms might linger: headaches, sensitivity to light, foggy thoughts. Jisung had been quiet lately, still clingy, still wanting Minho near, but the endless well of chatter that usually spilled from him had dulled. His energy waned quickly. Sometimes his eyes lost focus halfway through a sentence. Still, he was doing better. The fear that had clenched Minho’s heart in the ER had lessened. 

Minho, on the other hand, was fraying at the edges. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything, crawl under the blankets with Jisung, and stay there until his hybrid was back to full strength. But between the hospital follow-ups, the police report, the insurance claims, and coordinating with an impound lot who kept giving him vague updates about the state of their poor car, Minho barely had time to breathe.

He would sit at the kitchen counter with papers spread around him, phone cradled between his shoulder and cheek, listening to some agent drone on about coverage limits, his eyes always flicking toward the couch to check on Jisung. Sometimes he’d find him asleep. Sometimes awake but dazed, eyes half-lidded, clutching his plush rabbit like it anchored him to the world.

And then there was work. Thankfully, Minho’s team had been understanding about the situation, granting him the flexibility to work from home while Jisung recovered. It was more than he could’ve asked for, but it didn’t mean things were easy. There were still meetings to attend, reports to submit, and the usual steady stream of emails that never really stopped. He did his best to keep up, carving out moments between tasks to check on Jisung, bringing him water or fresh ice packs when needed. It was a lot to juggle, but Minho handled it the way he always did, quietly, steadily, without complaint.

It killed Minho to leave him alone even for a minute. But Jisung was resting. That was the best thing he could do. And for now, that had to be enough. Still, Minho wished he could do more.

He missed the way Jisung would flop into his lap without warning, the way he’d chatter on about whatever video he’d watched or treat he wanted to bake. Missed his sleepy morning kisses and clumsy tail smacks and the way he’d unconsciously curl around Minho’s body in bed. They weren’t gone, not really. Just, quieter now. Minho just had to be patient. Jisung would come back to him piece by piece. He just had to hold on.

After about a week, Minho was in the bedroom, sorting through a stack of insurance paperwork, when he heard the unmistakable sound of dishes clinking. His brows knit together, heart skipping a beat. He rose quickly and padded out into the hallway, already half-expecting to find Jisung sleepwalking or, worse, collapsed on the ground. But instead Jisung stood in front of the sink, tail swaying a little unsteadily behind him, trying to rinse out a teacup with one hand. His broken arm was tucked tightly in its sling, and left hand held the cup shakily, his aim a little off, the spray of the sink not quite reaching the cup. His ears twitched with concentration, and there was a faint wrinkle of frustration on his brow.

Minho’s first instinct was to rush forward, take the cup, guide him gently back to the couch, but something made him pause. The cup slipped and clattered gently against the side of the sink, making him flinch. Jisung’s shoulders tensed, as if he expected to be scolded. 

Minho finally stepped forward, slowly, letting his presence be known. “Hey, baby,” he said softly. “What are you doing?”

Jisung’s ears flicked back slightly, guilty. “I… I just wanted to clean my cup. You brought me tea earlier, and I didn’t want you to have to do everything.” His voice was small. Embarrassed. “I can still rinse a cup, I’m not totally useless…”

Minho’s chest ached. He moved beside him, gently placing a hand on the small of Jisung’s back. “You’re not useless,” he said. “Not even close. And you don’t have to earn your right to be cared for, okay?”

Jisung didn’t answer right away, just blinked down at the soapy water, lip trembling slightly. But he didn’t pull away. He let Minho turn off the faucet and take the cup, setting it aside for later. Let himself be guided back to the couch.

By the next week, Jisung was able to get around a bit easier. He regained a little more of his mobility, his ribs not as alarmingly tender as they were after the hospital visit. Every inch of newfound freedom that Jisung got, he tried his best to use. 

It was late morning when Minho finally shut his laptop with a tired sigh. He rubbed his eyes before getting up to check on Jisung in the living room. Jisung was sitting up awkwardly on the couch, the blanket pooling around his waist, ears flat with irritation and one sock-covered foot tapping anxiously against the cushion.

“Everything okay, Sungie?” Minho asked, voice soft as he stood up.

Jisung didn’t answer right away. His brows were pinched, mouth slightly downturned in a way that Minho had learned to dread over the last few days. Minho approached slowly, glancing at the discarded water bottle and pain medication still untouched on the coffee table.

“Did you get up again?” Minho asked gently.

“I just wanted to heat up the soup from last night,” Jisung muttered, voice tight. 

Minho sighed and crouched down in front of him, resting his hands on Jisung’s knees. “Baby, you’re not supposed to move that much yet. Your arm-”

“I’m not useless, Min,” Jisung snapped. It came out sharper than he intended, and his eyes widened the moment it passed his lips. “I didn’t mean- I just...”

Minho felt the shift in him immediately. Jisung’s whole posture crumpled in on itself, ears folding low, tail curling close to his side. His good hand gripped the hem of his hoodie like it might hold him together.

“I tried to remember if I fed Dori this morning and I couldn’t even remember if I’d gotten up before now... Minho, I don’t even remember what day it is.”

Minho’s throat closed up, but he pushed past it. He brought his hands to either side of Jisung’s face, gently lifting his chin so their eyes met.

“You’re healing. And healing doesn’t mean useless. It means your body’s doing everything it can to protect you right now, and we’re just going to help it along.” Minho said firmly.

Jisung’s eyes glistened, tears slipping down the soft curve of his cheeks.

“I want to be a good partner,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “But I keep messing up. I hate this so much. You have so many other things to be dealing with and I'm just another.”

Minho leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, letting it linger there, grounding him.

“You are a good partner. The best I could ever ask for. You’re the one who fills this whole house with light. I don’t care if you’re moving around or curled up on the couch or forget what day it is. I love you. All of you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet Jisung’s gaze again, brushing his thumb under his eye.

“Besides,” Minho added with a soft smile, “If you forget again, I’ll remind you. Every single time. It's all part of the process, Ji.”

Jisung gave a choked little laugh through the tears and nodded, slowly leaning forward to rest his forehead against Minho’s shoulder. His tail gave one twitch behind him, wrapping weakly around Minho’s arm.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Just… stay for a while?”

“Always,” Minho said.

It had been a month since the crash.

Jisung’s body bore only fading evidence of the accident now since the bruises on his ribs had turned a sickly yellow before finally vanishing, the stitches near his temple were long removed, and his arm, once cradled in a sling, now moved freely with only the occasional wince. His hybrid genes had always worked in his favor when it came to healing. Physically, he looked like himself again.

But Minho knew better. He saw the way Jisung lingered near the windows longer than usual, ears twitching at the softest of sounds. He saw how carefully his hybrid walked across the apartment, like the floor might betray him. There were dark rings under Jisung’s eyes, ones that refused to fade even with full nights of rest. At first, Minho thought it was just the trauma, the fear, the echo of pain still gripping tight in Jisung’s subconscious. But slowly, quietly, a different pattern began to emerge.

It was little things at first. Jisung would walk into the kitchen with purpose, only to stop and frown at the fridge, unsure of what he came in for. He’d stare at it for long moments, like it might tell him what he was missing, then shake it off with a soft laugh and pretend nothing had happened. Minho never called him out for it, he just watched, heart heavy, smile gentle, offering help where he could.

Some mornings, Jisung would double-check the calendar in the hallway. Not just a glance, he’d stop, squint, run a finger across the dates, his lips silently forming the day of the week. Sometimes he’d do it three or four times in the same afternoon. Once, Minho caught him scribbling down their weekly dinner plans on a notepad he kept tucked in the kitchen drawer. The same plans they’d followed every week for over a year.

Still, Jisung didn’t say anything.

He tried to act like nothing had changed. If Minho mentioned how proud he was of Jisung’s recovery, he’d just smile, shrug, and say, “Cat hybrids bounce back fast. You know that.” But his tail, always expressive, told another story. It didn’t flick with confidence anymore, it curled low, uncertain, especially on days where things slipped just a little further through the cracks.

There was one afternoon that finally made it real for Minho.

He had just gotten back from running errands: groceries, a stop at the pharmacy, one at the dry cleaner’s. He came in through the front door, setting the bags on the counter, when Jisung padded over, nose twitching at the scent of fresh bread.

“Did you get the cereal I like?” Jisung asked, hopeful.

Minho paused, turning slightly. “Which one?”

“You know, the… the blue one. With the little clusters?” Jisung’s brow furrowed as he gestured vaguely in the air. “The one I eat every morning.”

But Jisung didn’t eat cereal. Not ever. He hated it, actually, said it got soggy too fast and made his ears twitch. For as long as Minho had known him, Jisung had been an eggs-and-toast kind of hybrid.

Still, Minho didn’t say that. He just nodded slowly and said, “Ah, I must’ve forgotten. I’ll grab it next time.”

Jisung hummed, like that satisfied him, but his ears stayed dipped low for the rest of the evening.

Another time, curled up together on the couch, Minho finally cleared Jisung to use screens again. Even though a while back the doctors let Jisung know that using technology with screens was fine in moderation, Minho wanted them to be extra careful for the first couple weeks.

Jisung brought up a movie they had supposedly watched last month. Minho blinked. He was pretty sure they hadn’t seen that film in several months at least, not together. But Jisung was animated as he described it, laughing about a scene near the end and the way Minho had supposedly reacted.

“Your face was so stupid,” Jisung giggled, tail swishing behind him. “You got all serious like the guy was actually gonna die or something.”

Minho chuckled along, letting it slide again, even as something cold settled into the pit of his stomach.

He didn’t want to confront it. Not yet. Not when Jisung was still piecing himself together with trembling hands and fragile smiles. Not when he was trying so hard to be normal again.

Because it was clear now, Jisung knew something was wrong. He was just trying to hide it.

And maybe he thought Minho didn’t see it, but Minho did. He saw everything. Every small hesitation, every pause, every time Jisung quietly slipped into the bedroom just to cry for a moment before composing himself.

It broke Minho’s heart.

