Work Text:
bad tattoos on leather-tanned skin
jesus christ on a plastic sign
fall in love again and again
winding roads, doing manual drive
❧ ❧ ❧
“...ey. Pssst — you’re not actually going to sleep already, are you?”
Minho opens his eyes, not that he’d actually even been unconscious for that long, and sees black. He grunts and tugs on his eye mask, instantly and expectedly getting blinded by the scattered lights painting the inside of the otherwise dim cabin. The familiar and droll hum of the cabin underlines the tranquility of the aircraft, and upon confirming that they have indeed not yet arrived at their location, Minho finally turns to look at his seatmate.
Beside him, Jisung doesn’t spare him a glance as he’s too focused on looking for something to listen to his phone, a pair of headphones already sitting snugly on his head. It’s after a few seconds that the other boy lifts his gaze and pays him attention; Minho immediately responds with a pointed glare.
“We’re twenty minutes out from Incheon and you’re already going to bed?” he asks while sliding one side of his headphones off.
“Twenty minutes of a fourteen hour flight, so yes, I’m going to try and get some sleep.” Jisung quietly scoffs, and what little semblance of contempt on Minho’s face immediately fades. “...Not like I could go for that long before you’re waking me up anyway.”
“Oh, c’mon, have a little more faith in me, why don’t you?” Despite the random song already playing softly from the single exposed cup of his headphones, Minho watches as Jisung reaches for the monitor adorning the seat in front of him, deftly navigating the menus until he reaches the in-flight film selection. “Look — they have Mamma Mia on here. That’s kind of on the nose, isn’t it?”
Minho snorts. “We’re going to Italy, not Greece, you dummy.”
Jisung quietly snickers and clicks on it anyway. Seeing as neither of them packed wired headphones or anything with a 9mm jack, Minho’s left to wonder if relying on subtitles while having music playing in the background was part of his grand plan.
“...Hold up, pause your movie real quick; let’s try syncing up our monitors so we can watch at the same time.”
Minho always likened himself as someone who’s able to roll with the punches and ride the waves, a quality that he prides himself on as an idol with a career as blessed as his. But even the best weathered ships get worn down, and sometimes he needs something stronger than just the comfort of his own apartment for a weekend.
“You wanna go to Italy over the summer?”
The question, albeit fueled by some idea of wanderlust just because Minho scrolled on Instagram for longer than usual and the fact that they were days away from embarking on the second half of the current tour, was still innocuous at best and perhaps a litmus test of sorts at worst. Minho doesn’t remember exactly when and where this question popped — maybe he and Jisung were sitting in their shared kitchen, both nursing some basic breakfast of eggs and whatever else they had in their kitchen before they had to go on tour again.
“Like, during our break?”
“Yeah.”
“Mmm, sure.”
Like-minded individuals make clean and cut decisions. Six or so months later, and here they are, fourteen hours away from Milan Malpensa.
Minho returns his attention to their monitors, now adjusted to run in tandem with each other, and sinks back into his seat with a deep sigh.
“I just realized you’re gonna make me watch a musical without hearing any of the music,” he grumbles, casually leaning closer to Jisung, his head unceremoniously resting on the plastic casing of the other man’s headphones. Minho tries to ignore it.
“You’re the one who wanted to watch with me.”
“Because I know you would have woken me up to ask me to recap what’s happening.”
Jisung snorts as Minho doubles down in his seat, crossing his arms tighter around himself while realigning his posture.
“Regardless, neither of us brought headphones so we’re both dumbasses watching a musical film on mute.”
“I feel like we’ve committed worse atrocities together,” Jisung replies with a snicker, subtly squirming in his seat to better mold himself to Minho’s resting head.
On the monitor, Amanda Seyfried’s character begins to sing an unknown song; Minho wonders if Jisung knows the lyrics regardless. His headphones, now resting around his neck, continue to softly whisper next to Minho’s ears.
“...Well, we have a whole week to commit even more atrocities together.”
A whole week, huh?
…A whole week?
Minho stiffens in his seat and cautiously glances down at Jisung. As if sensing his tension, the other boy cranes his head to look at him and begins to speak — and yet Minho hears nothing.
“...What are you — Jisung, I can’t hear you, what are you saying?”
Jisung remains mildly confused, still mouthing words that Minho somehow can’t read. Minho turns his attention to the monitor, eyes scanning over the alien subtitles that have become suddenly unintelligible to him.
What the hell is —
❧ ❧ ❧
Minho’s eyes open to a sea of dark gray, acutely realizing he’s looking at the ceiling and still sunken in the plush sheets of his bed. In the seconds that follow where the rest of his senses fall back into position, he’s met with the uncomfortable reality of his corporeal form — a body weighed down by a day’s worth of singing and dancing, still woefully accustomed to a time bracket that is not meant for him. That’s right — the festival happened yesterday, he thinks. It’s after a minute or so of studying the ceiling and listening to the droning of air conditioning that Minho finally sits up and reaches out in the darkness for his phone, presumably still sitting on the bedside table he’d left it on just a few hours ago.
5:57 AM, the screen reads once he’s adapted to the momentary blindness. Minho holds in his grumbling so as not to disturb his roommate — Changbin, sleeping in the adjacent bed, whilst Chan and Jeongin sleep in the connecting suite — and sinks back into his pillow, phone landing on his chest. The window in which he can still fall back asleep wanes, and has already waned, with each passing second. He hides another grunt and brings his phone back up, squinting at the brightness as he navigates through his apps. ‘Hannie’ reads bold and black across the white of the screen. and the frantic tapping of his thumbs follow; seconds later, a text message reads blue on his screen.
