Chapter Text
The quiet in Minho’s classroom had settled quickly after the bell rang and the students had excitedly filed out, eager to get on to their final class of the day. Now, test papers litter his desk—covered in lines of messy graphite, though his own red-inked words atop them aren’t much better.
He’s mid-correction when the door quietly clicks open. He doesn’t need to look up to know the cause, for the lack of shy hesitancy itself tells him.
Jisung closes the door behind himself with the same quietness. His presence makes the air feel a bit different, but Minho stays focused on the task at hand, his loyal pen moving onward.
“Oh yeah, you had a test today…” Jisung’s warm voice rings out.
Minho hums, finishing his comment before allowing himself a glance up.
Jisung stands before him, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, backpack still hanging from his shoulders, making the youth of the sixteen year old shine even more apparent. The fluorescent lights truly do no one any favors, but somehow he effortlessly manages to look radiant.
Minho’s gaze drops back down to the papers.
He hears a shuffling of feet, and then the teenager is at his side, leaning closer to peer down at the test paper lying in front of Minho.
“Want help?” Jisung asks, already habitually reaching ahead for the pile of papers that have yet to be marked in red.
Minho raises his hand to stop him, his knuckles brushing against Jisung’s loose sleeve. “It’s for the senior class.”
The words feel heavy, but the moment ends quickly as Jisung retracts his hand in understanding. Rather than backing away then, he simply shifts his weight from one foot to the other—lingering. “You look stressed.”
The comment is casual, but the softness in his tone makes Minho’s pen pause mid-stroke. He clears his throat. “I’m fine… Test grading days always look like this.”
Jisung hums, not sounding very convinced. Minho can feel him watching as he tries to pick up where he left off, but the silence is filled with the tension of wheels turning in Jisung’s mind.
“Let me help,” Jisung insists softly. “You’ll be up all night reading through these.”
“You can’t grade senior discussion questions,” Minho says. “You know that.”
“I can do the easy parts… checking if they wrote their names, circling all the run-on sentences and improper punctuation—you always complain about those.”
Minho nearly smiles.
“You’re distracting,” he says instead, flipping the paper over to grade the next page.
“Me?” Jisung feigns innocence. “I’m just standing here, offering help.”
“Exactly.”
The word leaves Minho’s mouth before he can stop it.
Jisung seems to catch it too, pausing for a second before reaching out to brush his fingertips over Minho’s arm. “Minho…”
“Mr. Lee,” Minho corrects without skipping a beat, simultaneously moving his arm away from the teenager.
Jisung laughs a little. “Right… Mr. Lee…” He teases, enunciating it with sarcasm.
“Stop,” Minho says firmly, his eyes moving to scan over the next question, though his brain isn’t truly processing it.
“Stop what?”
“Someone could walk in any second,” Minho says, naturally lowering his voice as he stares down at the test paper. “You trying to get me fired?” He says it lightly, almost a joke, but his chest tightens at the mere thought. There’s a real truth in it.
Jisung obediently slinks away from Minho’s desk, slowly dropping his backpack to the floor and slipping into the desk nearest Minho’s own.
Minho tries to ignore the sound of him rooting through his bag for the sugary, gummy fruit snacks that are ritualistically needed after a long, hard day of school.
Following the motions as he does every day, Minho makes a right turn, driving the car into a residential area of average middle-class homes. In the passenger seat, Jisung chatters on about his day, and Minho makes sure to hum every now and then so that he knows he’s still being heard.
“I don’t really get it. I mean, if you ask me, there’s nothing about Hyunjin that’s worth fighting over.”
“Teenagers fighting over a boy,” Minho says. “Not shocking.”
“Hey, I’m giving you special insider knowledge here,” Jisung jokingly scolds. “At least pretend to be entertained.”
“I am entertained,” Minho says.
“Anyway,” Jisung continues on, “Rina told Jia that she was gonna back off to keep their friendship intact… Very noble, very sweet—right?”
Minho nods. “That’s surprisingly considerate, knowing her.”
“Except…” Jisung pauses for dramatic effect. Minho glances over at him and catches his eyes sparkling with excitement at the reveal to come. “She didn’t! She went behind Jia’s back and asked Hyunjin out last night.”