But what broke it even more was the quiet shame that followed Jisung’s every mistake. Like he didn’t want to be a problem Minho had to solve. So Minho said nothing. Not yet. Instead, he made sure the house was stocked with sticky notes and soft reassurances. He kept gentle reminders on the fridge, always writing “Movie Night” or “Dinner at Chan’s” in bright marker with a little heart next to it. He kissed Jisung’s forehead each morning and told him what day it was with a smile. And every night, when they curled into bed, he whispered softly, “You’re doing so well, baby. I’m proud of you.”

Because he was.

And when Jisung was ready to talk about it, when he couldn’t pretend anymore, Minho would be ready, too. Ready to catch him. Ready to remind him of everything he forgot.

Although the physical injuries were gone it was what lingered under the surface that scared Minho the most. The soft confusion in Jisung’s eyes when he lost track. The way he’d smile through it and say he was just tired, or hungry but Minho could see the lie in his trembling fingers.

Minho wanted so badly to reach in and fix it. To take the pain, the uncertainty, the silent fear that clung to Jisung like a shadow. Every instinct in him screamed to hold tighter, to ask more questions, to coax it out before it could build up and bury Jisung completely.

For now, Minho knew the best thing he could do was play along.

Every time Jisung’s voice wavered with uncertainty or his brows knit together in that silent panic, Minho wanted to reach for him, to say “You’re forgetting again, baby, it’s okay,” but he didn’t. He knew how much worse that would make Jisung feel. Like he was broken, like he was disappointing someone. And Minho couldn’t bear to be the source of that pain.

So instead, when Jisung suddenly grabbed his phone to call him from the living room, asking softly, “Hey, um… when are you coming home from work?” Minho didn’t correct him. Even though he was standing in the kitchen, even though he’d just walked in the door five minutes ago and hung his keys on the hook like he always did.

He cleared his throat gently and said, “Soon. Just finishing something up. Do you want anything when I get there?”

A beat of silence.

Then, “Maybe just… you.”

Minho swallowed the knot in his throat. “Then that’s what I’ll bring.”

He hung up and took a deep breath before walking softly into the living room, where Jisung sat curled into the corner of the couch, phone still in hand, the screen dark now. His ears twitched slightly when he sensed the movement, but he didn’t look up.

Minho didn’t say a word. He just sat down beside him, close enough for their knees to touch, and offered his open palm without expectation. Jisung blinked at it, like it took a second too long to understand the gesture, then placed his hand in Minho’s.

Minho squeezed it gently. No questions. No corrections.

It wasn’t until they went back over to Felix and Chan’s that things started to go south.

Minho paused at the door, keys in hand, glancing back toward Jisung, who was tugging on his jacket with more hesitation than usual. His ears twitched atop his head, tail low and still behind him.

“Are you going to be okay in the car?” Minho asked softly, not wanting to make a big deal out of it but needing to know.

Jisung nodded quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah,” he said, then after a pause, added, “As long as we take a different route. Not… not that street.”

Minho nodded without hesitation. “Of course,” he said, his voice low with certainty. “We’ll go around. Longer way’s prettier, anyway.”

The hybrid smiled faintly at that, eyes flicking up to meet Minho’s. It wasn’t a full smile, not the kind that crinkled his eyes or made his ears perk all the way up, but it was something. Enough.

They climbed into their new car, Minho adjusting the GPS manually even though he knew the way. Just to make sure. Just to avoid even the possibility of the wrong turn.

As soon as the seatbelt clicked into place, Jisung reached across the console, fingers slipping into Minho’s without a word. Minho didn’t say anything either. He just held on, warm and steady, his thumb brushing over the back of Jisung’s hand in gentle passes as they drove.

The roads blurred past outside the window. Jisung usually would be looking all around, but instead he kept his eyes on his lap.

Dinner at Chan and Felix’s place had always been one of the safest spaces for Jisung. The way the four of them clicked together like puzzle pieces, like they’d always been meant to fit.

Felix was plating up dinner in the kitchen while Chan set the table. Minho hovered nearby, subtly watching Jisung from across the room as he curled up in one of the dining chairs, his tail wrapped tightly around his thigh, fingers toying absently with the hem of his shirt.

Felix breezed in with two steaming plates and placed one in front of Jisung with a little flourish. “Without broccoli,” he grinned. “Just how you like it.”

Jisung blinked down at the food, brows drawing slightly. “No broccoli?” he echoed. “Wait, but I like broccoli.”

Chan, mid-step with the silverware, froze just slightly.

Felix gave a short laugh, confused but light. “You do?” He tilted his head. 

Jisung frowned, looking between them like he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or a mistake. “I love it.”

Felix shot a glance at Chan, who mirrored it with a quiet, furrowed look of his own.

Minho’s heart skipped. He quickly cleared his throat and gave the smallest shake of his head from where he stood behind Jisung. Don’t. Please.

Chan hesitated, but seemed to understand. He raised an eyebrow at Felix and nudged him gently with his foot under the table. Felix caught the cue, biting back the instinct to question further.

“Well,” Felix said instead, smoothly recovering, “you must’ve grown out of it. Lucky for you, I made extras with broccoli on the side just in case...”

Jisung’s smile returned faintly, relaxing back in his chair. “Cool. Thanks, Lix.”

Minho exhaled quietly, tension draining from his shoulders as he slid into the seat beside him.

But the look Chan shot him across the table was full of quiet worry. And Felix’s eyes lingered a little too long on Jisung’s face when he looked away.

Dinner carried on, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. The four of them sat around the table with perfectly cooked steaks, bowls of mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, and now all their plates had broccoli. Jisung, blissfully unaware of the tension that hung in the air, was happily humming as Minho cut into his steak, saving the strain on Jisung's still sore arm and ribs. The hybrid commented cheerfully about how soft the potatoes were, and how Felix always knew how to season the carrots just right.

Minho could feel the looks even before he saw them, Chan’s eyes flicking over from across the table, then Felix’s. Both of them sent him quiet, pressing glances, brows slightly drawn in concern. They weren’t trying to confront him yet, but the question was written all over their faces: What is going on?

Later, the four of them sat curled up in their usual formation on the couch, Chan at one end, Jisung nestled against Minho at the other, a fluffy blanket tucked around his legs. The TV flickered softly in front of them, playing some show none of them were really paying attention to.

Jisung had already started dozing, his head against Minho’s shoulder, breathing slow and steady. Minho hadn’t moved in twenty minutes, afraid any shift might wake him. He was relieved that Jisung had started to drift off so quickly. After the instance of Jisung misremembering a show they had watched together, he hoped that the younger wouldn’t have anything else to mention to make the other suspicious. 

Although that relief only lasted so long. 

“Hey, Min,” Felix said suddenly, standing up and stretching, voice too casual. “Can you come help me with the tea? I think the one I want is up too high in the cupboards.”

Minho frowned. “You have a step stool.”

“Come on.” Felix’s eyes flicked toward him. His smile didn’t reach them.

Minho sighed softly, brushing his fingers once through Jisung’s hair before carefully easing him down into a pillow. Chan reached over to keep Jisung steady as Minho slipped off the couch and followed Felix into the kitchen.

The moment the hallway swallowed the living room’s glow, Felix spun on him.

“What the fuck is going on, Minho?”

Minho blinked. “What?”

“You know what. Don’t play dumb with me. Jisung. He’s- he’s not right, and you’ve been brushing it off.”

Minho’s jaw tensed. “Felix, I- ”

“No. No,” Felix snapped, voice low but fierce. “He looked me dead in the eye and told me he loves broccoli. Minho, I’ve cooked around that aversion for years . I thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. And don’t pretend you didn’t see it. You told us not to say anything.”

Minho ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to scare him. He’s… he’s been forgetting things. Small things, at first. I hoped it was just temporary. It’s probably still temporary. The doctors said head trauma is tricky, and recovery isn’t always linear.”

Felix stared at him, pale. “He doesn’t remember he hates broccoli. Even the smell used to make him gag”

“I know.”

“Minho, that’s not small.”

“I know ,” Minho bit out, voice cracking before he could stop it.

Felix looked away, his hands trembling slightly where they gripped the counter. “This isn’t just about forgetting things, Minho. This is about who he is . What if it gets worse?”

Minho closed his eyes, pressing his palms flat against the counter as if he could calm himself. “I don’t know, Lix. I don’t know. I’m trying to hold him together without making him feel broken. He’s trying so hard to be okay, and if I say the wrong thing, if I make him realize he’s slipping, what if that shatters him worse than the concussion ever could?”

The silence hung heavy between them. In the distance, the murmur of the TV played on, unaware.

Felix reached out, squeezing Minho’s shoulder. “You need to see a doctor. One that you're going to be honest with. I'm worried about him. I'm worried about you. This isn’t the type of thing you just wishes goes away”

Minho swallowed hard, jaw clenched tight. He looked down at the floor, unable to meet Felix’s eyes.

“I know,” he said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “I know. I just… every time I think about putting it into words, about saying it out loud to someone it just makes it all the more real.”

Saturday morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, dust floating in lazy swirls across the quiet living room. It was the first day in weeks where they didn’t have a doctor’s appointment, an insurance call, or heaps of paperwork distracting him from taking care of Jisung healed injuries. For once, the world wasn’t asking anything of them. It was just the two of them, alone in the stillness of their home. Jisung had been curled up next to him, head resting on his shoulder, warm and quiet. That alone would’ve been enough.

But then the hybrid slowly shifted, lifting himself just enough to climb into Minho’s lap, knees bracketing his hips. His tail curled around Minho’s side as he settled, fingers lightly tugging at the collar of Minho’s shirt. Minho blinked up at him in surprise.

“What’s up baby?” he asked softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jisung didn’t answer right away. He leaned down instead, brushing their mouths together in a slow, needy, searching kiss. Then another. And another. He tasted like the strawberries they’d had with breakfast. His hands slid into Minho’s hair, tugging gently. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was low, almost shy. “I’ve missed this.”

Minho felt his heart clench, not just from desire, but from the weight of it all. The weeks of fear, of hospitals and whispers and moments where he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel this again. He let out a shaky breath and cupped Jisung’s cheek, tilting his face up to look at him properly. “I missed this too.”

There was something different in the way Jisung kissed him now, deeper, needier, like he was trying to make up for all the time they’d lost. Minho melted into it, letting the softness of Jisung’s lips and the familiar weight of his body pull him under. It had been too long since they’d touched like this, and the return of it felt both grounding and surreal.