Sun, July 14 at 5:59 AM
are you awake yet
i’m already awake let’s grab coffee
bzzt bzzt wake up wake up
❧ ❧ ❧
It’s not as if it’s a foreign sight, seated across from the other man as he polishes off some type of chocolate-covered pastry. Minho himself is still nursing the remainder of his coffee, a type so radically removed from the kind of caffeine they sell at the shops back in Seoul, but not something that has turned him off of it completely. It’s exactly what he needs this early in the morning, where the sun crests over the squarish edges of the scattered buildings down the streets, painting the cobbles in soft yet sharp light. In some attempt to look just a tad bit more presentable for a coffee date this early, Jisung’s brushed down some of his hair — permed merely days ago, but entirely deflated now — although the stringy flyaways betray him easily. Minho takes another sip of his coffee, savoring the warm drink in this short phase where the warmth of yesterday’s sun has finally faded into cool, and the heat of today’s sun creeps in as shadows retreat behind buildings. He peers over the rim of the cup, wondering if it’s worth telling Jisung anything he remembers about the odd dream that woke up just earlier.
“I can’t tell if you’re staring at me or you’re just spacing out.”
Minho refocuses his vision on Jisung. “...Both.”
Jisung snorts. “Yesterday wore you out?”
“More or less,” Minho replies curtly, his cup hitting its platter with a light clink as he sets it down. “Frankly, I’m more surprised you agreed to get out of bed this early, especially after yesterday.”
“I think I just got used to waking up this early ever since we moved in together,” Jisung replies with a chuckle.
“I don’t make that much noise in the morning, even when I’m cooking breakfast,” Minho grumbles as he leans back in his chair with arms crossed over his chest. “I’m even quieter when I get up to go to the gym early.”
“I’m not up because of the noise; I’m up because of the breakfast.”
Jisung wiggles his eyebrows; Minho snorts and rolls his eyes.
“You make it sound like I get up every morning to make an entire meal.”
“Well,” and Jisung pauses to chew and swallow the remainder of his croissant, “sometimes you do leave something out for me before you leave, and maybe I want to honor your generosity by consuming it while it’s still fresh and warm. Y’know — the way food is supposed to be eaten?”
“The way you operate sometimes I find that a little hard to believe.”
“Minho-ya — ”
Jisung moves in his seat as if meaning to escalate, before shrinking right back when their waitress approaches their table again, arms folded neatly in front of her as she nods to the both of them.
“And here’s your check,” she replies in gentle, accented English, glancing between both men. “How is it? Is everything to your liking?”
Minho offers a tight yet civil smile whilst discreetly slipping his card on the tray, before tossing a knowing glance at Jisung; the other man acquiesces.
“...Ah, thank you. Everything is good! Very good, very delicious,” Jisung quickly replies with a gummy grin.
“How long are you in Milan for? Are you here for a honeymoon?”
Both men are taken aghast in a way that’s understandably difficult to hide, but Minho regains his composure quicker than Jisung and shoots the other man another look, lips tight to stifle laughter. Jisung bounces his eyes between Minho and the waitress, now holding her hands to her chest as red starts dotting her fair cheeks.
“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume — ”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Jisung laughs while scrambling to get the tray back in her hands. “We’re…we’re friends. Here for, uh, vacation! Yeah.”
“Yes, vacation,” Minho mutters almost immediately. For a split second, Minho thinks he catches Jisung’s eyes, just that tiny twinkle of orange reflected in his irises, bright against the moody, iron-wrought innards of this cafe and the mop of black hair framing his face.
The server nods with a sheepish smile again. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your vacation. Let me ring you up and I’ll be right back.”
It’s only once the server is out of earshot that Minho regards Jisung again, a deep sigh filling up his chest.
“Honeymoon, huh? Now wouldn’t that be kind of a spectacle?” he jests with the driest of smirks tugging at the corners of his mouth. Milan is rightfully picturesque for such an occasion — it’s just that their purpose for this trip has little to do with anything like that. Still, that orange glint in Jisung’s eyes remains, like a glowing ember waiting to be stoked or snuffed.
“Well…we have some time. We’re not flying back until tomorrow night.”
Minho blinks and steadies his attention at the other man; Jisung regards him with an oft unseen poker face, the likes of which Minho almost can’t decipher. In the brief silence, the waitress returns with the receipt and Minho’s card, and after exchanging silent, understanding nods with her, both men’s stares lock back onto each other.
“Time for what, exactly?”
Jisung purses his lips and shrugs noncommittally. “I mean — I dunno — we have this day all to ourselves just to dick around in this gorgeous city where no one knows who we are. Are you catching what I’m tossing?” His cheeks grow bulbous as his lips curl into a small smile, that amber-like glow in his eyes now amplified.
Minho clicks his tongue and raises an eyebrow alongside the slight tilt of his head. It’s no secret to their members and anyone observing their interactions from behind their glass and plastic screens that he and Jisung are closer than peanut butter and jelly. Anything beyond that is privy only to the rest of the boys and whatever goes on behind closed doors.
Their arrangement is fine, and it’s nothing they haven’t wordlessly addressed years ago, when the amicable hand holding started feeling too right, and the need to satisfy a mutual curiosity of the what-ifs of what each other’s mouths tasted like become too heavy — on top of discovering and testing every other idiosyncrasy unearthed in their six years of knowing each other. Their arrangement is just fine.
But six years of being stuck on fine wears the soul thinner and thinner, when fine could be better, when just fine could be great.
Neither of them have raised any issues about their arrangement — that it seems they were both content with the circumstances but also living in a wordless agreement of mutual exclusivity; that somewhere along the way, they crossed over, crossed out, blurred, erased, and rewrote the boundaries of their friendship. But it’s in the rare moments of weakness that Minho takes his current path in life for granted; when they’re out admiring the cherry blossoms lining the Han and he aches to entwine their fingers, or when the light hits the gleaming, sweat-slick lines of Jisung’s face amidst the roar of the masses and he can only imagine what rush it would feel like to kiss him right then and there.
Minho understands what Jisung’s insinuating, even if the timing has him a bit fidgety in his seat. And so he asks again, for clarity and another deep breath stuck in his chest.
“...What exactly do you have in mind?”
❧ ❧ ❧
They skip in between buildings and traipse through the rounded off cobble at their own peril, chasing reprieve from the oppressive sunshine but still suffocating through the humidity. Minho’s a little more used to it, having staked himself on going off the beaten path in his spare time, rediscovering his solitude where the grasshoppers strum by the riverbank and the treeline decorates the sky like crown molding. The sound of cars still driving over the cobblestone and the hum of people talking amongst themselves in a language both foreign but familiar to him takes him out of the fantasy, but it’s hearing Jisung stumble and yelp about nearly dropping his gelato that brings him back.