“And Jia found out?”
“Found out, confronted her in the bathroom at lunch, and apparently threw a bottle of body spray at her.”
Minho can’t help laughing. “Of course she did.”
Jisung’s laughter joins his own. “But you know what else? The best part? Hyunjin is already dating some kid from another school. Rina got turned down, and then he went and told his friends about it, and it ended up circulating all morning until it got back to Jia. Friendship ruined for nothing.”
Minho turns again onto a smaller street. They drive past trimmed lawns, evenly spaced mailboxes, some neighborhood boys playing basketball in a driveway. He slows down as he gets closer to a particularly familiar house, empty now with Jisung’s parents still at work for the next hour—if not longer.
Somewhat reluctant, Minho puts the car in park, and Jisung unbuckles his seatbelt and turns toward him with a familiar, expectant tilt of his head. Without thinking, Minho leans in so that their lips meet. The kiss is soft at first—a simple goodbye done out of muscle memory—but the warmth and the ease has Jisung making a pleased little sound, and Minho is nothing but a weak man.
He lets himself deepen the kiss, one hand coming up to cup Jisung’s jaw as their tongues make contact. Minho feels a hand touch his leg, and it eagerly slides up the material of his slacks.
Minho pulls away, breaking the kiss, before Jisung’s hand can find what it’s looking for. He holds it gently in his hand.
“Hey,” Jisung says softly, a small pout already forming.
“It’s too light out,” Minho explains, unfortunately not a stranger to receiving rushed handjobs outside Jisung’s parents’ house.
“Wanna come in?” Jisung asks. “We have plenty of time; Dad’s on the night shift and Mom’s working late tonight again.”
The offer is certainly tempting, but they’ve never crossed that line before. They release their sexual tension at Minho’s house during Saturday ‘tutoring sessions’ or over whispered phone calls in the night—never inside Jisung’s parents’ house. It just feels wrong, never mind the life-ruining risk of someone unexpectedly coming home early and catching him balls deep in their underage son.
Minho solemnly shakes his head. “I’ll call you later, okay?” He consoles, giving Jisung’s hand a firm, affectionate squeeze before releasing it.
Still peeved at the rejection, Jisung huffs. “Okay.”
Minho watches in silence as Jisung grabs his backpack before opening the car door and stepping out onto the curb. Jisung closes the door behind himself before making his way down his home’s driveway. Minho watches him until he lets himself inside, the door closing back solidly, before driving off.
After Thursday’s final bell of the day, Minho’s classroom gradually fills with the dozen students that make up the creative writing club. When he decided to become a teacher, he knew he wanted to make a real change in his students’ lives by promoting creativity and exploration, and in his school district, that ended up becoming one of the less popular extracurriculars. As such, the club—now in its fourth year of life—has developed a free atmosphere. Some students prepare for the weekly meeting in desks with a pencil and paper eager to jot down any tasks or deadlines; other students unceremoniously plop onto the ground, leaning against the side wall, or huddling in tiny friend groups, passing a rather large bag of chips back and forth.
When Jisung arrives, Minho quickly averts his eyes.
It’s no use, and Jisung heads for his desk at the back of the room without hesitation.
“Hey,” he says simply, stopping in front of Minho’s desk.
Minho glances up at him, then returns his eyes to his laptop. “Take a seat. We’ll start once everyone’s here.”
“Okay.” Still Jisung lingers. Then, “Did you read the thing I emailed you this morning?”
Minho doesn’t spare him so much as a second glance. “We’ll talk about submissions during the meeting.”
The message is clear.
Jisung finally straightens, nods once and turns away. He joins his peers at the front of the classroom.
Minho exhales through his nose and returns his attention to his laptop. He was cramming in some quick adjustments to some of his lesson plans for the upcoming week, but now Jisung won’t leave his mind. He doesn’t enjoy having to brush him off like that, but in a classroom of other students, there’s just no other choice, and they both know that. Jisung knows exactly what can happen to Minho if they were ever found out, but he can be immature at times. Sometimes he overestimates what they can get away with, and Minho has to reel him back in.