Minho’s hands settled instinctively on Jisung’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt before squeezing gently. The response was immediate. A quiet, breathy moan against his mouth as Jisung pressed in closer, only breaking the kiss to chase it again with even more urgency.

He shifted in Minho’s lap, hips rocking forward with just enough pressure to steal Minho’s breath. Minho groaned softly and let his hands drift lower, gripping the curve of Jisung’s ass with a rougher squeeze than intended. Jisung gasped, sharp and wanting, head tipping back before he surged forward again, lips colliding with Minho’s.

Weeks of aching closeness with no outlet had left them both on edge, every touch heightened, every sound pulled from somewhere deep. But neither of them slowed down.

They stayed wrapped in each other, clinging to the heat between them. For now, Minho let himself believe in this moment. Let himself forget the crash, the hospital visits, the cracks that had started to show in Jisung’s memory. Here, with Jisung warm and alive and pressed against him, Minho could almost pretend that everything was okay. 

They were both breathing harder now, movements growing more desperate as the friction built between them. Jisung rocked forward again with a needy whimper, the sound going straight to Minho’s chest. Their bodies moved in sync, grinding against each other like it was the only thing keeping them tethered. The room was quiet except for their ragged breathing and the soft sounds of mouths meeting, parting, meeting again.

Minho broke the kiss, brushing his thumb over Jisung’s cheek, voice low and rough. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Jisung nodded, pupils blown wide, flushed and beautiful in the soft light of their living room. “Yeah,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Let me just... I’m gonna go freshen up real quick.”

Minho gave a small smile and loosened his grip, watching as Jisung climbed off his lap and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom, still wearing that soft post-kiss daze, letting his fluffy tail flow back and forth seductively. Minho leaned back on the couch with a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair, trying to pull himself together. 

On the bed, Minho shifted, running a hand down his chest as he tried to settle the heat still coursing through him. He adjusted himself discreetly, the tension still humming low in his body from the way Jisung had been moving against him. With a low sigh, he stood and pulled off his shirt, tossing it carelessly into the laundry hamper. The sheets felt cool against his skin as he laid back, head resting against the pillows, heart still beating fast.

He heard the bathroom door creak open down the hall. Minho looked toward the doorway, a faint smile on his lips, fingers drumming lightly on his stomach in anticipation.

But when Jisung appeared, he didn’t move with the same confidence from earlier. He stood in the doorway, frozen, eyes flicking around the room with confusion. His gaze landed on Minho half-naked, waiting, and his expression twisted in uncertainty.

“Min?” Jisung asked, voice small and cautious. “Why… why are you in bed already?”

Minho blinked, the question landing like a stone in his chest.

“I-” he sat up slowly, trying not to let the moment crumble too loudly. “You said you were going to freshen up, and then we’d…”

Jisung stared at him, brows furrowed like Minho had spoken in another language. “Freshen up for what? Are we going somewhere?”

Minho’s heart sank. The heat that had filled the room only minutes ago was gone, replaced by a cold stillness. Jisung was standing there like nothing had happened. Like none of it had ever happened.

Minho swallowed hard, pushing a hand through his hair as he gave a tight, trembling smile. “It’s nothing,” he said gently. “Don’t worry. Just come lie down. I just wanted to take a nap with you”

Jisung nodded slowly, still visibly unsure, and padded over to the bed without another word. He curled into Minho’s side like he always did, sighing softly as he tucked his head under Minho’s chin.

And Minho wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, pretending his heart wasn’t breaking all over again.

Minho stared up at the ceiling, the weight of the moment pressing down on his chest like a vice. The room was quiet, not even the comforting rhythm of Jisung’s breathing could soothe him now. He kept his arms wrapped around the smaller body on top of him, careful not to let them tremble.

Tears welled up before he could stop them, hot and shameful as they slid silently down the sides of his face, soaking into the pillow. He didn’t sniffle. He didn’t wipe them away. He just let them fall, blinking up at the ceiling like maybe if he stayed still enough, he wouldn’t completely fall apart.

Minho could feel the way Jisung’s body wasn’t relaxed, he lay stiff. Unnaturally so. Like he could feel it too. The shift. The fracture. He’d known he’d done something wrong.

The silence between them grew thicker, heavier, pressing down on both of their chests. Minho could feel Jisung shifting slightly beside him, tense and uncertain. The stillness was deafening, filled with things neither of them wanted to say.

Then, quietly, Jisung spoke.

“Minho, can I ask you something?”

His voice was soft, hesitant, like he was afraid the words might shatter something between them.

Minho’s heart stuttered. He blinked quickly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat. Was this it? Was Jisung finally going to say it? Finally going to admit that he knew something was wrong?

“Of course, baby,” Minho said gently, praying his voice didn’t crack. “Anything.”

There was a pause, one that felt like an eternity.

“You didn’t just want to take a nap, did you...”

Jisung’s voice was shaking now, barely above a whisper, and Minho could hear the tears he was trying not to cry.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He didn’t have it in him to lie anymore.

“No, baby,” he said, his voice breaking just enough to betray him. “I didn’t.”

The silence that followed was different. He felt Jisung curl slightly inward, like he was bracing for something, before he spoke again.

“I’ve been forgetting a lot of things lately, Minho,” Jisung said, voice trembling. “And I’m scared.”

Minho didn’t say anything at first. He just turned, gathering Jisung in his arms, holding him close against his chest. He pressed his lips to Jisung’s hair, closing his eyes as he felt the first tear fall onto his shoulder.

“I know,” Minho whispered, voice barely holding steady. “I know, baby. I’m scared too.”

Chapter Text

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the quiet exam room. Jisung sat on the paper-lined table, his legs swinging just slightly over the edge, his tail wrapping nervously around himself. Minho sat close in a chair beside him, his posture tense but his expression soft, there if Jisung needed to look at something steady.

The door opened with a gentle knock, and the neurologist stepped in, clipboard in hand and a practiced, kind expression on her face.

“Thanks for waiting,” she said, taking a seat across from them. She looked at Jisung directly, her tone gentle but not patronizing. “Jisung, I’ve looked through all your scans, test results, and notes from your last visit. I want to talk to you about what we’ve found.”

Jisung’s body visibly tensed. His ears flat against his head. Minho instinctively reached out and laid a hand on his knee.

“There’s good news,” the doctor continued. “There’s no new brain damage, and what we’re seeing is consistent with a post-traumatic concussion. That said, you’re showing signs of what we call post-concussive syndrome . It’s not uncommon after head injuries, even ones that initially seem minor. The symptoms can include memory problems, mood swings, confusion... sometimes even things like sensitivity to light and noise.”

Jisung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “So... it’s normal?” he asked, ears twitching up, voice small. “That I can’t remember stuff?”

“It’s not uncommon,” the doctor said with a nod. “But it is something we need to monitor closely. Memory gaps, especially the kind you’ve described, can take time to resolve. Some people recover in weeks, others in months. And sometimes the brain just needs rest and the right environment to heal properly.”

Minho rubbed Jisung’s knee with his thumb, silently encouraging him to speak if he needed.

“Is it... gonna get worse?” Jisung asked, not quite meeting her eyes.

“That’s hard to predict,” she said gently. “But you’re doing the right thing by coming in. The most important part is that you’re not ignoring it anymore. We’ll come up with a care plan to help support your memory, track any changes, and reduce stress as much as possible.”

Jisung nodded slowly, clearly trying to process it all. The air in the room was thick with the weight of the unspoken 'what this might mean for the future', how much of himself Jisung might still be losing.

Minho squeezed his knee again. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “Together.”

Jisung finally looked at him then. His eyes were glassy, but he nodded. 

Back at the house, Minho made sure to keep every day on a similar schedule. The doctors suggested that the more normal the routine, the easier it would be on Jisung. Minho had already started to place post it notes around, but now they had increased tenfold. Notes that explained upcoming appointments, what was for dinner, and even little messages of affirmation. 

They even got a giant calendar to hang in the kitchen, where they would be able to note daily details even further. Minho gave Jisung a small list of chores to do around the house, the same every day, along with an eraser board in which he could check them off directly after he was done, making sure he wasn’t going to water the same plant three separate times in one day.

Finally, the doctors suggested that Jisung engage in light cognitive memory exercises. At the end of each day, Jisung wrote a brief summary of what he could remember. It didn’t have to be perfect, just whatever stuck with him. Sometimes he’d write three full paragraphs about something funny Minho said, and other days, it was only a few scattered bullet points.

Minho made sure never to correct him bluntly, even when the details were off. Instead, he gently filled in the blanks later when they reviewed together during their nighttime routine recap. They’d curl up on the couch, warm under a blanket, Minho with his tea and Jisung with his hot cocoa, the soft scratch of pen on paper filling the quiet.

“What do you recall from this morning?” Minho would ask softly.

Jisung chewed on his pen, brows furrowed in concentration, his tail swishing purposefully from side to side. They marked it down together. There was something tender about building memory this way, and though it wasn’t easy, though there were still hours where Jisung would go quiet and frustrated when the fog settled in too thick, the ritual gave them both a sense of direction.

Even if Jisung's memory still had its ups and downs, Minho was so proud of the progress he’d made.

There were still mornings when Jisung woke up unsure of what day it was, or afternoons when he’d stand frozen in the hallway, tail hanging low, trying to remember what he’d gone to do. But there were also moments where Jisung would recall something without needing a cue card, or where he’d laugh about something they’d written in the journal days ago.

Minho noticed the difference in the little things: the way Jisung no longer panicked when the fog settled in, how he’d calmly reach for a post-it or flip open the notebook without shame. He asked for help now without breaking down. He trusted Minho to catch him if he faltered.

And Minho? He caught him every time.

Some nights, after Jisung had fallen asleep on the couch with his head in Minho’s lap and their memory journal resting on the coffee table, Minho would run his fingers gently through Jisung’s hair, his heart full.

Minho caught sight of him from the hallway, bare feet planted on the kitchen tile, shoulders tense, eyes scanning the fridge door like it held the answer to something big. Jisung's lip was pinched between his teeth, brow furrowed hard, arms limp at his sides.