Minho looks behind him and watches Jisung still hobbling over the stones, the thick flat soles of his sneakers providing him little traction; regardless, Jisung survives, and smiles at Minho like he’s just climbed Everest. Minho humors him and takes him by the hand.
“How about we find somewhere to sit down so you can catch your breath and finish your gelato, hm?”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
Six years is a long time.
Minho once heard from one of his sunbaes that if a friendship can last five years, it can last forever. He also heard another sunbae mention that some of their relationships don’t make it past three months. As much as he loathes comparison, he can’t help but feel like he’s at an impasse when putting his relationship with Jisung into perspective.
He likes to think that his feelings run a little deeper than just liking and being liked in return, that they wouldn’t be upholding this unspoken pact for years if neither of them just…didn’t care. The same boy he fell for at the tender age of nineteen, squeezing his hand like a pantomime to lyrics that seemed like sandbags in his teeth; he’s still the same boy he continues to fall for now, idly bobbing his head to the smooth jazz being orchestrated by street performers at this street corner.
Even for how many of their idiosyncrasies line up, there’s something that’s always charmed Minho regarding Jisung’s own interpretation of the zest of life. After all, he wouldn’t be the artist he is now if he hadn’t eaten the seeds of this proverbial pomegranate.
But that’s a bonus, isn’t it? Continuing to discover new things about your other half. The secrets of the unknown are part of the adventure, after all.
Minho takes himself out of the fantasy for just a moment to think: what doesn’t he like about Jisung? The thought alone nearly makes him snort, and he has to turn his head away just to make sure the other man has not seen or heard him yet. Luckily, Jisung remains entranced, and Minho moves to reposition himself on the bench they’re seated on.
Let’s see…
Jisung isn’t the most adept person when it comes to keeping the kitchen clean, especially when he’s done doing the dishes and there’s puddles of dishwater around the sink and droplets of water forming a bread crumb trail straight to his bedroom. This isn’t the biggest issue nowadays, because they eat and clean up together (and Minho voluntarily takes up the brunt of this), but also that it is easier to manage a household with just the two of them. (He can’t imagine how it is in their other members’ dorms.)
While this isn’t quite a problem as much as it is a slight deficiency, Minho wishes Jisung knew to cook anything more than canned chicken or tuna, or fried eggs with rice. Having a convenience store just a stone’s throw away from their building makes it easy for either of them to pick up anything at a moment’s notice; kimchi, ramyeon, kimbap, banana milk, microwaveable rice, danmuji, you name it. Minho just can’t help but think how much better it would be if they had their own place, to be able to spend time teaching him how to cook all these meals from scratch instead.
“And how long have you been staring at me like this without thinking I wouldn’t notice?”
Minho blinks, and he’s back in the present, lounged on a street bench overlooking the Naviglio Grande like they’re on the couch inside one of the company studios. Jisung continues staring at him, the slightest of smirks curling at the corners of his lips. His tongue momentarily swipes over his bottom lip where some of the gelato had just been, drawing Minho’s gaze for a millisecond.
“Not long enough, apparently.” The black cap on his head casts a long shadow over his face now that the sun has long crossed overhead, and only serves to strengthen Minho’s infamous poker face.
Jisung shifts in his seat so that he’s no longer looking over his shoulder, instead more comfortably turned towards Minho. He eyes the arm nonchalantly resting on the bench just behind his person, but says nothing more.
“You don’t usually stare at me this long unless you have something to say or you want attention. What’s on your mind?”
Minho considers his options as he recedes into the ambience of the crowd, like a zebra hiding in plain sight. “...Nothing. I was just thinking about how you need to eat more than just canned chicken and rice, especially now that we’re living together.”
Jisung sneers, his smirk widening into an affronted grin whilst he angles himself toward Minho. “Don’t tell me that’s it.”
“Oh. And I love you.”
Jisung sighs and doubles over, his resolve crumbling while laughter starts to pour out of him. “You’re absolutely unbelievable.”
“Oh, you don’t believe me? Come closer.”
The other man scoots forward with little thought and preamble, and it’s then that Minho leans in and tugs him by his shirt, and presses their lips together for a brief, yet firm moment — the black cap conveniently concealing everything from view, obviously.
Minho settles back into the bench as casually as he can manage, hands folded neatly in his lap, even if a small part of him hopes the shadow cast by his hat properly conceals the growing heat spreading across his cheeks. He glances back at Jisung, the other man staring back at him with a glaze in his eyes that almost says I can’t believe you just did that.
“What?”
“...Nothing. I was just a little surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Minho scoffs before pointedly taking his arm and tugging Jisung closer to his person. “Baby, we’ve been doing this for six years. Besides, this was your idea, remember?”
❧ ❧ ❧
At eight in the morning, the summer heat begins to permeate their surroundings as the sun has risen past the horizon and over the skyline. Regardless, the day is young and they still have their wits about them to explore as they please. The Giardini pubblici Indro Montanelli, as Minho tried his best to pronounce based off of what he’d looked up on his phone, is their first stop of the day. And after trying their best to navigate a series of intersections just south of their lodgings, the grove of trees finally break past the rigid, stone forms of the Milanese skyline, rewarding Minho for his brief adventure. Minho thinks he’s never seen trees this vibrantly green before, especially in the middle of the summer.
“It’s like a whole different world tucked away in the city, yeah?” Jisung regales, before unlinking himself from Minho and skipping some paces ahead. Minho watches him silently, letting the other man indulge in an imagination that admittedly runs deeper than his own. The paths are wide, after all, and everyone present gives each other a wide berth. In a way, he can understand a little bit of Jisung’s immediate fantasy, when following the path deeper into the park’s concourse takes them a little further away from the city, the only remnants of them being the buildings peeking out from beyond the trees and past the stone and iron fences.
“Do you wanna slow down before you get fined for a speeding ticket?” Minho jokes, and Jisung promptly stops in his tracks, an all too knowing look already painted on his face. “I know you’re excited but there’s no need to rush.”
