Archive of Our Own

It’s no secret: The Secret of Willow Creek is a colossal waste of potential. Lee draws us in with an interesting heroine, quirky and independent Ruby who has just moved to her late aunt’s cottage along Willow Creek following the death of her brother. She believes it to be a murder, appalled at her family’s willingness to accept lies fed to them by the police that rule his death as a suicide. They act as if she’s gone mad, and Ruby starts to suspect they’re in on his death, so she flees to the cottage.

It starts off strong with intense emotions from the heroine, an intriguing mystery, and beautiful yet eerie imagery as she settles into the lonely cottage. But it isn’t as lonely as it first seems, Ruby realizes when she starts hearing strange noises at night that sound more and more like voices as time goes on.

As a reader, you’d think surely these voices must have something to do with her deceased brother. You know, the main point of the novel—which is a mystery novel, mind you. Instead, it turns out to be a dead ex-lover’s ghost haunting the nearby creek, and the romance “subplot” ends up nearly overshadowing the mystery the book was marketed as.

Now, if you’re a regular on my blog, you know I don’t mind a bit of well-written romance sprinkled in here and there, but this is a bit much. It isn’t the first time, either; judging by his last few titles, Lee seems to be forgetting his roots and shifting his focus a little too much towards his characters’ romantic endeavors. Gone are the days of Lee’s independent heroines who were too focused on solving the mystery to return their ex-boyfriends’ calls, or wouldn’t let a literal ghost distract them from investigating the death of their own brother.

But back to Willow Creek specifically. Here’s why the romance doesn’t work:

Minho slams his laptop shut with a little more force than necessary. He leans back in his chair, runs a hand through his hair, and sighs all at once.

The last thing he wants to do is give page views to stick-up-the-ass critics who have never written a word except to demean others but think they have the right to judge him and his work so harshly. Normally, he wouldn’t give a shit about what people think, as long as he’s happy with what he’s created and it puts food on the table (and in his cats’ bowls). But, as his publisher so kindly reminds him when he says as much, it’s kind of his job to give a shit about what his readers think.

He’d been the one to send Minho the link to this review, accompanied by an ominous We need to talk. Minho is expecting a phone call any minute now that he’s had enough time to read the article, even if he refuses to finish it.

Allowing himself a moment of petulance, Minho throws his head against the back of his leather chair and whines. He’s been stuck on this one scene in his new story all day, his stomach growling and head starting to throb from neglect, and now this business with another influx of bad reviews and an impending lecture from his publisher, or worse, getting fired—

Minho slides out of his chair and crumples onto the floor next to his cat Soonie who had been standing by vigilantly, scratching under his chin before running a hand down his back, seeking comfort. He smiles when Soonie nudges his face against Minho’s, purring.

“You always know exactly what to say,” Minho murmurs, giggling as Soonie flops down cutely on his side and shows off his soft, round belly. He pets him a bit more before a glance at the clock tells him it’s almost feeding time, so Minho figures he may as well get it over with and maybe stick a sad, frozen dinner in the oven for himself while he’s at it.

Once he’s fed the cats and turned the oven on, he pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and, on autopilot, ends up clicking on the dating app he’s been using more and more lately. He supposes he’s seeking comfort now, too, once he realizes what he’s doing; his conversations with one of his matches—the only message log on this app that’s survived more than a day or two—are always easy and pleasant, their back-and-forth never failing to lift his spirits.

In the past few months, Minho has been trying to date around a bit as per the suggestion of… pretty much everyone around him. His publisher is convinced it’s the solution to his newfound inability to write a mystery novel without shoehorning a sappy romance in the middle of it, his friends are convinced he needs someone in his life besides his cats (not true), and even his mom is adamantly encouraging Minho to put himself out there.

The thing is, guys in LA fucking suck. Minho hasn’t been on a single good date, the men he’s gone out with ranging from douchey and hypermasculine to less appealing than stale white bread. He figures at this point his next novel title should be The Mystery of Minho’s Missing Match, or something equally as alliterative and hopeless.

His poor luck with dating locally led his friend Felix to snatch Minho’s phone and increase the radius on his dating profile, no longer searching for matches in LA alone but practically across the entire country. It was a rather drastic change and Minho was hesitant at first, not sure how he felt about trying to form a romantic connection with someone so far away, but he supposed he had nothing to lose and went for it, if only to appease his friend.

One of the first people he hesitated on after swiping left on dozens of men was named Jisung. He was tall, slender, looked like a goddamn model with soft, beautiful features and shoulder-length silky black hair. Full lips, pretty eyes, and a mole under his left eye that only added to his charm. He was a dancer, too, like Minho, liked the same movies and webtoons (Minho found it cute that he mentioned some of them in his profile), and before Minho could contemplate any further, Felix had lunged forward and swiped right for him.

It wasn’t long after that that he got a notification saying he had a new match, and despite Jisung being thousands of miles away, Minho said fuck it and messaged him.

Within the first five minutes of talking to him, Minho was already having the best conversation he’d had on the app by far, Jisung’s wit and charm having him giggling well into the night. On top of their good chemistry from the get-go, Jisung had fawned over Minho’s cats and learned their names that same night, so Minho was pretty much doomed from the beginning.

It’s been a few weeks of nonstop chit-chat, late night phone calls, innocent flirting, and liking Jisung more and more with every day that passes, and Minho isn’t quite sure what to do about it. Them. Is there a “them,” or is he silly for thinking, hoping there ever could be when Jisung is so far away?

I’m getting way ahead of myself, Minho thinks, sighing and closing the app before he can say something stupid to Jisung like I wish you were here. He’s only known him for a few weeks, for fuck’s sake—and yet, he’d go so far as to say that the connection he has with Jisung is unlike anything he’s felt before.

He’s brought out of his thoughts when he’s startled by a knock on the door, deflating when he makes an educated guess at who could be standing on the other side. Sure enough, when he peers through the peephole, his publisher is on the other side, staring right into Minho’s eyes. Or, well, eye. Whatever. It’s creepy.

Minho exhales, bracing himself for whatever fate awaits him, and slides the lock off of his door before opening it warily. “What do you want.”

“Hi,” Seungmin says too cheerily, worming his way past him and into his home. Pest. “How was your date last weekend?”

The first time Seungmin had pried into his love life (or lack thereof), Minho thought it was highly unprofessional and rude. He still does. It’s just that he’s used to it by now.

“Oh, hello, Seungmin,” he snarks, closing the door. “Sure, come on in! Oh, I’m fine, thanks. And yourself?”

Seungmin seats himself on Minho’s sofa, crossing his legs and staring expectantly. “Answer the question, Minho.”

Drunkenly bring a guy home once and he thinks he owns the place, Minho thinks bitterly. Outwardly, he huffs and plops down on the opposite end of the sofa. “What do you think? It was shitty. He ‘forgot his wallet,’ ordered half the menu for himself, and then tried to get me to come home with him.”

Seungmin wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Gross. What about the dreamboat you’ve been talking to?”

Minho bristles. “The what now?”

Seungmin smiles, deceptively sweet. “Felix tells me things, you know.”

“Felix…” Minho squints, but try as he may, he doesn’t think he could be mad at Felix for more than a split second.

“Don’t get mad at him; he’s just excited for you.” Seungmin settles into the sofa, his elbow propped on the back and his fist against his cheek, facing Minho fully now. “But anyway, how are things going with him? Good?”

Minho tries to will away the smile he can feel forming from the mere thought of Jisung. “None of your business. Christ, you’re so nosy.”

“I’m just trying to do my job, Minho.”

“I didn’t know it was your job to pry into my personal matters.”

“I’m just getting to the root of the… issues that are affecting your work,” Seungmin says, and Minho’s smile turns into a glare. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I think you’re sad and lonely and you’re projecting the love you want into your stories.”

Minho feels his skin burn hot. Maybe it’s indignation, maybe shame. “Okay thanks—”

“But it doesn’t work,” Seungmin continues, disregarding him. “When you focus that much on romance, the mystery element that your readers love so much suffers. Did you finish reading that review I sent you? There are dozens like that. Sales are taking a hit. Something needs to change.”

“Okay, so no more romance,” Minho says. “No more relationships. Screw the friendships, too. Every protagonist from now on will be a boring piece of shit with no love in their lives and could easily be replaced with a mystery-solving lamp.”

Seungmin frowns. “Minho.”

“I know,” Minho sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. I’ll tone down the romance.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Seungmin counters, and Minho’s eyebrows twitch. “Your heart won’t be in it if you’re not writing what you want to write. Your audience knows the difference.”

“Okay, so are you telling me to stop or not?”

“I’m telling you that you need to figure some things out,” he answers. “Here’s what I think you should do: take a break. Do some introspecting. Go visit this guy you like for Christmas and see if it goes anywhere.”

“Seungmin,” Minho sighs, “you all think I—Listen, I don’t need this. I don’t need a partner. It’s not going to fix me or whatever. I’m not broken. I’ve always done just fine on my own—”

“Look, Minho.” Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “I get it. I know you, to some extent, as much as you hate the idea of it. I know you don’t want to feel like you need anyone and sure as hell won’t admit to it, but to me? Your art alone speaks volumes.” Minho opens his mouth to argue, but Seungmin keeps going. “I know you’re not broken, and I know you can get on just fine by yourself. But are you happy like this? Think about that.”

Minho stays still while Seungmin stands to leave as if pinned down by an invisible force. Seungmin stops in front of him, giving him a small, genuine smile. “As your friend,” he says, and here’s where Minho would retort that mortal enemy would be more fitting if his tongue didn’t feel like lead, “here’s my advice: Don’t write for a few weeks. Figure out what it is that you have with this guy, and really think about what I said. Be honest with yourself.

“As your publisher, the bottom line is that you need to commit to writing mystery or rebrand yourself as a romance novelist, or the company won’t renew your contract.” Seungmin sticks his hand out in front of Minho’s face and he blinks at it, confused. “Can I treat you to some dinner as compensation for reading you for filth?”

Minho regains his composure somewhat, scoffing and nudging Seungmin’s hand aside as he stands on his own, moving to grab his coat and electing to ignore everything he’s just said. “Shut up. We both know you can’t read.”

✧

Minho had let Seungmin’s soul-piercing words float to the back of his mind for the duration of their meal, and he’s secretly grateful towards Seungmin for keeping any other conversations of the night light and casual, but as soon as they part ways they’re brought to the forefront of his mind again.

Are you happy like this? happens to stick with him the most.

Happy. Minho likes to think he’s fairly happy. He has everything he needs; his parents and cats are in good health, he gets to write books like he’d always dreamed of doing as a child, he has a decent second job to keep him busy and living comfortably. He isn’t unhappy.

It would be nice to have someone to share his life with, sure. His home, his cats, his cold bed. He can argue with Seungmin’s assumptions all he’d like, but perhaps Minho is starting to see where he gets the idea that Minho is lonely and yearning for love. It makes him feel a little pathetic to admit it to himself, but maybe he is a little lonely, and all the failed dates he’s been on certainly haven’t helped or given him any hope.

Minho finds himself stopping at the liquor store on the corner on his walk home, picking up a bottle of cheap wine and unscrewing the lid as soon as he’s returned and greeted his cats. Just as soon as he’s poured himself a glass, he’s pressing the call icon on Jisung’s contact, not quite willing to confront Seungmin’s verbal assault lingering in his mind just yet and hoping the wine and Jisung’s voice will be enough to drown out his thoughts.

“Hey!”

“Hi,” Minho breathes with an embarrassing grin, avoiding Doongie’s judgmental stare. “Are you busy? Tired?”

“Nope, I’m all yours,” Jisung replies, and Minho can imagine his pretty face smiling sweetly, his own cheeks warming at the words. “What’s up?”

Minho takes a generous sip of his wine. “Nothing, just…” He stares into the glass as he swirls it and decides to be honest. Just without the details; Jisung doesn’t need to know his publisher is grilling him for being single. How embarrassing. “Wanted a distraction, I guess.”

“And here I thought you just missed my voice,” Jisung sighs, feigning offense. Minho tries not to dwell on how grateful he is for Jisung, never pressing for details when Minho isn’t in the mood to talk about it.

“Mm, it has been almost a full forty-eight hours since I’ve last heard it. I almost forgot what you sounded like.”

“How dare you!” he gasps, and Minho feels like a teenager again, stifling giggles at his crush’s every word. “Some might call my voice unforgettable. Probably. Maybe.”

Minho might agree even if he has yet to hear Jisung sing, but he won’t say it out loud. “You still owe me a video of you singing. Or you can perform for me right now. A concert in the comfort of my living room.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jisung says pensively. “I don’t think you and your cats could handle me.”

“I beg to differ!” Minho scoffs. “I could handle you just fine.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Jisung asks, the suggestive lilt to his voice making Minho blush.

“I’m sure of it,” he responds, running a hand down his third cat Dori’s back as he gazes at him thoughtfully. “Dori, though… You might blow his socks off.”

“Not the socks!” Jisung cries (referring, of course, to the white toes that Dori sports which he and Minho lovingly refer to as his socks).

“Yeah, so be careful,” Minho warns, smirking into his glass as he takes another sip.

After some more chatter, they decide to watch a movie together, syncing it up through a countdown and providing unnecessary but comforting commentary throughout. He likes hearing Jisung’s opinions, feeling fond at just how much thought he puts into the characters and the motives behind their actions. It’s almost like he’s right there with him on his sofa, his warm body pressed up against Minho’s, and Minho could just lean his head on his shoulder and…

“Minho?”

Minho jolts awake to the sight of the credits rolling over a black screen, Jisung’s voice coming through his phone (not from beside him, he notes with a pang of longing) on speaker from its place on the armrest.

“Are you awake?” Jisung asks, more quietly.

Minho hums in response, rolling his shoulders. “Sorry. Long day.”

“It’s okay,” Jisung says softly. “Why don’t you go brush the wine out of your mouth and get yourself in bed?”

Minho’s eyebrows pinch together as he casts a glance towards his window—curtains still drawn—as he briefly wonders if Jisung is in fact not far away in northeast America and instead a creepy stalker on his balcony.

“Did I tell you that?” he wonders, rubbing his eyes before picking up his phone and heading for the bathroom.

“No, you just get cute and giggly when you drink, I’ve noticed,” Jisung says, sounding proud of the information he’s gleaned—smug, really.

“Wow,” Minho says flatly, hoping not to betray the way the words fluster him. “I’ll have you know I’m always cute.”

“I’m sure you are,” Jisung coos. Minho rolls his eyes and informs Jisung that he’s going to mute himself to get ready for bed, sleepily going through the motions until he’s entering his bedroom and stripping down to his underwear before curling up under the covers. He sets his phone on the pillow next to his, reluctant to end their call just yet when Jisung makes him feel so warm and fuzzy.

Speaking of warm and fuzzy—Soonie is jumping up on Minho’s bed not a minute after he’s gotten comfortable, seeking out a place to settle for the night and purring as Minho greets him with scratches. Minho is utterly content with Soonie curling up behind his knees and Jisung’s voice prattling on about his family’s Christmas traditions. The only thing that could make it better is if Jisung were really with him right now, a warm body for Minho to press up against. He wonders if Jisung is a blanket hog, if he’s a big or little spoon, if he’s like an oversized space heater or if he runs cold and would seek out Minho’s warmth.

He allows his mind to run free with the thoughts, too tired to try and stop them, as he lets his eyes fall shut to the sound of Jisung’s voice.

“So yeah, basically I’m being held at gunpoint to run around freezing my ass off to sing Christmas carols to unwilling audiences,” Jisung is saying.

“Your mom sounds lovely,” Minho snickers. He snuggles into his pillow, then mumbles, “Should practice on me.”

“Practice Christmas carols?”

“Mhm.”

There’s a pause before Jisung sings in a comical, nasally voice that Minho can only think to describe as gremlin-esque, “We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas—”

Minho cuts in with a groan, slapping his hand over his phone as if it would deal damage to Jisung himself, but he only laughs in response.

“Okay, okay, you want me to sing for real?” Jisung asks.

“Yes.”

“This isn’t one of the carols, but it’s a classic, so—” He clears his throat, hums some familiar opening notes, then sings, “I don’t want a lot for Christmas…”

Minho breaks out into a grin that almost hurts his cheeks. He can tell Jisung is still playing around with his exaggerated vibrato, but underneath it all it’s evident that he really does have a lovely singing voice even though he only sings the intro before claiming he forgot the rest; Minho assumes he’s just nervous, which is okay. He’s done more than enough to satisfy his curiosity for now.

“I like your voice,” Minho admits, letting his eyes close again. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” Jisung says, sounding shy for once. “You sound sleepy. Want me to sing you a lullaby?”

Minho cracks an eye open to stare dubiously at his phone. “That depends, which voice am I getting?”

Jisung chuckles. “The real one.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it, real one.”

Jisung’s voice was nice even when laced with playfulness, but now as he sings softly and in earnest, a soothing tune that Minho can’t place, it’s nothing short of beautiful. Jisung is beautiful.

And while Minho would love to hang onto every word, every note, every breath that makes him feel like Jisung is right next to him, the long day has long since caught up with him and it’s becoming harder to fight sleep when Jisung’s voice carries him right along to it. He gives in to the pull, drifting away to dream of that sweet voice and sweet eyes dotted with a mole.

✧

Minho awakens slowly to the morning sun streaming invasively through his curtains and thinks for probably the twentieth time in the past month that he should invest in some blackout curtains as a Christmas gift to himself.

Soonie is still faithfully curled up against him, and Minho smiles, reaching down to pet him and Doongie who’s resting on the other side of Minho. Dori is sprawled out at the foot of the bed, so Minho will have to wait to pet him when he decides to get up. What time is it, anyway?

Feeling around for his phone, Minho realizes it’s exactly where he left it last night when—right, when Jisung sung him to sleep. The corners of his mouth lift and his stomach flutters at the memory as he reaches for his phone, surprised to see their call is still going, the ticking timestamp reading 14:25:02.

“Jisung?” he tries softly; he knows Jisung tends to sleep late, but he is three hours ahead of Minho, after all, and he’s pleased when he gets a reaction even if it is just a grunt. “Are you awake?”

There’s rustling on the other end as Jisung hums, his voice deep and rough with sleep when he says, “Just woke up. You?”

“I just woke up, too.” He makes an unflattering noise as he stretches his arms high above his head and stares at the ceiling, willing his body to move until Jisung speaks up again.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Oh no. Minho thought he’d long since abandoned that habit.

“What did I say?” he asks, apprehensive.

“I dunno, mostly nonsense. Something about shooting down a UFO with a slingshot and some oranges I think, but I’m not sure.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that sounds about right. My old roommates always told me I did or said weird shit in my sleep. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You did,” Jisung says, chuckling. “But it’s okay; it was funny. You’re cute.”

Minho thinks it should be illegal to make him blush this early in the morning.

“Says the one who sang me a lullaby,” he grumbles.

“Says the one who fell asleep to said lullaby almost instantly!”

“It was not instantly,” Minho insists, scratching Doongie between the ears as he sits up and smiles at his phone like a fool. “I was listening long enough to know that you have a really lovely voice.”

“Ahh…” Jisung clicks his tongue, Minho grinning harder when he realizes he’s succeeded in flustering him with the compliment. “Thanks. Just so you know, you’re singing me to sleep next time.”

Minho is too taken with the implication of a next time to argue. It’s a strangely intimate thing for a pair separated by so much distance, falling asleep to the sound of each other’s voices, and the butterflies in Minho’s stomach are starting to concern him.

“We’ll see about that.” He bites his tongue to keep from blurting out something stupid like I wish I could hear you sing in person. He’s getting more and more impulses to do stupid shit when it comes to Jisung. Dori stands up and stretches when he realizes Minho isn’t making a move to get up and feed him yet, making his way over to Minho with an indignant meow.

“Oh! Someone’s hungry,” Jisung coos. “You’d better go feed the babies. As much as I hate to end our slumber party, I need to go shower and get ready for work.”

“Could always just keep me on the line while you bathe,” Minho jokes in a deadpan voice as he tries to ease his way out of bed without disturbing the cats. He giggles when Jisung splutters.

“Uh—I mean, I just don’t think we’re at that point in our relationship yet,” he says. Our relationship, Minho’s brain repeats to him, unhelpfully. “Like—what if I slip and fall in the shower and die? That would be so humiliating.”

Minho laughs harder as he sets the phone on the kitchen counter and gets to work feeding his cats. “I think that would be humiliating regardless of what point you’re at in a relationship with someone. But I digress. Go take your lonely little shower.”

“I will!” he huffs. “And if I die, at least no one will be around to hear it!”

“That’s the spirit,” Minho says wryly. “Bye-bye, Jisungie.”

“Talk to you later, babe.”

Before Minho can even process the words, Jisung’s hung up. He stares at his phone like it’s sprouted little arms and started deadlifting his cutlery.

“Babe,” Minho repeats to himself. He turns to his cats, still waiting impatiently for their breakfast, and says again, “Babe?”

They all respond with a meow, telling Minho to shut the fuck up and hand over the Meow Mix, so he does, but it doesn’t keep babe from ringing in his ears.

He contemplates texting Jisung and teasing him over his use of the word, but he doesn’t know what to say. Also, Jisung might get the wrong idea and think Minho didn’t like it and not call him that again. He can’t have that.

Once he’s taken care of the cats and turned on his Keurig, Minho calls Felix.

“Hey!” comes his deep voice after one ring. “Do you want coffee? I’m close by—”

“Felix Lee Yongbok, take responsibility for your actions.”

He laughs, almost nervously. “What?”

“Also yes, I would like coffee please.”

“Is this about Jisu—”

Minho hangs up.

✧

“Yes, to answer your question, by the way,” Minho says to greet Felix as he’s handed his coffee. “Bagel?” he offers in return. Felix takes it with a smile.

“Thanks. And you know I don’t speak Minho. What are you talking about?”

Minho takes a sip as he makes his way to the sofa, then drums his fingers on the cup. “Jisung. This is your fault. You’re the one who matched him, not me, and so—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Felix laughs around a mouthful of bagel, sitting next to him. “What happened? Did he break your heart? Send a dick pic?” He gasps. “Did you get catfished?”

“No!” Minho sighs, sinking into the couch. “He just… I mean, okay, theoretically, let’s say I like him a lot.”

“Theoretically,” Felix repeats with a knowing smile.

“Yes. That’s what I said,” Minho snaps, biting back a smile. “Anyway, even if I did… I wouldn’t know what to do about it. He’s so far away.” He picks at the label on his coffee cup, embarrassed. Minho isn’t the type to ask for advice, really, not when he can avoid it. But he’s much more comfortable coming to Felix about it than anyone else, and he can only turn it over in his own head so many times before he needs a second opinion.

“So bridge the gap,” Felix says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Go see him for Christmas and figure out if what you have is real. Worth pursuing.”

Minho sucks his lower lip between his teeth and tries to pretend the idea is new to him, like he hasn’t daydreamed about it since week one. Fuck, he’s really hopeless.

“Isn’t that a bit,” Minho gestures vaguely, “insane? We’ve known each other for, like, a month.”

“So?” Felix grins. “There are no rules in love! Plus, you’ve got time anyway. I know Seungmin doesn’t want you writing for a while.”

“Just how often do you two discuss my personal business?” Minho grumbles into his cup. “And anyway, you know the restaurant—”

“Would be happy to give you the time off!” Felix finishes for him. “You haven’t missed a day all year. And you know the boss loves you. I don’t mind picking up the slack.”

“But my cats—”

“Would love to spend time with your parents at their old stomping ground,” Felix supplies again. “Or I could keep them for a bit. Or you could ask Seungmin…” He trails off with a snicker.

“I’d sooner die than put their safety in his hands.”

“I know,” Felix says sympathetically. “Any more excuses?”

Minho opens his mouth, then closes it. He still has plenty of concerns, all of which he’s certain Felix will have answers to, and he doesn’t want to appear that desperate for validation, so he decides to keep them to himself.

“No?” Then Felix states, “So you’re going.”

Minho hums. “I’ll think about it.”

And he does think about it. In fact, it’s all he can think about for the rest of the day.

Minho’s never been to Vermont. Actually, he rarely ever hears anything about it to the point that he second-guessed whether it was a real state when Jisung told him that’s where he lived. He’s never been high enough north during the winter to see a good snowfall, never had anyone to build snowmen or have snowball fights with or cuddle up in front of the fireplace afterwards with two cups of hot cocoa. Or the space heater. He’s not picky.

It would be nice to experience a white Christmas, Minho thinks. It would also be nice to see it with Jisung. To run his fingers through his long, silky hair, to get caught under the mistletoe, long arms wrapping around him, Minho standing up on his tip-toes to feel those plush lips against his own.

Minho sighs at the image, embarrassed that he’s letting his thoughts get so carried away. He’s being completely ridiculous, and honestly, it’s starting to piss him off.

He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need romance in his life. He’s just bored and, okay, maybe a little lonely, maybe a little more so with each miserable, unsuccessful date he goes on.

But he doesn’t need Jisung. It would be nice to have him, sure, if he lived closer, but Minho isn’t desperate and crazy enough to fly across the country to Springdale, Vermont for some guy he met online. Even if the guy seems to match his vibes and humor like no one else has before, loves his cats almost as if they were his own, and even if he makes Minho giggle and blush and want to bury his face in his pillow and squeal like a teenager. Even if ten minutes on the phone with him is worth ten times more than the countless nights Minho has spent trying to find someone who gets him like Jisung does.