Minho padded over quietly and wrapped his arms around Jisung’s waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder and kissing the soft skin just beneath his ear.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured gently, letting the warmth of his body press against Jisung’s. “What are you looking for?”

Jisung didn’t answer right away. His eyes kept flicking from one post-it to the next. “Feed plants (1pm),” “Dinner: chicken & rice,” “Wednesday – therapy, 3:30pm” but none of it seemed to be the thing he needed.

Finally, Jisung let out a shaky breath. “I… I don’t know.”

Minho tightened his hold just a little, rubbing small circles into his stomach with his thumbs. “That’s okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

Jisung let his head fall back against Minho’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “I just hate this. I feel like I’m missing something important. Like it’s right there, and I just… can’t grab it.”

“I know, you’re fine baby, just give yourself a moment.” Minho said softly.

He kissed the side of Jisung’s head and stood with him in the quiet, the hum of the fridge filling the silence. There was nothing to solve right then, holding Jisung through the fog, until it cleared again.

Jisung’s body tensed in Minho’s arms. The hair on his ears and tail began to stand. He pulled away suddenly, shrugging Minho off with more force than either of them expected.

Minho blinked. “Jisung?”

“I’m not fine!” Jisung snapped, spinning around to face him. His voice was sharp, ragged around the edges. “You keep acting like everything is okay, like I’m going to just magically get better if we keep playing house with your stupid post-it notes!”

Minho’s mouth opened, then closed again. “Sungie, I’m not...”

“No,” Jisung barked, cutting him off. His hands were shaking at his sides. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me? Like you’re waiting for me to fall apart again. You treat me like a kid, like I can’t do anything by myself, and maybe you’re right, maybe I can’t , but I don’t need you hovering over me every second of the day, pretending like it doesn’t kill you to look at me now!”

The words hit like slaps, each one sharper than the last.

Minho stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen. The hurt hadn’t even registered fully, only the shock. He’d never heard Jisung talk to him like that. Never with that much venom, that much pain.

“Jisung… That's not...” he said quietly, but there was nothing else behind it. He didn’t know what to say.

Jisung’s chest was heaving. His eyes were glassy, lip trembling, and he looked just as horrified as Minho now that the words had left his mouth. But neither of them moved. The air between them was thick, full of something raw and awful that neither knew how to touch.

Jisung took a shaky breath, but the moment it hit his lungs, it shattered into another wave of rage.

“I hate this!” he yelled, fists clenching at his sides. “I hate feeling like I’m losing pieces of myself every time I blink! I hate that I don’t remember what we had for dinner yesterday or that I didn’t even notice that the notes on the fridge changed!”

His voice cracked, breaking into something hollow and panicked.

“And I hate you for pretending like it’s okay,” he said, quieter this time, the words trembling out of him. “I hate the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. I hate that I know you're scared but won’t say it. I hate that I’m the reason you don’t sleep. That every time you smile at me, I can tell it’s only because you’re afraid I’ll forget you next.”

Minho’s heart stopped.

Jisung turned away, both arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold something inside. “I hate that I’m broken,” he whispered. “And I hate that you still love me.”

Minho took one step forward, but Jisung flinched, shoulders rising like he’d been struck. The movement stopped Minho in his tracks.

“Baby…” Minho tried again, barely holding it together. “You’re not broken.”

Jisung laughed bitterly, tears already slipping down his cheeks. “Aren’t I? I didn’t even remember what we were doing last night. You were waiting for me… and I came back like nothing happened. Because to me, nothing had.”

Minho couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was watch the boy he loved unravel in front of him, wrapped in his own fear and self-loathing.

And still, even in his hurt, Jisung turned, eyes bloodshot and wide. “Why are you still here?” he demanded. “Why do you stay if I’m not even me anymore?”

Minho’s voice, when it finally came, was quiet but firm. “Because whoever you are, whoever you’ll become… I’m never going anywhere.”

But Jisung just sobbed and fell to the floor, hands over his face like he couldn’t bear to be seen. And Minho sank with him, slowly, wrapping his arms around him despite the resistance, holding him through the trembling, through the pain, through the heartbreak of not knowing if this moment, too, would be forgotten.

Jisung’s fists came down hard on Minho’s legs, one after the other, not with strength meant to hurt, but with the kind of desperation that came from deep, festering pain.

“Stop saying that!” Jisung yelled through tears. “Stop acting like this is okay!”

Minho didn’t move. He just sat there, on the kitchen floor letting Jisung hit him. The soft thuds of fists against his thighs were nowhere near as painful as the words that followed.

“You’re so fake , Minho,” Jisung spat, voice breaking in the middle. “You act like this is nothing. Like you’re fine . Like taking care of me doesn’t eat away at you.”

“I’m not faking,” Minho whispered, reaching gently, but Jisung slapped his hand away, still shaking.

“You never get mad at me! You never yell! You never say that I’ve ruined our life and now I’m just- ” His mouth curled with shame. “I’m just some pathetic burden for you to carry around like some broken old man you’re too polite to abandon!”

Minho flinched.

Jisung’s shoulders trembled, and his voice dropped to a small, empty echo. “I can’t remember what day it is half the time. I forget things you’ve told me an hour ago. What part of this is love , Minho?”

Minho's heart cracked. “All of it. Jisung, please understand that I'll never stop loving you.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Jisung’s eyes were wild with anguish. “Don’t tell me this is the life you wanted.”

“I didn’t want this,” Minho said finally, the words soft but unwavering. “I wanted you . And I still have you.”

Jisung broke again, falling forward, burying his face into Minho’s chest like it hurt to exist anywhere else. “I don’t even feel like me anymore,” he whispered.

“I know,” Minho whispered back, curling his arms tight around him. “But I do. I see you, Jisung. I remember enough for both of us.”

Jisung collapsed against him, the weight of his body shaking with every sob. “I don’t deserve you,” he choked out, voice raw and muffled where his face was buried against Minho’s chest. His arms clung tightly to Minho’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him upright, his breath hitching in broken heaves that punched through the quiet of the kitchen.

Minho didn’t speak. He just held him. One arm wrapped protectively around Jisung’s trembling shoulders while the other rose to gently pet between his ears, smoothing down the fur with slow, familiar strokes. His fingers scratched lightly in the way Jisung always liked, calming and gentle, even now. He pressed his cheek against the top of Jisung’s head and closed his eyes.

“You don’t have to deserve me,” Minho murmured finally, voice low and steady against the storm. “You just have to let me love you.”

Jisung let out a sound, half sob, half whimper, and Minho felt it like a dagger to the heart. He drew slow, soothing circles on Jisung’s back, over the thin fabric of his sleep shirt, grounding him. Being there, a steady heartbeat beneath the tears, holding on as long as it took.

Jisung’s sobs began to taper off, each breath coming a little slower, a little less jagged. His fists, which had been clenched so tightly in Minho’s shirt, slowly uncurled. The fire in him had burned out, leaving only ash and guilt in its place. His voice, when it came, was hoarse and small.

“I’m so sorry, Minho,” he whispered, barely able to lift his head. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t know where that came from.”

Minho loosened his hold just enough to look down at him, brushing some of the messy hair away from Jisung’s eyes with gentle fingers, watching his ears point sharply down in shame. There was no anger on his face, just quiet concern, a calm steadiness that made Jisung’s chest ache even more.

“I know,” Minho said softly. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Jisung’s voice cracked again. “I said such awful things. You didn’t deserve that. You’ve been doing everything for me and I just lashed out at you like it was your fault.”

“It’s not okay because you hurt me,” Minho said gently, “it’s okay because I know it wasn’t really you. It’s the frustration. The fear. You’re not a bad person for feeling those things, Jisung.”

Jisung lowered his head again, pressing his cheek to Minho’s chest, exhausted. “I hate feeling like this. I don’t even know who I am.”

Minho tightened his arms around him once more, firm and protective. “You’re still you, baby. Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days.” He kissed the top of Jisung’s head, voice a whisper against his hair. “And I’m still here. Just like I promised.”

When Minho stepped through the front door that evening, the first thing he noticed was the warm, sweet vanilla scent with the faintest hint of strawberry. It was a welcome change from the usual aroma of catnip-scented fabric spray and leftover takeout.

“Jisung?” he called, setting his keys on the counter and slipping off his shoes.

No reply came immediately, but he caught the flick of a tail peeking out from behind the kitchen wall. Then, after a pause, Jisung poked his head out, ears perked, cheeks dusted pink.

“You’re home early,” he said, like he hadn’t spent the last hour pacing nervously between the oven and the counter.

Minho blinked. “I’m home at the same time I always am.”

“Oh,” Jisung mumbled, ears folding slightly. “Right.”

But then he perked back up, lips twitching with a shy grin. “I made something for you.”

Minho’s brows lifted in surprise as Jisung stepped back and gestured toward the kitchen table.

There, proudly displayed on a cat-themed serving platter, were a dozen slightly uneven cupcakes, vanilla with bright pink strawberry frosting, piped in messy swirls and sprinkled with colorful sugar crystals. A small card next to them read, “Thank you for loving me even when I forget things.” The heart at the end of the sentence was traced over a few times, a little wobbly, like he’d tried to get it perfect.

Minho felt his chest tighten.

“You made these?” he asked softly, stepping closer.

Jisung nodded quickly. “I followed a recipe. Well… sort of. The measuring part got confusing, but they’re edible! I tested two. Or maybe three.”

Minho laughed, warm and overwhelmed. He walked over and wrapped his arms around Jisung from behind, resting his chin between his soft ears. “You didn’t have to do this, baby.”

“I wanted to,” Jisung murmured, turning to bury his face in Minho’s neck. “You’ve been doing everything for me. I just wanted to make you something.”

Minho smiled against his hair. “It’s perfect.”

Jisung pulled back enough to press a frosting-smeared cupcake to Minho’s mouth. “Then eat one and prove it.”

Minho took a bite without hesitation. It was too sweet for Minho, but it was perfect in every way that mattered.

He chewed, swallowed, and kissed Jisung square on the nose. “Best cupcake I’ve ever had.”

Jisung beamed, ears twitching happily, his tail curling around Minho’s hip. “Good. Because I saved six of them just for you.”