He’s just about to give up and officially start the meeting when laughter suddenly bubbles up from the front.
“... I’m serious,” a boy from Jisung’s class says. “You’re always here.”
Minho freezes.
Another voice, a girl, chimes in, amused. “Yeah, like, every day. What are you doing, Jisung? Extra credit?”
A couple snickers follow.
Minho doesn’t look up from his laptop. He can’t, shouldn’t. He knows better than that, yet his fingers hover uselessly over his keyboard, completely still as he listens in.
Jisung laughs, and it sounds easy, but Minho can hear the rehearsed undertone in it. “Oh my god, shut up.”
“That’s not a no,” the same girl says. “You totally have a thing for him, everyone knows it.”
“I don’t— That’s gross. No.”
Minho drags his tongue over his bottom left canine, the sharpness not painful but something close to it.
“Then why are you always hanging around him?” The boy asks. “I thought you were smart, you really need to fuck your way to an A?”
The words land heavy. Minho’s stomach churns at the realization that maybe they know, maybe they all know what’s been happening between them.
Jisung scoffs. “You’re disgusting. He’s just— He’s nice to me, okay? He helps me out with homework and stuff. He’s basically like a dad.”
That sentence is a slap across the face.
Minho can feel the disgust physically, a sharp, sour something twisting up deep inside his chest cavity. Of all the lies and excuses that Jisung could’ve come up with, that one settles wrong in a way that Minho can’t just brush off. Maybe because there’s some truth in it. Jisung’s parents are both so busy and preoccupied with their careers, they can’t support him emotionally; they don’t know who Jisung cries and vents to when he’s stressed, who he spends his free time texting, whose bed he sleeps in a couple nights a month. Jisung’s parents are noticeably older than Minho, but their age gap is a perfect sixteen, the same number of years that Jisung has been alive. Minho could very well be a father to someone his age.
The details, though, are the worst part.
A dad doesn’t kiss his son with tongue in his car.
A dad doesn’t take his son’s virginity, or first kiss.
A dad doesn’t love his son in the way that Minho loves Jisung.
The comparison is obscene, sickening, disturbing.
Minho’s jaw tightens. The words on the screen before him blur together, lines of text losing all meaning entirely.
He tells himself that it’s ridiculous. Jisung is a teenager, and teenagers say stupid things. They reach for the explanations and excuses closest and most available to them, they’ll say anything to shut down speculation or accusation. It makes sense that Jisung would say that. It’s innocent, wholesome, respectable, like something out of a movie.
It makes sense.
It makes sense.
It makes sense.
It does, doesn’t it?
Dad. The word won’t stop echoing in his head. He imagines Jisung saying it again, but as someone older. Saying it easily, without even thinking about what the real truth once was. Saying it to someone else, a friend in college, maybe. Laughing about the high school teacher that he was a little too close to. With time, forgetting, or just choosing to omit, the details that reveal another story entirely.
Minho swallows hard.
College looms. He doesn’t think about it often—Jisung is only a sophomore, they’ve still got plenty of time—but it’s always there. Jisung leaving home for the first time as a fully independent young adult. Jisung with new friends. Jisung who doesn't linger after class because there’s no reason to. Then Minho, still exactly the same, teaching the same courses in the same classroom, stagnant compared to Jisung’s limitless potential.
He imagines Jisung meeting and falling in love with someone else, someone his own age, someone whose hands don’t hesitate with the fear of forbidden fruit. Jisung having something normal.
On the other side of the room, Jisung laughs. He’s already moved on from the conversation, and so has everyone else. They’re onto something else, the next new, most entertaining topic. Minho looks up and sees him turned around in his desk now to whisper with the freshman boy sitting behind him.
Minho forces his tight, constricted throat to clear enough to make way for sound as he stands. “Alright. Phones away. Let’s get started.”
When Friday night comes, Minho is eager to let the stress of the week melt away. As he watches the front door of Jisung’s parents’ house open and Jisung’s brown hair pokes through, his lips automatically twitch into a relieved smile. Just seeing the boy make his way to his car makes Minho’s muscles relax, tension he wasn’t consciously aware of dripping away.