He’s not that desperate.

Minho’s phone buzzes on the table beside him and he wills his hand not to dart for it. He can finish his dinner first. He doesn’t need to—

But he does anyway.

Jisung

[Image attached]
we just put the finishing touches on the christmas decorations!!
what do you think > 3<

wow
I mean like.. wow
your family is serious about christmas huh
it looks really good though

yeah they’re insane hahaha
it’s always fun though!

minus the caroling at gunpoint?

oh definitely

Minho smiles to himself and manages to finish his meal before he sets off to bother Soonie, placing a little Santa hat on his head and a pretty red bow around his neck. Soonie is more or less indifferent as Minho snaps photos, staring at him with wide, judgmental eyes, and Minho rewards him for his patience with scratches before sending the photos to Jisung.

[Images attached]
just finished decorating too

omg… no way
your decorations are so much better than mine :((
soonie’s so cute
what about the others??

Minho’s grin widens at Jisung correctly identifying his Soonie and is all too happy to oblige him, hunting down Doongie and Dori to put their respective bows and glittery Christmas glasses on them for their annual photoshoots.

I’m gonna cry… I love your cats
they just let you do that??!?

yep
they’re okay I guess~

haha but we’re missing one ;)

??

don’t tell me you don’t have one too
c’monn complete the holy quaternity

I don’t think that’s a thing but I could be wrong
[Image attached]

♡♡♡
my favorite kitty

The photo was nothing special or even remotely nice—he had stolen Doongie’s tiny little Santa hat and perched it atop his hair, puckered his lips exaggeratedly, and snapped a blurry picture with shitty lighting, but the hearts and comment Jisung sent in response made his own heart jump all the same.

Before he could ask Jisung to return the favor, he asks Minho what his plans are for the holidays. Not being entirely sure just what he was going to do about Jisung yet, Minho tells him he’s planning on just visiting his parents. Jisung then lists off all the activities his own family has planned, and Minho listens (or reads) intently, endeared by how excited they get about Christmas.

that all sounds fun
I miss being able to enjoy the holidays like that

and what’s stopping you?

..me, I guess lol

then do better
nah I completely get you
christmas would’ve lost its spark for me years ago if I didn’t have my family shoving it down my throat every year!

hahaha well you’re lucky to have them keeping the magic alive~

I guess… hehe
I wish you were here though
it’d be even better with you~
dare I say… more magical

You daren’t, Minho types back, grinning like a fool, heart hammering in his chest. I wish I were too.

Minho thinks that he is going to do something very stupid.

✧

It’s fucking cold.

Minho wore the biggest, thickest jacket he owns, but Vegas cold can’t hold a candle (icicle?) to Vermont cold. He may as well be buck naked for as much as his teeth are chattering in the freezing evening air as he stands outside the airport waiting for his Uber.

His Uber to take him to Springdale. To surprise Jisung, who has no idea he’s coming. He doesn’t even know his exact address.

I’m crazy, is all Minho can think. I’ve got to be clinically insane.

Still, he’s here. After speaking with his boss and dropping the babies off at his parents’ house, here he stands. Like an idiot. A stupid, cold idiot with a big, dumb crush.

Fuck, he hopes this doesn’t blow up in his face. Honestly though, Minho isn’t too worried about it, or else he wouldn’t be standing here. He thinks (hopes) Jisung will be thrilled to see him, might even find the gesture incredibly romantic judging by the cheesy types of movies he’s into—the same ones Minho secretly likes, too.

If not, well…

Well. He’ll cross that bridge if he comes to it.

His Uber finally arrives. He’d set his destination for a hotel to drop off his luggage at, not wanting to appear too presumptuous, and then to the middle of Magnolia Drive, having remembered Jisung mentioning his street name offhandedly because he thought it was pretty.

Minho spots it almost as soon as they’ve turned onto the street: one house with at least five times as many Christmas decorations as any of the others, all lit up in the night with familiar decor that Jisung had sent Minho photos of himself.

“That one,” Minho points out to the driver, his stomach collapsing in on itself with nerves, skin buzzing with excitement. Or maybe dread.

He thanks the driver and exits, breathing in the frigid air and exhaling it in a visible puff. He glances around at the yard—from small trees wrapped in lights to a blow-up Santa, reindeer, a Nativity scene, lights all around the roof and a pretty Christmas wreath on the front door. The house is fairly big—two stories, white, with a black roof. There are three cars in the driveway; Minho can only hope one of them belongs to Jisung.

He starts walking down the well-lit pathway to the front porch, takes another deep breath, and rings the doorbell before he can second-guess himself and beg the Uber driver to take him back to the airport.

Several agonizing seconds pass before a feminine face is peeking out of the window beside the door before she opens it with wide eyes. Minho assumes her to be his mother—she’s short, looks young, with round cheeks and eyes and black hair cropped at her shoulder—though he can’t see a resemblance. The hair seems to be the only thing they have in common.

“Hello,” she greets, looking a little surprised by the visit. Minho can’t blame her.

“Hi,” he starts sheepishly. “Um… Is Jisung here?”

Her lips form an ‘o.’ “No, he’s not, but he should be back any minute. Are you a friend? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We haven't,” Minho affirms with a smile. “I’m… you could say I’m a friend.”

He and Jisung had had a conversation once about their parents and their views on them being gay. Jisung had said it took his some time to come to terms with it (and his dad never did—but luckily his step-dad is much more tolerant) but that they’d come a long way and were now more than happy to support him. Still, Minho doesn’t want to overstep or say something he shouldn’t, but it seems he doesn’t have to because Jisung’s mother’s eyebrows raise like he’d just admitted everything to her.

“Oh,” she breathes, her face lighting up. “Are you and Jisung…?”

“Um,” says Minho. He tugs at his earlobe. It’s freezing cold.

“Dear, you’re turning red,” she teases, kind. Her eyes scan down to Minho’s clothes. “Or maybe that’s just from the cold. Ah, come inside! What are you doing out in this weather in such a thin sweater?”

“Thank you,” Minho says meekly, accepting her offer to step inside. “This is the warmest coat I own.” She blinks at him, bewildered. “I live in LA,” he tacks on.

“Oh my—” she gasps. “You came all this way for Jisung? Does he know?” She gasps again, more affronted. “He hasn’t said a thing to me about a love interest in LA!”

“He doesn’t know,” Minho tells her, wringing his hands as he’s led towards the dining table, faintly aware of the festive decor all around the house’s pretty interior. “So, um, he couldn’t give you a heads up. I apologize for showing up without notice—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” She beams, sitting across from Minho. “I’m just so happy Jisungie found someone. I worry about him. But you seem lovely, ah…?”

“Minho,” he supplies.

“Minho,” she repeats with a smile. “You can call me Jiho. Can I get you anything before I begin my mom interrogation? Water? Hot chocolate? Eggnog? Soda?”

“Water, if you don’t mind,” Minho says, polite and relatively unworried. If there’s one thing he’s confident in, it’s his ability to charm middle-aged women. Meeting the parents is the easy part, and he’s already getting it halfway done before he even meets Jisung in person for the first time.

Jiho returns with a glass of water and, predictably, asks Minho about his home in LA, his work, education, and so on. Minho takes the chance to talk about his cats before going on to explain that he works two jobs—one as a pastry chef and the other as a novelist.

“Oh! What genre? I do a lot of reading. Maybe I’ve read you before!”

“Mystery… I think?” Minho chuckles. “I doubt you’ve heard of me, but I write under my English name, Reno Lee—”

Jiho slams her hand down on the table so fast and hard that Minho jumps and nearly sends his glass of water flying. “Sorry! I just—Reno Lee?” She springs to her feet and shuffles over to the bookshelf in the den, pulling out a book from somewhere in the middle. “This Reno Lee?”

Minho recognizes the cover of his debut novel immediately and breaks out into an incredulous grin as he stands to join her, spying a handful of his other books on the shelf alongside the hole from the one she’d picked out. “That’s mine, yes. Wow, that’s…”

Jiho looks about two seconds away from jumping in the air and squealing with glee. “This is really yours?” she laughs, shaking her head as she stares at the book. “My book club and I are just in love with your works. Especially the latest one! Oh, I can’t believe my Jisung is dating Reno Lee…”

Before he can correct her and say that they’re not technically dating, though he hopes to be after this, the front door creaks open and Minho’s heart is dropping so fast he fears it may crash through the floorboards.

There’s a boy stepping in, tall and bundled up in a big, light pink coat. His hair is black and slightly curly, his face chiseled, eyes big and narrow but widening almost comically when they land on Minho. The expression on his face seems an awful lot like one of recognition, though Minho has never seen him before.

“Oh fuck,” leaves his mouth.

“Jeongin!” Jiho gives him a look somewhere between stern and amused. “Language.”

Jeongin. Right. Jisung’s step-brother. Jisung must have shown him a photo of Minho. For a second, Minho almost thought he got catfished or something—

“Are you gonna go in, or…?” a new voice snarks from behind Jeongin, frozen in the doorway. But the voice isn’t new to Minho—it’s one he’s heard countless times in the past month, one he’s grown so hopelessly fond of, one that sung him to sleep just a few nights ago. He’s hearing it in person. He’s seeing Jisung in person. His heart is going wild, like a trapped animal is trying to break out of his chest.

“Jisung,” his mother sings, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Huh?”

Jeongin steps aside, almost reluctantly, and reveals the man behind him. Minho holds his breath.

It probably disintegrates in his lungs. He doesn’t know. Minho doesn’t know anything.

All he knows is that the person standing in the doorway, dumbstruck, is not Jisung.

Eyes round like saucers meet Minho’s, wide and horrified like a deer caught in the headlights. His cheeks are round, like Jiho’s, his lips small, not thick and plush like the photos. He’s nothing like the photos. His hair isn’t long and black but burgundy and short, reaching the tips of his ears. He himself is short, about six inches shorter than Minho was expecting.

This has to be some kind of sick joke.

“Minho?” Jisung—no, fake Jisung—croaks.

Oblivious to the respective crises the two of them are having, Jiho continues, bounding over to pull her son into a hug, “You didn’t tell me you were dating one of my favorite authors, Jisung!”

Jisung remains motionless throughout the hug and his mother pulling back to shake his shoulders, staring slack-jawed at Minho who snaps his own mouth shut, trying to maintain his composure. He isn’t sure what he’s meant to do. Should he call Jisung out in front of his family? Leave without a word? Play along?

A third man enters the house which Minho can only assume to be Jisung’s step-father. He looks more like Jeongin, tall, with narrow eyes and a square jaw covered in a short beard. He blinks, looking around. “He’s dating who?”

Minho elects to bite his tongue as Jisung’s mother introduces him to his step-father, Doyun, playing along for now. Doyun seems elated to hear the news, and Minho supposes he should just be grateful that he isn’t being called homophobic slurs and getting himself and Jisung kicked out of the house.

“All right, then,” Jiho sighs, slotting Minho’s book back into its place on the bookshelf with a disbelieving smile still on her lips. “I should finish up dinner. Minho, you’ll join us, won’t you?”

“Oh, I-I don’t want to intrude—”

“Don’t be silly! We’d all love to have you,” she insists, giving him a smile as she passes him on her way back to the kitchen. She winks in Jisung’s direction. “Wouldn’t we, Jisung?”

Jisung, who’s been standing in the same spot looking mortified, forces out a chuckle. “Of course.” He meets Minho’s eye and quickly averts his gaze.

“Where are your things, Minho?” Doyun asks. “Jisung can help you get settled in while we wait for dinner.”

“I’m staying at a hotel, actually—”

“There’s no need for that!” Jiho calls from the kitchen. “We have plenty of room here, sweetheart. No hotels around here are worth all the money they charge, anyway.”

“That’s true,” Doyun nods along. “Jisung, why don’t you take Minho to pick up his luggage?” Minho glances at Jisung whose eyes somehow widen further.

“And lend him one of your coats!” Jiho chimes in again.

“I really appreciate it,” Minho starts, “but I really don’t want to impose, and—”

“It’s no trouble at all, son,” he interrupts with a firm hand on Minho’s shoulder and a kind smile. “We’d love to have you.”

“I—” Minho’s lips part uselessly before he nods in defeat. “Thank you.”

There’s no need to cause a scene. He’ll part ways with Jisung at the hotel and figure out what to do from there. Jisung can break the news about his catfishing business when he returns home. Alone.

“Well,” Doyun says, looking at Jisung expectantly. “Go ahead now so you’ll be back in time for dinner.”

Jisung nods jerkily. “Right. Um… I’ll get a coat.”

He disappears into a door near the kitchen. Jeongin gives Minho what looks to be an apologetic smile before wordlessly creeping up the stairs, and their father settles in his recliner and turns on the television, leaving Minho to stand there alone to stew in how fucking stupid he feels.

Jisung re-emerges with a big, padded, white coat in hand and approaches Minho, standing as far away as possible as he holds it out to him.

“Here you go,” he says quietly, eyes stuck to the floor. Minho clenches his jaw as he takes the coat and puts it on before following Jisung back out into the freezing night, glaring holes into the back of his head as they make their way for the driveway in silence.

Minho isn’t sure who he’s angrier at: Jisung, for deceiving him, or himself, for being stupid enough to come all this way for someone he doesn’t even know. Jisung lied about his appearance; he could have lied about anything and everything else. Maybe he didn’t mean anything he said to Minho. Maybe it was all a big joke to him.

Minho fell for a fucking lie.

Resisting the urge to just start running down the street, taking Jisung’s nice coat with him, Minho follows Jisung instead into a silver truck with expensive-looking leather seats. It must have been the one they just arrived in, the heat still lingering in the interior.

Jisung starts the truck and Minho clicks his seat belt into place, staring ahead at the windshield.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung blurts. “I’m really sorry, first of all.”

Minho runs his tongue over his teeth.

“It… It got out of hand,” he continues. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. But how was I supposed to know you were going to hunt me down, what the fuck? And tell my parents you’re my boyfriend?!”

“You told me where you live!” Minho defends, feeling himself burn hot with indignation. “And I didn’t tell anyone that. Your mom assumed and I didn’t have time to correct her before you showed up.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Jisung scoffs. “Usually people don’t fly across the country to show up uninvited at the front doorstep of someone they’ve never met before. Sorry I didn’t take that into consideration before I walked into my home.”

“Usually people don’t make dating profiles with someone else’s face on them either!” Minho spits, and Jisung winces. “‘Uninvited’—ha. You said you wished I was here. Well, here I am. Merry fucking Christmas.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean it? Cool. We’ve established you’re a fucking liar. Can we leave?”

Jisung sighs. “Minho—”

“Jisung, please,” Minho says, and he hates the pleading edge to his words. “Just take me to the hotel so I can book a flight home in peace.”

After a moment of hesitation, Jisung turns the headlights on and backs out of the driveway. Neither of them says a word the whole ride.

It’s not until they’ve parked in the hotel parking lot when Jisung tries again. “Can we talk?”

“We’ve talked enough.” Intending to leave before he loses the remaining shreds of his dignity, Minho reaches for the handle only for the lock to click shut. He turns to face Jisung, glaring daggers. “You know I can just unlock it.”

“Please,” Jisung says, his dark eyes shining. “Hear me out?”

Minho sighs and slumps back in the seat. As angry and humiliated as he is, he would like some sort of explanation, some semblance of closure.

“What,” he says.

Jisung takes a deep breath. “I can set you up with Hyunjin. The guy in the photos.”

That’s the last thing Minho expected to hear. He quirks an eyebrow at Jisung. “You mean to tell me these weren’t some random pics you found on the internet? You know the guy you’re using to catfish people?”

Jisung cringes. “I’m not—I’m not, like, a serial catfisher or anything.”

“Just me then? Great.”

“No, Minho,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen. It started out as an experiment—”

“An experiment,” Minho mumbles to himself with a scoff.

“I just wanted to see how many matches I could get! I… I mean, with my real profile, my face, I hardly got any. And the ones I did get were, like… weirdos, or they’d ghost me, or—”

“I’m sorry,” Minho interrupts, dry and entirely unapologetic, “but how is any of that my problem?”

“It’s… It’s not. I’m sorry,” Jisung sighs. “I wasn’t intending to catfish you, or lead you on or anything, I just—I didn’t think any of my matches would go anywhere, but we started talking, and—Well, how do you tell someone, ‘hey, I lied, this isn’t my face’ without them telling you to go fuck yourself and blocking you?”

“You could try being honest about who you are in the first place,” Minho says. “Just an idea.”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung repeats. He’s picking at something on the steering wheel and Minho takes the opportunity to study his profile, albeit briefly. Jisung is far from ugly, Minho realizes now that he’s really looking at him, and finds it hard to believe people wouldn’t be interested in Jisung. He wonders why he felt the need to hide behind someone else’s face. 

Then again, this Hyunjin guy is ridiculously attractive.

“Okay,” Minho says definitively. What the hell has he got to lose? “Make it up to me.”

Jisung blinks at him owlishly. “How?”

“You said it yourself. Introduce me to Hyunjin.”

“Right. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,” Jisung says, nodding. “He would like you. But, um… About my family.”

“Yeah. Good luck breaking the news to them.”

“Well…” Jisung drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “What if I didn’t?”

Minho blinks. “You’re not suggesting—”

“You’d have a place to stay for free, as long as you want,” Jisung interjects quickly.

“Jisung.”

“Free food, anything you need. I’ll set you up with Hyunjin. My parents—did you see how happy they were for me? My mom, especially. She already loves you! If we just… just go along with it, a-at least until Christmas, everyone’s happy, right?”

Minho sighs. Stares at the roof of the car. Happy. There’s that word again.

Isn’t that why he came all this way, in search of happiness? Love? He can only laugh at the thought now. He should have listened to that voice in the back of his head telling him this was stupid, he doesn't need it, don’t go. But here he is anyway, having wasted precious time and money and hope, and for what? To chase after a lie?

Minho may as well try his best to make the trip worthwhile, if only somewhat.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Fine. I’ll be back.”

He tugs at the door handle only to remember that it’s locked, gritting his teeth in embarrassment as Jisung unlocks it for him.

“Okay,” Jisung replies. “I’ll be here.”

As Minho retrieves his luggage and checks out early, he drags his feet, worn out from everything that’s happened, feeling foolish and angry and, underneath it all, just sad.

If nothing else, he can take comfort in the fact that in the end, this can all be traced back to and blamed on Seungmin.

✧

Dinner goes well enough, all things considered. Jiho’s jjajangmyeon is delicious, and Jisung’s parents are warm and kind, and Jeongin has an adorable, contagious smile. Now that they’ve talked it through and agreed to play the parts, Jisung is much more… himself.

Except not. Because Minho doesn’t know what Jisung being “himself” looks like. This is just him caught in another web of a lie.

Regardless, it’s not all that hard to pretend to be amicable with Jisung as they slip into the natural back-and-forth Minho had grown so fond of in the past weeks, even if it’s fake. He doesn’t know what to think about it now.

Minho lets Jisung take the lead with the lies about their relationship, deferring to him when his parents ask questions like how long they’ve been together (three weeks) and how they met (online—at least that part was true). They don’t suspect a thing, but Minho is curious about Jeongin.

“Does Jeongin know the truth?” he asks. They’ve finished dinner and Jiho has promised to hold off on all the questions she has for Minho as an author so that he can settle in after his long day, and he appreciates it. It was a late dinner, and having his stomach full makes him that much more sleepy, so he’ll be more than happy to entertain her later. Jisung may be on his shit list, but his mother has been good to him.

“Yes.” Jisung is leading him downstairs to the basement, which apparently doubles as his bedroom, and Minho is sort of dreading whatever sort of man-cave awaits him, but he’s pleasantly surprised by what he sees.

The room is big, spacious, holds a decent sized bed, desk, sofa, and television, among other various furnishings like dressers and bean bags. Minho figures that Jisung and Jeongin spend a lot of time down here together judging by the game controllers scattered around the television and a lone, empty Cheetos bag.

It is messy. Not gross, but cluttered and disorganized. Several articles of clothing are strung about, a fast food cup or two abandoned. It smells nice, though—some floral scent he can’t place. Lavender, maybe.

Honorable mentions that add a little charm to the room include the big cat plushie on his bed, a Pikachu one on the floor next to it, a few posters of Studio Ghibli films dotting his walls (at least he knows that part wasn’t a lie), and one of those lights that project a likeness of the night sky on the ceiling sitting on his nightstand.

Minho hums in response. “Was he in on it then?”

“No,” Jisung sighs, wheeling Minho’s suitcase in and parking it against his bed. He runs a hand through his hair. “He didn’t agree with it. For, uh, obvious reasons.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Yeah. So, uh, you can have the bed,” Jisung says, gesturing at his unmade bed, the covers rumpled and light blue. “Unless you wanna share? It’s big enough, we could, like—build a wall—”

“A wall.”

“A wall of pillows.”

“I’d rather not,” Minho scoffs. Days ago, he’d fantasized about what it would be like to lie in bed next to Jisung—no, it was Hyunjin—to hear his voice, to wake up next to him. But right now, when he’d expected to want to be all over Jisung, all he wants is as much distance as he can get when they’re sharing a bedroom. And pretending to date. “I don’t mind the couch, though.”

“No, that’s okay, take the bed,” Jisung presses. “It’s comfy.”

“If you insist.” Minho plops down on the edge of it and surveys the room some more, his gaze flitting around various knickknacks.

“Sorry it’s messy,” Jisung says as he picks up the abandoned Cheetos bag and a few other pieces of trash strewn about. “I, uh, obviously didn’t have time to clean.”

Too tired to snark, Minho says, “It’s fine.” He digs in his suitcase for his toiletries and pajamas. “Where can I…?”

“Oh, right here,” Jisung says and points to a door connected to the room they’re in.

Minho prepares for bed, not sparing his tired reflection more than a glance, and exits the ensuite right as Jisung is relocating the cat plush from his bed to the sofa.

“I don’t get to sleep with the cat plushie?” Minho jokes with a grumble. Jisung pauses and looks conflicted as he stares down at it.

“I need it to sleep,” he says, pitiful. “You can cuddle Pikachu.”

Minho grunts as he slips under the covers and gets comfortable, no Pikachu in hand.

“Will it bother you if I have the TV on?” Jisung asks, timid.

“It’s your room.”

“But will it―”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Doing his best not to overthink all that’s happened today, Minho silently pulls Pikachu onto the bed with him, wishing it were his cats instead, and eventually falls asleep to the sound of quiet laughter from the television.

✧

Yongbokkie

Minho!
you didn’t update me!! how is it??!?
how happy was he to see you

don’t ask

..huh??
what happened?
are you okay?

I’m fine
I’ll call you later

Minho clicks his phone off as Jisung enters, freshly showered and dressed warmly in jeans and a big, maroon sweater.

“Ready?” he asks. Minho nods once and stands to follow him upstairs to put their shoes and (Jisung’s) coats on before stepping out into the cold late-morning air.

Over breakfast, Jisung gave Minho the run-down on Hyunjin. Said he draws, paints, dances, and does it all well. He’s always posting himself and his art on Instagram—where Jisung got the photos from, Minho figures from the amount of familiar pictures on his page when Jisung shows him—or screenshots from his favorite series on Netflix with captions gushing over the characters.

There’s also the matter of his ugly dog he can’t seem to take enough photos of. But that’s okay. Everyone has flaws.

Jeongin made the mistake of entering the kitchen in the middle of this and got reluctantly dragged into it as well. Apparently he and Hyunjin are friends, and Minho began to wonder if there was some sort of bad blood between Jisung and Hyunjin when Jeongin said something along the lines of why don’t you ask him yourself and earned himself a withering glare from Jisung, but he decided not to pry. Yet.

His mouth decides for him that the time to do so is now.

“So how do you know Hyunjin?” he asks as Jisung starts down the road. The plan is to show up at Hyunjin’s work—a dance studio, Minho is kind of excited—and conveniently run into Hyunjin, who Jeongin definitely did not tell them would be there.

They’d meet, sparks would fly, and they’d dance off into the sunset. That’s what Jisung said, anyway. Minho opts to keep his expectations low this time.

“High school,” Jisung answers curtly. Minho waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Were you friends?”

“Yeah, we were.”

“What happened?”

“We stopped being friends.”

Minho shoots him a glare before sighing and resting his cheek on his fist, staring out the window at the houses decorated for Christmas as they pass. This town is a pretty place, he decides now that he’s able to take a proper look at it in the daylight. It seems as though every square inch of it is decorated for the holidays. It’s missing something, though.

“Do you think it’ll snow soon?” Minho asks, hopeful.

“Think it’ll be snowing all week after tomorrow,” Jisung answers. “You wanted to see it, right?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees Jisung glance at him, maybe smile. He recalls lamenting to Jisung the fact that he’d never witnessed a good snowfall in his lifetime over the phone, and something about Jisung remembering it, about him casually referencing the talks they had, almost feels like a slap to the face. A reminder that this is the guy he’s been talking to, the Jisung he knows—or thought he knew—and not the one he was picturing in his head the whole time.