“I know, I know…I’m just excited. And we only have today.”
A gentle smile blooms on Minho’s face as Jisung continues trekking forward, head darting in every direction to satisfy every single distraction that catches his eye. A brief realization dawns on Minho, and he takes the chance to pull his phone out and start aiming his camera.
Click. Shutter. Click, click, shutter, shutter.
The line of photos emerging in his photo album resemble a stop-motion animation, in which Jisung is the main character of the story. Like standard procedure, Minho turns the camera on himself instead, seeing his face near the center of the frame with the grove of trees lined up behind him like a runway. He clicks the shutter one, two, three times, the last of which has Jisung catching on and tossing out a funny expression in the very background.
“...Here, since you’re taking pictures, let’s take a couple together,” Jisung calls out as he jogs back to Minho.
He allows himself to be positioned as Jisung sidles up beside him, raising his phone up and angling it with the grove of trees positioned behind them.
“...aaaand cheese!” Jisung pulls the phone back down for them to survey the picture and immediately whines. “Aish…”
“What, what is it?” Minho snorts, leaning down to peer at the zoomed in photo of the both of them. It’s about as normal of a photo as the two of them can get, although Minho’s smile is much tamer next to Jisung’s exposed gums.
“Look at you…you’re really eating me up here, with your cheekbones and your hair sitting just right. I look like a kid next to you!”
“Are you not a kid?” Minho feigns yelling in pain when Jisung smacks him on the shoulder, running around in a tiny jig before sidling up next to the other man once more. “If you’re not happy, let’s take more pictures. Here; take one of me.”
Automatically, they separate and get into position, Jisung half-crouched and angled up towards the top of the tree line while Minho counts — one, two, three — and hops onto one foot with his hands resting behind his head. They repeat the sequence a few more times, each one a variation of Minho’s self-proclaimed, tried and true posing dynamics.
“Okay, okay, let’s take another one together,” Jisung calls out, and angles himself against the grove of trees once more. His grin blooms wider when Minho approaches, plastering himself on Jisung’s back with his hands sliding conspicuously into the other man’s front pockets. “Lino-ya — ”
“C’mon; take the photo,” Minho goads, purposely ignoring how close their faces are now that his own is perched on Jisung’s shoulder (and that the other boy is pouting at him like a disgruntled toddler).
“You’re so provocative, hyung,” Jisung whines and yet Minho doesn’t relent. Nevertheless, Jisung simply huffs and repositions the camera, taking a few more pictures in the process. “...Okay, let’s keep walking around. I’m sure we’ll find some other places to take pictures at. Maybe we can even ask someone to take a picture of us.”
“Man, if only we brought Changbin along to take pictures of us if that’s the case.”
Jisung snorts, matching the smug grin on Minho’s face, before taking him by the hand.
“C’mon, let’s keep going.”
This is nice, Minho thinks, tightening his hold on Jisung’s hand.
❧ ❧ ❧
It’s late — just a half hour to midnight once they’ve made it back to their hotel rooms and begun the grueling process of stripping away the layers of makeup and sweat. Dinner was a joyous affair, with management setting aside a reservation for the whole team at a restaurant whose name Minho can’t even remember nor pronounce. Regardless, getting to fill up like that leaves him sated after a hard day’s work.
After returning to his suite with Changbin, Minho offers to let the younger man use the bathroom first, and finds himself fighting the pull of the dream world when he impulsively falls back onto his impossibly soft bed. It’s after a minute that he grasps at the energy to pull himself back together, groaning as he sits up and checks his phone instead, opting for a distraction.
Sat, July 13 at 11:32 PM
do you have any plans for tmrw yet
lets walk around the city
It doesn’t take long for the response to come in, coming down from the top of the screen in the middle of him scrolling through Instagram.
no i didnt plan anything yet
you got any ideas??
theres this park down the street from the hotel that looks nice
i wanna check it out
❧ ❧ ❧
“I’ll have the, uh, cacio e pepe, and he wants the, uh…” Jisung pauses briefly to glance at Minho beside him, who wordlessly taps an index finger on a subset of words on the menu in front of him. “...the spaghetti alla vongole. Yes.”
It’s a little past noon when they decide to make their way towards the inner city, looking for somewhere to rest their legs and grab some lunch to fuel them for the rest of their day. One quick check-in with the rest of the boys and a glance at their map later, they find themselves in this cozy hole-in-the-wall, a blink and you’ll miss it kind of deal when hawkers and restaurant barkers have lined themselves up and down this specific alleyway trying to ply their trades. Stuffed shoulder to shoulder in this booth like a pair of sardines, Minho gladly takes the opportunity to duck out of the sun and the natural commotion of the city.
“Will that be all?”
“No, that should be it, thank you!”
“If you’ll excuse me; I’ll be out with your drinks shortly.” Jisung exchanges a polite smile for the server’s shallow bow, before returning his attention to Minho. “What are you looking at?”
“Changbin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin are taking pictures at the,” and he squints at the screen, trying to read the hangul captioned underneath Hyunjin’s text message, “...the du…dwo… Duomo di Milano.”
Jisung angles his head to look at the photo, taking note of the hulking cathedral, its cream-colored spires rising into the air like carved stalagmites. Changbin poses in the foreground of the photo amidst the crowd of tourists also surrounding the structure, looking extra minuscule in comparison. Jisung snorts as he reaches for a slice of bread perched in the basket in the center of their table.
“I told them we just got a table so we can’t meet up with them; did you still wanna check it out after?” Minho asks.
“...Nah, I think I’m good. It’s too hot anyway and that place looks way too open,” Jisung mutters while breaking apart the fluffy, doughy breadstick he’d plucked from the basket. The inside steams with the faint aroma of tomato, herbs, and garlic, further whetting both of their appetites. He takes the inaugural bite and exclaims delicious under his breath, before offering the remaining piece to Minho and letting him bite into it as well. “This is that, um, that one bread Felix has been talking about making, right? Fuh…focka-something.”
“Focaccia?” Minho finishes his sentence by snatching another piece from the basket and ripping it in half for the both of them.
“Yeah, that. You should try making some too when you have the time.”