As Jisung carelessly walks across the lawn, awkwardly attempting to pull on his jacket as he juggles his phone and bag, Minho’s eyes flit over to the two cars parked in the driveway. For a moment, he wonders what Jisung told them—a sleepover at a friend’s house, probably.
The front door opens again, and a familiar woman pokes her own head through, strikingly similar to her own son’s mannerisms. Minho straightens in his seat right away, perspiration forming on his palms despite the chill of the nighttime air. Still dressed for work, she briefly pulls the phone away from her ear to say something to Jisung, and the teenager turns to say something short in response. Minho can’t quite make it out from where his car is parked on the street, but it seems to be what she wanted as the woman gives him a quick wave. Minho gives her a polite nod. She disappears inside the house again just as Jisung opens the passenger door of Minho’s car.
“Sorry,” Jisung says immediately as he slips into the seat. His cheeks are flushed slightly from the early March cold. He quickly closes the door and reaches for his seatbelt, just as eager to get away as Minho. “She wanted to say bye.”
Minho nods, slowly placing both his hands on the steering wheel.
Jisung’s hand tilts one of the vents toward himself. “God, it’s freezing out there.”
“Ready?” Minho asks, looking over at him.
Jisung nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Minho smoothly pulls away from the curb. As they leave, his eyes are pulled to the reflection of Jisung’s family home in the rearview mirror. He wonders why she allows this. She doesn’t know the real reasoning behind them spending time together, but how does a parent dismiss their child’s teacher picking them up on Friday night?
Is it that innocuous to an outsider?
So impossible to conceive that a teacher would cross the unthinkable line?
Is it the fault of the lying teenager?
The preoccupied parents?
The type of man that drives the car?
Minho brings his eyes back to the road. It doesn’t matter.
Once they get to Minho’s house, clothes come off quickly; between Jisung’s hormones and Minho’s work stress, they were never going to stay on long.
Minho gently grinds his hips, pushing his release further inside. Jisung lays limp beneath him, boneless and exhausted, the evidence of his own pleasure shining in the light on his stomach. Holding Jisung’s legs open to watch as he does it, Minho slowly pulls his softening cock from him. The mixture of lubricant and cum make it messy, and the sight of Jisung clenching around nothing nearly steals his breath away.
“I should—” Jisung’s voice is breathy as he points lazily down the hall. “Bathroom.”
Minho nods, moving away to give him the space to peel himself off the couch. As Jisung disappears down the hall, Minho grabs the hand towel that fell to the floor at some point. He wipes his hands and cock clean before grabbing his phone from the coffee table. He opens the app for their favorite pizza place, and habitually puts in Jisung’s favorite order. Twenty minutes, like always. While Jisung showers, Minho takes the time to get dressed and clean up their clothes from his living room floor. He turns off the harsh overhead light and turns on the TV, its glow softer and more comfortable.
By the time Jisung returns, now dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, Minho is peacefully flipping through channels. He drapes his arm across the back of the couch, and the wordless invitation is clear. Jisung comes, easily fitting against his body and curling up to him. Minho adjusts, moving his arm from the couch to wrap around Jisung’s shoulders, holding him even closer and placing a kiss to his soft hair. The afterglow still clings to them both, alighting them with warmth from the very inside.
“You’re so good,” Minho murmurs absentmindedly. “You know that, right?”
Jisung hums, intercepting the remote from Minho’s hand, so skillful that he barely even notices. “You say that every time.”
“It’s true every time,” Minho says. His hand slides up and down Jisung’s arm, slow and reassuring. “I don’t know how I’d get through the week without you.”
That earns him a small shy-but-clearly-pleased smile. Jisung points the remote at the TV. “Want something fun or something serious?”
“Your choice,” Minho says. “You’re better at choosing, anyway.”
They sit like that in silence as the opening credits roll. Minho keeps touching him—his shoulder, his arm, his knee, his hair—unable to help himself now that they’re truly alone and safe.
“This is why it sucks,” Jisung says suddenly, still staring forward at the screen. Minho stiffens a fraction. “What?”
