fascinating new thing - marexx (2024)

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There are a thousand other things Jisung could be doing and at least a hundred things he should be doing.

Like collect the pile of dirty clothes stacked high against his bedroom wall and shove it all in the washing machine so he doesn’t have to do more than one load. Or go to the library and work on the track he was supposed to start weeks ago so he can demo it in front of his professors on Monday morning for half of his final grade.

Jisung knows he should be doing something better with his time.

But everything else just sounds boring. Inconvenient.

So instead, he continues to sit at his cramped desk as the clock reads 1:18 pm with the screen of his roommate’s laptop left open on a free p*rn website. The heel of his right palm rubs lazily against the bulge in his sweats while his left hand supports his cheekbone as he leans against it on the armrest of the chair. Jisung’s glassy eyes roam over the three people on screen and he groans when another wash of heat throbs between his legs.

The one chick isn’t really doing it for him this time around. She’s plenty hot, has nice tit* and an even nicer ass, but her moans are much too similar to the sound a cat makes when you step on its tail. What had caught his eye were the two guys in the thumbnail, both pretty and lean with muscle, but thick and soft where it mattered. Jisung shifts his eyes to focus more on where the chick and one of the guys are tongue-tied around the other guy’s dick, fighting over who gets to suck on it.

For a brief moment, Jisung thinks he’s even bored watching this. Out of all the p*rn he’s absorbed in the past twenty-four hours, this is vanilla, but he can’t ignore the flashing images behind his eyes. Of lips, wet and messy around his own co*ck, but they probably belong to a guy, and the guy’s not battling over who gets to suck him off because there is no one else and Jisung is–

A knock at his door steals the fantasy right out of Jisung’s mind and he chokes on his own spit. He grunts, the most polite way to welcome someone he can manage, and removes his hand from his crotch as one of his roommates pops his head through the door.

“Hey. Got a question for you, mate–” Chan pauses in his ambush, eyes wider than the moon as he flicks them between the video still playing on the laptop and Jisung’s unwavering expression.

Jisung thinks Chan is just alright. He has no real reason to dislike the guy, aside from him moving into the spare room in his and Changbin’s apartment at the beginning of the semester and disturbing the silent understanding the other two shared. Before, Jisung didn’t have to worry about anyone knocking on his door. Changbin knew not to bother. But Chan, who wears polo shirts almost every day of the week and is too hopeful for his own good, has yet to take a hint.

Maybe Jisung doesn’t care for Chan because he knows if he actually put in enough effort, the two of them would probably be good friends. They both study the same major along with Changbin, but Jisung has been slacking lately–more like one wrong move away from flunking–and the last thing he wants to hear is how the other two are doing so much better than him. So he keeps his distance.

He’s no longer hard, perhaps he was even less into the p*rn than he thought. Using his toes along the carpet to propel him towards the open door, Jisung holds back a smug grin at Chan’s red-tinted ears, “Come again?”

Chan looks like he wants to run. Jisung thinks it’s hilarious.

“Uh, aren’t you going to…uh,” Chan clears his throat and nods towards the screen, clearly trying his best to ignore the obscene sounds emanating from the blocky device.

“Oh,” Jisung hums, playing dumb, and twists his upper body to reach out and pause the video. The image stuck on the screen is a tasteless close-up of the chick getting completely railed from behind, so Jisung purposefully tilts the laptop towards the door and snickers when Chan nervously distracts himself with the ceiling tiles.

“Sorry about that, mate.”

Perhaps that’s a little mean of him, tagging on one of the words that come naturally to the Australian, but it always makes Jisung laugh whenever Chan is clearly out of his element, so he doesn’t really give a sh*t.

Chan pffts and waves a hand in the air, “Nah, no worries, uh–man,” Chan laughs at his own messy attempt to change his choice of words, but Jisung doesn’t grant him any reaction. “Anyways, I came to ask you a question. Was hoping maybe you’d do me a favor?”