“Yeah,” he answers belatedly.

He wonders if he and Hyunjin will get along half as well as he and Jisung had.

He doesn’t have to wonder for much longer, because within about ten minutes of leaving, they’re parking in front of the studio and walking inside.

“Jeongin said room twenty-two… Aha.” Jisung stops in front of the room once he’s found it, peering in through the window. “Shit, he has a class.”

Curiously, Minho peeks in too, spotting Ji—Hyunjin at the front of the room, a wall of mirrors behind him and a small army of young children in front of him. He has a big smile on his pretty face that turns his eyes to crescents as he makes gestures for the kids to follow, his long hair pulled up into a ponytail.

“He teaches kids?” Minho asks, awed. This definitely cancels out the ugly dog.

“Guess so.” Jisung shrugs, then checks his phone. “Oh, it’s almost noon. Maybe it’s ending soon.” He heads to the opposite wall in the wide hallway and slides down it until he’s sitting on the floor.

Minho joins him, pulling out his phone to check the time as well. “And if it isn’t?”

Jisung glances down at Minho’s phone screen, displaying his wallpaper—a picture of Soonie, Doongie, and Dori all in front of the Christmas tree in their festive apparel. “Then we can look at pictures of your cats to pass the time.”

Minho narrows his eyes at him as if Jisung has no right to speak about his cats after what he’s done, and he probably doesn’t. But they are Minho’s biggest weakness, and he isn’t sure what else they’re meant to do just sitting here, so he pulls up his cat folder anyway and passes the phone to Jisung. He gasps happily as he accepts it, cradling it gently in his hands as he coos over photo after photo. Minho can’t help but smile, pride swelling in his chest.

“Oh my God, Soonie and Dori cuddling…” Jisung makes aggressive baby noises at his phone screen which Minho might find disgusting if it weren’t directed at his cats. “Man, why couldn’t you bring them all with you? I wanna pet them so bad.”

Minho splutters out a laugh. “I’m sure I’d have a fantastic time carrying three pissed-off cats through the airport.”

“It’d be a good workout!” Jisung argues. “Or you could just bring Soonie. We both know he’s your favorite anyway.”

Minho turns fully to Jisung to gape at him, affronted. “Who do you think you are? I love all of my children equally.”

“Right, right.” Jisung grins, turning his attention back to the screen as he continues swiping through photos when a notification pops up on the top of the screen. “Who’s ‘Public Enemy #1?’”

Minho’s hand darts over to dismiss the notification before either of them can read it, not keen on figuring out how Seungmin can make him even more embarrassed about this whole situation than he already is. “My publisher.”

“Oh.” Jisung stares blankly at the phone. “You really are, like, a published author, huh? And my mom loves you. That’s crazy.”

“Yes, I’ve told you this.”

“Yeah, but—I dunno,” he mumbles.

“What?” Minho asks, quirking an eyebrow in amusement. “You thought I was lying about who I was or something? Who would do such a thing?”

Jisung starts to turn to him, but Minho doesn’t have time to gauge his expression before loud laughter at the other end of the hall grabs his attention and he turns away. There are two women making their way over, sparing Minho and Jisung a confused glance before crowding around the door to Hyunjin’s room. One of them waves, and they both giggle.

Another minute or so passes before the class ends and more parents start to filter in, helping their children collect their things and talking (or flirting) with Hyunjin before leaving. When the room finally seems to be empty, Minho follows Jisung inside only for them to be proven wrong, Hyunjin crouched down speaking with a little girl as she breathes loudly into the plastic cup of water he’d given her.

“And don’t forget to do your stretches,” he’s saying when they enter. “Remember, it’s one of the most important parts of dancing, okay? You’re doing a great job so far!”

The girl nods, beaming as Hyunjin pats her head.

Minho wonders how someone can look like that and be a good dancer and artist and be good with kids.

Hyunjin stands and turns to them as they approach, wide eyes darting between them before his brow furrows. “Oh. Hi, Jisung. What’s up?”

Embarrassingly, Minho feels his stomach flutter as Hyunjin regards him. It’s ridiculous; he doesn’t know him at all, even less so than he knows Jisung, but still the stupid little chemicals in his brain react to the presence of the one who’s occupied his daydreams for the past month, if only on the surface.

“Hey…” Jisung draws out the single syllable awkwardly. “Um. I actually was just coming to show my friend around and thought I’d introduce you two, since you’re both dancers and… yeah.”

“Hi,” Minho says with what he hopes is a warm smile and offers his hand, “I’m Minho.”

“Hyunjin.” He shakes Minho’s hand, daintily despite his hands being much bigger. “You dance?”

“Yeah,” Minho affirms, “since middle school. More of a hobby than anything else, though.”

“He’s being modest,” Jisung chimes in. “He’s, like, really good.”

And Minho could argue that Jisung has never seen him dance, because he hasn’t, but it’s true that he’s being modest so he just playfully rolls his eyes in response.

“Really?” Hyunjin’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“I’m alright,” Minho settles on, lips pursed in a smile.

“I’d like to see it sometime.” Hyunjin’s lips curl into a smile that’s a bit timid and, Minho might dare to say, flirty.

Oh, Minho thinks. That was easy.

Before he can reply, a man is peeking into the room, and the remaining girl beams and trots over to him excitedly. “Hi, sorry I’m late. Thanks, Hyunjin!”

“No worries!” Hyunjin returns. “See you both next week!” He turns his attention back to Minho. “So if you just dance as a hobby, what do you do for a living?”

“I write,” he says. “Well—not necessarily for a living. Writing alone doesn’t exactly pay the bills in LA.”

Hyunjin’s eyes go comically wide with shock. “You’re from LA?!” He then grabs the hem of his hoodie and yanks it up. Minho blinks in shock as he’s about to apparently be flashed—but then Hyunjin’s other hand is holding his white t-shirt underneath in place, and Minho can read it once he’s pulled his hoodie up to his chin:

“I heart LA,” Minho reads out loud with a grin. “That’s…” Dorky. Very dorky. But cute. “Well, to each his own.”

Hyunjin laughs sheepishly, smoothing his hoodie back down and scratching his head. “Sorry. I’m moving there next year and I’m just really excited.”

“Oh, wow. Really?”

Hyunjin confirms with a happy nod. That’s… awfully convenient. If things manage to work out between him and Hyunjin, he won’t even have to worry about the distance for long.

This is going almost too well.

Minho glances to his left as Jisung pulls out his phone and wanders towards the leather couch in the corner of the room.

“You don’t like it there?” Hyunjin asks, grabbing his attention with a hint of a pout.

“Ah, there are pros and cons,” Minho says, not wanting to crush Hyunjin’s dreams. “I’m sure you know about the housing costs and traffic, but there are good things, too. Lots of artists and good food and things to do.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “It’s been my dream to move there for so long. I can handle the bad stuff. I just need to get out of this town…” His phone starts ringing in his pocket and he gasps as he pulls it out and peeks at the screen. “Oh! Sorry, I forgot I’m supposed to be meeting a friend, but, um…” He silences the ringer and fidgets with his phone.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Minho says. And he has nothing to lose, and Hyunjin seems to be interested, so he asks, “Should we exchange numbers? In case you have any questions about LA or grabbing lunch sometime?”

Hyunjin beams, his eyes smiling with him. “Yeah! Um, yeah, yes to both, that’d be great. Here, you can put your number in.”

Once Minho has given Hyunjin his number and Hyunjin texts him with exactly two emojis—a smiling face and a clover, the latter of which Minho adds to his contact name—he’s waving goodbye to Hyunjin and heading outside with Jisung.

“Smooth,” Jisung says flatly.

“Thank you?” Minho raises an eyebrow. “Is that sarcasm?”

“No.” Jisung jingles his keys.

Minho hums. “Did you and Hyunjin ever have a thing?”

“What?” Jisung splutters, whipping his head around to face him. “No. What? Why?”

“Are you lying to me?” Minho squints. “Again?”

“Minho, please—” Jisung groans. “No, I’m not. No more lies, I swear on Soonie’s… Christmas hat,” he tacks on in response to the murderous glare Minho sends him.

“Hm.” Minho regards him suspiciously still as they climb into the car. “So then what is it with you two?”

Jisung slumps into the driver’s seat and sighs. “I told you, we used to be friends. And then he…” he sighs, then blurts out quickly, “dated this guy I liked, and we had a big fight, and it was forever ago but we never really made up.”

Minho nods slowly, taking in the information. “So were you using his photos as revenge or something?”

“No.” Jisung scoffs softly. “It was more of an experiment, like I said. It started with me wanting to see how many matches Hyunjin’s stupid pretty face could get.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the need for an experiment? Why not just be yourself?”

Jisung chuckles dryly. “That’s never really worked out for me.”

“And pretending to be someone else has?”

Jisung turns to look at him, expression unreadable. Minho stares back.

He breathes out a laugh. “No, I guess not.”

✧

By evening, Minho has endured Jiho’s barrage of questions about his books—she had a whole list prepared—signed all the ones she owned, gave her a hand with dinner, and is sure he’s successfully earned her favor (if he hadn’t already) and plenty of brownie points.

He gets caught up in it, too, almost forgets that he’s not actually dating her son and doesn’t necessarily need her stamp of approval. Odds are that once he leaves here, he’ll never see her or Jisung again.

But it feels nice, anyway, albeit a little guilt-inducing, being accepted by the family. That, and being surrounded by so much Christmas cheer, holiday spirit like he hasn’t felt in years creeping its way under his skin.

Jiho even surprised him with fuzzy Christmas socks and a sweater, a gaudy green and bright red with a cat pattern and ‘Meowy Christmas’ in big letters. Jisung had picked it out, she said. Minho had to admit that he picked well.

He’s wearing it now as he sits on the sofa, curled up against the armrest as they wait for Jiho and Jeongin to return so they can all watch The Polar Express together. Minho is cozy, warm in his new, soft sweater, content from a nice dinner, the glow of the Christmas tree in his peripheral, the smell of popcorn wafting in.

Jisung is sitting about a foot away, his dad on his recliner next to the sofa talking to Jisung about school. Jisung seems reluctant to take part in the conversation, and Minho feels for him—he knows bits and pieces about how Jisung’s parents are hellbent on him becoming a lawyer or something of the sort while Jisung’s interests lie elsewhere, though he never wanted to talk about it much—but he isn’t sure how to intervene without being rude.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to, as Jiho and Jeongin are joining them with popcorn moments later. Jeongin stops in front of Jisung and gives him a look. Jisung stares up at him blankly, making no move to make space for Jeongin, legs spread wide and occupying way too much space for someone so small.

“Leaving plenty of room for Jesus, I see,” Jeongin teases, nodding towards Minho.

“Always,” Jisung responds solemnly.

“Don’t be shy, boys,” Jiho insists, trailing in behind Jeongin and setting a second bowl of popcorn on the end table between the sofa and recliner. She gestures for Jisung to scoot over. “C’mon, huddle up. Cuddling is not only allowed but encouraged. Just make sure it doesn’t go further than that.”

“Mom,” Jisung hisses, begrudgingly moving towards Minho.

She giggles as she and Jeongin sit down and settle. Jisung’s knee knocks against Minho’s leg. “I’m just saying, save it for the mistletoe!”

“Noted,” Jisung says dryly, shoving Jeongin back as he tries to push him closer to Minho before giving the latter an apologetic smile.

Minho chuckles; he hadn’t really considered the physical aspect of the whole pretending to date thing much, but now he’s wondering if they will get caught under a mistletoe and be expected to kiss. He isn’t all that worried though. Jisung is far from repulsive, after all, even if Minho still harbors bitterness towards him. He’s cuddled and done much more with much, much worse.

Maybe that’s what leads him to lean over and stage-whisper, “You can hold my hand if you get scared.”

Jisung gives him a funny look. “Of what?”

Minho shrugs. “I dunno. The train. Some people have a fear of trains. Probably.”

“Siderodromophobia,” Jeongin chimes in, nodding sagely.

They both turn to him. “Why do you know that?” Jisung balks.

“Stay out of my business.”

Everyone but Jisung laughs.

As the movie starts, Minho realizes this is something he’s wanted—thought he wanted—for a while, just to be able to sit with Jisung and enjoy a movie together in person instead of over the phone. A warm body instead of tinny utterances through a lump of plastic, a voice clear and soft in his ear critiquing or making dumb commentary, maybe a hand in his own, a head on his shoulder.

Hyunjin’s head on his shoulder, he reminds himself.

Regardless of all the foolishly romantic scenarios that had bounced around in his empty skull only to crash and burn, one of their traditions does hold up, Jisung’s commentary making him giggle throughout the film. Minho returned the favor, and they were practically in their own world until the credits rolled.

“Aw, my little lovebirds.” Jiho’s voice startles them while they’re still giggling among themselves about some dumb joke Minho made, both turning to her with wide eyes like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. “Sorry! Sorry. You’re just so cute. Aren’t they, Innie?”

“The cutest,” Jeongin teases, wiggling his eyebrows and laughing when Jisung lifts his leg to kick at him with a foot clad in a fuzzy sock.

Later, when Minho is lying on Jisung’s bed with his feet on the floor and Pikachu plushie in hand, thinking about his cats, Jisung comes downstairs.

“God, they’re obsessed with you,” he sighs.

Minho props himself up on his elbow and grins. “Who wouldn’t be?”

Who wouldn’t be, Jisung mouths mockingly and rolls his eyes. He walks over and drops face-first onto the bed. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he says, muffled, into the sheets.

“It’s been one night,” Minho scoffs. “I told you I’d take the couch—”

“But I’ll feel bad,” he whines.

“As you should. I’m old. I have back problems.”

“You’re two years older than me.”

“Look forward to your back problems in two years—Wait.” Minho sits up, turns to him. “So you weren’t lying about your age?” It’s something he’s wondered and should definitely clear up, just in case. If Jisung turns out to be a teenager… 

Jisung rolls over on his side, glowering at Minho. “No. Just my face. And body. And about being a dancer. And a Pisces; I just said that ‘cause Hyunjin is. Well, Pisces is my moon sign, so it wasn’t a total lie.”

Minho doesn’t know what that means. “Okay. So what are you?”

“Short and not a dancer.”

He hits Jisung with Pikachu. “I meant your sign.”

“I know,” Jisung laughs, failing to dodge his attack. “I’m a Virgo.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

Actually—Minho is pretty sure Felix is a Virgo, so he figures it must be a good thing. Then he remembers that Seungmin’s birthday is just a week after Felix’s, so he might be a Virgo, too.

Maybe it’s not so good.

“I’m asking you,” he says.

“Then yes,” he answers. “Virgos are super sexy and have huge, sexy brains.”

“And Scorpios?”

“Meh.”

“Get off my bed,” Minho demands.

Jisung gasps softly. “How dare you! This bed—it’s all I have!” he wails in a dramatic, teary voice. Minho laughs, pushing him off with his foot while Jisung cries out in protest. “Please, just five more minutes.”

Minho sighs, relenting, and turns to the ceiling as Jisung gets comfortable again, sighing in content.

A few moments of silence pass before Jisung asks, “You’re sure we can’t just share?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Minho says definitively, sitting upright to relocate. Jisung grabs onto his wrist, pulling him back down with a surprising strength.

“No! Forget it,” Jisung grumbles, releasing him and rolling out of bed himself. “So difficult.”

He disappears into the ensuite and emerges minutes later with, “You know my mom is gonna ambush us with a mistletoe at some point.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No, but I know her,” he says grimly. “She’ll do it.”

Minho chuckles. “Okay.” Jisung looks at him expectantly, leaning up against his dresser. “…And?”

“And?” Jisung repeats. “I mean, should we have a game plan?”

“Wouldn’t we just kiss?” Minho questions, tilting his head in confusion. Jisung’s eyes widen. “I mean, if you don’t want to, I can always say I’m feeling under the weather or something and—”

“No!” he blurts. “I mean, no, that’s not the problem. I just thought you wouldn’t want to, so I thought I’d warn you and… uh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But if you don’t mind, I guess it would make us more believable?”

“I don’t mind,” Minho affirms with an amused grin.

“Okay. Well, that was easy,” he says. Then he narrows his eyes, folding his arms. “So you’ll kiss me but you won’t let me sleep in my own bed with you.”

Minho rolls his eyes hard and flops down against the pillows. “Good night, Jisung.”

“You haven’t even brushed your teeth yet, nasty.”

“You don’t know that,” Minho mumbles. “I could’ve done it while you were upstairs.”

“But you didn’t,” he says petulantly. “I can smell your breath all the way over here.”

In a flash, Minho is up and brandishing Pikachu, Jisung squeaking and running away as it’s pelted at him, narrowly missing.

“Gotta be quicker than that!” he teases.

“You’re annoying,” Minho grumbles, trying to hide his smile as he shuffles to the bathroom.

He’s never been all that good at holding grudges. Maybe Jisung isn’t so bad.

✧

“Minho! You bitch! What took you so long to call?!”

Minho laughs softly into the receiver. “Sorry, Lix. I’ve been kept pretty busy.”

“Oh?” Minho can picture him raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Busy how?”

“Ha. Not like that.”

Minho takes a deep breath and tells Felix the whole story, from Jisung being a completely different person to pretending to date him in front of his family to meeting the real Hyunjin.

“Holy shit, man,” Felix says. Minho couldn’t have said it better himself. “Oh God, Minho, I’m so sorry. I feel bad. This is kinda my fault.”

“Kinda,” Minho laughs. “It’s okay, though. It’s not all bad. His family is super nice, and he’s… fun?”

“The guy who catfished you is fun,” Felix recites back to him, skeptical.

“Water under the bridge,” Minho half-jokes. “I think we could be friends.” Before Felix can judge him again, he adds, “You’d understand if you met him. Anyway, Hyunjin texted me this morning—”

“Minho!” Jisung’s footsteps come thumping down the stairs, slowing to a stop when he sees him on the phone. “Oh—sorry.”

“And?” Felix demands. Minho ignores him in favor of holding the phone away from his ear and looking at Jisung expectantly.

“It’s snowing,” Jisung says.

“It’s snowing,” Minho repeats to Felix. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“But I wanna know what Hyunjin said—”

“I’ll text you bye!” Minho says in one breath, hanging up and bounding up the stairs after Jisung. He makes a beeline for the window, gasping in awe as he stares out at the big flakes drifting gracefully through the air, already beginning to blanket the lawn in a thin layer of white.

“Here.” Jisung taps his shoulder and Minho turns to see him holding the same white coat he’s been borrowing open for him, so he backs into it and slips his arms in the holes before following Jisung out.

Minho lets out an incredulous laugh, holding his palm out to catch a snowflake and watching it melt on his skin. It’s coming down gently, lighter than feathers, but there’s a lot of it, so it isn’t long before he can see his bangs decorated with snow.

He tilts his head back and lets his tongue loll out, because he’s pretty sure it’s a christening of some sort, and catches a few snowflakes on his tongue.

“Enjoying yourself?” Jisung asks, amused. Minho feels his face warm a bit when he realizes Jisung’s just been standing there watching him, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

“No. Fuck snow. I hate it.”

Jisung laughs. “Welcome to the north. You’ll probably be helping shovel the driveway later this week.”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’ll snow that much?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Wow,” he murmurs. “I’m excited.”

“Why?” Jisung smirks. “You’re just gonna get steamrolled in a snowball fight.”

“Excuse me? I will literally destroy you.”

“You’re talking to a snowball champion, pal. I’ve held that title for ten consecutive years, and I’m not about to let some LA punk take it from me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“We absolutely will!” Jisung huffs. Minho shakes his head and looks around, delighted to see more snow sticking to the ground when Jisung asks, “You wanna take a walk? Or are you cold?”

“A walk sounds nice.”

They end up walking up and down the street, Jisung regaling him with funny anecdotes about the people who live or lived in various houses they passed. There once lived a crazy cat lady he likens to Minho in house 356, a couple who gives out vegetables every year for Halloween at 322, a guy who complains to the HOA every time someone lets their grass get too long at 311.

Minho laughs along until his teeth chatter from the cold and the snow is piling thicker on the ground, at which point they head back and Jisung instructs Minho to huddle up on the couch with a blanket while he makes them hot chocolate. Minho obeys, wrapping himself in a soft mauve blanket and curling into a ball until his phone buzzes and he has to unfurl at least a little bit to dig it out of his pocket.

The message preview shows that it’s a text from Hyunjin, to whom Minho had earlier suggested meeting up with for lunch whenever he’s free. He’s just seen Hyunjin say “tomorrow sounds great” when he’s distracted by Jisung entering and his mouth watering with the smell of hot cocoa.

“Your hot chocolate, sir,” he presents with a flourish. Minho giggles and accepts the red mug filled to the brim with marshmallows, holding it close with both hands pressed against the warm ceramic. Despite the expanse of empty couch, Jisung sits right next to him, pressed up against his side, so Minho gives him a funny look. “What? I’m cold. You have the good blanket.”

Rolling his eyes, Minho unwraps himself halfway, Jisung grinning as he moves out of the way and then settles back down inside Minho’s blanket burrito, pulling it snug around himself. Minho can’t say he minds the extra warmth.

Jisung grabs the remote and turns the television on, flipping through the channels until he finds a showing of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. “Ooh! I love this one.”

Minho hasn’t seen it in several years, but he remembers it fondly so he agrees and they watch together, slowly nursing their hot chocolates and giggling at the outdated stop-motion animation.

Even once they’ve warmed up, cocoa consumed and empty mugs sitting on the coffee table before them, they stay huddled close together throughout the rest of the movie. It earns them a peculiar look from Jeongin who passes by to get something from the kitchen at some point, but Minho chooses to ignore it. They are pretending to date, after all.

Once the credits are rolling, Minho checks his phone and remembers he still has yet to read Hyunjin’s text, so he taps on it.

“Hyunjin wants to meet for lunch tomorrow,” he relays out loud with a small smile.

“Oh,” Jisung says quietly. “That’s good. Right?”

“Of course,” Minho replies, sending a text back that reads great! see you then.

Can’t wait, comes Hyunjin’s response, punctuated with a heart emoji.

“Right,” Jisung repeats. “So… you like him then?”

“I only talked to him for a few minutes,” Minho chuckles. “But yeah, he seems nice. I guess I’ll have a better answer after tomorrow.”

Jisung hums, standing to gather their dirty mugs. “I hope it works out for you.”

“Yeah.” Minho grins. “Me, too.”

✧

“So, Minho.” Hyunjin tents his hands once they’ve placed their orders at the quaint pizza place Hyunjin had suggested over text, his face resting atop his fingers and smiling prettily. “You said you write. Are we talking, like, news articles, scripts, books?”

“Books,” Minho answers. “Mystery novels. I write under a penname—Reno Lee? I’d be shocked if you’ve heard of me, though.”

He pouts in thought. “No, it sounds familiar… I may have seen you on my mom’s bookshelf actually. That’s so cool! But yeah, I don’t read much mystery myself. I tend to, uh, mostly read romance.” He smiles, sheepish.

Minho hums in understanding. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that!” he defends. “Some of the best books belong to that genre.”

“Agreed,” Hyunjin smiles. “Care to share your favorites?”

They get so engrossed in their book discussion that it takes a few minutes of their food being on the table before they actually start eating it, and even then they’re still going. Their tastes don’t exactly align, but Minho can certainly respect Hyunjin’s preferences, and enjoys having someone to talk to about literature nonetheless.

Once they’ve worn out the topic, Minho asks Hyunjin about his work and what he plans to do in LA. Apparently his gig teaching kids is much-loved but temporary, as he’d like to teach older groups, maybe open his own studio in LA someday. He’s also on track to become a physical therapist to avoid becoming a starving artist, in his words. Smart.

They chat about random things, too, like pets (Minho isn’t sure how to feel about the startled expression Hyunjin had when Minho said he has three cats), Netflix dramas (again, they didn’t have many coinciding interests), video games (Minho doesn’t really play), and art (all Minho can do is draw a crude little character he’s carried with him since middle school—his beloved, ugly little Jureumi—but at least it earns him a loud laugh).

“So I’ve been wanting to ask,” Hyunjin starts once the waitress has collected their cards, swirling his straw in his iced tea, “how do you know Jisung?”

“Oh.” Minho blinks, taken by surprise. He hadn’t thought to prepare a response for this question. “Family friend,” he says lamely.

Hyunjin hums and nods. “Sorry. I don’t want to be nosy. I was just… surprised that he introduced us. Like, we don’t talk in years and suddenly he’s shoving a guy in my face?” He looks contemplative, then his eyes widen. “Not that I mind!”

“It’s okay,” Minho laughs, a bit uncomfortably, though not because of the last comment. “I understand.”

He relaxes, breathing out a laugh. “To be honest, I almost thought it was some kind of elaborate prank or something. I dunno, it sounds stupid out loud.”

“You think Jisung would do that?” Minho asks, genuinely curious.

Hyunjin purses his lips, then deflates. “No. I know he wouldn’t. And we just met, but my intuition says you wouldn’t either. It’s just… things are weird between Jisung and me, so.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Ugh. Sorry, I don’t mean to be a downer.” Before Minho can dismiss his apology again, he continues, “Anyway, I’m just trying to say that I’m glad he introduced us.”