“This,” Jisung repeats, gesturing with the remote before dropping it to the couch cushion beside him. “We can’t do anything normal, besides this. We can’t go out because we can’t be seen. We’re always hiding. Other kids at school— They get to go out with their boyfriends, hold hands in public, be in love and everyone knows it… But this is all we get.”
Minho swallows. He’s heard versions of this before, always brushed them off with gentle patience. “It’s just for now, baby.”
“I know,” Jisung says quickly, like he knows what will happen if he pushes too far. “I just— I wanna be like them. I wanna go out and do things. I wanna go out on a date and just… be normal, like everyone else.”
Minho presses his lips together. He thinks and thinks and thinks, his mind going a mile a minute. Jisung won’t be satisfied forever and with so much time until he graduates, something has to give at some point. “What if we did?” He asks.
“What?” Jisung looks at him. His eyes shine with hope that Minho doesn’t want to crush.
“Went somewhere,” Minho says as the idea comes to him. “Somewhere out of town where no one knows us. Spring break’s coming up soon.”
Jisung’s brows shoot up. “Yeah?” He all but squeaks in anticipation.
“The coast is a few hours away,” Minho continues. His heart rate picks up speed as the words come to mind and instantly leave his mouth. “We could drive down to one of the less popular beaches. Just us.”
Jisung pulls back to face him fully. He’s skeptical, but his face has already lit up. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah,” Minho says, forcing a smile. “Why not?”
Jisung squeals in excitement. “Minho, that would be— The beach, we could stay somewhere cheap, walk around, get food, just—” He laughs breathlessly, already leaning in to hug him. “God, that sounds perfect, Minho, thank you!”
Minho wraps his arms around him automatically, holding him close as Jisung keeps talking, listing things they could do, plans he wants to make. Minho hums in agreement at the right times, presses a kiss to Jisung’s shoulder.
All the while, numbers total up in his head.
Gas.
A hotel. Cheap by coastal standards is probably still rather pricey.
Food and drinks for both of them.
Souvenirs Jisung will inevitably want and other things Minho will feel compelled to say yes to.
It isn’t that he can’t afford it. He can. Barely. Still, the margin is thin enough that a pit forms in his stomach at the thought. A teacher’s salary is slim, and his next paycheck is already mentally spent—rent, utilities, groceries, student loans, all of the small costs of adulthood that never stop accumulating. Jisung doesn’t understand it.
Yet, money isn’t the worst part.
There’s the hotel front desk who will see him checking out a one-bed room with a boy who can’t possibly be eighteen. There’s the possibility of running into someone who knows either of them—another teacher, another student, a parent who knows Minho, a distant family member of Jisung’s. There’s Jisung himself, a little too naive and trusting and painfully unaware of it.
Minho tightens his arms around him a little, grounding himself. “It’ll be fine,” he says, both to himself and Jisung. “I’ll take care of everything, and we’ll have fun.”
Jisung pulls away to beam at him. “I know you will.”
The certainty in his voice makes Minho’s stomach twist—not with guilt, exactly, but with something dangerously close to pressure. Expectation. The sense that he can’t ever take this back.
Oblivious, Jisung keeps talking, so excited that his words tumble over each other as they rush to spill out. “We could wake up early and go watch the sunrise by the water, or stay up late and walk around, or— Oh! We could buy a couple of those stupid hoodies they sell at the boardwalk, the ones that ha—”
Minho laughs because it’s what’s expected of him. He hugs Jisung again and nods along to all of his ideas. Couples do this all of the time. It’s normal. Having a few days away from all the noise and distractions will be good for them. It’ll strengthen their relationship. They’ll fall even deeper in love with each other.
His eyes drift to his front door. He half-expects to hear an angry, frantic beating any second. Jisung’s mother realizing how foolish she’s been, that her son isn’t where he’s supposed to be. Maybe she skips right ahead to calling the police, and they’re right down the street now.
Minho tells himself that he’s overthinking. He’s being paranoid.
He tells himself that he deserves some away time with Jisung.
He tells himself that a vacation will quiet his fears and ease his anxieties.