Hopeful as ever, Chan is. Jisung immediately thinks of all the ways to let him down easy. It doesn’t matter what it is he’s asking for; Jisung doesn’t do favors.

His roommate continues, “So, Bin and I have been invited to a party tonight. Speaking of, isn’t that Changbin’s laptop?” Chan pauses again, trying to read Jisung’s face, but Jisung just shrugs. “Oookay. Well I was wondering if maybe you’d tag along? You see, there’s this guy I’m into, and I think he might be into me too? But his brother is like, always around and super protective, so there’s no way I’ll be able to even talk to him without…”

Jisung drones Chan out, distracts himself by running the silver ball of his tongue piercing against the roof of his mouth. He already decided he’s not going out tonight. Too much p*rn to conquer.

“...so what do you say? Think you can keep Minho distracted?”

“Who the f*ck is Minho?”

The optimistic smile on Chan’s face fractures, “Felix’s older brother.”

“Who the f*ck is Felix?”

And the smile is gone, “The guy I’m like, really super into!” Chan deflates and slumps against the doorframe, looking defeated before he even had a chance to play.

Despite his blunt questions, the names roll around in Jisung’s head like two snowballs, growing in size as he tries to figure out where he heard them before. Choi Minho is the name of a guy he f*cked at a frat party last year, but he’s surely graduated by now. Minhee was his lab partner during freshman chemistry–he only remembers his name because he wanted to f*ck him. Then there’s Minji, the chick from a couple weeks ago who asked Jisung for homework answers in exchange or a quick handy in the bathroom, but of course, he didn’t do the work either so that was a bust. He moves on to Felix. Jisung definitely doesn't know anyone with that name, especially not--wait.

Jisung bursts out laughing, a body shaking, knee slapping fit of laughter that promises a sore abdomen later on. Poor Chan stares at him in horror, but it only eggs Jisung on further.

“Y-you’re telling me,” Jisung has to stop for breath, his lungs burn with how little oxygen intake he’s getting, “the guy you have the hots for is Lee Yongbok? The snobbiest catch on campus? Oh, dude, and don’t even get me started on his brother. The guy drinks blood for breakfast and plays with voodoo dolls or some sh*t. I don’t f*ck with that, and neither should you,” he finishes pointedly, biting back the rest of his giggles, expecting Chan to laugh along with him.

But he’s not. A firm line has planted itself between Chan’s brows and he’s crossed his arms, standing tall, “Felix isn’t a snob.”

Jisung almost feels bad for the guy.

“Trust me, he’s–”

“No. He’s not. You don’t know him. So don’t act like you do.”

He’s surprised to see Chan take on such a hard exterior, chest puffed out and posturing in his light yellow polo shirt and khakis as if Jisung actually cares enough to get up and fight him over something so mundane. The glint in Chan’s eye makes him uneasy. It’s the look of someone who’s already way too far gone for someone else, quite a dangerous place to be. Perhaps it’s too late to save his annoyingly positive roommate. Perhaps he should forget the date with his right hand tonight and stick around to see where this goes, with an added incentive of course.

“Listen, Jisung, I like Felix a lot. And I could really use your help.”

Jisung pretends to ponder Chan’s words, “Why me?”

The other doesn’t hesitate to give an answer, “Because you’re both…scary.”

“Ouch,” Jisung mumbles, but then he’s smirking, quite amused to be seen as such, “Thanks.”

Chan softens and returns back to his hopelessly hopeful self, “So you’ll do it?”

“I will for 50,000 won.”

There Chan goes again, eyes wider and more shocked than they were when he first walked in on Jisung, “ Fifty-you’re kidding. Dude, come on.” Jisung has no shame exploiting Chan’s vulnerable feelings for easy money, so he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow in defiance.

He watches Chan squirm, probably fighting many moral battles in his head, but Jisung doesn’t empathize with that goody-goody sh*t.

“I’ll give you 15,000.”