He smiles shyly, tucking his hair behind his ear. Minho smiles back, nodding.

“I am, too.”

They part ways outside the restaurant with an awkward hug, and Minho declines Hyunjin’s offer to drive him to his “hotel,” taking the opportunity to browse some shops on the street and buying a few things before getting an Uber back to Jisung’s.

The snow that’s accumulated in their yard must be at least four inches thick by now, and Minho wants nothing more than to drop onto the ground and make a snow angel, or build a snowman, or pelt Jisung with snowballs, but Jisung is still at work, so all he does is walk around a bit just to hear the snow crunch under his shoes.

It’s so quiet here, especially with the snowfall. Slow, peaceful. Minho could definitely get used to it.

He glances up in time to see Jeongin watching him from the living room window, eyebrows pinched together, and Minho realizes he must look a bit insane right now walking in circles in the snow, so he laughs to himself and heads inside.

“Hi,” Minho greets. He sets his shopping bag aside, takes off his coat, beanie, and gloves, all of which are borrowed from Jisung, and hangs them up, aware of Jeongin’s gaze burning holes into his back.

“Hey,” Jeongin returns. “Um. You good?”

“Am I not allowed to bask in the wonders of snow?” Minho sighs dramatically. “This might be the only time I ever see it.”

Jeongin shrugs. “Knock yourself out.” He makes his way back to the couch, the television displaying the pause screen of an unfamiliar anime. He picks up the remote, then hesitates. “What do you think about Hyunjin?”

“Did he tell you to ask me that?” Minho grins, leaning over the back of the sofa.

Jeongin shakes his head, not meeting Minho’s gaze. “Just curious.”

“I like him,” Minho says, carefully picking out his words. “He’s nice to talk to.”

Jeongin hums enigmatically. “Yeah, he is.”

Minho blinks, then straightens up. “Do you mind if I join you for a bit?”

The friendly sparkle returns to Jeongin’s eyes when he smiles and says, “Yeah, go ahead.”

Jeongin seems to have watched a good chunk of this anime already, because Minho can’t make sense of half of what goes on. He’s happy to explain when Minho asks though, and while Minho had only intended to stay for an episode or two, they must have watched at least four by the time Jisung is pushing through the front door.

“Hi,” Minho greets cheerily while Jeongin barely spares him a glance.

“Hey.” Jisung grins, and Minho is surprised that he’s genuinely excited to see his fake-boyfriend, nearly laughing out loud at the thought of how much things have changed in just a few days.

After removing his outerwear and shoes, Jisung trudges over and flops down onto the middle of the couch between Minho and Jeongin, falling onto Jeongin’s shoulder like a ragdoll and groaning, “I’m so tired.”

“Ew,” Jeongin says, shoving him off and flinging him onto Minho instead. Jisung whines, his head on Minho’s shoulder, and starts to sit up, but Minho holds him in place.

“You’ve got snow in your hair,” he notes, pinching at the tiny snowflakes in Jisung’s hair and watching them melt on his fingertips. Jisung hesitantly relaxes against him, and when Minho’s knuckles graze reddish locks, he realizes just how soft Jisung’s hair is, giving it a few tentative strokes, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. “Soft,” he appraises. Jisung hums contentedly, clearly enjoying the feeling of being pet like a cat.

Cute, Minho can’t help but think. Jisung is annoyingly cute.

“If you guys are going to have sex can you go do it in your room?” Jeongin drones, effectively bursting the bubble around them. Minho sheepishly retracts his hand, cheeks burning, and Jisung bolts upright.

Jeongin laughs as he’s assaulted with a decorative pillow while Jisung pretends like he’s going to smother him, and Minho watches in amusement until Jiho passes through, greeting them all on her way to the kitchen. He figures he’s sat here long enough and follows her, asking how he can help with dinner.

“Thank you so much for your help again, darling,” she says, patting Minho’s back while he preps the chicken for the dakgalbi. “We’re going to need all hands on deck for the next few days.”

“For Christmas dinner?” Minho wonders, even though it’s still several days away.

“Worse,” she says. Minho raises an eyebrow. “Jeongin’s cousins will be coming to visit. They’re lovely, the sweetest things you’ll ever meet—but those boys can eat.” She stares into the distance, eyes wide like her life is flashing before her eyes.

Minho tries to give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll do all I can to help. Oh,” he adds, remembering his purchases from earlier, “I was wondering if I could borrow your kitchen later to make something…?”

“Of course!” she beams. “It’s all yours. Use it anytime you’d like.”

Alongside dinner, Minho begins preparing something else (and fighting off Jisung and Jeongin every time they pester him to find out what he’s doing or try to stick fingers in the batter), and many steps and a couple of hours later, he’s putting the finishing touches on a rather delicious-looking yule log cake.

“So this is what you’ve been sneaking around doing.” Minho jumps at the sound of Jisung’s voice suddenly right behind him, turning to glare at Jisung who only chuckles. “It looks really good.”

“Let’s hope the taste lives up,” Minho says, slicing a piece onto a plate and handing it to Jisung. “Will you do the honors?”

“Certainly!” He grabs a fork and scoops up a huge bite into his mouth, eyes and cheeks expanding at once. His eyes then roll back into his head as he moans out a “Holy shit.”

“Good?” Minho asks, grinning expectantly.

“So good.” He shovels another bite into his mouth. “Can we skip the fake-dating and get fake-married so you can bake me sweets all the time?”

Minho scoffs, turning back around to cut a piece for Jiho. “Buy me a fake diamond ring and then we’ll talk.”

The cake is a hit with everyone, and Minho feels all warm and mushy from all the compliments when he and Jisung eventually retire downstairs for the night. When he emerges from the bathroom ready for bed, Jisung is curled up on his sofa with a pen and pad, scrawling away.

“What are you doing?” Minho asks, seating himself on the opposite end of the sofa. Jisung looks up, taken aback by the question.

“Uh. Writing lyrics.”

“Can I see?” Minho asks, just to tease. He’s done it before over the phone, even asked Jisung to sing one of his own songs for him, but he could never get him to give in. He did manage to get Jisung to play him a track he made, and though void of vocals, Minho remembers it as having a lovely melody.

“No, you can’t.”

Minho pouts. “Do you let anyone see them? Or hear your songs?” Jisung’s hand freezes. Minho continues nagging, “Don’t you want to be a producer? How are you going to do that without ever putting your stuff out there?”

“I know, I—” He sighs, then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a pipe dream.”

“Yeah, with that attitude.” Minho pokes Jisung’s knee with a sock-clad foot, smiling softly. “I think you can do it. I think you could do anything.”

Jisung looks at him, dubious. “You haven’t even heard my songs.”

“I’ve heard one,” Minho corrects. “And I’ve heard your silly freestyle raps, and I’ve heard you sing. You’re really talented.” He grins when Jisung flusters at the praise, part of him glad to see another familiar aspect of the Jisung he got to know over the phone. “C’mon, just one song?”

Jisung gnaws on his bottom lip, contemplative, before nodding resolutely. “Okay. Fine.” Minho claps his hands as Jisung retrieves an acoustic guitar from his closet and settles back down on the couch with it in his lap. “But only ‘cause I owe you.” He smiles and gives it a tentative strum, then clears his throat. “This is ‘Alien.’”

Beautiful, Minho thinks, is the only thing that can describe Jisung right now. His voice, his passion, the heart bared on his sleeve through melancholic lyrics that pierce Minho’s heart. It’s slow, soft, and Jisung’s eyes are downcast, long eyelashes fanning over full cheeks as he pours himself into the song.

I’m gonna make it happen, among those stars. I’m just lonely, somebody reach out and hold me.

His voice creeps in and squeezes painfully at Minho’s heart as he finds a glimpse of himself in Jisung’s lyrics. He feels closer to him, in a way. He’s seeing a piece of Jisung, a little slice of his soul woven into the song and shining through, so genuine and raw. This is who Jisung really is, thoughtful and mature and strong and, like Minho, a little lonely.

Minho wishes he wouldn’t feel like he has to keep himself hidden away.

“Yes,” Jisung says awkwardly once he’s finished, slapping his hand on the neck of the guitar. “So that’s the song.”

He meets Minho’s starry gaze, finally.

“You’re amazing,” Minho breathes, because what else can he say?

“Psh.” Jisung waves him off, though his cheeks redden. “Yeah, I know.”

“If you know, why are you so afraid to show it?” he challenges. “Don’t you want to share your hard work?”

Jisung can only stare at him, lips parted, for a moment. “I… It just feels like there’s no point. Like, why should I get my hopes up? I’m doomed to become the successful, unhappy lawyer my parents always wanted me to be anyway.”

“It’s your life, Jisungie,” Minho reminds him gently.

“But I owe them so much and—”

“I know,” Minho interrupts gently. “I went through this exact crisis. But in the long run, you have to do what’s best for you. What’ll make you happiest. And… if you’re happy, you might find that that’s enough for them.”

Jisung’s fingers slip over the strings mindlessly as he chews at his lip again. He sighs. Nods. “You’re… probably right. It’s just hard. It’s hard to go against what they want, and it’s hard to be yourself when the world prefers you with a mask.”

“Well,” Minho says, standing, “for what it’s worth, I like you much better behind the mask. And I feel like it’s worth something, ‘cause you did literally catfish me.”

Jisung snorts. “And now look at us.”

“Indeed.” Minho grins, stretching.

“Are you gonna dance for me now that I’ve sung for you?”

Minho cocks his head. “Who said anything about that?”

“Me. Just now.”

“Ha,” he laughs dryly, making his way to Jisung’s bed. “Nice try. I’m too tired. And even if I weren’t, no.”

“Practice what you preach, Minho,” Jisung chides as he puts his guitar away. “Oh yeah—How’d, um, your date go?”

“It was nice.” He smiles faintly at the memory. “We had a lot to talk about.”

“That’s good.” Jisung nods. “I guess you two really hit it off, huh?”

Minho considers it and decides that really hit it off is pushing it. They got on just fine; there weren’t exactly sparks flying, nor was there dancing off into the sunset like Jisung promised there would be, but Minho supposes there’s plenty of time for that later, especially since Hyunjin is going to be following him home in a matter of months.

And then he wonders why Hyunjin doesn’t quite reach hitting it off standards. Minho likes him plenty. He’s interesting to talk to, and very nice to look at, a face that has been present in Minho’s daydreams for weeks. It’s just that their connection isn’t quite what he’d hoped it might be. Not yet, anyway.

He’d hoped that he would feel that same spark he first felt with Jisung.

“I suppose you could say that,” he settles on with a shrug.

Jisung hums, says “Cool,” and picks his notepad back up.

✧

“Jiiiisuuuung.” Minho pokes a soft cheek, watches the skin give like dough, giggling as Jisung’s nose twitches in response. He’s out like a light, limbs sprawled out, one leg hanging off the sofa, an arm flung over the armrest, the other clutching his cat plushie to his chest. It’s endearing but doesn’t look very comfortable. Maybe if Minho is feeling charitable later, he’ll offer to let Jisung sleep in his own bed with him.

“Jisung,” he tries again, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Jisungie, wake up.”

He grunts, rolling over to face the back of the sofa, curling in on himself and snuggling into his plushie. Minho has no choice but to take it from him.

Except his grip is exceptionally strong for someone at least half-asleep, Minho realizes, so he resorts to shaking him instead. “Get up, get up,” he badgers. “I want to build a snowman.”

“Y’don’t need me to build a snowman,” his sleepy voice rumbles.

When Minho first heard Jisung immediately after waking up, not even a week ago, he’d found his deep morning voice awfully attractive—and he’s startled to realize that the sentiment holds true even now. He adamantly pushes the thought to the back of his mind, startled by his brain clinging to his idea of Jisung in the past, and shakes it off.

“Yes I do,” he whines, petulant. “C’mon, I made breakfast. And I wanna kick your ass in a snowball fight.”

That finally gets Jisung to turn towards him, cracking an eye open. “You’re gonna eat those words, Reno Lee. As soon as I get some coffee in me…”

Despite his words, his head drops down again as his voice fades out, seemingly in the process of falling back asleep. Minho huffs, rising from his squat.

“Fine,” he says, “I’ll feed your waffles to Jeongin.”

“Fine,” he groans back, forcing himself to sit upright and stretching. “I’m coming.”

Satisfied, Minho returns upstairs to start on his own food, finding Jeongin smiling cutely at his phone as his thumbs tap away.

“Who are you talking to?” he asks, like a prying parent.

He looks up. “Just Hyunjin. Why?”

“Oh.” Minho takes a sip of his coffee, lamenting the loss of an opportunity to tease Jeongin about a crush or something of the sort. “Just nosy.”

Jisung joins them to eat shortly after, his red bedhead hardly tamed but looking a little more awake, and then it’s not long before they’re bundled up and heading outside with Jeongin.

“So I think it’s only fair that Minho and I team up against Jisung,” Jeongin says, packing a lethal-looking snowball with his gloved hands. “Since it’s his first time and all.”

“What the hell?!” Jisung demands at the same time Minho says, “I agree.”

“No way!” Jisung argues. “It can just be a free-for-all. Or if anything, Jeongin should team up with me. We’re family, bro.”

“Not by blood,” Jeongin retorts, chucking the snowball at Jisung who clutches his chest, wounded in more ways than one.

Minho laughs as he decides to postpone snowball-making, instead working on rolling a snowball across the ground, zig-zagging around to keep it as even as he can. He parks it in front of the bushes when he’s satisfied with the size and starts working on the next tier.

Jisung decides to build a snowman, too, planting its base next to Minho’s. “To embarrass you with my superior snowman-birthing skills,” he claims. Minho tells him that he hopes Jisung’s snowman comes to life and kills him in his sleep and goes back to focusing on his own while Jisung gapes and Jeongin cackles.

While they work, Jeongin helpfully collects rocks and pebbles for the faces and a selection of branches for the arms, but he declares that he’s only sharing them with Minho and Jisung has to find his own, making his brother whine.

“Thanks, Innie,” Minho coos, pinching his cheek.

“Fuck, cold!” he hisses, recoiling, and Minho giggles as he picks out some pebbles for his snowman’s face. Two round eyes, a cute button nose, and a big, pretty smile. For some extra pizazz, he hunts down an acorn beneath the bushes to press into the snow on the snowman’s left cheek.

“There,” Minho says proudly, dusting the snow off of his mittens. Jisung turns from picking out rocks from Jeongin’s palms to assess it.

“What’s this?” He pokes the acorn in the snowman’s cheek. Minho responds by poking the corresponding mole on the real Jisung’s cheek, grinning.

“It’s you!”

“Oh.” Jisung stares at it a moment longer, wide-eyed, before lighting up with a bright smile. Minho thinks vaguely that his smile looks like a heart, and that he hasn’t done it nearly enough justice.

Jisung decides to make his into Minho then, adding tiny, broken-off twigs for eyelashes, a sharp rock for the nose, a smile that looks like a three, and…

“Are those cat ears?” Minho asks, watching as Jisung sticks twigs in the top of his head in a triangular shape.

“No, they’re your antennae,” he says, sarcastic. He sticks the last one in, straightening them until he’s satisfied, then turns to Minho with a smirk. “Like an alien. ‘Cause you’re out of this world, baby.”

Minho blinks, then bursts into high-pitched laughter while Jeongin fake-gags. He tosses the remaining pebbles aside and picks up the branches he’d gathered, jabbing them into the snowmen’s sides. For the inner ones, Jeongin is picky, making sure they’re long enough to reach each other so he can entwine the tips to make it look like they’re holding hands.

They all step back to admire their handiwork, and Minho can’t stop grinning. He wonders if he should be embarrassed that he’s this delighted about something so juvenile, but he can’t find it in himself to be.

He pulls out his phone to take a picture, but Jisung stops him with a frantic hand over the lens. “Wait! They need scarves. Be right back.”

Minho agrees, so he waits for Jisung to run inside and grab some, in the meantime asking Jeongin, “Should we build a Jeongin snowman, too?”

“Nah,” he says, “I’ll let you two have your moment.”

“Our moment?” Minho laughs, but before Jeongin can elaborate, Jisung is jogging back outside with scarves in hand.

“Dibs on Snowsung wearing red!” he calls, tossing the red scarf at Minho.

“I wanted blue anyway,” Minho huffs childishly, watching Jisung wrap the blue scarf around the Minho snowman with care before doing the same with the red scarf. They step back again, Jisung’s arms folded over his chest proudly while Minho prepares his phone for a picture.

“We look good together,” Jisung proclaims.

Minho chuckles, snapping a series of photos. “I’ve seen uglier snow-couples.”

“Okay,” Jeongin says, “can we hurry and pelt Jisung with snowballs before I freeze my ass off?”

“Hey—” Jisung starts.

“Wait!” Minho gasps, squatting down to gather snow in his hands. “One more thing.”

“You’re making the babies, aren’t you?” Jisung asks, dropping down next to him with a grin.

“Maybe,” he mumbles.

Jisung giggles, and Minho thinks he might hear him say “cute” under his breath before he starts building a little snowcat next to where Minho is working on Snow-Soonie.

“I’ll make Doongie,” he says. “Jeongin, you’re on Dori duty.”

Joining them in their huddle around the bases of their snowmen and starting on the third cat, Jeongin says, “Is that the tabby?”

Minho cranes his neck to look at Jeongin around Jisung’s head. “How did you know that?”

He shrugs, sharing a look with Jisung. “Lucky guess.”

Minho squints suspiciously, but he’s effectively distracted when Jisung stands to retrieve the discarded pebbles along with some pine straw that he hands to Jeongin for Dori’s fur, and keeps some for the whiskers. Once they finish, they step back again, and Minho is positively gleeful, snapping enough photos to put a strain on his phone’s storage and immediately sending a few to his mom and Felix.

He puts his phone away just in time to see Jisung with his out, seemingly taking a video as his camera pans from the snowmen and cats to Minho himself, but he’s abruptly interrupted when a snowball collides with the back of his head.

His jaw drops as he turns to face Jeongin, who has his hand over his mouth in shock, and Minho giggles at the snow falling from Jisung’s beanie to the hood of his jacket.

From that moment on, it’s war, the three of them running around the yard, yelling and playing like children. Minho’s aim leaves much to be desired, but at least his good reflexes make him spectacular at dodging, and he doesn’t get hit until Jisung and Jeongin team up on him in an astonishing turn of events.

Their truce is only temporary though, and soon enough it’s every man for himself again. Minho’s nose and fingertips feel like they might freeze off, but he can’t remember the last time he’s had this much pure, unadulterated fun.

He doesn’t want it to end, but the idea of taking a breather and having a cup of something warm is becoming more appealing by the minute, and the other boys seem to share the sentiment as their throws become weaker and noses redder. They don’t get the chance to call it quits before someone else makes the decision for them, an unfamiliar, expensive-looking black Escalade pulling up on the curb and grabbing their attention.

Minho watches curiously as the other boys break out into smiles, assuming this must be the cousins Jiho mentioned. However, when the back door bursts open, hardly giving the driver the chance to put it into park, what emerges and runs towards them squealing is not the grown man Minho expected, but a little girl who can’t be any older than six or seven.

“Jiji!” she shrieks, making a beeline for Jisung with arms wide open. Long, wavy black hair whips around behind her and Minho is anticipating that she’ll trip and faceplant in the snow any second.

“Hana, your coat!” a voice calls from the car but Minho doesn’t turn to see who it belongs to, instead watching Jisung run towards the little girl, beaming and scooping her up in his arms to spin her around.

“Oh my God, look at you!” he enthuses, setting her back down and squatting before her. “You were this big the last time I saw you!” He lowers his hand to about half her height, making her giggle.

“I was way bigger than that!”

“Okay, okay,” Jisung acquiesces. “Maybe… here.” He lifts his hand but barely by an inch, poking her tummy and making her double over with giggles as he keeps tickling her.

Minho’s heart flutters.

“Hi, Hana,” Jeongin says with a wave. “I’m here, too.”

“Innie!” she shrieks as if she’d just noticed him, running the short distance to get her hug from him as well. While Jeongin and Hana chat, Jisung jogs over to the Escalade and Minho’s gaze follows him, landing on presumably the cousins Jiho had mentioned as they take turns giving Jisung bear hugs, squeezing laughter out of him.

One is about Jisung’s height, with curly brown hair and a dimpled smile—that one comes running over with a tiny pink jacket in his hands to wrap Hana up in before smothering Jeongin in a hug—and the other is a little shorter but stockier, with black hair and sharp eyes. He hangs back with Jisung, the pair approaching leisurely until the shorter one makes eye contact with Jeongin and comes prancing towards him, squealing in a manner reminiscent of the little girl.

“Innie, give me a kissie!” he demands. Jeongin wails in despair as he’s bombarded with another hug and several attempts to kiss his cheek. “It’s been so long; you look so handsome!”

Jisung rejoins Minho, giving him an apologetic smile before quietly introducing them. He gestures towards the short one, still annoying Jeongin while Hana goads him on with giggles. “This is Jeongin’s cousin, Changbin. Yes, he’s always like that. And that’s Chan, his husband.” At the mention of his name, the curly-haired one’s gaze shifts to them and he waves, smiling warmly, so Minho waves back. “And their daughter, Hana.”

Changbin backs off of Jeongin with a final squeeze to his shoulders. “Ooh, you’ve been working out!” He turns to Jisung, then Minho, eyebrows raising as he addresses Jisung: “Who’s this?”

“This is Minho,” Jisung says, slipping an arm around Minho’s waist. Minho’s heart seems to skip a beat. “My boyfriend.”

“Really now?” Changbin grins, stepping up to hold his hand out for Minho to shake. “I admire your charity, and you have my condolences.”

Minho almost thinks that he knows that this is a charade, no matter how convincing Jisung sounded or the butterflies in Minho’s stomach felt, before he realizes that Changbin is teasing and lets out a nervous laugh.

“You—” Jisung ducks down to gather some snow in his hands and Changbin takes off, giggling before Jisung can line up a shot.

Chan shakes his head as he approaches, then startles Minho with a hug. “Nice to meet you, Minho. Welcome to the family!”

“Oh,” Minho says meekly, struck with guilt, and plasters on a smile. “Thank you.”

Under a thick layer of guilt, he can’t help but feel warm at the words. He likes the sound of it. Maybe a little too much.

He realizes then how much he’s going to miss all of this when he and Jisung break it off.

✧

Once they’ve all made it inside with Jisung and Jeongin carrying the new arrivals’ bags and everyone has greeted each other, they gather in the living room to converse and catch up or, in Minho’s case, get to know each other. Minho learns that there’s good reason for the expensive car and what he thinks might be a Gucci watch on Changbin’s wrist—it turns out Changbin and Chan both are successful producers and songwriters also from LA, working with several artists Minho knows and even releasing music themselves.

There’s a fire in Jisung’s eyes while they talk about it, and Minho slips his hand into Jisung’s to give it an encouraging squeeze, hoping to convey the message that this could be you. Minho doesn’t know if Jisung’s resulting smile and the way he intertwines his fingers with Minho’s means that he received the message or not, but it warms him either way.

The conversation ends up veering towards sports, at which point seemingly everyone except Doyun and Chan tune out, Jeongin asking Hana about school and Jiho heading to the kitchen to get started on lunch. Minho is about to go help her when Changbin speaks up from beside Jisung.

“So how long have you two been together?”

“About a month,” Jisung answers.

Changbin whistles lowly, then addresses Minho. “And you came all this way to see him?” Minho ducks his head, feeling heat gather in his cheeks, because yes, he did like Jisung enough to hop on a plane and surprise him when they weren’t—aren’t—even officially together. When they weren’t dating for a month but had actually just known each other for a month. He still can’t believe himself, but… things could have turned out worse.

Changbin nudges Jisung’s side. “He’s a keeper, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jisung says, turning to smile softly at Minho while his thumb strokes gently over his knuckles. “He is.”

It feels real, and so Minho feels something within him flutter again. Fuck. He’s got to stop letting it get to his head.

Minho smiles back and slips his hand out of Jisung’s. “You’re a sap. I’m gonna go help your mom.” And then, because Changbin is watching, and it feels appropriate for the fake little moment they’d just shared, he plants a kiss on Jisung’s cheek before quickly getting up to leave.

He doesn’t miss the way Changbin teases Jisung for blushing as he exits.

✧

“Transformers! Optimus Prime!”

“Yes!” Jisung jumps up and down, overjoyed.

Changbin jumps to his feet, outraged. “No. How the hell did you guess that?!”

“You two are cheating!” Jiho yells, waving an accusing finger in Minho and Jisung’s direction while they laugh so hard they’re clutching their sides.

“They’re using telepathy!” Jeongin cries. “It’s true! I saw it!”

It turns out they’re a bit of a power couple when it comes to charades.

Everyone had been so excited when they realized they have an even number now and they can pair up in teams without leaving anyone out—Doyun with Jiho, Changbin and Chan, Minho and Jisung, and Jeongin and Hana (one would think it’s unfair, but they get easier ones and Hana is surprisingly good anyway; Chan will take every opportunity he gets to brag), but now, everybody but Minho and Jisung seems to be regretting playing.

They simply don’t stand a chance.

“I think we should all forfeit at this point,” Chan says with a sigh. “We’ve clearly been bested.”