“Hmmm…we’ll see. I’ll have to ask Felix for tips.”
Amidst their satisfied humming over the freshly baked focaccia, another server arrives at their table holding a pair of tall glasses already glistening with condensation, and both boys are to chime in with their thanks as they’re set onto the table. Minho stares in fascination at the pair of glasses, both fizzy Italian sodas they’d plucked off of the menu just out of curiosity: blood orange for Jisung, and cherry for himself.
Jisung lets out a sigh of relief as he takes his own glass and slides it closer, no doubt excited about the prospect of having a cold, carbonated drink on a hot summer’s day. “Why do I have the feeling I won’t be able to stop drinking this once I get a sip?”
“Well, you’re the one with the sweet tooth between us,” Minho jests as he takes his own glass and sips from the straw. The carbonation, combined with just a hint of cherry-flavored sweetness and astringency hits him like a jolt straight to the nerves, sending him momentarily recoiling. Beside him, Jisung nearly sputters, cheeks ballooned after getting his fill of his own drink.
“What — you don’t like it?”
Minho briefly blinks away the daze, smacking his lips and trying to properly convey his thoughts of his own drink. “...No, no, I think it’s good. I just wasn’t expecting it to taste like that. You wanna try?” And he slides the glass over for Jisung to take a sip from, before breaking out into laughter over seeing his own reaction near-perfectly replicated on the other man’s face.
“...Ah, I think I’ll just stick to my own drink, thank you,” and Jisung punctuates his sentence with a hearty sip of the orange soda. “Oh — and about Chan-hyung and the others, have you heard from them?”
Minho picks his phone back up and navigates back to their group chat, where he scrolls for a few seconds before stopping at another picture — this time of Felix and Jeongin throwing up peace signs in front of a beautifully gilded Versace storefront. The both of them snicker at this one.
“Oh, that’s that, um, really big mall downtown, right?”
“Yeah…you wanna go check it out later? Neither of us have gone shopping yet.”
Minho places his weight on one elbow as he leans on the booth table, amusedly watching the thoughts cloud on Jisung’s face as if he could resist gallivanting around in a shopping mall like this one.
“...Yeah, sure. We can go after lunch — but before that, let’s get some gelato again.”
“Whatever you want,” Minho replies with a gentle smile, right as their server returns, precariously balancing a tray with all the food they’d just ordered.
“I have the cacio e pepe, the spaghetti alla vongole, a scottadito, and one insalata caprese. After you’re finished with your meal, I can bring out some coffee and fruit, yes? Is there anything else I can get you?”
Minho simply offers a thumbs up when Jisung passes him a glance.
“Ah, no, I think this is good. Thank you.”
“Alright — enjoy.”
It’s once the server leaves that Jisung begins cooing at the spread before them, while Minho brandishes his phone once again to begin setting it up for a picture.
“Oh man…I wasn’t aware we’d ordered this much food. You think we’ll be able to finish all of this?”
Minho observes the spread once again after taking his fill of photos and sending a few to the other boys, before ultimately shrugging and sliding their respective dishes over. “Time to find out, I guess. Regardless, we’ll be walking all of it off anyway.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Jisung breathes, clutching his fists in excitement. “Well, as they say in Rome — bon appetit!”
“You idiot, that’s French,” and the both of them pause just to stifle their laughter.
❧ ❧ ❧
The hotel glows warmly after sundown, like a burning log with embers illuminating its cracks. Both he and Jisung nod politely to the concierge, smiling at them from behind the reception desk, their face illuminated by the gold and crystal chandelier in the center of the lobby. With each step, the muscle fibers of Minho’s body ache, a stark reminder that just yesterday they were projecting their auras to thousands of festival goers, and that maybe it was a little ambitious of either of them to spend the following day gallivanting in unfamiliar territory. But just like the end of the previous night, Minho feels…full. Fulfilled. There’s a gentle thrumming energy still darting through his veins, slingshotting between his body and Jisung’s where they’re still connected by the hands.
The brief trek back up to their hotel room is done in comfortable silence, like a quiet acceptance to the end of their reverie. It’s only when they arrive at Jisung’s room that they finally break the silence.
“...Well, damn.”
Minho blinks and looks at Jisung, the other man currently rummaging around his pockets and belongings for something.
“What’s wrong? Are you missing something?”
Jisung chuckles in response. “...I don’t think I brought my key card with me.”
Minho regards him for a moment, mentally deciding on whether to scold him or laugh at him; he chooses the latter.
“So…do you wanna go down to the front desk and ask for one? Or do you just wanna wait until Felix gets back?”
“Nah, I don’t think they’ll be back for a little longer. Last time I checked, they’d just gotten a table for dinner like half an hour ago.”
Minho purses his lips and continues scrutinizing the other man, wondering if this plot goes a tad deeper.
“...You wanna ask one of the managers for a keycard?”
Minho watches the thought linger on Jisung’s face for a second, and just as quickly as he had considered it, the idea immediately gets tossed back into the ether. “...Let’s not bother them. They’re on vacation too. Besides,” and Jisung steps away from the door to sidle next to Minho once more. “It’s not like I’m all alone. Right?”
“I’m not sure Changbin’s going to appreciate you putting your dirty outside clothes on his bed,” Minho snorts, and while Jisung feigns smacking him on the bicep, he’s already taken the latter by their elbow and drags him the few paces down the hallway to his own suite.
“You’ll never not be a killjoy, I swear.”
“But has that ever stopped you from loving me?” Minho shoots Jisung a sly glance as the electronic lock on the suite opens with a soft click.
“No — but don’t test me.”
Minho snorts, but nods towards the suite once the door swings wide open.
❧ ❧ ❧
Milan is already such a different city from Seoul, and after sundown, this difference is magnified tenfold. Where the streets of Seoul are lined in fluorescent neon lights illuminating every narrow alleyway and corner, the avenues of Milan are bathed in warm golden light. As if every street is lined with hundreds and thousands of candles, painting every stone and brick in orange and yellow.