“Take me for a fool, do you? 35,000.”

“20,000.”

“25,000 or I’m walking,” Jisung voices his final offer with practiced nonchalance. He’s definitely not bluffing, but cash is cash, so he hopes Chan gives in with little convincing. Luckily, his roommate’s desperation seemingly outweighs his current moral compass, and Jisung is almost proud.

“Fine. But I’m not paying you until the end of the night.”

Jisung doesn’t love the added condition, but if anything, it makes him more determined to succeed.

Keep Lee Minho distracted. Keep him entertained. Seems easy enough.

He and Chan exchange a look of understanding and it’s settled.

Footsteps pad down the hallway and then Changbin is shoving himself into the room, hair wet with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He elbows Chan in the side, a dumb grin on his face, “You ask him yet?” Changbin turns to Jisung, probably about to ask another out-of-the-loop question when his face pales. “Is that my laptop? I thought I hid the bitch in my room!”

If Changbin hadn't bulked up over the past two years they’ve lived together, Jisung would tell him to buzz off. But now Jisung can see the gears turning in Changbin’s head, most likely connecting the dots between Jisung and why he would steal the laptop, and he mumbles an oh sh*t. In one moment Jisung shoves both Changbin and Chan out of his room and slams the door shut behind him, turning the lock for good measure.

Now that he’s properly avoided getting bulldozed over by his alarmingly buff roommate, Jisung reboots the screen and hits play on the p*rno. He cranks the volume as high as it’ll go with a smug grin and leans back in his chair as Changbin tosses around pointless threats.

Jisung doesn’t pay him or the moaning trio any mind, much too distracted by his conquest of the night.

<>

When Chan turns the corner in his beat up Honda Accord, both Jisung and Changbin spew curses with varying levels of unease. At first it seemed like a good idea to let Chan drive, he was the only one willing to forgo all substances for the sake of the group, but it didn’t take Jisung long to remember why no one ever asked him for a ride.

“Christ, Chan! This hunk of junk is practically a fossil. Take it easy!” Changbin all but hollers from the back seat, arms spread wide as he holds onto the two grab handles placed above the doors. Jisung sits buckled into the front seat—he had won their game of rock-paper-scissors–and grips his own handle tighter when Chan slams on the brakes, taking note not to snag his eyebrow piercing on his shirt sleeve.

“This baby’s an ‘89! Might as well be brand new,” the driver pouts in defense and glances into the rear-view mirror, “quit being a drama queen.”

Changbin mumbles something under his breath about if anything, I’m a drama king, and then he’s right back at full volume, directly in Jisung’s ear, “It’s 1999, jackass. It’s old. And I’d like to live to see the new millennium.”

At this point, Jisung is glad he won’t have to hang out with these two at the party. Whatever the hell Lee Minho does cannot possibly be as annoying as what he’s dealing with right now.

After a few more heart-thumping turns and at least one ignored stop sign, the neighborhoods begin to grow nicer and nicer, the houses bigger and bigger until Jisung starts to feel incredibly out of place, “Who’s f*cking house are we going to? The president?”

Chan slows down as a long line of cars parked on one side of the wide street come into view. Each house is on its own massive plot of land, far enough away from one another Jisung doesn’t think a scream could be heard from next door. It pulls a sour frown onto Jisung’s face, how unnecessarily large the houses are with their six car garages and long ass driveways.

“Felix said someone named Kim Seungmin? The guy must be loaded,” Chan supplies as he narrowly avoids hitting a group of girls walking towards the lit up house at the end of the road. Changbin shouts a regretful haha sorry out the open window after one of them gives Chan the finger, then speaks the obvious, “Must be that one down there.”