“I’d argue, but they’re actually insane,” Changbin concurs. “It’s not even a competition.”

Minho and Jisung high-five, and Jisung puts his arm around Minho’s shoulders as they scroll through his phone to decide on where to order dinner from (Chan and Changbin’s treat, the winners’ prize being picking the restaurant), and when they’re done, his arm stays in its place.

Eventually, Hana asks, not for the first time, “When are we gonna decorate the tree?”

“Well,” Jiho says, clapping her hands and rising to her feet, “we may as well while we wait for dinner!”

Changbin and Chan follow her to help with the ornaments before anyone else can offer, and everyone starts to scatter, Doyun getting ready to go pick up the food, Jeongin putting Hana on his shoulders to see if she can reach the star on the top of the tree.

It leaves Minho and Jisung, still huddled up on the couch, sitting in silence for a moment with nothing but distant, quiet voices and Christmas music still faintly playing from the radio—currently “White Christmas.”

“Are you having fun?” Jisung asks, timid.

“Yeah,” Minho answers easily, nudging Jisung’s knee with his own. “I am. You?”

“Yeah, me too.” He nods to himself, smiling. “I’m glad.”

They join everyone else in decorating the tree, Minho giggling in delight when he digs out an ornament with Jisung’s unmistakable baby face on it. They all pass it around and coo while Jisung blushes and whines. Minho watches fondly as Jisung lifts Hana up a few times to help her hang ornaments higher, jokingly asking if he can be next. Jisung crouches down, talks him into getting on his back, and Minho is able to reach slightly higher than before when Jisung lifts him up.

The tree looks like it was decorated by a handful of small children instead of just one, but everyone is having too much fun to be bothered by it, Minho included.

“Hey, Hana,” Minho whispers, conspiratorial, a while later after they’ve finished dinner. She turns to him from her spot in Jisung’s lap with wide eyes. “Wanna help make cookies?”

“Yes!” she gasps.

Minho had bought some sugar cookie dough and icing while he was out, having no idea a child would be joining them and figuring that he could just make them himself, maybe with Jisung or Jeongin’s help if they wanted to, but this is much better.

It’s a mess. Jisung had dug out some sprinkles from the cabinet, and the table is covered in them now because that’s just what happens when a child is trusted with sprinkles. Minho can’t find it in himself to mind. The smiles on Jisung, Jeongin, and Hana’s faces are sweet enough to make up for the mess they’ll have to clean up later.

Jisung is decorating his gingerbread man-shaped cookie intricately, hunched over the table with icing in hand, and Minho is so endeared by his intensity that he pulls out his phone and sneaks a photo without much thought until after the fact.

He looks at it and smiles, but it quickly falters when he remembers the situation. What is this photo going to mean to him in a week or so? Will he and Jisung even be on good terms when this is all over?

Minho pushes the thought away. He’s enjoying himself despite it all, and he doesn’t want to worry about what’s going to happen later. So for now, he pockets his phone and sticks his finger in the green icing messily slathered over his own cookie, gets Jisung’s attention, and smears it on his cheek as soon as he looks up, cackling as Jisung chases him down with a threatening finger full of red icing.

Jisung corners him in the den, Minho in a frenzy of giggles as Jisung tries to grab his jaw and stop his squirming so he can get payback. He manages finally, and Minho’s breath catches in his throat at their proximity, pressed between Jisung and the wall with their faces inches apart, Jisung’s fingertips digging into his jaw.

“Ha,” Jisung laughs triumphantly as he drags icing across Minho’s cheek. Minho can only hope that the arm pressed against his chest and pinning him to the wall with surprising strength won’t feel the way his heart rate quickens underneath it. “Gotcha.”

At a loss for words, Minho just stares. They’re so close. Maybe he should kiss him, since they’re pretending to date and all—but there’s no one watching. 

Minho is just curious, wants to know what it would feel like, curious if Jisung’s lips are as soft as they look in the glow of all the lights around them. Maybe Jisung is thinking the same thing, because the smirk is falling from his face as he glances down at Minho’s lips, not the icing on his cheek, and—

“Whoa.”

They jump apart, Jisung releasing Minho and giving him space to pull away from the wall and breathe. It’s Chan who had turned the corner and interrupted with raised eyebrows, an amused smile growing on his lips. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever that was.”

“We weren’t―” Jisung starts, but Minho interrupts him.

“It’s okay,” Minho says. He decides to play it up, swiping his finger through the icing on Jisung’s cheek and leaving a smear of green behind as he brings it to his lips. “There’s time for that later.” He wraps his lips around his fingertip, winking at a slack-jawed Jisung as he saunters off.

He leaves Jisung alone after that so they don’t have a repeat of, as Chan said, whatever that was. After a long time spent decorating cookies and eating most of them, Hana is visibly tuckered out, eyes drooping as she nods off while trying to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas.

“Someone’s sleepy,” Jisung sings, patting her head.

“Not sleepy…” she mumbles back.

Chan stands to come crouch before her. “Let’s get you ready for bed, angel. Jisung, is it cool if she sleeps on your couch again this time?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. That’s fine.”

“No funny business while my daughter’s in there, you two,” Changbin threatens playfully, pointing at his eyes with two fingers and jabbing them at Minho and Jisung.

Minho throws his hands up in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Once Hana is on Jisung’s sofa in her ruffled, pink nightgown, teeth brushed and remnants of icing cleaned off of her face, she’s wide awake. “Can we play a game?”

“I thought you were tired!” Jisung says.

“Pleeeease, I wanna play Mario Kart before bed!”

“Fine, fine,” Jisung relents with a sigh, grabbing the controllers and turning on his Switch.

Hana bounces up and down excitedly. “Can he play too?” she asks, pointing at Minho. She keeps forgetting his name.

“If he wants to,” Jisung says, smiling. “Wants to get his butt kicked, that is.”

“Yeah!” she growls. “Jiji’s the best in the world at this game.”

Minho gasps. “In the whole world?”

“Yep!” she says proudly, kicking her feet while the game loads. “Can I turn on the stars?”

“Sure,” Jisung answers, and Minho watches her trot over to turn on the light on Jisung’s nightstand, cycling through the colors until it lands on purple and coming back to the sofa, smiling at the ceiling.

They play a few races, both of them letting Hana win in the first one, then Minho wins the second, and Jisung gets competitive and wins the next two, and Hana gets so fed up with losing that she sets her controller down and watches, sleepiness kicking back in.

Jisung turns off the console and tucks her in, letting her use his blanket but not his plushie.

“I guess I’ll sleep in the living room when everyone goes to bed,” he tells Minho, falling to land on his back atop his bed and looking up at the ceiling. “That couch is pretty cozy. I can say I was snoring and you kicked me out or something.”

Minho snorts, joining him. The light is really pretty; maybe he should get one of his own. He wonders if Soonie, Doongie, and Dori would like it, too.

“You can sleep in here,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

“What, on the floor?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “On the bed. I’ve decided you’re out of the doghouse.”

“Really?” Jisung squeaks, propping himself up on an elbow to grin at Minho. When he nods, Jisung’s head thumps back against the mattress with a happy sigh. “Ahh, I’m coming home, baby,” he says, patting the bed.

Minho wishes he didn’t think of Jisung calling him babe over the phone and how it had made his heart race.

“You’re so dramatic,” he laughs.

“What? I bet you miss your bed too!”

Truthfully, Minho hadn’t thought about his bed once this whole trip except to reminisce on falling asleep with Jisung. Jisung’s is quite comfortable, but more than that, he realizes he’s been having such a good time here that he hasn’t had time to miss much of anything but his cats.

He likes it a lot. He likes Jisung, after everything. He likes his family, how welcome they make him feel.

He remembers, again, that it’s all built on a lie.

Minho turns on his side, facing Jisung, and asks in a small voice, “Do you feel bad for lying to your family?”

Jisung turns to him too, concern on his features under a purple glow. He takes a moment to reply. 

“I mean, yeah. It’s hard not to when they’re all telling me how proud they are that I’ve found someone so amazing and good for me every day.” Minho nearly winces, averting his gaze. Jisung sighs, rolling onto his back again. “Are you asking because you feel guilty? Because you shouldn’t. I dragged you into this.”

“Yeah, but I went along with it,” he mumbles, thumbing at a frayed thread in the blanket. “I’m lying to them, too.”

Jisung shrugs. “The only thing you’re pretending to be is mine. Everything else is real, and that’s why they love you.” He lolls his head to the side to look at Minho, smiling softly. He’s so pretty. “All you have to do is be you, and anyone would.”

It’s genuine, and it makes Minho’s stomach somersault, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it, of wistfulness, like Jisung wishes the same were true for himself. Minho feels compelled to reach out, cover Jisung’s hand with his own.

“You know that’s true for you too, right?” he says. Jisung looks away, so he presses, “I’m serious. You’re a good guy, Jisung. I hate being sappy and gross, but it’s true.” He squeezes Jisung’s hand. “Anyone would love the real you, too.”

He meets Minho’s gaze again, eyes shining. His lips part, hesitant, like he wants to say something, perhaps a rebuttal, but nothing comes out.

A thought crosses Minho’s mind, one he’s wondered about before, so he decides to ask, “Do you still have the pictures you used when your profile had your face on it?”

Jisung purses his lips. “No…” he says slowly, obviously lying.

“Let me see,” Minho orders.

“You can’t. They’re gone forever.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I can’t blame you, but—Hey!” Jisung hisses when Minho’s snatched his phone from his hoodie pocket. “Whatever. You don’t know the passcode.”

Minho frowns at the screen as it asks him for one. “Probably Howl’s Moving Castle’s release date or some shit,” he grumbles, letting it fall to the mattress.

“Good guess,” Jisung says, picking it up and angling it away from Minho’s eyes as he types it in, “but no.” He does some tapping and scrolling, some cringing and groaning before he’s sitting up. “Okay, try not to laugh too much.”

Minho sits up, making grabby hands for the phone until Jisung hands it to him. Minho immediately has to bite back a laugh at the first picture because of its odd angle and the frown on Jisung’s face. It’s not ugly, but it isn’t flattering either, reminding him of a middle schooler who’s just gotten their first phone with a camera and takes a selfie that haunts them for years. Or white Facebook mom selfies, with some of the filters he uses.

“You did not just call me a white Facebook mom,” Jisung gasps when Minho says as much after scrolling through a few more.

“I’m sorry!” Minho laughs, putting his hand over his mouth when he remembers Hana is sleeping nearby. “Sorry. It’s just… you can do so much better.”

“And how, pray tell, would I do that?”

“Show a bit of who you are,” Minho says. “Highlight your strengths. Like… a picture with your guitar. Or your pretty smile.”

Jisung’s eyebrows raise. “My pretty smile?”

“Yeah,” Minho says, pointing at his mouth. “That one! It’s heart-shaped.”

“Never heard that before.” Jisung ducks his head, still smiling, and Minho lifts his own phone to snap a photo.

“See?” he says, showing it to Jisung before quickly sending it to him. “Pretty.”

“Okay, since you know everything,” Jisung says, turning his body towards him, legs crossed. “What other ‘strengths’ should I highlight?”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“Maybe.”

Minho smiles and turns, too, observing Jisung’s face. Despite the goofy faces he makes to try and make Minho laugh, Minho realizes that Jisung is actually… very attractive.

Maybe expecting Hyunjin’s face when he walked in threw his perception off, but now that Minho has gotten to know Jisung as Jisung, and he really lets himself think about it for the first time, Jisung is really handsome. It’s almost laughable that he felt the need to hide behind someone else’s face.

“Well?” Jisung prompts when Minho does nothing but stare.

“Uh, well. Your eyes. They’re pretty,” he says intelligently. His gaze travels down. “And this cute mole,” he says, poking it. “Don’t hide it. It’s charming.” Jisung scrunches up his nose in a smile and all Minho can think is cute cute cute. “And that! No more of that blank stare when you have such a nice smile at your disposal.”

“You’re really laying it on thick, huh…” he chuckles, face flushed.

“You asked.” Minho grins, then gently tilts Jisung’s head to the side. “Your jawline, too. It’s…” hot. “nice, too. And…” He runs a hand through Jisung’s hair, exposing his forehead, his dark, thick eyebrows. It somehow makes him even more handsome. Damn. “You look sexy with your hair pushed back.”

“Aha… Do you really think that or are you just quoting Mean Girls?”

Minho winks, then lies back down. “Anyway, it’s not all about the photos. Taking better selfies isn’t going to get you anywhere in the end if you aren’t yourself.” He yawns. “And that’s my wisdom for the day.”

“Thank you, Almighty Reno Lee,” Jisung says in mock reverence. “How can I ever repay you for this wisdom you have bestowed upon me?”

Minho hums, contemplating. “When this is all over,” he says, “you should remake your profile. Be honest about who you are and what you want. Not just in dating.”

Jisung studies him for a moment then smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right,” he says, lying on his back once more, hands folded over his stomach. “What I want.”

Minho hums affirmatively and they fall into silence.

✧

They start the next day off with building more snowmen at Hana’s request, Minho’s chest swelling with pride when she fawns over his snowcats and the photos of his real cats he consequently shows her. She seems to be growing to like him fairly fast, especially when he and Jisung let her tag along on a run to the grocery store for ingredients for another yule log cake which she then helps them make.

(Jisung had hyped it up to Changbin and Chan and begged Minho to make another. Minho finds him hard to say no to.)

Much of the day is spent running errands and cooking. Minho sends a handful of texts to Hyunjin and Felix throughout, but he’s too preoccupied to keep a proper conversation going with either of them, responses sporadic, and by the time he’s able to settle down and have fun with everyone, that’s all he really wants to do.

He’s beginning to second-guess that sentiment when the mistletoe makes its first appearance.

Not really though, even if he does pretend to be disgusted by the displays of affection. Changbin and Chan get caught first, coming in the front door together when Jiho excitedly points it out above the door frame. Changbin is theatric, grabbing Chan and dipping him down to kiss him full on the lips. Chan giggles, blushing and slapping his husband’s shoulder while everyone whistles and cheers.

The mistletoe mysteriously disappears after that and ends up in the kitchen, Jiho tolling everyone who passes through while she’s working on dinner with a kiss on the cheek. Jisung and Hana get caught too, Jisung having to chase her around the living room to get his own kiss on the cheek. Jiho and Doyun share a chaste kiss, and even Jeongin gets stuck under it with Minho, the younger begrudgingly allowing a kiss to his cheek while everyone goads Minho on.

Minho supposes it’s only a matter of time until he and Jisung get caught together, too.

He’s not worried, too busy laughing over board games and spiked eggnog with everyone, feeling light and warm. If it happens, it happens. Jisung will probably weasel his way out of it anyhow.

At one point in the night, Jisung removes himself from Minho’s side to volunteer to take the dishes stacked off to the side to the kitchen. Suspicious, Minho waits a few moments and then creeps in after him, his suspicions confirmed as he catches Jisung red-handed, cutting himself another slice of the freshly-made cake.

“Aha!” Minho shouts, right behind him, erupting into giggles when Jisung flinches and screams. “Knew it. Insatiable fucker.”

“I can’t help it,” he whines, scooping the thin slice onto a plate. “It’s so good.” He seats himself on a stool at the island in the center of the kitchen. “I’d eat this whole thing if no one were here to stop me.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Minho chuckles, leaning against the countertop and watching Jisung fill his cheeks with cake.

Seemingly confused as to why Minho is staring, Jisung holds the fork up to offer him a bite. It’s not what Minho intended, but he wouldn’t mind a bit more—he did do a pretty great job, with Jisung and Hana’s help—so he lets Jisung feed it to him, gaze flickering down to Minho’s lips.

They finish the piece like that, alternating bites while laughing about how everyone ganged up on Changbin in the last game they played and vowing to do it again the next chance they get. Once they’ve done what Jisung pretended to come in here for and cleaned up the dishes, they go to rejoin everyone in the living room again, faltering in their steps when there’s an uncomfortable amount of eyes on them.

Is it because Jisung screamed? Or because they went back for more cake? Surely they’re allowed an extra slice; Minho will be happy to make more—

And that’s when he realizes, and so does Jisung, judging by the way both of their heads slowly tilt back to look above them at that goddamn mistletoe hanging above their heads.

Minho looks back down at Jisung, smirking. “I guess we should’ve expected—”

He doesn’t get to finish the thought before Jisung’s surges forward and quiets him with his lips.

It feels like a crash, with how quick and sudden it is, but the press of his lips is far more careful. Careful, but insistent, hands cradling Minho’s head, fingers pressing into the back of his skull. Holding him close.

Jisung kisses him like he wants to.

Minho’s pulse must be jumping underneath Jisung’s palms, air caught in his lungs and butterflies trapped behind his ribcage. Jisung’s lips are soft, and they slot together with Minho’s like they were made to kiss one another.

He relaxes into it, kisses Jisung back, tentatively curls his fingers into the front of his sweater. It’s soft. This feels nice. Minho wants more.

Before he can dwell on or even properly acknowledge the thought, Jisung is pulling away. His eyes dart between Minho’s, dark irises reflecting colorful lights like a kaleidoscope. Minho wants to fall into them.

Or maybe he’s just had too much eggnog.

The world around them fades back into focus, and Minho belatedly realizes that they’re all cheering for them (minus Hana who exclaims ewww!), heat rising to his cheeks, some sort of cocktail of shame for lying, embarrassment for the PDA, and something else he can’t quite put a finger on swirling in his stomach.

“Yeah,” Jisung answers him, taking Minho’s hand and smiling as he intertwines their fingers, “we should’ve.”

The rest of the night is more or less a blur, Minho’s head spinning. Whether it’s from the alcohol or how electrifying it felt to kiss Jisung—or maybe both—he isn’t sure.

It’s been a long time since Minho has kissed anyone he felt any sort of connection with, platonic or otherwise, he reasons. That must be it. He’d just forgotten how nice it can feel.

“You okay?” Jisung asks him softly, not long after. He must have quieted down since then, stuck running circles in his own head, and he feels bad for making Jisung worry. “Should I not have…?”

“I told you before that it’s fine.” Minho smiles, nudging Jisung’s shoulder with his own. And he means it; Jisung did nothing wrong. It just startled him. “I’m just getting tired,” he says, which is also true. He wants to rest his head on Jisung’s shoulder, so he does.

“Oh,” Jisung breathes. A beat passes before a hand runs through Minho’s hair, blunt nails dragging lightly over his scalp. His eyes flutter shut in bliss. “Should we call it a night?”

“In a bit,” Minho mumbles, nuzzling into Jisung’s shoulder. “Keep doing that.”

“Okay,” Jisung chuckles, repeating the motion. He presses a kiss on the top of Minho’s head. Minho swallows.

It’s for show, he reminds himself. That’s why they’ve been cuddling all night, that’s why Jisung kissed him, why he’s petting him, pressing a tender kiss to his head. They’re only pretending to be a couple. Jisung probably noticed someone watching and wanted to make it more believable.

Minho knows this is all fake, a charade—but why then, he wonders, does it make his heart race?

Fucking eggnog.

✧

Felix has been calling him, demanding for updates, so Minho decides to indulge him while he’s alone in Jisung’s room, the other upstairs helping his mom wrap presents. Minho wanted to help, too, but they insisted he’d done enough for one day and sent him downstairs. He hopes that doesn’t mean that it’s his gifts that they’re wrapping; he’s guilty enough about this whole thing as it is and the last thing he needs is Jisung’s family spending money on him.

“Have you thought about telling them the truth?” Felix wonders. “I mean, you’re coming home after Christmas, right? What’s Jisung gonna tell them then?”

“I think he’s gonna say we broke up,” Minho sighs, the words leaving a strangely bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Why does it sound like you don’t want to?” Felix asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“What?” Minho blinks, frowning at the stars on Jisung’s ceiling. “It’s not that, it’s just… Well, I don’t know. I’m—I’m gonna miss it here. I’m worried we won’t be friends after this.”

“Friends?” Felix repeats. The word hangs heavy in the air.

“Yes,” Minho says, hesitant. “What else? It’s that or we go back to being strangers on opposite ends of the country.”

“What if he doesn’t want to be friends?” Felix asks, and Minho deflates. “I mean, it sounds like you two have gotten really close. What if he wants more?”

“More?” Minho considers it, his heart doing something funny at the thought, but he quickly shuts it down. “He doesn’t. The dating app thing was an experiment to him. He set me up with Hyunjin out of pity, or guilt for catfishing me or whatever.” He scoffs. “He doesn’t want more,” he repeats, cementing the fact to both Felix and himself.

Felix merely hums. “How are things going with him, by the way?”

“Who?”

“Hyunjin. Hot model dancer guy you’re kind of seeing? Sheesh, Minho, c’mon.”

“Oh. Right,” Minho laughs weakly. He goes on to tell Felix about―well, not much, really. He and Hyunjin have texted a bit here and there, but nothing substantial or noteworthy except that Hyunjin’s reactions to Minho’s cats were very subpar, though he supposes Jisung has set the bar almost impossibly high on that front.

Felix updates Minho on some new baked goods he’s been trying to make and using Seungmin as a test subject for as well as the last-minute Christmas presents he’s been buying, complaining about how busy it is everywhere.

As their conversation is dying down, Jisung comes downstairs, and Minho says his goodbyes to Felix. Jisung explains that he got kicked out so Jiho could wrap his presents, also relaying the message that Minho could come up if he has something he wants to wrap.

Minho does just that, slipping his gifts for Jisung out of his bag and under his sweater where he can’t see them as he hurries upstairs. He joins Jiho, taking a seat in her secluded corner where she’s surrounded by wrapping paper and other supplies.

He places the first gift down on a roll of wrapping paper, and he can’t blame Jiho for the peculiar look she gives it―it’s a pair of black gloves, which there’s certainly no shortage of around here.

“They’re touchscreen gloves,” Minho explains. Then, at Jiho’s confusion, he elaborates, “The material of the index finger and thumb tips is thinner, so you don’t have to take them off to use your phone. I… actually bought these a couple weeks ago, because Jisung was complaining about not being able to text me when he was outside in the cold,” he divulges, smiling at the memory.

Jiho gives him a fond look, eyebrows upturned. “You’re the sweetest, Minho, really.”

“Ah.” Minho waves her off, slicing the scissors through the wrapping paper and messily wrapping his gift. “It was out of self-interest. I just wanted to talk to him more.”

Jiho laughs, then quiets down with sincerity. “I mean it, though. You’re a lovely young man. It’s not just about the gloves.” Minho ducks his head in a shy smile, but she isn’t done yet. “I’m really thankful to you for being so good to Jisung. You really make him happy.”

Minho forces a smile through his guilt, a lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he says softly. “He makes me happy, too.”

“We’re all thrilled to have you be part of the family,” she says, and Minho’s guilt is weighing down hard, pushing him closer to cracking and confessing everything right there. “I hope we get to see more of you soon.”

“I hope so, too.”

He means it, all of it, and it makes him ache.

✧

Hyunjin 🍀

heyyy minho!
have any christmas eve-eve plans tomorrow? hehe

not sure yet! you?

well.. you said you were heading home after christmas right?
I’d love to see you before you leave
if you want to ofc!!
let me know if you’re up for it :)

Minho puffs out his cheeks and exhales, something heavy settling in his stomach. Maybe it’s the reminder that he’d intended to leave soon, to say goodbye to Jisung and his family and break off their fake relationship. Maybe it’s the Christmas carols they’re meant to sing that evening, because Minho may have been slightly dreading walking around in the cold and singing to strangers, but he’d thought it would be fun anyway and he was looking forward to hearing Jisung sing some more.

Maybe it’s Hyunjin. Minho had hoped for something special with him, but he’s having trouble deciphering his own feelings. Maybe another date will give them both the answers they need.

With that in mind, he accepts Hyunjin’s invitation. He’s sure Jisung will understand, but when he tries to tell him about it, the words don’t want to come out.

“Hyunjin asked me on another date,” he manages, finally. Quietly, so no one but Jisung and Jeongin can hear. “Tomorrow night.”

Jeongin looks up from his phone and Jisung turns from where he’d been chopping up vegetables at Minho’s insistence.

“Oh,” Jisung says, leaning back against the counter and tilting his head. “Are—Are you going?”

Minho nods, averting his gaze almost guiltily.

“Oh,” he repeats. The corners of his lips turn up into a small smile. “Lucky you. You’re gonna miss the caroling.”

✧

While Jisung bundles up in several layers and lines his pockets with hot packs to prepare for an indefinite amount of time spent freezing his ass off and singing, Minho decides to touch up his face with a little makeup. He’s antsy and trying to avoid the weird feeling in his gut, so he wants something to do, and dolling himself up a bit never hurts.

He calls Felix too while he’s at it, his voice rambling on about something that happened at work from Minho’s speaker where it lies beside him on Jisung’s bed while he adds some light eyeshadow and thin wings to his eyelids.

“Are you done?” Felix asks. “Start a video, lemme see.”

Minho sighs but obliges his request, switching to a video call to show off his minimal makeup, laughing as Felix hoots and yells and hypes him up.

“You’re full of shit,” Minho claims. “You probably can’t even see it with this video quality.”

“Shut up! You look hot!” Felix argues. “Hyunjin’s gonna jump your bones.”