It’s not difficult for Minho to lose himself in the viscous ambiance, of the crowds chattering around him in languages he doesn’t recognize, the cool air descending upon the heat still radiating from the cobblestone below, and the streetlamps leaving not a single corner of these streets unlit. Nevertheless, Minho remains anchored by the gentle force tugging him forward; his and Jisung’s hands still entangled as the latter marches on with unabated wanderlust.
Jisung looks back at him, a curious but excited expression painted on his face. (Minho wonders how he still has this enthusiasm fueling him after this many hours.) Jisung grins as he points something out on a passing storefront — a sign in front of a busy restaurant emblazoned with an aged painting of a hissing black cat. Jisung says something again, something that flies past Minho completely only because he’s too enamored with the elation radiating off of the other boy. Minho nods and offers a tiny smile, pretending like he understands; Jisung doesn’t seem to notice, and continues onward.
❧ ❧ ❧
What was supposed to be Minho taking initiative and cleaning up for the night has devolved into the both of them unable to turn down a rare instance of hanky panky — bodies slick with soap and hot water as they entrust their lives to the textured floor of the shower and the handrail bolted into the marble walls.
Their breaths are hot and haggard on each other’s lips, because it’s already so humid in the bathroom and they’re trying to drown amidst the rivulets of water running down their faces. Yet they submit to their basest urges, connected at the deepest level now that it’s skin on skin.
Jisung lets out a giggle when Minho noses at the junction of his neck, his jaw, and his ear, and the hands already stationed on Minho’s shoulders give the other man an appreciative squeeze.
“...You gotta tell me what you want, Hannie,” Minho breathes, leaving wet kisses down that aforementioned section of flesh. “We don’t know what time they’ll get back.”
“Relax, I’m just trying to savor the moment,” Jisung whines, before taking Minho’s face back into his hands and pressing an open-mouthed kiss on his lips, tongue immediately slotting against the other like it was meant to be there all along. “But if you’re rushing then we can definitely speed it up — ”
Hot air hangs in Minho’s throat when a hand nonchalantly snakes in between them, clutching at both of their cocks and squeezing firm. Jisung tosses his head back ecstatically, and Minho drinks the sight in; of the flush on his cheeks, of his hair drenched and stuck to his forehead in strands.
Jisung clicks his tongue in satisfaction and guides them backwards, until he’s leaning on the handrail for support and Minho has to brace himself against the wall behind. Another grunt and groan when Jisung squeezes the both of them, quietly thankful that they’d maintained this level of soap and suds between them.
“J-Jisungie…” Minho warns, eyes fluttering shut as the former thumbs gently at his tip.
“I know, I know, just a second longer…” Jisung shushes him with a lingering kiss before carefully turning around, bracing one hand against the wall and another on the handrail.
Minho blinks in silence as he reassesses the situation, fighting a losing war against the inviting expanse of Jisung’s back, all the way from his shoulders down to his backside. Almost as if sensing his hesitation, Jisung wiggles his hips, and Minho huffs to stifle a laugh.
“...Jisung — ”
“No, I want it,” Jisung firmly replies, slyly looking back over his shoulder at Minho. “If we’re not doing this now, we’re going to have to wait until we get back home.”
Minho purses his lips tight again to fight off his inner demons — and ultimately loses.
Changbin, please forgive me.
Minho mutters apologies into the meat of Jisung’s shoulder as he hurries prep — messier and less meticulous than he would have liked, but circumstances are circumstances — only offering lazy strokes of Jisung’s cock as reparations. But it’s the shuddering waves zooming straight to their nerve endings that makes it all worth it once Minho bottoms out inside him, eliciting a deep-throated, stuttering groan from both men.
From there, they waste not a second later, rutting against each other and chasing that high, only hoping that the roar of the water is enough to muffle their movements.
The crest of the wave crashes upon them not too long after, when Minho’s hips are stuttering against Jisung and the latter has spilled over Minho’s fingers. If they weren’t already tired from both today and the previous day’s activities, this has left them both melting like putty against the marble wall of the shower. Unable to help himself, Jisung reaches back blindly for Minho, only managing to grasp him by the air before tugging him in for another kiss with I love yous murmured between them.
Cleaning off after all that’s transpired is a one and done affair — because they’ve had six years to practice the art of canoodling behind their members’ backs. (Whether they’ve been successful or not at deception is something they’ll never be bothered to confirm with the others; their lack of input on aforementioned canoodling is enough of a guarantee for both Minho and Jisung.)
When the door to the suite opens again, they’re back in the main room with the television on and basking in the chill of the air conditioning. It’s Changbin that enters the suite, briefly pausing in the foyer at the sight of both of them dressed in Minho’s clothes and each towelling off their hair.
“...Don’t you have your own room?” Changbin queries Jisung, rightfully suspicious.
“He didn’t bring his keycard with him,” Minho answers, face still mostly concealed by the towel haphazardly draped over his head.
“I’m just waiting for Felix to get back from dinner so I can go inside,” Jisung adds as he continues coolly scrolling on his phone.
By now, the towel on Minho’s head has come to rest around his neck again, and he watches as Changbin opens his mouth as if to reply, before closing it and muttering whatever under his breath. It’s only after Changbin has retreated into the confines of the bathroom that both Minho and Jisung are rolling back onto the bed sheets, stifling their raucous laughter whilst staving off the burning sensation tickling their ears.
❧ ❧ ❧
“You heading somewhere?”
Minho pokes his head out of the bathroom and glances over at Changbin, still buried under the covers with only his frizzy silver fringe and his phone poking out from beneath the sheets.
“Jisung and I are gonna try walking around downtown. There’s that really nice park down the street that I wanna check out. And you — are you doing anything today?”
Changbin yawns and stretches, two burly arms rising from the sheets like tree trunks. “...I’m waiting on Seungmin and Hyunjin. There’s a planetarium down the street from the hotel that they wanted to see if they could get tickets to or something like that.” He pauses to yawn again and smack his lips. “Now I’m just waiting on them to message the group chat before I get up and get ready.”
“You’re gonna wait on them before getting breakfast?”
“I might as well,” Changbin replies sardonically. “Enjoy your date.”