Everything lately had been going absolutely great with Jisung and Minho.

There was a rhythm to their days now, one that felt stable and light, like they’d finally found footing after weeks of stumbling in the dark. Jisung had been showing steady improvement, even in his confidence, too. He no longer stared at post-it notes like they were puzzles designed to trick him. His daily chore list was something he handled with quiet pride, and more often than not, he was the one reminding Minho what time dinner needed to go into the oven.

Even Chan and Felix had noticed the difference. When they visited the week before, Felix had whispered to Minho in the kitchen, eyes misty but smiling, “He’s really doing better, huh?”

Minho had only nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. Because yes. Jisung was doing better. The memory journal was always full of scribbled entries and doodles, some funny, some nonsense, some oddly profound. They still did their nightly recaps, sometimes laughing at how badly they’d both remembered things, but the important part was that they were doing it together .

It was only because of Jisung’s improvement that Minho even let the idea settle in his mind.

For weeks, he had ignored the emails piling up about the upcoming company conference and retreat just outside of town. It was a big deal, one that would finalize the long-rumored merger and determine the future direction of his division. If it went well, the company was ready to pay for a small relaxation retreat following after. His name had been floated in early leadership talks, and if there was ever a time to show face and prove his value, it was this weekend.

But he hadn’t been able to even think about it. Not until now. Jisung was doing so well. Not perfect, there were still occasional lapses and rough mornings, but his memory had stabilized, his moods had evened out, and he hadn’t had a breakdown in weeks.

That night, after dinner, Minho brought it up gently, rubbing soothing circles along Jisung’s back as they curled up together on the couch.

“I got an email today,” he started, voice light, cautious. “About the company conference. It’s this weekend. Just a couple hours out of town.”

Jisung blinked up at him, curious but unbothered. “Are you going?”

“I might need to. It’s important. The merger stuff we talked about. I wouldn’t be gone long, just a weekend.” Minho paused, watching Jisung’s expression carefully. “You’d have Felix and Chan check in constantly. They’d stay over if you wanted.”

Jisung tilted his head, processing, ears twitching a little as he thought. “...You think I’ll be okay?”

Minho cupped his cheek, thumb brushing across soft skin. “I do, baby. I wouldn’t even consider it if I didn’t.”

Jisung didn’t answer right away, but then he gave a small nod, resting his head back on Minho’s shoulder.

“I’ll miss you,” he said quietly. “But I want you to go. You’ve been taking care of me all this time... You should do something for yourself .”

Minho wrapped his arms tightly around him, burying his face in Jisung’s hair, overcome with quiet love and gratitude. 

Before they knew it, the weekend had arrived, and Minho was off, suitcase in one hand and a worried glance cast back over his shoulder as he left the apartment. Jisung had stood at the door waving, smiling for Minho’s sake, even if his chest felt just a little too hollow once it clicked shut behind him.

At first, the quiet was strange. The stillness of the apartment without Minho’s comforting presence left Jisung padding from room to room, ears twitching at every creak. But he tried his best to keep busy, he followed his post-it reminders, checked off his daily board, even took a longer-than-usual nap sprawled across the sunlit couch.

Felix and Chan came over that night, like they’d promised. They brought takeout and loud laughter and a movie Jisung only halfway paid attention to, distracted more by their quiet, lingering glances than anything happening on the screen.

Still, it felt good to be around people. Especially people who knew.

Felix helped him tidy up after dinner, while Chan carefully updated Jisung’s memory board with new things to remember. They didn’t ask too many questions, just made sure he was smiling, made sure the lights were on and the calendar marked and the stove off before they left.

And every night, without fail, Jisung called Minho.

He would climb into their bed, blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and call as soon as he saw the time blink past nine. And Minho would always answer, tired but warm, his voice like home.

Jisung would tell him everything, every tiny detail, even the boring ones. What he ate. What show he watched. How Felix tripped over the coffee table trying to reenact a scene from some action movie. How he couldn’t remember where he’d left his slippers, but found them in the fridge of all places.

Minho never laughed at the strange parts. Never sounded bored. He just listened. Patiently, lovingly.

And each call ended the same way, Jisung whispering “I miss you,” and Minho replying “I miss you more.”

It was only two more days. But it felt like forever.

Minho had told Jisung that the merger was going amazingly. The companies were closer than ever, the negotiations seamless. Minho said it felt like every meeting was lined up just right, like all the long hours he’d put in were finally being recognized.

“Everyone’s been so complimentary,” he’d said during their most recent call. Jisung could practically hear the blush in his voice, the way Minho brushed it off even as pride colored his words. “They keep pulling me aside to say how impressed they are with the groundwork. It’s… honestly kind of surreal.”

Jisung had smiled, even though they were miles apart. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into the phone, curled up in their bed with one of Minho’s old sweatshirts buried in his arms.

“The deal gets finalized tomorrow,” Minho went on. “And then they’ve got the whole team booked at a resort outside the city. Just for one day. Like a celebration-slash-break before we come back.”

Jisung’s ears twitched at the sound of it. “A resort?” he echoed, trying not to sound as lonely as he suddenly felt.

Minho laughed, soft and sheepish. “I know. It’s kind of ridiculous. But they already paid for everything. Just one more day, and I’m home, okay?”

Jisung swallowed the ache and nodded, even though Minho couldn’t see. “Okay. You deserve it. You really do. I’ll call you first thing when I wake up,” Jisung promised. “And again before bed. And maybe like five times in between.”

“You better,” Minho whispered, pulling the phone closer to his ear. “I miss you.”

“I miss you more,” Jisung said, and the line went quiet just long enough for Jisung to close his eyes and pretend he was there.

The next day swept Minho up like a riptide.

From the moment he stepped into the conference building, it was nonstop. Final paperwork needed to be signed, final numbers triple-checked, names finalized on dotted lines that had taken months to reach. Every department had questions. Every executive wanted a word. It was the culmination of everything he’d been working toward, and though he should have been exhilarated, it all started to blur together, minutes into hours, meetings into briefings into rushed coffee breaks where he barely even remembered to eat.

It wasn’t until the sun had dipped low outside the conference's tinted windows that a flash of awareness cut through the fog: Jisung was supposed to call him. Or had it been Minho who promised to call this time?

He reached for his phone with a frown, only to be swept up again in another signature, another last minute pitch needing approval, another round of congratulations that felt like being dragged across a finish line with no time to breathe.

He told himself he’d call once he got back to the hotel room. Just as soon as he finished this last task. Just one more hour. Before he knew it, he had crashed down on his hotel bed, passed out even without taking any of his business clothes off or even getting under the covers. 

The next morning, the merger ceremony was elegant and brief, a polished exhale after months of holding tension in every muscle. Applause, champagne, and a few too many photos. Minho smiled through it, offered handshakes, accepted compliments, and nodded along to praise he could barely hear over the pulsing exhaustion in his skull.

When it was over, his body almost sagged in relief. For the first time in days, no one needed his immediate attention. No one was waiting on a form, an email, or a decision. The company had officially merged. The work was done.

Minho slipped away as soon as he politely could, back to the resort’s quieter areas. The gentle scent of sea salt hung in the air, carried by a breeze that tugged playfully at the open collar of his shirt. He didn’t do much but just let himself sink into a shaded lounge chair near the pool, head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed, arms hanging loosely by his sides.

Still, he didn’t let himself fall asleep. Not yet.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed Jisung’s number and brought it to his ear. It rang all the way through before going to voicemail. Odd. 

Minho called again and the same thing happened. Maybe Jisung was asleep?

He clicked on Felix contact, the phone ringing twice before the younger voice answered with a chipper “Hey, hyung!”

“Hey,” Minho said, voice a little rough. “Sorry for the late check-in. Everything’s wrapped up now. I was just calling to ask… How’s Jisung? Everything okay?”

There was a small pause on Felix’s end, just long enough for Minho’s stomach to tighten.

“Yeah,” Felix said eventually. “He’s okay. We just left your place. We’ve been keeping him company. He was… kinda off last night. Said he felt weird. I think he probably just missed you a lot. He didn’t say much, but he kept checking the time.”

Minho rubbed a hand over his face, guilt settling in like a weight on his chest. “I didn’t get to call. Everything was... Felix, I forgot. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Felix said gently. “I figured it was chaos over there. He didn’t say much, but he seemed to understand.”

Minho let out a breath, staring out at the glittering pool tiles. “Can you tell him I’ll try to call him again tonight? He didn’t pick up just now. And thank you for being there.”

Felix hummed softly. “Of course, hyung. We’ve got him.”

He told himself it was fine. Maybe Jisung was napping. Maybe he left his phone in the other room. But deep down, something didn’t feel right. Jisung always called. Always. Especially if Minho missed a check-in.

The silence was starting to feel like a warning.

Minho stood up abruptly, grabbing his phone and jacket, deciding that he couldn’t stomach another moment of waiting. He’d just go. He could catch the next train out, and be back home by dinner. He could hold Jisung in his arms and make up for missing that call.

He was halfway to his room when he heard his name being called.

“Minho!”

He turned to see two of his superiors waving him down from across the resort’s walkway, flanked by a few other executives already halfway through their first drinks.

“There you are,” one said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, we’re heading to the bar. You’ve earned it.”

Minho forced a smile, torn. “Ah. Thank you, really, but I was actually just about to- ”

“Just one drink,” the other cut in smoothly. “You worked your ass off for this deal. It wouldn’t look right if you ducked out now.”

Minho swallowed his protest. They were right, at least from a professional standpoint. A snub here might undo some of the goodwill he’d spent months cultivating.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice tight. “But just one. I really need to leave soon.”

He ended up staying for four. And then two shots after that. And by the time he stood to leave, the ground shifted under his feet like water. His tie was loose, cheeks flushed, laughter still lingering from a joke he barely registered. He checked his phone again. Still nothing from Jisung. His stomach twisted.

Suddenly, nothing about the bar felt celebratory anymore. The drinks felt too heavy in his system. The air too loud, too bright. Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones.

Minho hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He had planned to pack, to call Felix, to get on the last train out, anything except what actually happened. But at some point in the night, the exhaustion caught up to him, the alcohol dulled his sense of urgency, and he collapsed face-down onto the hotel bed, still half-dressed, phone forgotten on the nightstand.