Of course, it’s at that moment that Jisung re-enters his room. He definitely heard that. Minho doesn’t know why it makes shame roil in his stomach—it’s not like he plans to sleep with Hyunjin, anyway.

“Felix,” he hisses. “I gotta go.”

“Get that dick!” Felix rushes out before Minho can end the call, his cheeks flaming as he tosses his phone aside and meets Jisung’s gaze.

“You look beautiful,” he says, stopping at the bottom of the steps to stare.

“Oh. Thanks,” Minho says, ducking his head. “It’s really nothing.”

“You always look beautiful,” Jisung says, like he’s talking about the damn weather. Minho’s heart thumps. Jisung glances at Minho’s phone, rubs his neck. “So, um… Should I wait up?”

“No!” Minho blurts. “Yes. I mean—Ugh, ignore Felix. He was talking out of his ass.”

“Okay.” Jisung laughs softly, then tosses Minho his keys. “We’re about to head out. Have fun.”

“You, too,” Minho says weakly. Jisung nods once and climbs back up the stairs.

Wait, Minho wants to say. I changed my mind. I want to come with you.

But he holds his tongue. It’s just one night.

They go to a nicer restaurant this time, and Minho is glad he decided to dress up a little. Hyunjin looks gorgeous, of course, sporting a little makeup of his own and a pretty blue sweater. They talk a little more about all the same things they did last time, but it seems like they’ve come close to exhausting the topics. There are more lulls in conversation, which isn’t always a bad thing, but it’s becoming clear that they’re starting to run out of things to talk about.

Minho can make conversation just fine in a pinch, always does what he can to keep the other party from feeling awkward or disengaged. It’s no different with Hyunjin. But.

In his mind, he can’t help but compare it to his experience with Jisung. For weeks, all they could do was talk, and they never hit a wall or got bored of a topic. Minho could bring up the most bizarre things he could think of, and Jisung would go along with it like second nature. Jisung could ramble on about something he finds interesting and Minho would listen intently, immersed and endeared. Everything was just so easy with him.

Was? No, is.

After dinner, Hyunjin asks Minho if he’d like to walk around the square and look at Christmas lights for a while before they part ways, and Minho goes along agreeably. Hyunjin offers his arm, “for warmth,” and Minho smiles, linking theirs together as they stroll around a huge Christmas tree and comment on the various decorations dotting the plaza.

“I am gonna miss this place when I’m in LA,” Hyunjin sighs, and Minho silently agrees, “but I can’t wait to get out, either.”

Minho hums. “I hope it all works out for you.”

“I hope so, too.”

They slow to a stop once they reach the point where they started, and Hyunjin slips his arm out of Minho’s hold to turn to him, smiling prettily, glowing in all the surrounding lights.

“Well,” Minho says, “it’s been nice—”

“Can I kiss you?” Hyunjin asks.

Minho blinks, taken aback.

Shouldn’t he be thrilled to hear this from someone he’d considered a potential partner? Shouldn’t he want to take this step, to figure out what it is he and Hyunjin have, if anything, to untangle the mess that his head is in?

“Sorry,” Hyunjin says quickly. “I just thought—”

“Yeah.” Minho interrupts him this time, nodding.

“Oh.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Okay.”

Then Hyunjin is leaning down, and Minho is craning his neck to meet him. His lips are every bit as soft and pillowy as Minho imagined them to be, warm and smooth against his own despite the cold. He smells nice. He is nice, and sweet, and lovely and kind, so why?

Why is Minho thinking about Jisung?

He thinks about what it felt like to kiss him. It was electrifying. It was the spark he’s been searching for in Hyunjin, the spark he felt with Jisung from the beginning but began to deny when the truth came out. It was that spark but amplified tenfold, like a lit-up Christmas tree, a spectrum of vibrant colors painting Minho with a happy glow, and he felt like he belonged.

Minho’s heart is pounding when they part, but not because of Hyunjin.

“You’re not into me, are you?” he asks with a bittersweet smile.

Minho opens his mouth to deny it but promptly closes it. There’s no point in sugarcoating it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re a great guy. I’m not just saying that.”

“Ahh,” Hyunjin sighs, tipping his head back to face the sky. “I knew it was too good to be true.” He looks back down at Minho again, smiling amicably like he didn’t just get rejected, eyes crescents. “It’s okay. At least we nipped it in the bud.”

“Yeah,” Minho chuckles. “And hey, now you have a friend in LA, too.”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin echoes, beaming. “Yeah, I’ll be in touch.”

“Good.”

They part ways with a hug, and Minho feels some relief at having an answer—no, he doesn’t have feelings for Hyunjin—but also the heavy weight of another question on his shoulders. 

What does he feel for Jisung?

The pounding of his heart tells him that it can’t be anything good.

And what does Jisung feel for him? He said it himself, that matching with Minho using Hyunjin’s photos was an experiment. So what is he now? An experiment, still? A pawn, used to fool his family? Someone who will become a stranger the moment he boards the flight home? A friend?

Something more, like Felix suggested?

No, Minho tells himself. It doesn’t mean anything. Jisung touching him, holding him close where everyone can see doesn’t mean anything. Jisung kissing him under the mistletoe doesn’t mean anything. Lingering gazes that stir warmth in Minho’s core don’t mean anything. Minho can’t believe that any of it means anything, not when everything they are is built on lies. Fake photos, fake relationship. Fake tenderness and fondness and happiness.

Fake love.

When did it become real for Minho? How had he not realized sooner?

He drives Jisung’s car back in pensive silence, and when he returns the family seems to still be out caroling. He goes downstairs to Jisung’s room, more than ready to wash up and end his thoughts with sleep. Instead, he freezes as soon as he enters. He hears running water. The door was locked when he got here. Surely no one broke in to come use the shower in the basement.

Any worries he might have had are soothed when he hears Jisung’s voice belt out Adele from the ensuite. Minho raises his eyebrows with an impressed smile as he shuffles over to collapse onto Jisung’s bed. There’s no light except from the galaxy projector and what creeps out from under the bathroom door, so Minho stares at the fake stars.

Jisung. It makes perfect sense that Minho would like him. He fell for him over the phone, for fuck’s sake, came all this way to see him—and sure, Jisung lied, but underneath it all he was still the person Minho fell for in the first place. He didn’t fall for him because he thought he looked like Hyunjin or because he said he was a dancer or a Pisces. He fell for the glimpses of the real Jisung, the one who can make Minho laugh until his sides hurt, whose voice alone brings him comfort. The one who gives him endless butterflies, whether it’s sweet nothings from across the country or a hand in Minho’s hair.

He fell for the Jisung who hits every note in “Someone Like You” as he shuts the water off, still humming as he emerges from the bathroom not long after, and oh, Minho should probably look away but what the absolute fuck is he looking at.

There’s a towel wrapped snugly around his small waist, but that’s the least of Minho’s concerns when he’s busy ogling Jisung’s dripping wet form, from broad shoulders to thick, defined upper arms, round pecs to even the shadow of abs. Minho’s mouth goes dry.

This is what he’s been hiding under those big Christmas sweaters? Jisung has just been jacked as hell all this time and no one was going to tell him? He’d think Jisung would want to show it off, because holy shit, he’s hot.

Jisung rummages around in his dresser drawer while Minho can do nothing but stare, slack-jawed, as the muscles in his back ripple. Until he sees Jisung reach for the towel and realizes that he’s about to become an accidental voyeur, quickly blurting out, “Don’t get naked!”

Jisung screams, nearly toppling over in surprise, both hands flying to keep the towel in place. Minho rolls over, his back to Jisung, though he’s not sure whose benefit it’s for.

“Minho?!” he chokes out. “What the fuck? When did you get here?”

“At the end of ‘Rolling in the Deep.’”

Jisung groans. “You heard that?”

“Yes, and it sounded wonderful. Please put some clothes on.”

Minho hears him rustling around. “I am. I’ve already got my pants on, just gimme a—That doesn’t mean turn back around!”

Ignoring him, Minho sits up to get a better look, eyes roaming shamelessly over his torso. It’s certainly not helping his current crisis of his increasingly more undeniable attraction to Jisung, but it’s a nice sight nonetheless.

Jisung’s hands falter in their pilfering of his dresser drawer under Minho’s gaze. He stops completely and cocks an eyebrow, lips hinting at a smirk. “Do you want me to put my clothes on or not?”

Minho blinks out of his daze, flustered by the teasing. He tries to cover it with a smirk of his own as he shrugs. “Do whatever you want. I’m just enjoying the view.”

Jisung turns away with a scoff. “Yeah, well. I’m cold.” Minho mourns the loss as he pulls on a black t-shirt and then a navy green hoodie over it, completing the ultimate Christmas look with candy cane patterned fuzzy socks. Minho wonders how he can manage to be so hot and so fucking adorable at the same time.

“You look like Christmas,” Minho says. From his wine-red hair, green hoodie, red plaid pajama pants, and candy cane socks, it’s true. All he’s missing is a Santa hat.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jisung answers, chin held high. “I love Christmas.”

Minho hasn’t really cared as much for Christmas as he’s grown older, but staying and celebrating with Jisung’s family has reminded him how wonderful it can be. He realizes that he’s probably always going to associate it with his time here now. With Jisung.

He smiles. “Me too.”

“Good,” Jisung says, “because I need your help making some more of those little Christmas tree cookies.”

“You literally just have to put them in the oven.”

“Yeah, but they’re so much better when a pastry chef does it!”

Minho rolls his eyes. “I’ll be right up.”

✧

After washing his face and changing into a sweater and sweatpants, Minho joins Jisung upstairs.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t do this on your own,” he’s saying as he and Jisung place the dough on a cookie sheet.

“Minho, the last time I tried to bake cookies on my own, you know what they came out looking like? Coal. I could’ve filled your stocking with that shit. The house reeked all day.”

“Have you tried taking them out of the oven?! Timers exist for a reason.”

“I fell asleep,” he whines. “I only woke up ‘cause the smoke alarm started going off.”

“I’m impressed,” Minho laughs. “It takes talent to fuck that up.”

Jisung nudges his side, and the meager touch has Minho wishing for Jisung to pull him into a hug, to wrap his arms around him and hook his chin over his shoulder—but there’s no one watching, so there’s no reason for him to.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” Jisung wonders once they’ve put the cookies in the oven, munching on a piece of candy as he fiddles with the wrapper, eyes downcast.

Sure, Minho thinks. It was fun enough aside from the fact that I thought about you when he kissed me and I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.

“It was fine,” he says.

Jisung looks up. “Just ‘fine?’”

Minho shrugs. “What about you? What happened to Christmas carols at gunpoint?”

“Um, yeah.” Jisung looks back down, interested in his candy wrapper. “I left early. Figured they could handle it.”

“Why?” Minho asks. “Missed me too much?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jisung says wryly. “Totally anticipated you being in my bed when I came out of the shower half-naked.”

“I knew it,” Minho jokes. “Show-off.” Jisung chuckles, and Minho leans on the counter across from him, studying him. “Y’know, I figured you were lying when you said you worked out. I guess I was sorely mistaken.”

“The only sore one here is me,” Jisung says, flexing an arm and patting his bicep. “Sore from all these gains.”

Minho wrinkles his nose in distaste at the joke but laughs anyway, and definitely doesn’t try not to think about getting his hands on said gains. Jisung asks if he wants to watch TV while they wait for the cookies so he agrees, padding after him.

Minho slows down in the threshold between the kitchen and den, glancing up at the mistletoe still hanging there. Jisung notices Minho has stopped trailing after him before he reaches the sofa, gaze following Minho’s before snapping back down.

“Mistletoe,” Minho says dumbly, pointing up.

Jisung’s brow furrows, a smile slowly spreading on his face as he steps closer. “No one’s watching.”

“I know,” Minho says, laughing it off and fleeing the scene. Stupid. “I was just—”

His head turns towards the sound of the lock on the front door turning, and Jisung catches him before he can walk away, turning Minho around and kissing him right on the lips just in time for whoever’s opened the door to see.

Minho should be focusing on that, on the fact that Jisung only kissed him because someone was coming, but all he can do is melt in his hold, his brain turning to mush and his body set alight.

Jisung is warm. Bright. Safe. Kissing him feels like flying, almost like coming home. Forget the little spark Minho fruitlessly searched for in Hyunjin—Jisung sets him on fire.

There are exclamations and jeers from the front door as Minho can hear everyone distantly pile in while Jisung pulls away, but all Minho can do is stare at Jisung, from his sparkling eyes to rosy cheeks to pretty pink lips, light-headed as he fights the urge to pull him in for another kiss. To hear Jisung gasp against him, to run his hands along his arms, his chest, to hear that melodious laughter, to be the cause of it. To give him the love he deserves until he realizes just how wonderful he is.

Jisung smiles and slips his hand into Minho’s, same as the last time, and Minho realizes that he never stood a chance.

✧

Minho awakens on Christmas Eve uncomfortably damp with sweat and something solid and hot plastered to his back. There’s an arm wrapped around him, a leg tangled with his.

Shit.

He feels even hotter at the realization of what position they’ve woken up in, feeling Jisung’s breath on the back of his neck, goosebumps rising. Jisung’s hand lies limp in front of Minho’s chest, and he does nothing but study it for a moment before brushing his own fingers over his knuckles. He recoils when Jisung’s hand twitches, but when he doesn’t move again, Minho tenderly places his hand atop Jisung’s.

Jisung’s hands are so pretty, Minho can’t help but think. Full of talent. They’re small, and just slightly bigger than Minho’s. His crooked pinkies are adorable, his long thumbs strangely charming.

At what point did everything about Jisung become so beautiful to Minho?

Was it when he played guitar and sang for him? Or one of many times Minho saw him being adorable with Hana? Maybe it was the first time Jisung kissed him, maybe it was little by little with every laugh, every smile, every touch.

Maybe it was from the very start, and Minho just didn’t want to accept it. He didn’t want to believe he’d fall for the guy who catfished him, lied to him, couldn’t believe he could hide behind someone else and then end up being even better in person. Not perfect, but maybe perfect for Minho.

He could be, anyway—if it were any more than a charade to Jisung.

Minho sighs and squeezes his hand, shaking him lightly. “Jisung.” No response. He tries to slip out from Jisung’s grasp, only for him to cling to him tighter. He shakes his arm a little harder. “Jisungie.” Jisung grunts. “Let me up.”

He groans, tightening his hold and clinging to him like a koala. “You’re warm.”

And as much as Minho would like to stay here and let Jisung cuddle him to his heart’s content— “I’m sweating.”

“Gross,” Jisung croaks, making no move to let go.

Minho huffs, relenting, and manages to roll over in Jisung’s hold so that they’re face-to-face. Jisung cracks a sleepy eye open, eyebrows pinched together, his cheek mushed up cutely against the pillow. Minho takes in the view, comparing it to the one he’d imagined just around a week ago—it feels like so long now—when he’d imagined waking up next to Jisung, picturing Hyunjin in his place.

He likes this one better.

“Stop,” Jisung whines, turning his head until his face is buried in the pillow.

“What?” Minho grins, poking the part of his cheek that’s still exposed. “Don’t want me to see your crusty eyes?”

Jisung grumbles something muffled into the pillow, and Minho takes it upon himself to jab lightly at his ribs. Jisung convulses. “Ah! No, please.” Minho pokes him again and he squirms, ticklish. “Okay, okay, I’ll let you go.”

Minho is released and sits up, Jisung whining about the loss of his heater while Minho gathers his things for a shower. Jisung had warned him the night prior that they would probably be forced into a photoshoot this morning since Changbin, Chan, and Hana are all leaving to go to Grandma’s for Christmas, so once Minho has showered he puts on a little makeup for the hell of it. He puts on his Meowy Christmas sweater, too, and smiles when he emerges to the sight of Jisung sitting on the sofa, brushing Hana’s hair.

Jisung does a double take at him, eyes wide. “You look nice,” he says. “Mom’s gonna have a field day with you.”

“With us both, I’m sure,” Minho says, sitting next to him and tracing his profile with his eyes, thoughtful, while Jisung dutifully works the kinks out of Hana’s curly hair. “Do you wear makeup?”

“Ah, not really. I use BB cream sometimes. Otherwise I kinda suck at it.”

“I could do it for you,” Minho suggests, perhaps too eagerly. “I mean, if you want to. It’s not like you need it. I just thought—”

“Do mine too!” Hana says, whirling around to face Minho. “Please please please! My dads stink at makeup!”

“Oh.” Minho snorts. “Sure, I’d be happy to. But go ask them first, okay?”

“Okay!” she excitedly jumps up and bounds away.

“I wasn’t done—” Jisung sighs and sets the hairbrush aside, then turns to Minho. “Alright, let’s get on with that makeover.”

“You hardly need a makeover,” Minho chuckles, going to retrieve his things from the bathroom. “I just thought a bit of eyeshadow would look really nice on you.”

“Okay. I’ll trust your artistic vision.”

He and Jisung face each other on the sofa, each with a leg folded under themselves, as Minho dabs his applicator in his chosen color. Jisung wets his lips as Minho lifts a hand to his face, saying softly, “Close your eyes.”

Jisung listens and Minho takes just a split second to admire him before getting to work, carefully applying eyeshadow to Jisung’s fluttering eyelids. His knuckles brush Jisung’s cheek and he repeats the gesture with more purpose, slowly, the velvety skin pleasing to the touch.

Jisung’s eyes blink open, searching.

“You’re so soft,” Minho says by way of explanation.

He supposes he should be thankful for Hana bursting back in the room at that moment and yelling, “They said I can do it!”

“Okay.” Minho smiles as she excitedly comes down the stairs. “Let me just finish up with Jiji and we’ll get you all dolled up, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay!”

Minho applies and blends the rest of the eyeshadow, sitting back to admire his handiwork—and how good Jisung looks in the glittering gold smokey eye.

“Damn,” Jisung says, tilting his head as he checks himself out in his phone’s front camera. “You were right. I look good.”

“You do,” Minho agrees.

“Yeah, Jiji looks super pretty,” Hana adds. “My turn now!”

“Okay, what color do you want?”

Minho can feel Jisung’s eyes on him as he does Hana’s eyeshadow, and when he glances up at him and all Jisung does is smile, his insides churn with longing.

Once they’ve all finished getting ready, they head upstairs for breakfast, Changbin, Chan, and Hana all open their gifts from everyone, and then it’s time for photos.

Everyone is dressed in their Christmas best, and they all set up in front of the hearth—Doyun (sporting a Santa hat), Jiho, Jeongin, Jisung, then Minho in the back, Changbin and Chan crouched in front with Hana between them. Minho holds onto Jisung’s arm and hopes his presence won’t ruin the group photos too much when he and Jisung pretend to break up after Christmas. At least he’s on the end, so they can crop him out if needed.

Chan is tasked with setting the timer on the camera and running back in place several times until they’re all satisfied with the amount of group photos. Then individuals, then smaller groups—Doyun and Jiho alone and with their kids, Jisung and Jeongin (Minho makes a silly face behind the camera that makes them both giggle), Changbin and Chan with Hana, and Hana insists on having one with everyone, too.

Finally, it’s Minho and Jisung’s turn, and Jiho coos over how nice they look while she snaps photos of them sitting on the decorated hearth. Seeing how happy she is makes the guilt weigh heavy in Minho’s stomach again.

He remembers what Jisung had said to him when he first proposed this… scheme.

If we just go along with it, everyone’s happy, right?

Minho is miserable.

This is like torture, having this happy life with Jisung and his family dangled in front of him, knowing it’s all fake. That it’ll be over after tomorrow and Minho will never come back here again. Jisung is too good; he would probably come clean about the whole thing to his family, and they’d resent Minho for deceiving them. They’d have every right to.

And Jisung… Minho doesn’t know what his leaving will mean for them. Will they keep in touch? Become strangers? Act as if this never happened?

Minho doesn’t know if he can. Doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend.

A place, a person he yearns to call home—all nothing but an illusion.

He looks at Jisung. Click. Jisung looks back. Click. Something hits Jisung in the head and they both look up, Jeongin dangling the mistletoe on a ribbon above their heads. Jisung rolls his eyes and bats at Jeongin’s legs, turning to tell him off, but Minho keeps him from doing so with a gentle hand on his jaw. He turns Jisung back to him, leans in, kisses him like he has nothing left to lose because he doesn’t. This may be the last chance he gets to touch Jisung like this. 

A beat passes before Jisung covers his hand with his own and molds his lips to Minho’s.

The only thing stopping him from continuing until his every sense is filled with Jisung like he desperately wants is their audience, so Minho pulls away and quickly averts his gaze, ashamed.

“Ooh, this year’s photos are gonna turn out so well!” Jiho bounces in place excitedly as she gazes down at the previews on the camera. “It’s been so wonderful having you all here.” She makes her rounds, hugging Changbin, Chan, and Hana tight, and everyone else follows suit. Minho lingers on the hearth alone a little longer, watching everyone share hugs and goodbyes until Hana approaches him.

“Are you gonna be here next time we visit?” she asks. Jisung hears her and turns around, Minho making brief eye contact with him.

“Maybe,” he settles on with a tight-lipped smile. “We’ll see.”

“I want you to!” she pouts.

“Me too,” Minho says quietly, opening his arms for a hug which she happily accepts, feeling Jisung’s gaze burning holes into him as he stands to bid farewell to Hana’s dads, too.

“It was lovely to meet you, Minho,” Chan says as he pulls him into a hug.

“Keep our Jisung in check!” Changbin teases, patting Minho’s back.

“You’re really good for him, Minho,” Chan says, voice low, and squeezes Minho’s shoulders with a dimpled smile. “More than you know. I wish you two the best.”

“Thank you,” Minho says weakly as he’s pulled into another warm hug by Changbin—and he’s never been one for hugs from anyone but a select few, but everyone here is so warm and loving that he can’t be anything but grateful for them.

The house feels a little bit empty once they’ve left, but Jeongin makes sure they fill the void by suggesting playing video games in Jisung’s room in which the three boys are as loud as possible, yelling and laughing together for hours.

“You know what we should do tonight?” Jeongin lights up with an idea. “Drunk Christmas karaoke.”

“Oh no,” Jisung murmurs at the same time as Minho says, “Hell yes.”

✧

“Let’s go, Mr. Yang!” Jisung cheers loudly, hands cupped around his mouth like an embarrassing parent at their child’s soccer game.

Minho laughs as Jeongin flips him off, making his way towards the small, raised stage against the center of the wall at the local bar they’d chosen. There’s a little Christmas tree begging to be knocked over (again) by another drunk patron and garland and lights scattered all around the interior, but Jeongin steps up carefully despite the drinks he’s had and calmly selects a song.

They’ve been here for a while, chatting and drinking and listening to others sing their hearts out for karaoke, none of them keen on embarrassing themselves without some alcohol in their veins. Now many drinks in, Jeongin has allowed Jisung and Minho to bully him into going first (it was his idea, after all) while they sit back and nurse their drinks and continue to gravitate closer together in the booth.

Jeongin finally settles on a song and a familiar tune plays, Jeongin beaming and bobbing his head along.

“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart…”

Minho blinks in surprise after a few lines when he realizes that Jeongin is actually pretty damn good. “I didn’t know he could sing,” he comments. “Are you all just singing prodigies?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Jisung grins, cocky, and drapes his arms over the back of the booth. “He gets it from me.”

“Sure,” Minho scoffs, turning his attention back to Jeongin, seemingly along with everyone else in the bar, captivated by his sweet smile and vocals.

They praise Jeongin when he returns and then Minho is urging Jisung to step forward before someone else takes the stage, Jisung heaving a dramatic sigh as he goes up, nearly tripping onto the stage in his drunkenness.

He picks a song quickly and Minho is clapping, delighted, within the first few notes. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas…”

He’s being silly for the first few lines, holding the mic on its stand with eyes closed, swaying dramatically, but when he gets to the first all I want for Christmas is you, he opens his eyes and points right at Minho. Minho’s eyebrows raise in surprise before he bursts into giddy giggles at the sight of Jisung’s goofy dance to go along with the following instrumentals.

And maybe Jisung is drunker than Minho thought, he realizes when he rips the mic off its stand and makes his way over to serenade Minho across the table and try to drag him up to the stage while Minho fights him off, laughing hysterically. Throughout it all, Jisung hits every note and sounds genuinely great, impressing Minho again with his voice as well as his theatrics.

Jisung tries to get Minho to go up next but he resists, whining. He’s fairly intoxicated but not enough to want to make a fool of himself on his own, so he tells Jisung, “I’ll only do a duet.”

Jisung happily agrees to his terms and drags him onstage, picking out “A Whole New World” from the Aladdin soundtrack with a bright grin and starting off singing Aladdin’s part. Minho joins in after a few verses as Jasmine, his stomach fluttering as Jisung stills to watch and listen to him with stars in his eyes and that big, heart-shaped smile on his face.

Maybe Minho is just drunk, or maybe their voices sound really good as they come together for the last few verses. The audience may as well be nonexistent to them both as they sing to each other, grinning and giggling like fools as they occasionally forget the lyrics and have to glance at the teleprompter or just say whatever comes to their mind.

They manage the last verse perfectly though, finishing off with a soft and harmonious “For you and me.” As they do, Jisung grabs Minho’s hand and stands on his tip-toes to twirl him around, ending the move by pulling Minho’s back against his chest. Minho only faintly registers his mic’s cord wrapping around him as he does, and when he looks over his shoulder and at Jisung’s smile, it’s the last thing on his mind.