Minho snorts. “Will do.” He gives himself one last once-over in the mirror: a black cap and a roomy, navy blue shirt should be enough to keep him from the heat, alongside the billowy cargo pants he’d bought just the week prior. He wonders if Jisung has dressed up or dressed down for today’s excursion. He thinks back on what Jisung said at breakfast just an hour ago and huffs; there’s no need to get butterflies over all of this. He cuts off that sigh and finally steps out into the corridor, making the brief walk over to the other boys’ rooms (because they all have adjacent suites).
There’s little time for him to get swallowed up by the extravagant decor lining just the corridor because the door to the following pair of suites opens up by the time he makes it there, with the aforementioned person of interest exiting.
“...Oh. Just in time, then.” Jisung regards him with a gummy smile, and the combination of a white Stussy t-shirt with a linen button down top layered over it makes him look fresh and youthful — a slight contrast to the darker ensemble Minho’s opted for. “Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm in a pointedly gentleman-like manner. Minho snickers and humors him, looping their elbows together as they fall into rhythm with each other, the rich brocade carpet padding their footsteps as they make for the elevator.
“...Before I forget,” Minho begins with a gentle voice once they’ve reached the elevator. “I should probably tell you about the weird dream I woke up from this morning.” Maybe it has something to do with how I’ve been feeling all morning.
“Wake up from a nightmare? Is that why you asked me to get coffee with you, you big baby?”
Minho’s position in their arm lock lets him feign elbowing Jisung in the side, but the latter still relents and yelps in protest.
“I dreamt that we were on a plane together, just the two of us, flying here. To Milan.”
A natural pause falls between them, and Minho shoots Jisung a glance to gauge his reaction.
“Don’t you think that’s just a little too on the nose? Did the festival wear you out too much? You didn’t go to bed late last night, did you?”
Minho rolls his eyes. “That’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is — would you wanna come back?” He looks back at Jisung, and he can already see the cogs turning in his eyes.
“...Just the two of us?”
“Yeah.”
“...That sounds nice. Maybe. If we get a nice gap in our schedules again, we should just go.” The elevator dings, drawing their attention, and the gilded doors slide open for the both of them. Like clockwork, Minho’s arm darts out to block the doors as Jisung enters first, planting himself on the railing. “Well…you’ll have to remind me when that happens, because it’s your idea. And you’re usually better at the planning stuff anyway.”
Minho mirrors his smile as he enters the elevator. “Of course.”
❧ ❧ ❧
Living simply is one of the tenets that Minho claims he lives by, and in a nutshell that usually means just letting things come and go as nature intended. In another life, he might have settled down back in Gimpo, opened a barbecue restaurant and lived in an apartment right above it with his three cats. Maybe he would have taught dance lessons on the side locally, or commuted to Seoul to work with bigger teams. Maybe he would have gotten a job working for that one auntie down the street with the corner store that stocks the brand of banana milk he really likes. But in another life, who knows if a cheeky young man with a gummy smile and doe eyes would have walked into the room and altered the trajectory of his existence forever? That he’d be across the world in a place full of people that don’t know him and yet still feel anchored by the very hand intertwined with his own?
Life’s been nothing but unnatural ever since some radical choices were made over six years ago, but having Jisung’s hand in his own, seeing the smile still sitting on his face whenever their eyes meet — that is what’s natural to him.
“...Yoohoo, earth to Lee Minho — you’ve been spacing out all day!”
Minho’s eyelashes flutter as he blinks himself back into this plane of existence, the deafening roar of the crowds inside the Galleria flooding his ears, and yet he focuses his senses, placing them right on Jisung’s person. They’ve rested at another bench inside the mall, opting to watch people once again after a round of window shopping. Jisung stares back at him as he sips his drink, an unquestionable look of curiosity swirling in his irises.
“I can’t tell if you’re out of it or not; if you’re already tired, we can just head back to the hotel.”
Minho shakes his head. “...I’m alright. I still wanna spend some time with you.”
Jisung’s surprise is palpable once again, although it subsides much quicker as it molds into a face of bashful awareness instead. His cheeks puff up pink and he purses his lips, as if fighting the urge to react any other way.
“Aish…six years and you’re still coming up with ways to make me feel like the only guy in the whole world.”
“I mean — are you not the one and only guy for me?” Minho cherishes his gift to take refuge in audacity, and Jisung’s current lack of words is a good enough response for him. He laughs instead when Jisung opts to shove playfully at his shoulder as recourse.
“...Seriously, what am I supposed to say when you catch me off-guard like this?”
Minho shrugs with a thin, mischievous smile stretched across his face. “I dunno. I’ve been trying to lean into this ‘public dating’ thing all day.” If he’s being honest, it doesn’t…feel all that different from how they've operated on a daily basis. Minho zeros in on the feeling of their hands still placed on each other on the bench, Jisung idly squeezing the skin on the back of his hand.
Jisung sighs and stares back out in front of him, eyes glazing over the throngs of people passing in front. “...Do you ever think about it?”
“Think about what?”
“Like, the ‘not hiding it’ part.”
Minho inhales deeply, letting his chest cavity expand and contract before answering the other man.
“...Yeah. Multiple times, really.”
Another stroke of Jisung’s finger on the back of his hand. “And what’s your take on it?”
Gee, Han Jisung, this is kind of a lot on the spot, don’t you think?
“Gosh…where do I even begin? Um…” A child laughs in the distance. The scattered excitement of a few girls rings from somewhere behind them. “It’s not something I…actively detest. Like, I enjoy the privacy, having things to ourselves and our own home and nobody outside of our circle of friends and acquaintances knowing. And that they don’t give a hoot about what we’re doing with each other.”
“Yeah. That part’s pretty sweet. Although I’m sensing a but somewhere in there.”
Minho snorts, and out of the corner of his eye he spies Jisung, also holding back a grin.
“...I’m pretty sure you’ve also thought about this — I don’t think you would have brought it up if you didn’t — but sometimes I wish we could be more…open.”
“...Yeah. I feel the same way too.” Almost as if on cue, Minho feels Jisung closing the gap between them on the bench — and notably, taking Minho’s hand into his own and clutching in his lap. “I…honestly try not to let it bother me too much. It’s like I have too much love just bundled up in me for it to just sit in my chest and rot. But even if I can’t shout it out to the world in front of thousands of people…they’ll find out some other way.”