The next thing he knew, sunlight was stabbing through the curtains like a cruel reminder.

His head throbbed. His mouth was dry. His shirt was wrinkled and riding up on one side, and the crushing weight of guilt settled instantly on his chest like a boulder.

Jisung.

Minho sat up too fast, wincing as his temples pulsed. He scrambled for his phone with trembling hands, praying he’d missed a late-night message, a call, something. Nothing.

He dialed immediately, pressing the phone to his ear. Each ring sounded like a cannon going off in his skull. When the line clicked, his heart leapt, only to crash when the voicemail picked up.

“Hey, you’ve reached Jisung. Leave a message, okay?”

He was up and out of the room within minutes, hastily brushing his teeth and stuffing clothes into his suitcase with a speed only panic could fuel. He didn’t even stop to check out at the front desk. He just ran.

At the train station, he barely managed to buy a ticket with shaking hands, cursing under his breath when the first train home wasn’t for another twenty minutes. He paced the platform the entire time, glancing down at his phone every thirty seconds like the act alone might make it ring.

By the time the train finally arrived, Minho was already halfway sick with worry, the quiet rocking of the train doing nothing to soothe the twisting in his gut.

The key clicked in the door, and Minho barely gave it time to swing open before stepping through in a rush, his chest tight with worry.

“Jisung?” he called out, voice hopeful. “I’m home.”

Silence.

He dropped his bag by the door, kicking off his shoes without thinking as he stepped into the apartment. The lights were on, but there was no music, no scent of food, no sign of movement. Dread settled low in his stomach.

“Baby?”

Rounding the corner into the living room, Minho froze. Jisung stood in the middle of the room, still as a statue. His oversized sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, and his ears were pressed flat to his skull. His tail was low, twitching faintly at the end. His eyes were wide, panicked.

“Jisung-”

“Don’t move!”

Jisung’s voice cracked like a whip, high and terrified. His breathing quickened instantly, chest rising and falling in short bursts.

Minho stopped cold.

“Who are you?” Jisung demanded, stumbling back a step, his voice trembling. “What are you doing in my house?!”

The words hit Minho like a slap.

“What?” he whispered. “Jisung, it’s me.”

“No, no! Don’t come closer,” Jisung said quickly, voice sharp with fear. “I’ll scream. I swear I will.”

Minho’s heart shattered. “No. Baby, no. You know me. It’s Minho. I live here. You... this is your home. You’re safe, I promise you’re safe.”

But Jisung just stared, his expression unreadable behind the veil of confusion and rising panic. He glanced around the room like he was looking for something: an escape, a weapon, anything.

“I don’t know you,” he said again, quieter this time. “I don’t remember… I don’t remember anyone like you.”

Minho felt the sting behind his eyes. He didn’t dare move. “You do. You know me. I swear. Just look around. Look at the post-its. The calendar. The photos. Please.”

Jisung’s gaze flicked toward the fridge, at the wall of notes and reminders, even toward the picture of them both together. But his hands still trembled. His mind wasn’t working rationally right now. 

“Someone is coming to check on me,” he murmured, more to himself than Minho. “If you hurt me they’ll know. They’ll know it was you.”

Minho took a shaky breath, willing himself to stay strong. “Baby, I'm not going to hurt you. I live here, with you. You have to believe me.”

Jisung just blinked, unsure, still frozen in place.

“I’ll back up,” Minho said gently. “I’ll go into the kitchen. You don’t have to come near me if you don’t want to. I just want you to be okay.”

He took a slow step back.

Jisung’s mouth parted slightly, like he didn’t know what to say. His ears gave the faintest twitch. Minho’s name didn’t register in his eyes, not yet. There was no spark of recognition, no flicker of safety.

“Then…can you… show me my room?” Jisung asked quietly. “I think I need to sit down.”

Minho nodded slowly. “Of course.”

Even if his heart was breaking. Even if the person he loved most in the world was looking at him like a stranger. He’d still take his hand. Lead him home again. As many times as it took.

Minho moved slowly, deliberately, as if any sudden motion might send Jisung running. His fingers ached from how hard he was clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms just to ground himself.

“This way,” he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jisung didn’t follow right away. He watched Minho like a cornered animal might watch a predator, wide-eyed, confused, trembling with uncertainty. Minho felt the sting again in his chest, sharper this time.

It wasn’t just that Jisung didn’t remember him. He was afraid of him.

Minho turned and led the way toward the bedroom, pausing in the doorway. Behind him, he could hear the soft shuffle of feet as Jisung finally followed, hesitant and slow. When Minho stepped inside and sat on the edge of the bed, Jisung lingered in the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around himself, his tail curled close to his leg like he was trying to disappear.

“You can sit,” Minho offered, patting the other side of the bed.

Jisung didn’t move. His eyes scanned the room, landing on photos by the nightstand with pictures of the two of them, arms wrapped around each other, smiling so wide it made Minho’s throat tighten.

“I don’t…” Jisung started, his voice cracking. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“It is,” Minho said softly. “You live here. With me. We’ve been together for a long time, Jisung. You’re safe. I promise.”

“But I don’t feel safe,” Jisung whispered, shrinking in on himself. “You’re a stranger. You know everything about me, and I know nothing about you. That’s not fair. That’s not normal.”

Minho swallowed thickly. “I know.”

He wished there was something, anything, he could say to make it better. To erase the fear in Jisung’s eyes.

“I don’t remember your name,” Jisung said, his voice cracking further, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “And I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Minho felt his own eyes burn. “It’s okay. I remember everything for both of us. I can remind you. I will. Every time.”

“Why should I let myself trust you?” Jisung asked bitterly, taking another wary step back. “I’m broken. I don’t even know who I am. I don’t remember anything. I can’t even remember if I’m supposed to trust you.”

Minho’s shoulders sank, his own tears finally slipping free. “Because I love you, Jisung. You don’t have to remember me for that to still be true.”

That made Jisung pause. His eyes searched Minho’s face, as if trying to match the words with something real, something familiar.

“I’m scared,” Jisung whispered, and his voice cracked down the middle. “I’m so scared. Why can’t I remember?”

Minho reached out slowly, palm open and patient. Jisung stared at the hand for what felt like an eternity before taking a shaky step forward and collapsing into Minho’s arms, sobbing.

“I’ve got you,” Minho whispered into his hair, wrapping him up in a hug that felt more like a promise than anything else. And as Jisung cried into his chest, trembling with confusion and fear, Minho buried his face into Jisung’s hair and wept quietly too. Holding him like he might slip away all over again.

Minho held Jisung tightly, arms wound protectively around the trembling hybrid in his lap. Jisung's sobs had slowed, but his body still shook with the aftershocks of fear and disorientation. Minho pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You came from the shelter,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “After they found you. You were so small, so scared. You wouldn’t speak to anyone. You wouldn’t even eat the first night home. I remember sitting on the kitchen floor with a bowl of tuna, just waiting...”

Jisung’s fingers curled into Minho’s shirt, the grip still tight but no longer desperate.

“You wouldn’t let me touch you for days. But then one night, you woke up from a nightmare and crawled into my bed. Didn’t say anything. Just laid there with your tail wrapped around my wrist like you didn’t want to let go.”

Minho swallowed, letting the silence settle for a beat before continuing.

“You used to cry when you broke a plate. You’d think I’d punish you. And I’d have to hold you for hours, whispering over and over that it was okay, that nothing you did would ever make me stop loving you.”

He blinked hard, brushing a hand gently along Jisung’s ears, petting them slowly the way he liked.

“And do you remember,” he breathed, “that first time I took you out of the country? It was two years ago. We went to Prague. You got sick on the plane and cried because you thought you’d ruined the trip. But then you saw the clock tower in the city square and you just... lit up. I’ve never seen you smile so wide.”

Jisung let out a small, unintentional sigh, warm breath against Minho’s collarbone. His body began to slacken with sleep.

“You love movies,” Minho murmured, lips against Jisung’s hair. “But you always fall asleep halfway through. You make these little snoring noises, and I never have the heart to wake you up. You have a favorite blanket that is blue fleece. You can’t go a night without it. You talk in your sleep sometimes. You once called me ‘Minnie’ and told me to make you pancakes.”

Minho let out a quiet, broken laugh.

“You sing when you shower. You hate broccoli, well you used to. You love tulips. You’ll curl up in a sunny window and nap until your ears get too warm.”

By now, Jisung had gone completely still, his breaths deep and even. Minho looked down and found him fast asleep, his face soft and peaceful, pressed to Minho’s chest. The pain in his heart twisted, but there was comfort there too.

Minho adjusted them both gently, leaning back against the couch and cradling Jisung like something sacred. He rested his chin on top of Jisung’s head and closed his eyes.

“I remember it all, Sungie,” he whispered, one last promise to the quiet room. “And I’ll keep remembering for both of us.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, sunlight filtered gently through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the couch where Minho had stayed curled up all night, Jisung still nestled in his arms. At some point, Minho had dozed off too, but he’d woken at the slightest shift of Jisung stirring quietly, stretching like a cat before sitting up.

Minho blinked his eyes open, groggy and sore, but immediately alert when he saw Jisung’s back turned to him, stiff and tense.

“Morning,” Minho said softly, testing the waters.

Jisung glanced back with a small, sheepish smile. “Hey…”

His voice was quiet, cautious. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, tail swaying in a way that always gave him away as nervous and uncertain.

“Sleep okay?” Minho asked.

“Yeah. I think so,” Jisung replied, still not meeting his eyes. He stretched again, pretending to glance at the clock on the wall. “Is it… Monday?”

Minho’s stomach twisted, but he nodded. “Yeah. Good job, baby.”

Jisung's ears perked slightly at the praise, but it didn’t quite land like it normally would. There was something strained behind his smile. A flicker of guilt in his eyes.

Jisung’s fingers tightened around the ceramic in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “About yesterday. I didn’t mean to… I was just scared, and everything felt wrong, and you were… and I didn’t know you, and- ”

“Hey,” Minho cut in softly, reaching to touch his arm. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. I'm just glad things are coming back to you now.”

Jisung’s ears twitched again, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes stayed downcast.