“Kiss!” a voice shouts. Minho snaps out of his daze and whips his head around to see Jeongin, pumping his fist in the air and beginning to chant. “Kiss! Kiss!”

A few others join in and Jisung loosens his grip to let Minho turn to face him. Judgment clouded by alcohol, though he’s not sure if he’d be able to resist anyway, Minho doesn’t allow himself a moment to think before he’s grabbing Jisung by the hoodie and pulling him in to crash their lips together. Jisung makes a little sound of surprise but is quick to kiss him back, his lips warm and tinged with his fruity cocktail.

They break apart with a shared giggle and scattered applause from around the bar, most notably from Jeongin’s table, and move to put the microphones back on their stands as they step off the stage.

“Oh! Minho, wait—”

In his drunken, post-kiss haze, Minho fails to remember the cord wound around him and he stumbles right off the edge of the stage, falling to the floor. Not a bit of him is embarrassed by the clumsy display though he probably should be, instead bursting into laughter the moment his brain has caught up with the situation. 

Jisung rushes over from behind him, squatting down, eyes wide with urgency as he rests a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “You okay, baby?”

Baby ringing in his ears, Minho just giggles again and manages a nod as Jisung helps untangle him. He plugs in the cord Minho had apparently yanked out in his tumble (after a few attempts in which Jisung missed the hole) before unnecessarily helping Minho back to their table. 

“I told you, I’m fine,” Minho laughs, but he isn’t going to fight the gentle hold Jisung has on his arm, like Minho is fragile and will shatter into pieces if he so much as bumps into a chair. 

“It’s okay, I like helping the elderly,” Jisung teases. 

“Ten out of ten!” Jeongin greets them before Minho can retort, clapping loudly. “Bravo!”

Jisung performs a deep bow in which he almost falls over while Minho laughs and focuses on getting his ass back in the booth in one piece. Jisung slides in beside him, knee knocking against Minho’s as he throws his arm around his shoulder.

“Ah, that was fun,” he sighs. “You’re better than I thought you’d be, too. Your voice is really pretty.” As Minho waves a dismissive hand, he insists, “No, seriously! Guys, let’s start a band. We can’t have two keyboard players though, so one of you needs to learn drums or something.”

“Count me out,” Jeongin scoffs.

“I can multitask then,” Minho says, feeling loopy as he leans into Jisung’s side and entertains his silly thought. “Play the keyboard with my hands and… sprout some tentacles for the drums or something.”

Jeongin winces in disgust while Jisung laughs then declares, “That’s hot.”

A discussion about the proficiency of tentacles in instrument-playing and several performances later, Minho and Jisung have hardly gone a second without touching each other in one way or another. Minho will let his head fall onto Jisung’s shoulder for the slower songs or touch his arm (and occasionally squeeze) as he talks to him. Jisung will tap Minho’s thigh to get his attention and let his hand linger there or grab Minho’s hand and sway to the music with him.

They must look like a real couple; for a second Minho can forget that they aren’t, can let himself pretend that it’s real when Jisung looks at him so warmly, remind himself that it isn’t when he’s overcome with the urge to lean in and taste his lips.

Whether they look like a couple or not, it doesn’t seem to deter the handsome guy at the bar from staring Jisung down hungrily over his glass like his arm isn’t wrapped around Minho’s shoulders.

Minho bristles, shifting uncomfortably. He debates with himself over whether or not he should mention it, sure that Jisung is blissfully unaware, but ends up blurting it out anyway.

“This guy won’t stop staring at you,” he mumbles.

“Huh?” Jisung looks at him, bewildered, and Minho nods towards the bar where he sits. Jisung follows the gesture and the stranger holds his gaze, a corner of his lips quirking up. Jisung scoffs. “He’s looking at you.”

“No, he’s not.” Minho frowns. “He’s been looking at you. Trust me.”

“I find that hard to believe. I mean, look at you.”

Minho feels heat creep up his neck as he lightly shoves Jisung. “Try a mirror. You’re hot, Jisung.”

“Yeah?” Jisung tilts his head, a cocky grin gracing his lips, and Minho regrets his own lack of a filter immensely because Jisung is ridiculously attractive and it’s not good for his health. “You think so?”

Minho just bites back a smile and rolls his eyes, glancing back at the guy at the bar to see him still stealing glances at Jisung. He huffs softly. “It’s kind of pissing me off.”

“What? How hot I am?” Jisung teases.

Yeah, that too, Minho thinks. Out loud, he says, “No. This guy. I mean, we’re obviously—” together, he’d intended to say before he remembered that no, they aren’t. He stammers, floundering for words. “I-I mean, he saw us kiss.”

Jisung removes his arm from Minho’s shoulders and turns to fully face him, incredulous with eyebrows shooting to his hairline. “Are—Are you jealous? Is that what’s happening right now?”

“No!” Minho hisses. “It’s just—it’s kinda rude, is all I’m saying. Right?”

“Right,” Jisung says slowly, unconvinced, glancing over at the bar again. He laughs, shaking his head. “He’s totally staring at you.”

“He’s not,” Minho whines, frustrated. “Look, I’m gonna run to the restroom. He’s gonna try to jump you. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jisung waves him off. Minho gives him a pointed look before standing, head spinning a bit as he makes his way to the restroom.

Sure enough, when he emerges shortly after, the guy from the bar is across the table from Jisung, leaning on a wooden chair and clearly flirting. Jeongin watches with amusement while Jisung awkwardly laughs at something the man says, something possessive flaring within Minho.

Minho slips back into the booth and drops himself into Jisung’s lap like it’s where he belongs, sitting sideways and winding an arm around his shoulders. Jisung blinks in surprise before hesitantly resting a hand atop Minho’s thigh.

“Who’s your friend?” Minho asks sweetly, resting his cheek against Jisung’s soft head of hair and sending a challenging stare towards the other man.

“Oh, I was just leaving,” the stranger says with a disarming smile, straightening up to leave. “Jisung here was just telling me you guys are exclusive. My bad; I didn’t mean to overstep. Have a good night!”

With that, he’s gone.

“That was easy,” Minho murmurs. He pulls back to look at Jisung. “You told him we were exclusive?”

Jisung purses his lips, his cheeks flushed dark. Jeongin chimes in, “I’m surprised he needed verbal confirmation. You guys act like a married couple.”

‘Act’ being the keyword. Still, Minho feels his cheeks warm as Jisung threatens to throw something at Jeongin. Minho starts to slide off of Jisung’s lap, rear hitting the cushioned seat, but Jisung’s hand digs into his thigh and keeps his legs in place before he can turn and sit properly beside him.

“Uh,” Jisung says when Minho looks at him questioningly. “You’re warm.” Minho thinks it’s a little too warm in the bar, but he isn’t going to complain about the close proximity. “You can move if you want,” Jisung adds.

“S’okay,” Minho replies, resting his head on Jisung’s shoulder to hide his smile and a probable blush. “You’re comfy.” Then, once he’s comfortable, “I told you he was looking at you.”

“Okay, you win,” Jisung chuckles, and Minho feels blunt fingernails start tracing up and down his spine through his sweater, swallowing down a pleased noise. “Bet it was my rendition of ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ that did it for him. I mean, who wouldn’t want me after that?”

“Oh, for sure,” Minho giggles.

Jeongin takes the stage again. “I’d like to dedicate this to the lovely couple grossly displaying public affection in the corner,” he says, airing Minho and Jisung out to the entire bar (or everyone paying attention, anyway) with a hand gesturing in their direction.

Minho would pull away out of embarrassment if Jisung weren’t so comfortable or if he were a little more sober. Probably. But instead, he stays curled into Jisung as best he can in the booth while Jisung mumbles something about Jeongin being a little shit.

It’s a song Minho doesn’t recognize, but the lyrics are unbearably sappy and romantic and Jeongin’s voice is pretty and soothing. Minho smiles fondly watching him, the other boy’s infectious smile spreading to him. Jisung hums along and Minho can feel the vibrations, can feel the weight of Jisung’s head as he rests it atop Minho’s, the hand still trailing up and down his back comfortingly.

Minho thinks he recognizes the warm, fluttering sensation in his heart. It feels like Soonie nuzzling into him, like Doongie’s joyful meows, like Dori’s rough tongue running over the back of his hand. It feels like perfecting a dish or a scene he’s writing, like coming home to his cats after a long day, like Jisung’s laugh and heart-shaped smile.

It feels an awful lot like happiness.

Minho orders another, stronger drink. Hopefully he can swallow down the words that threaten to spill from his lips with it.

Henceforth, things become a bit of a blur of warm fuzzies and songs performed drunkenly, warm hands that never seem to stray from Minho’s body and lips he can’t stop thinking about kissing. 

Some lady makes a pass at Minho as he revisits the bar—how many drinks has he had now?—and Jisung appears beside him, snaking an arm around his waist to stake his claim. Minho stumbles as he’s guided back to their table, head spinning in a tangled web of emotions. Jisung pulls him close and whispers something in his ear about keeping Minho to himself.

He could get high all over again on this, on the illusion of Jisung being his.

For the reverse, he doesn’t have to pretend; the cruel truth of it is that Minho is Jisung’s, whether either of them wants him to be or not. He’s wound around his little finger, more than willing to bend over backwards to his any and every whim. He craves nothing more than being as close to him as possible, leeching off of the happiness that Jisung radiates, oozing from his every pore like liquid gold. Minho wants to soak it all up greedily.

And what’s stopping him?

“I don’t think we’re believable,” Minho blurts out, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

“What?” Minho’s vision is swimming a little, but he sees Jisung smile, bemused.

“I think these people need convincing,” Minho states. It made so much sense in his head, and now he feels stupid for saying anything, but it’s too late to back out. “That we’re together. You’re not a good fake boyfriend.”

“I’m not?” Jisung laughs. “What makes you say that? I thought we were doing pretty good.”

Minho shakes his head adamantly. “You need practice.”

“Okay,” he says. “You gonna teach me?”

Minho doesn’t let himself think before he closes the distance between them, surging forward to press his lips to Jisung’s. Jisung doesn’t hesitate even a second before he’s returning Minho’s fervor and more, a hand on the back of Minho’s neck, lips slotting together more perfectly than Minho had the chance to realize before with chaste kisses under mistletoe.

This is nothing like that.

This is eager, hungry, driven by drunken desire. They shouldn’t care what strangers at a bar think; they couldn’t have less to do with Minho and Jisung’s pretend relationship shtick. Minho doesn’t care if they think they’re together or not, because at the end of the day Jisung isn’t his.

He’s not trying to fool anyone but himself.

Minho threads a hand into the soft strands at the back of Jisung’s head as he’s coaxed back into his lap, sitting sideways, Jisung’s hand gripping his thigh. Minho is sure his brain has melted by now, likely to leak out from his ears at any moment. There’s the seemingly distant sound of yet another Christmas song being sung, but for Minho it’s drowned out by the deafening smack of their lips, his stomach turning as every kiss, every press of Jisung’s fingertips feeds the flame deep within him.

He lets Jisung’s lower lip scrape between his teeth, time seeming to slow as lidded eyes meet, and Minho thinks that maybe he’s gone too far, but Jisung lets out a pleased noise anyway, only loud enough to reach Minho’s attentive ears. His tongue swipes against Minho’s lip next, and Minho welcomes him in without a thought in his head except more.

His hand tightens in Jisung’s hair, the other fisting the back of his sweater, heat building and roiling in his core as Jisung licks into him slowly, like he’s trying to memorize the way he tastes, the feeling of their tongues sliding together, the soft noises passed between them.

Minho lets himself pretend it means something, just for that little taste of happiness that shoots through his bloodstream alongside the alcohol and a little tinge of dread. He drinks it all up, ravenous, and still he wants more.

“Uh. Guys?”

Minho nearly whines as he’s deprived of Jisung’s lips, beginning to chase them before he’s reminded of their surroundings, a sheepish heat crawling up his neck as he regards Jeongin sitting just a few feet away.

He clears his throat, pointing at his phone. “I asked Dad to come pick us up. He’ll be here any second.”

“Oh,” Jisung says, out of it, and nods jerkily. “Cool.”

Minho removes himself from Jisung’s lap to fumble around as he pulls his coat on, disappointed but assuming it’s for the best. He avoids Jisung’s gaze.

“Hey,” Jisung says softly, and Minho’s heart thumps as he looks up, met with the sight of lips kissed raw and stretched into a grin. “Think that was convincing enough?”

Minho scoffs, pursing his own lips. He wonders if he looks as debauched as he feels from just a bit of kissing. 

“Maybe.”

Minho had expected that to be it. He didn’t expect Jisung to sidle up next to him in the back seat on the short drive home, to lean in and press quiet kisses to his neck, for his hand to slide inwards on Minho’s thigh.

He supposes it makes sense, though. They’re both pretty drunk, and things got a little heavy at the bar. It shouldn’t come as a shock that he wasn’t the only one affected.

It is anyway, especially when they stumble inside and make it down the stairs and Minho is wondering if he should apologize when Jisung backs him into a wall. His lips are on Minho’s again like there had been no interruption, rekindling that fire within Minho and making him instantly, stupidly kiss him back.

“Sorry,” Jisung murmurs, kissing him again, then pulls away. “Sorry. I’m not—I’m not thinking.”

Minho’s heart is lodged in his throat. There it is. This is a mistake, a horrible, drunken mistake, and Jisung is realizing it already. They should stop. They need to stop.

“Don’t think,” Minho says, pleads instead. He grips Jisung’s sweater, selfishly holds him close. “Don’t think,” he repeats in a whisper, guiding Jisung closer. “Just…”

Jisung’s eyes search Minho’s for an agonizing moment, and Minho can’t take it any more, crashing their lips back together. Jisung grunts but only hesitates for a moment before regaining his enthusiasm from before, winding his arms around Minho’s neck, burying a hand in his hair. Minho squeezes his waist before sliding his hands down to the backs of Jisung’s thighs where he hikes him up, eliciting a muffled sound of surprise, and carries him towards the bed.

It’s not Minho’s smartest decision, still far from sober as he blindly stumbles towards the bed, but Jisung is light enough that he manages, carefully dropping him on his back and crawling over him. Their lips don’t part for more than a moment throughout it all, drawn together again and again like magnets.

Jisung sits up and Minho follows to accommodate him, ending up sitting in his lap with hands roaming from his neck to his back and chest and thighs, ending up tentatively brushing over his ass. With an encouraging hum from Minho, Jisung grabs him, and Minho can’t prevent a soft moan from escaping his throat in time, head clouded with desire to be consumed by this feeling, Jisung’s hands all over him. Minho will give him anything, everything he wants. It doesn’t have to mean anything, not to him or Jisung.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Maybe if Minho repeats it to himself enough times, he’ll start to believe it. He’ll be able to detach himself from what he feels for Jisung and see this as it is: two drunk fools chasing relief. A future regret, perhaps.

He’s grinding down into Jisung’s lap now, insistent hands on him still and pretty noises spurring Minho on, giving him all the encouragement he needs to throw his head back and lose himself in the feeling. Jisung’s lips latch onto his neck and Minho wants to stop him, wants his skin to be unmarred and void of reminders of this night, but it feels so good that he can’t.

He lets it happen. He lets Jisung lay him against the pillows and pull his sweater off, lips and tongue exploring his chest. Minho lets him peel his jeans off, but not before yanking Jisung’s sweater over his head, too, hands tracing over every dip and curve of his torso he can reach, committing it to memory, something to torment himself with later.

For now, Jisung torments him with slow licks to his length, now that he’s finally finished sucking marks into Minho’s inner thighs and showering Minho with compliments that make his heart ache. Gorgeous, he’d said, sinking his fingertips into Minho’s thighs. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

He lets Jisung draw his hand away from his mouth where it had been muffling his moans, mumbling something about a soundproofed door, lets Jisung take him apart with his pretty mouth and pretty hands. He tries not to let his eyes linger too long on the image of Jisung between his legs, eyes dark and gleaming, skin painted in a purple glow from the starlight—fake, of course, like everything else.

He doesn’t let Jisung finish him off no matter how intent he seems on doing so, working Minho over with a fervor that makes his heart threaten to beat out of his chest, instead pulling him up for a kiss and clumsily trying to get his pants off. Jisung ends up having to do it for him, yanking them down to his thighs and groaning into his mouth when Minho gets a hand around him.

His noises make Minho all the more desperate and maybe a little crazy, breathing a confession into his mouth.

“I want you.”

Jisung lifts himself up slightly to look into Minho’s eyes. His lips are swollen, cheeks flushed. “Want me how?”

In every way, Minho’s brain supplies. I want you. I need you. All of you.

And maybe he’d say it out loud if he were a little braver, if he had any reason to believe Jisung wanted him too past the lust thick in the air, suffocating them both until all rational thought has flown from their heads.

“Inside me,” he murmurs, and Jisung’s breath hitches. “If you want to…”

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes. “Are you sure?”

Minho is quick to nod, and it’s all Jisung needs before he’s leaning over Minho to dig through his nightstand. Meanwhile, Minho works on tugging Jisung’s briefs down, marveling at how he looks held in Minho’s hand.

“Shit. Maybe you should’ve put this on your profile,” Minho muses aloud.

Jisung barks out a laugh, followed by a bashful “Shut up,” and then he’s setting the lube and a condom next to Minho and kissing him, kissing back down his body and uncapping the lube. Minho’s heart thunders in his chest.

“What’s worse,” Jisung starts, teasing a finger against Minho in a way that makes him have to fight not to squirm, “unsolicited dick pics? Or catfishing?”

Minho considers it. “Dick pics are more likely to get you blocked early on,” he decides. “Catfishing… gets you laid, apparently.”

“Lucky me,” Jisung chuckles and presses a kiss to Minho’s inner thigh, too tender. Minho almost feels nauseous, and then any semblance of nausea is wiped away as Jisung pushes a careful finger inside him.

It’s been a while for Minho, but it seems he doesn’t have anything to worry about. Despite their frantic, desperate kissing and groping and grinding, Jisung works him open gently, patiently, like they have all the time in the world. Like the end of Minho’s visit, the end of them, isn’t fast approaching.

Minho wants to huff and whine and tell him to speed it up, desperate to feel him, but the slight graze of his fingertips against Minho’s sweet spot is so torturously good that it’s all he can do to lie there and take it—until he can’t, grinding his hips down onto Jisung’s fingers with a sound that makes him feel pathetic.

“Ready, baby?” Jisung asks softly. Minho’s soul might try to escape his body at that, but he manages to nod, and Jisung finally kicks his pants the rest of the way off and crawls over Minho. With some effort, Minho gets the condom on him as their lips slide together like they can’t get enough, and once Jisung is slicked up, he pushes in.

Minho’s arms are around Jisung’s neck, nails digging into his back and mouth falling open as he’s breached, and he’d close his eyes and surrender himself fully to the feeling of being filled with Jisung if not for the forehead pressed to his, eyes staring deep into his own.

Minho has never felt so close to anyone, has never wanted anyone like he wants Jisung. He wants him down to the marrow of his bones, wants him to fill his lungs, replace the blood in his veins until everything is just his essence, sweet and golden.

It hurts.

“Okay?” Jisung checks when Minho squeezes his eyes shut, but not from physical pain. Jisung is slow, careful, and it feels incredible. It feels so incredible that it hurts.

“I’m okay,” Minho confirms, shaky. He wraps his legs around Jisung’s waist, rolls his hips and forces him deeper to show that he can take it. “I’m okay. Fuck me.”

Jisung connects their lips and does just that.

It’s slow at first, lips becoming lazier, more distracted as Jisung’s rhythm increases until he’s pulling away for a better angle and Minho is left staring at the stars on his ceiling. He thinks that he’s going to miss them and then almost wants to laugh at the thought—why would he miss fake starlight when he can just look up at the sky?

Then again, back home the stars are hardly visible past the haze of pollution, and Jisung won’t be there with him, so it wouldn’t be the same. Maybe it never will be.

Minho can’t stay lost in his head for long, not when Jisung is touching him like this and looks and sounds like that, folds Minho’s legs just so and fucks into him in a way that makes him see different kinds of stars. Praises spill from Jisung’s lips as moans are punched out of Minho, wrought and wanton and becoming more shameless the closer he gets.

“F-Fuck, Jisung…”

“Yeah?” Jisung draws his lip between his teeth, sweat beading on his skin as it glows prettily in the light. Minho could look at him forever, at the cost of his sanity. It’s worth it. “Close, baby?”

“Yes, fuck, touch me―”

Jisung moans lowly, smashing their lips together and giving Minho a helping hand that sends him over the edge in seconds, muscles tensing as he throws his head back with a cry. Jisung doesn’t let up, sitting back to chase his release with a bruising grip on Minho’s hips, and he’s following seconds later, twitching with the aftershocks as he slumps over Minho’s form.

Minho reaches up on impulse once he’s somewhat caught his breath, heart still hammering, and takes Jisung’s face into his hands. He runs one of them through his damp hair, brushing it out of his face and drinking in the sight before him. Jisung huffs a soft laugh, breathless and flushed and so fucking beautiful.

“Are you convinced?” he asks, and Minho doesn’t know what he’s talking about for a moment before their conversation from earlier comes back to him.

Minho gives him a weak smile, and answers again, “Maybe.”

✧

They don’t talk about it, but it’s not like Minho expected them to.

It’s been a long day and the alcohol is still coursing through their veins, so once they’ve cleaned up and hydrated a bit to decrease the chances of being hungover on Christmas day, Jisung is fast asleep before long and Minho is left alone to sober up and contemplate what they’ve done—what he’s done.

It was wrong. He’s been dishonest. He hasn’t even told Jisung that things didn’t work out with Hyunjin, let alone that he has feelings for him instead. Minho can’t help but feel that he’s taken advantage of him in a way, let his feelings and the alcohol impair his judgment and coaxed Jisung into doing something that he likely wouldn’t if he knew how Minho felt.

Minho supposes it doesn’t matter all that much in the end, not to Jisung. He can only hope he made Jisung feel even half as good as he felt tonight, physically or otherwise, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Soon enough, Minho will be gone, and it’ll be nothing but a memory.

But maybe it isn’t soon enough.

He’s restless, his stomach churning with nerves at the thought of having to face Jisung in the morning after all this. Waking up next to him is something Minho has grown a little too fond of in the past few days, but now instead of excitement he only feels dread. Now he’s gone and fucked it up and he doesn’t know if he can bear to pretend for one more day.

He doesn’t know if he can bear to say goodbye without tearing open at the seams and spilling his guts.

Sleep won’t take him. His mind is running a thousand miles per hour. It keeps telling him leave, now, it’ll hurt more the longer you stay. Jisung will be fine. He doesn’t need Minho here. He’ll have to tell his parents the truth sooner or later—or maybe another lie. Minho has done enough damage; he doesn’t need to ruin Christmas day, too.

His heart is rabbiting as he makes his choice, carefully slipping out from under the hand Jisung had splayed on his stomach. He packs his things as quietly as he can, not much work for him since most of his clothes are already waiting in his suitcase. He hesitates when he picks up the Meowy Christmas sweater he’d been given, tempted to take it with him to have something to remember his time here, remember Jisung by besides fading marks on his skin.

He sets it aside with a sigh. He’s taken enough.

Minho gently sets his suitcase down at the foot of the stairs and steps closer to the bed for one last look at Jisung’s sleeping form. His hand is still resting on the spot Minho had lain, like he’s reaching out for him, and Minho knows that deep down all he really wants is to answer that unspoken call, to curl into his side again and never leave, but he won’t. He can’t. 

His gaze slides up to Jisung’s face, peaceful in sleep. His lips Minho had felt all over him just hours ago look soft and pouty as air escapes them in little puffs. Long lashes fan over cheeks that Minho desperately wants to lean in and kiss one more time. He doesn’t in fear of waking Jisung up, instead giving him one last longing look before turning and picking up his bag.

He leaves a note thanking Jiho and Doyun for everything and apologizing for leaving so suddenly. He opts out of an explanation. He’ll leave it up to Jisung to tell the truth or cover it with another lie.

After that, he creeps out the front door and locks it behind him. He heads down the walkway towards the road where the Uber he’d requested should appear any moment and turns to face the house in all its lit-up, Christmas glory.

Minho sighs, his eyes stinging with tears.

“Bye, Jisungie.”

✧

The flight home is miserable. Minho still can’t fall asleep. He tries to distract himself with the selection of movies the airline has to offer but they’re either terrible or make him think of Jisung. “All I Want for Christmas is You” plays in the airport and Minho wants to cry.

He has a feeling most things will make him think of Jisung for a while.

At least Minho has his cats to look forward to. His mother picks him up from the airport and brings him to his parents’ house. They never celebrate Christmas much anymore but always prepare a nice Christmas dinner, and they’re more than happy to have Minho there to share it with even if he is a little despondent. They don’t push him, able to ascertain that his trip hadn’t ended particularly well, and Minho is grateful.

His mother holds him close and pets his hair for a while, and Minho wills himself not to cry. He nods off in her arms with Soonie in his lap, not having left Minho’s side since he arrived. He wakes up in her lap some time later with the sun setting outside and she suggests that Minho spend the night—and normally he would, especially considering how tired he is and how it’s Christmas, but above all else he just wants to be alone.