Minho meets Jisung’s eyes again and within them he recognizes that warm glow, of a man that wears their heart on their sleeve and is bursting at the seams with adoration and appreciation for everything around him. Minho thinks of the thousands of love songs he has scribbled and tucked away in folders, notebooks, voice notes on his phone and his computer, or still sitting in the crevices of his mind, waiting for their turn in the spotlight.
“Everyone is different in a lot of ways, and we all show our love a little differently too. You’re always the one waiting for me, the one asking to go out and watch a movie or get some food and never asking for anything in return. The one who laughs at my jokes no matter how bad they are, and your friends already knew who I am long before I’ve even met them — because you talk about me too much.”
“So you want me to stop talking about you?”
“You’re evil.”
“And you like that.”
“Yeah…I do.”
Minho shares a laugh with him, reveling in the newfound warmth blooming across his chest, over his cheeks, and surging through his flesh. He feels a powerful heartbeat pulsing where their hands are connected; he’s not sure if it belongs to himself or Jisung.
It’s when Minho’s attention has scattered again, this time fixated on the storefront of a jeweler’s boutique with glittering diamond rings and necklaces with matching earrings on display, that Jisung speaks up once again. “Look…the time for us to show the world whatever the hell we are might not be right now, but one day…I’m taking you back here. And I’m going to propose to you.”
The pang of surprise hits Minho square in the chest, and he tries his best to downplay his reaction despite the locking of his jaw. Regardless, he hides his surprise in the tight smirk of his lips as he glances back at Minho.
“You sure you’re up for that? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Han Jisung.”
“What, you don’t believe me? Weren’t you the one who dreamt about us flying here by ourselves?”
It’s here that Minho loses it, descending into laughter upon remembering the silly little dream he’d mentioned earlier that day. “...What if…what if I didn’t wanna come back? What if I wanna go to, uh, Thailand instead? Or France?”
“We can go there — we can go anywhere. Just tell me and we’ll make it happen.”
Minho knows any plans like this wouldn’t occur for a couple of years at the very least, not when he’s due for his service sometime in the near future. But going on a trip first thing after getting discharged…now wouldn’t that be a treat. He runs his thumb across the back of Jisung’s hand before lifting it to his lips and pressing a firm kiss to his knuckles. Judging from the way the other boy averts his gaze and flutters his eyelashes, Minho knows he’s extracted the correct reaction.
“That’s a hefty wager, Han Jisung. And I’ll definitely hold you to that.”
❧ ❧ ❧
Minho sinks back into the sheets and lets his phone fall onto his chest, immediately closing his eyes and succumbing to the wave of lethargy still clawing at the boundaries of his consciousness. The edges of his vision slowly gray, and he doesn’t even realize when he’d fallen back asleep — or that he’d actually been asleep — when the buzzing of his phone on his chest stirs him back awake.
He blinks and rubs at his eyes with one hand while picking up his phone with the other, once again forced to squint as the brightness hits him like a laser beam. There’s a short stack of notifications at the bottom, addressed from none other than a 하니 🌰.
Sun, July 14 at 6:04 AM
damn youre awake too
let me brush my teeth and splash some water on my face
theres that one cafe in the lobby i want to try lets go there
lmk when youre done so we can head down together
The tiniest whisper of a smile hangs on the corners of Minho’s lips as he hastily types a message back.
k
see u in a little bit
❧ ❧ ❧
“Let’s…pretend we’re, like, y’know, married,” the word comes out extended and emphasized, like Jisung himself is too shy to consider the possibility between the both of them. Judging from the way he averts his gaze for just a second, Minho believes that he might be, but the heat creeping in on his own ears has Minho thinking exactly the same. “When’s the next time either of us are going to have all this time to ourselves in a place like this?”
He’s not wrong. They’re always doing something, all the time. Recording something new, committing a new move to muscle memory, sitting in on meetings with executives that lay down and explain every single detail of their lives for the next six months. All of the boys are lucky enough to be able to weather the waves, workaholics as they are, but the lives they’ve lived since finishing up high school have not allowed them a chance to slow down and smell the flowers. He’s loved Han Jisung since the tender age of nineteen, and not a year goes by where the part of him that wants to experience this world together has gotten any smaller.
“Just think about it.”
Not that Jisung’s the worst kind of person to trust when it comes to impulsive plans, and that Minho shouldn’t be giving him any sort of flack for it because he’s also the other side of this particular coin, but between the both of them, Minho is the one who at least thinks a few more steps ahead. Still, Jisung eyes him inquisitively, eyebrow raised and confidently sitting back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest like he’s expecting an agreement or a well-thought out counter-argument. Minho momentarily averts his gaze, choosing to focus on the beautifully chiseled stone arch reaching up to the ceiling just behind Jisung, like the perfect window into an escape into the real world.
“You want to…pretend to be a real couple for the day? Here?” Real couple sounds alien on his tongue; for all intents and purposes, he and Jisung are real…just not public.
Jisung nods like the premise of asking your boyfriend-in-hiding to be your boyfriend-in-public for the day sounds like the simplest thing to manage. Y’know, not that they’d just headlined a sold out festival venue the night before as artists cruising at the peak of their careers.
Regardless, there’s an earnestness in Jisung’s eyes that’s difficult to ignore (and the bane of many of their decisions in which Minho ultimately conceded). Even if Minho had a legitimate rebuttal for his partner’s proposal, it’s too early in the morning to argue logic like this…and perhaps Jisung pressed the right buttons this time.
It’s after a deep breath that Minho stands from his seat, drawing a reaction of mild surprise and confusion from the other man, but before Jisung can say anything else, Minho is already extending a hand out towards him in a gentlemanly manner.
“...C’mon, honey. Let’s get ready; we have a whole day ahead of us.”
❧ ❧ ❧
early nights in white sheets with lace curtains
pompeii in the distance
in a place that can make you change
fall in love again and again
fall in love again and again
fall in love again and again
fall in love again and again
fall in love again and again