“I just don’t want you to think I… that I didn’t want to remember you,” he said. “Because I do. I really do. You’re the one thing that I can’t ever let myself forget.”

Minho’s heart broke all over again, the way it had a thousand times before and would a thousand more.

“I know,” he whispered, stepping closer and wrapping his arms gently around Jisung’s waist. “And I don’t blame you. Not for a second.”

Jisung let himself be pulled into the hug, still a little stiff, but after a moment he melted into it. His face buried against Minho’s shoulder, muffling a shaky breath.

“I hate this,” he murmured. “It’s like there’s holes everywhere. And I don’t want you to see them. I don’t want you to see me like that.”

Minho kissed the side of his head, lingering there for a moment as if he could press all his love into that single touch.

“I already see you, Jisung,” he whispered into his hair. “Every part of you. Even the broken pieces, I see them… and I love them just the same.”

Jisung’s breath hitched, his grip tightening around Minho’s back like he was afraid to let go.

Minho pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping his cheeks gently. “No matter what happens… even if one day you forget everything about me again, I’ll still be here. I’ll remind you every time. I’ll never get tired of telling you who we are, of helping you feel safe. I’ll never leave.”

Jisung blinked up at him, tears clinging to his lashes, his eyes glassy and wide.

“Why?” he asked, voice trembling. “Why would you stay through all of this?”

Minho smiled, brushing his thumb under Jisung’s eye, catching the tear that had fallen. “Because I love you. And loving you doesn’t stop just because things get hard. You’re not a burden. You’re my home. And quite honestly, nothing beats the look on your eyes when you’re remembering something, the victories. The strength. Jisung, you're the strongest person I know. Watching you learn and relearn things even with everything that’s happened, I never want to stop watching you progress, even if that means there will be steps backwards sometimes.”

That broke something in Jisung. He let out a choked sob and threw his arms around Minho’s neck, burying himself in him like he wanted to disappear into the safety of his warmth. Minho held him there, strong and steady, letting him cry, letting him be held, and letting him know without a doubt that he was never going to be alone.

Later that night, Jisung was draped across Minho’s bare chest like a weighted blanket, cheek pressed over his heart, fingers dragging aimless patterns across his skin. The room was warm and quiet, filled only with the low hum of the fan and the occasional creak of the old bed frame.

“Your heartbeat’s loud,” Jisung muttered, more to himself than anything.

Minho cracked one eye open. “You’re literally lying on top of it, genius.”

Jisung huffed. “Still. It’s like, obnoxiously alive.”

Minho let out a low laugh. “Sorry I didn’t die for your comfort.”

“You should be,” Jisung mumbled, mouth twitching into a smile he tried to hide. “Maybe then I could sleep in peace.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “You’d be so dramatic at my funeral.”

“I’d throw myself on your casket.”

“You wouldn’t even show up on time.”

“I’d probably be fashionably late,” Jisung said, lifting his chin just slightly. “Make an entrance. Collapse in front of everyone and whisper, ‘he was my soulmate.’”

Minho snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re warm,” Jisung replied smugly, burrowing back down.

Minho just shook his head, letting one hand settle in Jisung’s hair, scratching lightly between his ears. The jokes faded into quiet again, but the smile lingered between them.

Jisung shifted suddenly, propping himself up and swinging a leg over Minho’s hips in one smooth motion. He settled there comfortably, arms braced on either side of Minho’s torso, his ears twitching with mischief and a slow, playful grin spreading across his face.

Minho blinked up at him, immediately suspicious. “…What.”

Jisung tilted his head, the light catching in his eyes just right to make that glint unmistakable. “Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Maybe,” Jisung admitted, lowering himself just enough that Minho could feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. “You’ve been very good to me lately. I figured you deserved a reward.”

Minho gave him a wary look, though his hands had already settled on Jisung’s thighs. “Why do I feel like this reward is going to come with consequences?”

Jisung laughed softly, his tail flicking behind him. “Because it probably will.” He leaned down and kissed him, slow but full of heat, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Minho let out a breathless sound against his mouth, smiling despite himself. “You’re dangerous.”

Jisung grinned. “I know.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, already feeling his breath catch. “What’re you up to?” he asked, his voice low and amused.

Instead of answering, Jisung rolled his hips forward with slow intention, the movement confident and deliberate. His hands settled against Minho’s bare chest, fingers trailing playfully across skin as he leaned down, brushing his lips just barely along Minho’s jaw.

From this angle, Jisung really felt like a cat, perched on top of him, but Minho didnt have time to sit there and coo at how cute he was. 

Minho exhaled, his hands instinctively finding Jisung’s waist. The warmth of Jisung’s body over his, the ease with which they moved together sent a rush of heat through him, tension building beneath the surface. Jisung knew exactly what he was doing.

“Missed this,” Jisung murmured against his skin, voice dipped low. “Missed you.”

Minho’s throat bobbed with a swallow. “I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered back, running his thumbs in slow circles against Jisung’s sides.

The noises Jisung made in response were soft, breathy, and far too tempting. Minho could feel the steady pulse of arousal beneath the surface, his body reacting easily, automatically, drawn in by every shift and sigh. Jisung smirked, clearly noticing, clearly pleased.

Their kisses deepened, hunger tangled up in the warmth and comfort of their connection. It wasn’t just about touch, it was about familiarity, about being known, about coming back to something that still felt like home even after everything.

And Minho let himself get lost in it. Every single grind that Jisung arched back on him, his cock responded, twitching in interest. Minho could feel the hybrid smirking in this kiss, knowing the effects his ministrations had on the elder. 

While only breaking the kiss momentarily, Jisung managed to get his shirt off, leaning back to look down on Minho, who looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. He always knew how to get his way with him. 

Both of them were feeling the weight of built-up need not just for touch, but for the kind of closeness they hadn’t dared to reach for in weeks. They’d spent so many nights curled up together, cocooned in quiet comfort, but bare skin against bare skin was something else entirely. Something they both craved more than they’d realized.

Jisung pressed his palms to Minho’s chest, using the leverage to roll his hips downward again. He could feel the growing tension in Minho’s body, the way every subtle shift drew a reaction. He was pushing just enough to bring Minho to the edge, teasing at the limits of his restraint.

He leaned in, their hips aligned just right now, the friction unmistakable even through the fabric. Jisung’s breath hitched as he brushed against him again, dragging his lips along Minho’s before nipping at his bottom lip roughly. 

Minho groaned, the sound escaping louder than he meant to. Jisung didn’t let up, his pace bold, purposeful. He knew exactly what he was doing. And he knew exactly how long it would take before Minho snapped.

It happened fast. One more bite, one more pull and Minho’s hands gripped tight around Jisung’s hips, flipping them over with a strength that sent the air whooshing from Jisung’s lungs.

Now on his back, Jisung looked up at him, eyes wide and gleaming, breath coming fast. Minho hovered above him, gaze dark, pulse racing.

“You’re driving me crazy baby. You aren’t playing fair.” Minho said, voice low and rough. 

At that, Jisung was speechless. His bratty persona flying out the window. He had played the game to get what he wanted, and this was it. As much as Jisung loves poking Minho’s buttons with teasing here and sarcasm there, it's all for the end goal, making Minho put him back in his place. 

His pulse quickened, realizing that he had finally pushed Minho far enough. This was the moment he’d been chasing with every coy smirk, every taunting grind of his hips. And now, staring up at Minho’s dark eyes, he felt the weight of what he’d summoned in the way Minho’s hands flexed at his sides, in the tension rippling through his arms as he held himself barely back.

Minho dipped lower, his mouth brushing against the corner of Jisung’s jaw, not kissing yet, just hovering, hot and heavy. Jisung sucked in a breath and instinctively arched, trying to close the space between them.

But Minho didn’t move.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" he murmured, the words grazing Jisung’s skin like the scrape of velvet. Jisung whimpered, his fingers tightening in the bedsheets. He didn’t trust his voice, not when everything in his body was already burning and buzzing under the weight of Minho’s focus. Still, he nodded, small and desperate.

Minho's mouth curved into a grin, something wolfish and satisfied. "Then lie still and take it like the good boy I know you are."

That shattered whatever restraint Jisung had left. He gasped, the noise high and needy, and he didn’t care anymore about being bratty or smug. All that melted out of him in the face of Minho’s control. He was nothing but raw nerves now already aching for more.

Minho finally kissed him, deep and claiming, and Jisung melted beneath it. Every thought, every tease, every plan fell away like smoke, and all that was left was the way Minho touched him firmed and assured. 

It left him breathless, but what unraveled Jisung even more wasn’t the heat but the difference.

Minho had spent so long handling him like glass. Every time Jisung forgot something, his name, the day, where he was, Minho was there. Always calm. Always kind. He never flinched, never sighed in frustration. He would guide Jisung back with soft touches and softer words, like he was leading him out of a storm. And not once did he ever make Jisung feel stupid or broken. Even on the worst days, when Jisung couldn’t hide the tears of shame or the fear in his chest, Minho would just hold him and say, It’s okay. I’ve got you. We’ll do this together.

So to have Minho here now, pressing him down, voice rough, hands firm, it lit Jisung up from the inside.

It was so unlike the careful caretaking Jisung had come to rely on. This wasn’t the Minho who whispered reassuring things in the dark, who double-checked the stove, who left post-it notes with little smiley faces on the fridge so Jisung wouldn’t forget to eat. This was the Minho who was pushed past the edge, who took control without hesitation, who didn't ask Jisung what he needed because he knew.

And it did something to Jisung. It made his chest tighten and his whole body ache in the best possible way. Because it meant Minho wasn’t holding back out of pity. It meant Minho saw him as strong enough to handle this, to want this.

It meant Minho wanted him and not the fragile version he had to tiptoe around, but him , Jisung, as he was right now. His hips arched up again before he could stop them, silently begging for more. For Minho’s weight, his authority, his approval.

“Please,” Jisung whispered, barely able to get the word out.

Minho smiled, low and dangerous, and ducked down to kiss him again, slower this time, deeper. His hand slid up Jisung’s side, warm and sure, and when he spoke again, his voice was a rough murmur against Jisung’s lips.

