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Admittedly, it would be far easier to tell Jisung he’s hot as hell than for Minho to confess he likes him. Desire is clean, elemental— it flares and burns. And attachment is tying one’s wrists in silk cord and setting down on a silver platter, offering not only the body but the marrow inside it. To like someone is to invite consumption. To like, love someone is to sharpen the knife for them.
Minho likes to think he doesn’t surrender to things. Not to feelings, not to Jisung, not to fleeting moments of warmth. It’s all painfully untrue. And for someone struggling with sincerity —his therapist’s delicate euphemism— it is entirely expected. Truth is a currency he spends sparingly, and only when it suits him.
or: Minho works in a tattoo shop in Paris—and so does Jisung, which is the beginning of every problem worth having.
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on chapter 4
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Currently reading chaptered
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Ch 4
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