His dad insists on driving him despite Minho not wanting to be a bother, and by the time it’s dark, he’s finally home. Minho is ready to bar up all his doors and windows and collapse face-first on his bed, becoming dead to the world for the next month or so, just him and his cats. Maybe Felix, if he wants to visit. Not Seungmin.

Not Jisung, either.

He steps inside his apartment and flicks the lights on with a heavy sigh, setting the cat carriers down and releasing the babies so they’ll stop angrily meowing at him. He smiles softly as they weave between his legs.

“I know,” Minho says, scooping them into his arms one by one to pepper them with kisses. Again. “I missed you too.”

Minho doesn’t quite make it to his bed, instead crumbling on his sofa and plugging his phone in with an imminent sense of dread. It had died shortly after his mom picked him up, and he hadn’t bothered taking the charger out of his luggage at his parents’ house; he didn’t much feel like having access to his phone anyway. He has no idea what awaits him.

It takes its time powering up as Minho’s mind runs wild. Will Jisung be worried? Upset? Pissed off? Will he even care? Did he reach out at all?

Finally, his screen lights up and he’s met with a wall of notifications. Four missed calls from Jisung. A where are you?? text that squeezes his heart painfully. Three missed calls from Felix, and even one from Seungmin. That’s unusual. Maybe they were calling to wish him a merry Christmas or check up on his progress.

Either way, Minho doesn’t feel like calling anyone back right now—

A new notification catches his eye.

New match in your area!

If Minho had any semblance of energy left in him, he’d laugh out loud. He’s all set, thanks. This goddamn app has brought him nothing but bad dates and heartbreak.

He’ll delete it. But for now, curiosity gets the best of him, and he taps on the notification. The dating app he’d met Jisung on opens on his screen and loads this new match.

Jisung liked you!

What.

The picture—it’s Jisung. The real Jisung. He’s painted in a purple glow, chin tucked to his chest in a shy smile. It’s the photo Minho had taken of him that night they lay on his bed and Minho pestered Jisung into showing him his old profile photos.

Minho’s heart hammers against his ribcage as he swipes to the next photo. It’s one he hadn’t realized Jisung took during the first snow of Minho’s visit. Minho is working diligently on his snowman in the back while Jisung looks at the camera with a peace sign and puckered lips. The next one is an adorable photo of just Jisung smiling brightly at the camera that makes Minho’s heart stutter.

He’d taken Minho’s advice after all, and he sure didn’t waste any time doing it. It stings, but Minho figures he deserves it after what he did. He should be happy for Jisung putting his real self out there.

He swipes again and sees himself and Jisung in their Christmas sweaters from the day before, all gussied up and sitting on the hearth, smiling warmly at the camera that was held in Jiho’s hands. Minho wonders why he’s in two of these photos. Does Jisung not have any other pictures?

And then he swipes again, and his heart hammers somehow beats even harder. It’s the same—the two of them sitting on the hearth—but seconds later, when Jeongin had dangled a mistletoe above them and Minho had pulled Jisung into a kiss.

Why is this on here?

The last photo is another one Minho wasn’t aware of, taken presumably by Jeongin in the low lighting of the bar last night. It shows Minho curled up in Jisung’s lap with his eyes closed in bliss, Jisung gazing down at him like he’s something precious. Minho’s mouth goes dry as he tries to swallow down the lump in his throat.

Frantically seeking answers as to what the fuck this means, he scrolls down to read Jisung’s bio.

Looking for someone. 5’8 author who could easily pass as a model. Hot but stupid. Left his sweater in my room. Contact me if you have any information, or follow the trail of kisses to apply.

“What?” Minho mumbles to himself, eyebrows knitting together as he rereads it once, then again for good measure. He searches the rest of Jisung’s profile for help, coming up blank, except…

Except where on his old profile, the one with Hyunjin’s photos, it always shown him as thousands of miles away. But here, in its place, it reads 0.1 miles away. Minho does nothing but stare at his phone for several seconds, completely bewildered. Is he that sleep-deprived that he’s finally snapped?

He decides to read the bio again.

Contact me if you have any information, or follow the trail of kisses to apply.

Should he message him…? Ask what this means? What the hell is a trail of kisses?

Hesitantly, Minho turns around.

Oh.

There it is, the light catching on the shiny wrapper of a Hershey’s kiss in the middle of Minho’s floor. Then another. And another, and several more, leading to his bedroom.

There are three ways this could go.

One: Minho could be losing his mind. He’s barely slept in nearly forty hours. He might walk into his room only to realize he’s been hallucinating this whole thing, look down to find his floor empty, and simply go to sleep.

Two: Jisung hired a hitman to break into Minho’s apartment and take him out. That’s the only explanation for anyone but Jisung having access to those pictures. Minho knows what he did was kind of a dick move, but does it warrant being murdered?

Three: Jisung is here. In his apartment, somehow. Jisung chased after him. Minho might be a fucking idiot.

He hopes it’s number three.

Swallowing, Minho rises to his feet and follows the trail. His bedroom is dark. Heart pounding, Minho blindly reaches for the switch and flicks it on.

“Hey,” Jisung says. He’s in Minho’s bed, lying on his side with his head propped up on his elbow like it’s where he belongs. “What kind of asshole leaves on Christmas morning without their presents?”

It’s then that Minho registers that there’s a big red bow set atop Jisung’s burgundy head of hair, like one would find atop a Christmas gift but ten times larger. Minho’s mouth just hangs open. He has no idea what to say. He’s not even sure Jisung is real.

“And here I’d hoped you’d be happy to see me.” Jisung sits up. He’s smiling, but there’s an apprehensive edge to it, like he isn’t sure what Minho will think about him showing up here. 

“I—” Minho struggles for words. “What are you—Why—How are you here?”

“Same way you got here,” Jisung answers. “Minus the sneaking out.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho mumbles guiltily, averting his gaze. “I didn’t think…” He trails off, unsure of what to say. He didn’t think Jisung would miss him, didn’t think he’d care if Minho slipped away in the night beyond the fact that it would crumble the facade they’d put up in front of his family. 

But Jisung is here, has chased Minho across the goddamn country, so what now? Was Minho wrong?

“Clearly,” Jisung snarks. He pats the space beside him on the bed invitingly. “Come sit?” he asks, voice soft.

Equally timid, Minho pads over, feeling like a stranger in his own bedroom as he perches on the mattress next to Jisung. 

“As to why I’m here—” Jisung turns towards him, legs crossed, and looks down at his own lap, taking a deep breath before meeting Minho’s stare. Resolve burns in his eyes. “I figured we should settle this face-to-face. No running away or hiding behind screens or other people’s photos.”

Jisung gingerly takes Minho’s hands into his own. Settle what? Minho wants to ask, but his mouth is dry and Jisung seems intent on saying his piece, so Minho holds his breath and waits.

“Minho,” he starts, gaze soul-piercing, “I know our relationship has been… convoluted, to say the least. And I know what I did to you was fucked up, and I’m still sorry.” His thumbs brush absently over Minho’s knuckles, but it does little to soothe the erratic beating of his heart. “But being with you, seeing how unapologetically real and amazing you are made me feel like I could do that, too. You’ve inspired me to be true to myself and go after what I want and all that sappy shit.”

“Have I?” Minho asks, a slow grin blooming on his face. 

Jisung nods. Swallows. “And… despite the lies—the photos, our ‘relationship’—what I feel for you is real. It’s been real from the start. No one… No one has ever made me feel the way you do.”

Oh.

Minho has done something very stupid.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling,” Jisung continues. “I think you feel the same one second, then I don’t. But I do know that what we have is something special, and I think… if you gave me a chance, I could make you feel it too. Could make you see that it’s me. I’m the one you flew across the country for and hunted down like a crazy person. Just… a little different than you first expected.” He chuckles nervously, gaze meeting Minho’s, searching. Expectant, hopeful.

Minho isn’t quite sure what to do with all the different emotions clamoring to escape him. He remembers to breathe first, then breaks out into an incredulous smile, giddy laughter slipping past his lips as he cups Jisung’s face in his hands.

“Of course it’s you,” Minho says. “Of course I feel the same, Jisung, how could I not?”

“Really?” Jisung beams, features lit up with his brightest, most gorgeous smile yet as he lifts a hand to cover Minho’s. The smile falters. “Then why did you leave?”

“I didn’t think you felt the same,” Minho admits, embarrassed, and Jisung gawks at him. “After last night, I realized I couldn’t take any more of the pretending, and—Would you stop looking at me like that?”

“Sorry, I just—” Jisung shakes his head. “I thought I was pretty obvious?”

“Well, we were pretending to date,” Minho huffs defensively. “How was I supposed to know any of it was real?”

Really, in retrospect, looking back on even the quiet moments they spent alone, the way Jisung looked at him, spoke to him… Minho should have known. 

“Maybe I was a bit of an idiot,” he concedes with a sigh.

“Maybe you were a lot of an idiot!” Jisung argues, shoving his shoulder. “I guess I could’ve said something sooner, too, but someone didn’t tell me they gave up on Hyunjin. I thought you were still interested in him!”

“Sorry,” Minho apologizes with a wince. “Wait, how did you find out I wasn’t?”

“Well, I kind of freaked out when I woke up to you gone,” Jisung chuckles weakly. “I thought maybe you’d realized sleeping with me was a mistake and went to Hyunjin instead. But when we contacted him just to be sure, he had no idea where you were. Funny enough, he said you two decided to be just friends.”

He gives Minho a pointed look which he looks away from guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t even know why I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay,” Jisung placates him, gently squeezing Minho’s hands. “I mean, hey, the good outweighs the bad. There was even less standing in my way of going after you—but, for the record, I did have a big confession planned for Christmas regardless.”

Minho’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, did you?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Jeongin helped me plan it and everything. We were gonna—well, actually, I’ll spare you the details, ‘cause it’s actually kind of dumb and embarrassing, but anyway, the point is that I wanted to do some big corny, romantic gesture for you since you’re into that shit.”

“Hold on,” Minho says, holding his hand up. “I’m into what, now?”

Jisung’s sweet smile transforms into something impish. “Oh, come on. Don’t try and tell me you’re not a hopeless romantic after that fly-across-the-country stunt you pulled. And don’t forget I know what movies you like!” He waves an accusing finger at Minho. “You like alllll that cheesy stuff.”

“I do not!” Minho lies. “You’re projecting. You’re the cheesy one. You flew here, too, dumbass. And a premeditated confession on Christmas? You’re just asking to be bullied.”

Jisung gapes at him. “Shut the fuck up! You would’ve loved it! It was right up your alley!”

“You won’t even tell me what it is,” Minho scoffs. His eyes flicker to the big bow still sitting on top of Jisung’s head. “I bet you were gonna make Jeongin wrap you up in a big box and have me open it.” Jisung’s eyes widen, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You were!” Minho gasps, delighted.

“And you would’ve loved it if you didn’t run away like a little bitch!” Jisung retorts, tone playful. The sad thing is that he’s right; Minho would love it. He’d love anything from Jisung, the cheesier the better.

“That would’ve sent me running,” he teases instead, and Jisung has apparently had it with him, tackling Minho to the mattress and straddling him, pinning his wrists to the bed. Minho is too tired to fight back, giggling as Jisung leans down over him with a pout.

“You’re a liar,” Jisung declares. “And an idiot. And an asshole.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Here I am,” Jisung echoes with a smile so sweet and sincere. His gaze flits to Minho’s lips and back. “Can I kiss you? Like, for real? As—As your boyfriend, maybe…?”

Minho’s heart does a happy flutter. “My boyfriend?”

“I mean.” Jisung taps the bow on his head. “That was gonna be part of the confession. Like, ‘merry Christmas, I got you a boyfriend.’”

Minho snorts, disgustingly endeared. “Does the gift come with a receipt?”

Jisung’s jaw drops. “Wooow.” Minho laughs, loud and so happy, and tries to pull him down for a kiss but Jisung resists, laughing in disbelief. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad I came all this way to be verbally abused. And on Christmas of all days—”

Minho surges up and quiets him with his lips. Not really, because they’re both giggling into the kiss, but at least Jisung stops talking and attempts to kiss him back, light pecks and tender brushes of lips making Minho wonder once again if he’s just delirious from a lack of sleep, or maybe if he’s died and gone to heaven.

This is real, Minho says to himself. They’re done pretending, through with the lies, not trying to fool anyone. It’s just Minho and Jisung, the boy who chased him across the country not even knowing for sure if Minho returned his feelings. Jisung, finally being his beautiful self and going after what he wants. Minho is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that it’s him.

He’s also trying to wrap his head around Jisung manifesting in his home.

“Are you going to tell me how the fuck you got in here?” Minho asks once they’re lying face-to-face on their sides, hands joined on the mattress between them. “I never even told you where I lived.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jisung grins. “I followed my heart, Minho.”

“Tell me,” Minho whines petulantly, sleepiness catching up with him again.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Okay, so… I may have scoured the internet for your publisher’s contact info. He wasn’t happy about being spammed with phone calls from an unknown number on Christmas, understandably, but when I explained everything to him, he was pretty helpful. He hooked me up with Felix’s number, and he was happy to help. Thank God for his spare key; I don’t know what I would have done without my dramatic reveal.”

Minho squints, trying to process it all. “Okay, so… Seungmin is going to hell and Felix is definitely getting his key privileges revoked. What if you were a serial killer and I had just escaped your clutches? They could’ve just sent me to my death.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought the same, but I wasn’t going to complain about the easy in,” Jisung admits with a shrug and a laugh. “Felix said I was trustworthy because you liked me.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “He does want an update ASAP though, just to make sure you aren’t dead.”

“Of course.” Minho pats around for his phone, sending Felix a text which is immediately read and responded to.

Yongbokkie

I’m alive
and with jisung
we’re boyfriends or something idk
 I’ll update you later. tired

so glad he didn’t kill you!!!!!
lolol i’m so happy for you minho <3
you better call soon!

“There,” Minho says, setting his phone aside. He yawns, torn between wanting to stay awake, kissing and cuddling and talking with Jisung, and giving in to how exhausted he is.

“Tired?” Jisung asks, caressing Minho’s cheek. He nods, nuzzling into his hand while Jisung coos under his breath. “My parents wanted to video call while you open your presents, but it can wait ‘til tomorrow if you wanna sleep.”

Minho’s eyes snap open. “Your parents? Did you tell them?”

“Yeah.” Jisung chuckles. “They were so confused. We really had them fooled.”

Minho smiles. "I guess we didn’t have to try all that hard, hm?”

“So much for not being convincing enough.” Jisung smirks, and heat creeps up to Minho’s cheeks at the reminder of his drunken excuse to be close to Jisung. “But yeah, they’re waiting on an update. Should I just text?”

“We can call,” Minho says, sitting up. “Then sleep for forty hours.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” Jisung hops up and walks over to a suitcase Minho hadn’t noticed until now. The first thing he pulls out is Minho’s abandoned sweater, chucking it at him. “Put this on.”

Minho quickly changes while Jisung’s back is mostly turned, retrieving gifts from his bag and putting them in a small pile on Minho’s bed. Minho stares at them in awe and guilt; he thought he’d get a present or two, but he hadn’t thought about it at all when he left nor realized just how many he was leaving behind. They’re all so lovely and kind. Minho hopes he’ll get to spend next Christmas with them in person.

FaceTime is enough for now, so long as he has Jisung by his side, real and warm as he rests a hand on Minho’s thigh, the other waving to his mom as she answers the call.

“Jisung!” she gasps. “It’s Jisung,” she says to the people off-camera. Minho realizes it’s pretty late over there and that they’d normally be in bed by now. Did they stay up for this…?

“We know, Mom,” Jeongin’s voice says distantly. “How’d it go?”

“It went well,” Jisung says with a shy but brilliant smile. “Really well.”

Jiho practically squeals. “Oh, I’m so happy. I just knew what you boys had was too special to be fake.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho blurts. “For lying, and leaving so suddenly. You’ve been so good to me, and I… I’m really sorry.”

“All’s forgiven, Minho.” She smiles. “Jisung explained it all. You don’t have anything to worry about. We still love you like you’re one of us—and I guess you kind of are now!”

“Thank you,” Minho says softly. He still likes the sound of that, now more than ever.

“Of course. You’re lovely, Minho. I couldn’t have picked a better match for my Jisung.” Jisung groans a little, blushing as Minho teasingly nudges his side. “Now start opening those gifts!”

Jisung is happy to turn the camera on Minho while he gets to work on unwrapping his presents. There are three individually-wrapped sweaters from Jiho—cat sweaters, that is, all tiny and cute and knitted by her. One of them is modeled directly after the one Minho is wearing right now. He puts it on Soonie who chooses that moment to walk in, having graciously given Minho and Jisung their privacy while it was needed, but now it’s Jisung’s turn to squeal in delight as Soonie jumps on the bed next to him and gives him a curious sniff-over.

“He’s even cuter in person!” Jisung wails while Minho wrestles him into the tiny sweater. Minho takes over the camera while Jisung obsesses over Soonie, cooing and petting him with both hands, and pretends his heart doesn’t melt at the sight.

Next, Minho opens a gift from Jeongin: a big mug with cats all over it, the handle shaped like a tail. Jisung got him a silver necklace with a cat engraved into the pendant—Minho is glad everyone seems to have gotten the cat memo—and a pretty mint-colored scarf he claims Minho would look good in, as well as himself, he reminds Minho, pointing at the bow on his head.

Jiho, Doyun, and Jeongin all open the gifts Minho got them next, and they’re all pretty small and generic but they seem to love them anyway. It isn’t until the camera is panning to Jeongin opening his gift that Minho realizes there’s a fourth person with them, sitting on the sofa next to Jeongin.

“Hyunjin’s there?” Jisung says, looking as confused as Minho feels.

“Hi, Jisung. Hi, Minho.” Hyunjin waves at the camera with a friendly smile. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” they both say after sharing a look, voices polite but weak. Minho is a little stunned, wondering if he should apologize that Hyunjin had to find out this way.

“I filled him in,” Jeongin explains with an apologetic smile.

“You and I need to talk, Jisung,” Hyunjin says darkly, frowning at the camera. Jisung looks startled for a moment before Hyunjin bursts into laughter. “Just kidding. I mean, no, I’m not kidding. I would like to talk. No hard feelings though.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jisung lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, we can talk sometime. Uh, but I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hyunjin says. “We’ll talk more later. Merry Christmas, you two!”

“Merry Christmas!” they echo, still a little stunned. 

Jiho regains control of the phone and Minho notices Jeongin and Hyunjin huddled close in the background, giggling. “Okay, boys, thanks for calling! So, so happy for you both. And thank you for the presents, Minho. Get some rest, okay?”

“We will,” Minho promises. “Thank you. For everything.”

With a big grin, Jiho blows them kisses and pans the camera around to everyone else waving goodbye before finally hanging up.

“Well,” Jisung says. “That happened.”

“It did,” Minho agrees. The image of Jeongin and Hyunjin leaning in close lingers in his mind. He remembers the night he’d walked in on Jeongin smiling hard at his phone, allegedly talking to Hyunjin and asks, “Does Jeongin have a thing for Hyunjin?”

“Yeah.”

Minho gasps, smacking Jisung’s shoulder with his fist. “You were gonna let me break his heart like that?!”

“Hey! What about my heart?” Jisung demands, dramatically ripping the bow off of his head and tossing it aside.

“That’s on you.”

“Whatever.” Jisung works on gathering the scraps of wrapping paper strewn about into a bag. “I didn’t know until after I set you guys up and he didn’t want me to tell you.”

Minho hums. “I hope it works out for him. His school isn’t far from here, right? So they won’t be too far when Hyunjin moves.”

“Yeah,” Jisung confirms. “I hope so, too. He likes him a lot, apparently.”

“Do you feel betrayed? Wounded?”

“Not as betrayed as I felt when I thought you liked him,” Jisung says. “But nah, I guess not. Whatever makes him happy. And anyway, Hyunjin seemed… really cool about what happened?”

“He did. Do you think you two could be friends again?”

“Maybe.” Jisung smiles, somewhat wistful. “We used to be really close, so I think we could work it out if we both want it.”

Minho hums, crawling over to the pillows and pulling Jisung down with him to curl into, his head on his chest. Jisung giggles, pressing a kiss to his crown followed by fingers carding through his hair. Soonie approaches, looking for a place to get comfortable, and Minho is too tired to even begin to process how happy he is.

“Looks like it’s time for you to move to LA,” Minho muses, only half-joking. “Me, Jeongin, Changbin, Chan, Hyunjin, the guys who assisted you in breaking and entering my apartment… all right here.”

“About that,” Jisung says, and Minho shifts to look up at him. “So… Well. We’ve established that you helped me spread my wings and go after what I want and all.” Minho nods. “That’s how I ended up here. But you’re not the only thing I want.”

Minho gasps, pretending to be affronted. “What more could you possibly desire but me and my children?”

“Very little,” Jisung says with a grin, “but, I did end up showing Changbin and Chan some of my stuff while they were visiting. They were impressed. Which is… a lot, coming from them.”

“Really?” Minho grins, impulsively reaching up to scratch under Jisung’s chin like a cat. “I knew you had it in you.”

“It’s cool or whatever,” he jokes, preening with a shy smile. “They’re gonna talk to some people for me, pass around some tracks. I mean, nepotism can only get me so far, but they think it’s promising. So…” He finally chances a glance at Minho. “If things go well, I’ll most likely end up moving here.”

“Really?” Minho repeats gleefully as he sits up to face Jisung, beaming. “That’s what you want?”

“Of course,” Jisung replies, smiling softly back at him. “You’re here. What more could I ask for?”

So much warmth blooms in Minho’s chest that he feels as though he may burst open at the seams. As if Jisung’s confession alone hadn’t been enough to send him to cloud nine—he’d assumed somewhere in the back of his mind that their relationship would have to be long distance, which he wasn’t opposed to, but it would definitely be a challenge with that much space between them. 

Instead, Jisung is coming to him, where they can be together and Jisung can chase his dreams with Minho by his side, cheering him on. He can’t have imagined a better outcome, couldn’t have asked for a better person to spend it with. 

“Thank you,” Minho says, leaning forward to brush his lips against Jisung’s. “I know you’re doing it for yourself, too, but thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you. And… for my happiness.” Minho kisses him again before hiding his face in Jisung’s neck, embarrassed by his own mushy sentimentality. At least he can blame it on the lack of sleep. “You inspire me, too.”

“Do I?” Jisung rests his head atop Minho’s. “You gonna write a book about me?”

“Yes, actually,” Minho says, then amends, “kind of.”

He’s been piecing it together, bit by bit, ever since he arrived at Jisung’s and discovered that Jisung wasn’t who he claimed to be, and now he’s constructed a pretty solid outline in his head, the beginnings of what just might save his career as he knows it.

“Wait—Really?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?” Jisung pokes him. “A steamy romance, perhaps?”

“Catfish killer,” Minho says simply, letting his eyes slide shut.

“I-I’m sorry?”

Minho hums.

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“I’m tired. Ask me later.”

“No—Minho, are you making me a murderer?!”

“I’m doing what has to be done.”

“Unbelievable,” Jisung scoffs. There’s a smile in his voice as it morphs into something tender, something fond. “You’re unreal, Lee Minho.”

“I’m still not sure any of this is real,” Minho mumbles sleepily, a sliver of his brain wondering if he might wake up to the cold bed he’s formed such an intimate relationship with. 

“Hey,” Jisung says, a finger tipping Minho’s chin up to look at him. He’s smiling softly at Minho, his eyes full of warmth and adoration. Minho thinks with a breath caught in his throat that he might be in love with Jisung, but he files it away in the back of his mind to ponder when he isn’t delirious from lack of sleep.

“This is real,” Jisung murmurs, leaning in to gently brush their lips together. The flutter of Minho’s heart feels real, and so does Jisung, warm against him. Jisung’s eyes twinkle with mirth as he pulls away to ask, “Are you convinced?”

Minho’s lips lift into a smile. “I think so,” he says, stroking a thumb over Jisung’s cheek, his cute mole, then his soft lips, “but kiss me again just in case.”

Heart-shaped lips meet Minho’s again, and Minho can’t stop smiling against them because this is real. 

Soonie purring against Minho’s back. The familiar dips in the bed when the other two cats decide to join them shortly after. The cute noises Jisung makes as he tries not to jostle Minho too much in his excitement while he introduces himself. Minho’s heart brimming with affection.

It’s all real. 

No more pretending, no more games. Just Minho and Jisung and the start of something beautiful and true.

“Are you gonna like me back on this stupid app so I can delete it already?” Jisung asks.

“Sorry, I’ve sworn off dating apps.” Minho smiles, kissing the pout off Jisung’s face. “I have everything I need right here.”

(He ends up liking Jisung back anyway.)

Jisung
You and Jisung both like each other! Say hi!

hey handsome ;)

I have a boyfriend.

I can treat you better
I sense you hovering over the block button
wait
baby just give me a chance

Jisung has been blocked.

Application successfully deleted.

Jisung’s laughter is sweet on Minho’s lips.

♡