Without breaking the kiss, Minho’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, slow and steady, dragging the fabric down Jisung’s hips in one fluid motion.

Jisung moaned softly, the sound swallowed by Minho’s mouth. He lifted his hips automatically, helping him, eager and unashamed. The cool air on his skin made him shiver, but Minho’s touch chased away the cold just as fast.

Even now, even like this, Minho’s movements were precise, practiced. It made Jisung feel like he was being undone in the most deliberate way.

Minho finally pulled back just enough to look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with want. He tossed the discarded pants aside and smoothed his hands up Jisung’s thighs, spreading him open like he belonged there, laid out beneath him.

Minho’s palms slid up the insides of Jisung’s thighs, rough and warm, calloused just enough to make him shiver. The pressure wasn’t gentle, it was firm, possessive, like he was staking his claim with every slow pass of his hands. But there was something tender about it, too. Something deliberate. As if he was reminding Jisung that even now, even when he was unraveling him with every touch, he was still his . Still safe.

Jisung gasped, hips twitching, the sensation sending sparks racing through him. The contrast made his skin burn. Minho’s hands were so sure and so slow, dragging just close enough to tease but never touching where he needed him most.

He clenched the sheets beneath him, trying to stay still, but Minho’s touch made that impossible. The heat of it. The way he kneaded into muscle and soft skin, working his way higher like Jisung belonged to him. And he did. God, he did.

Minho’s gaze never left him. His eyes flicked between Jisung’s flushed face and the way his thighs trembled under his touch, and there was that look again. That impossible mix of control and affection. Like he was savoring the moment and the effect he had. Like this wasn’t just about lust.

“You’re so easy to ruin,” Minho murmured, dragging his hands up higher, his thumbs brushing the crease where thigh met hip, making Jisung jolt.

“But you’re mine to ruin,” he added, voice like gravel and silk all at once.

Jisung moaned, the sound slipping out before he could stop it, and Minho smiled slowly, crooked, and full of heat.

He leaned down, brushing his mouth over Jisung’s jaw, his voice barely a breath now.

“You love this, don’t you?”

Jisung nodded, eyes fluttering shut, breath shallow.

Minho’s lips ghosted over his ear.

“Then don’t you dare look away.”

“Minho,” he breathed, voice already cracking with want. He opened his eyes, glassy and desperate, reaching blindly to curl his fingers into Minho’s wrist. “Please.”

Minho’s hands paused. He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with him, and Jisung nearly broke from how calm he looked. Like he had all the time in the world while Jisung was falling apart beneath him.

“Please,” Jisung said again, the word sharper this time, more frantic. “Just... just touch me.”

Minho tilted his head slightly, that unreadable look back on his face. “I am touching you.”

“You know what I mean,” Jisung whispered, his thighs spreading a little wider in invitation. “I can’t- I can’t wait anymore. I need you to- Minho, please, just touch me. ”

His voice cracked again at the end, trembling. 

Minho’s expression finally shifted. Something softer flickered through his eyes, but it didn’t dull the hunger underneath. He leaned down until their foreheads touched, breathing with him, anchoring him.

“You’ve been so good,” Minho murmured. “So patient.”

Jisung nodded quickly, every part of him straining upward. “I tried. I was trying so hard. I just want-”

“I know, baby,” Minho said, one hand sliding between Jisung’s legs, finally touching where he needed him. The contact made Jisung cry out, his hips jerking, back arching off the bed.

Minho kissed him through it, swallowing every broken sound, every gasp, every moan like he’d been starving for them. His hand moved with intention now, no more teasing, and Jisung hurriedly gripped whatever piece of Minho his hands could find first. One arm gripping his shoulder and the other on his bicep. 

Minho had graciously set an easy pace, stroking Jisung’s cock at a steady rhythm, applying just enough pressure around the head in order for each stroke to elicit a high pitched whimper from the hybrid. He hovered his lips just above his mouth, Jisung essentially breathing his moans into the elder like a life force. 

Jisung’s cat ears were airplaning onto the pillow behind him, twitching erratically at the shivers that were being sent through him. 

Minho’s hand moved with a rhythm that left Jisung gasping, his body so warm and pliant under the touch it felt like he might melt into the sheets. The tension curled low in his belly, winding tighter with every stroke, every whisper of Minho’s breath against his skin.

And then Minho pulled back just slightly, just enough to look down with his gaze darkening as he took in the glossy sheen coating his fingers, the evidence of Jisung’s need already slicking between his thighs.

Minho groaned, deep and low in his chest. “Already so wet for me?”

Jisung whimpered, flushing with heat but far too gone to be embarrassed. His body knew what it needed, responding to Minho with instinct that ran deeper than thought. His hybrid biology made it easy, his slick clung to Minho’s fingers, warm and wanting, proof of how much his body trusted him.

Minho brought his hand up to press against Jisung’s hip, grounding him.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “You don’t even need me to prep you, do you?”

Jisung shook his head, breathless. “N-no. I’m ready, I promise. Just- Minho, please-”

He reached down, lining himself up with slow, steady care, the head of his cock nudging against Jisung’s entrance. Even with the slick easing the way, Minho didn’t rush. He held Jisung’s gaze, waiting for the smallest flinch, the faintest hesitation.

Jisung only nodded, lips parted, thighs trembling around his hips as he whispered, “I want you.”

And Minho gave in.

The stretch made Jisung cry out, legs tightening instinctively, but it was good and full that his body was made to take this, to take him. Minho groaned, fingers digging into his hips as he sank in slow, inch by inch, overwhelmed by how hot and tight and ready Jisung was for him.

Once he was fully seated, both of them panting, Minho leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, soft as anything.

“You’re mine,” he said against his skin.

The moment he was sure Jisung could take it, his rhythm shifted, hips snapping forward in a relentless pace that stole the breath right out of Jisung’s lungs. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, wet and raw and dizzying, but Jisung only moaned louder, head tilting back as his fingers clutched at the sheets.

It was brutal. Deep. Every thrust had weight behind it, like Minho was trying to imprint himself into Jisung’s body, like he couldn’t stand the idea of holding anything back anymore.

And Jisung loved it.

Because Minho always treated him with care, moving slowly, speaking gently, as if one wrong word might send him spiraling. But not tonight. Tonight Minho didn’t hesitate. He didn’t stop to ask if Jisung was okay, and didn't pause to check his expression every few seconds. He just took him, like he knew Jisung could handle it.

And that trust, God, lit something up in him.

Jisung sobbed out a breath, not in pain, but in release. Every snap of Minho’s hips only anchored him deeper in the moment, made him feel something he hadn’t in so long: strong, capable, wanted, not despite his past, but because of who he was now.

He met each thrust with his own, thighs trembling from effort but refusing to give in. He wanted Minho to see and feel that he wasn’t made of glass. That he could take everything Minho gave and still beg for more.

“Fuck, baby,” Minho gritted out, voice cracking. “You’re taking me so well.”

The praise hit Jisung like fire. He moaned, high and shameless, hands reaching up blindly until they found Minho’s shoulders, clutching him tight.

“Don’t stop,” he gasped. “Please, Minho, don’t hold back. I can take it- I want all of it.”

Minho groaned, burying his face in the crook of Jisung’s neck, hips stuttering just for a second before slamming in harder. “You’re perfect. So perfect like this.”

And through the burn, the stretch, the dizzy pleasure that sparked in every nerve, Jisung smiled.

Because he wasn’t being protected tonight.

He was being claimed .

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

-----------

Minho tore open a packet of sugar and stirred it into his cup slowly.

“You always eat the crust first,” he said, nodding toward Jisung’s plate.

Jisung shrugged, not looking up. “It gets it out of the way.”

Minho hummed, watching as Jisung methodically worked through his food. 

“I think the coffee’s worse than last time,” Minho said after a beat.

“It’s always bad. You say that every time.”

“I’m not wrong.”

Jisung finally glanced up, chewing. “Then stop ordering it.”

Minho leaned back, letting the cheap vinyl booth creak beneath him. “Nah.”

Jisung only laughed as he playfully rolled his eyes before reaching over and stealing a piece of bacon off Minho’s plate like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Minho said flatly.

Jisung gave a noncommittal shrug, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

They sat in silence for a while. The comfy kind, simply basking in each others gaze. 

Jisung’s foot bumped Minho’s under the table and didn’t move away.

Minho looked up, and Jisung was already looking at him.

“You sleep okay?” Minho asked.

Jisung nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t dream, I think.”

Minho didn’t say anything right away, just offered a small, slow nod.

“That’s good,” he said.

Jisung reached for his water, took a sip, then leaned back and stretched his legs under the table, foot still pressed lazily against Minho’s.

“You know what I’ve realized this week?” Minho said.

Jisung didn’t look up, still focused on his food. “What? That I’ve secretly been putting your dirty clothes in my hamper so I’ll end up doing your laundry?”

Minho blinked. “No. I already knew about that, babe.”

Jisung snorted, finally glancing over with a smirk. “Yeah, figured.”

Minho tapped his fingers once against his coffee cup. “I was thinking about how you haven’t really forgotten anything this whole week.”

Jisung’s smile faltered, just a fraction. He looked down again, nudging the food around on his plate.

“I noticed it a few days ago,” Minho went on, voice low. “But I didn’t want to say anything too soon. Didn’t wanna jinx it.”

Jisung was quiet for a second, then shrugged lightly. “I didn’t either.”

There was no fanfare in his voice or excitement. Just a simple truth. And maybe that’s what made it land harder.

Minho leaned in a little, elbow still resting on the table, eyes on Jisung’s profile. “You remembered your meds on your own. The plants were only watered once. You even remembered your appointment’s bus route on your own.”

Jisung made a low sound like he was trying not to react, but the corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “And the laundry thing?”

Minho cracked a smile. “Still unforgivable.”

Jisung shrugged again, picking up his glass of water. “It’s easier now. The remembering, I mean.”

Minho didn’t say anything right away. He just reached across the table and brushed his fingers over Jisung’s wrist, barely a touch, just enough to be there. To say I know without saying anything at all.

Outside the diner window, the early morning light was starting to turn gold.

Inside, everything felt steady.

“Let’s just keep going,” Jisung said softly.

Minho nodded. “Yeah. We will.”