If Jisung wasn’t already here, or so far away from their campus apartment, he would have walked home. Chan takes his good old time trying to parallel park between two pick-up trucks, claiming it’s prime real estate and it makes Jisung want to beat his head against the window.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” Chan starts to say once the car is safely in park, but Jisung is already slamming the door shut behind him and sauntering off in the direction of the loud music. Two more doors open and close in the distance and soon he’s flanked by his out-of-breath roommates—Chan in his gray blazer, white t-shirt and black pants, and Changbin in his tried and true denim on denim combo. Chan continues, “Jisung, hold on a second, we’re gonna need a game plan.”

“I didn’t agree to any game plan.”

“You think you can just wing it? Trust me, Minho won’t be easy to–”

Jisung scoffs and pulls farther ahead, almost to the end of the driveway now, “I think I can handle a little flirting,” he reasons, wondering if he’ll get lucky and Minho will want to suck his dick like the guy in the p*rno. “He dances, right? I’ll just keep him busy that way.”

A poorly muffled laugh sounds off behind him, “Uh, are you sure? I–”

“Chan, have a little faith, eh? You don’t know me well yet, I could be a pro dancer,” Jisung gloats and turns on his heels to walk backwards up the pavement. He hits the two of them with what he knows is an intimidating glare. Chan is a little red in the face, clearly shy or nervous, which is gross.

But Changbin is barely keeping it together, “He may not know you well, but after living with your lazy ass for over two years, I absolutely know you can’t dance for sh*t, Han,” Changbin’s call-out makes both him and Chan chuckle between themselves. Jisung can feel his eye twitch at the use of his last name, he f*cking hates when people do that.

“f*ck off, both of you,” He grumbles and flips back around to face the house again, thumping loud with a conflicting playlist of songs and genres. “Remember how nice it is of me to do this for you, Channie~” Jisung sings over his shoulder and shares one last threatening look before he’s leaving them in the dust and approaching the front door alone.

Make that front doors, Jisung notes with distaste as he stomps up the handful of steps to the top landing. He can see his reflection in the shiny glass panels surrounding the entrance. Before he left the apartment, Jisung actually dedicated a little bit of time to his outfit, much to his own surprise. It’s nothing special though, his usual black on black attire with a two-sizes-too-big gray flannel over top, plenty of silver around his neck, waist, and ears, and he even pushed half of his fringe back with gel he found in the bathroom cabinet. Maybe a small part of him feels rather lame for putting effort into something so trivial and short-lived, but hey, whatever helps him get those 25,000 won.

Jisung tenses just a bit when the doors are thrown open from the inside before he has a chance to knock. A laughing brunette finishes what appears to be a hilarious conversation with someone and turns to face Jisung, but the wide smile is gone in an instant.

“Who invited you?”

Eyebrows rising in shock, Jisung lets out a baffled laugh, “I didn’t know I needed an invitation.”

The guy is clearly not impressed. He co*cks out a hip and blocks the entrance with one arm, “Everyone needs an invite. Unless you can tell me a credible name, you’re out.”

Jisung is smug with his answer, “Lee Felix.”

“Yeah right. Sorry, buddy. No entry for you.”

Well, f*ck this guy.

“And who the hell are you? How can you be so sure I wasn’t invited?” Jisung’s irritation grows with every quick impatient tap of the guy’s foot against polished tile.

Eyes narrow at him, “Hmm. Well, I certainly know you, Han Jisung. And I’m not so sure I want you in my house.”

Ah sh*t.

“You’re Kim Seungmin?”

Taking in his simple loose fitting blue jeans and light purple windbreaker over a pastel yellow shirt, Jisung never would have guessed that the guy in front of him lived in a place like this. Aren’t rich f*ckers like him supposed to be like, born in a suit or something?

“Uh huh. Now head on back to wherever you came from,” Seungmin snarks and shuts the door in Jisung’s face.

He stands there, dumbfounded. Jisung doesn’t go to parties very often, especially not in neighborhoods like this, but he’s never had a problem getting into one. He’s not an idiot, Jisung knows no less than ninety-five percent of students on campus think he’s an asshole with nothing good to show for himself. That may even be completely true, but this sh*t is ridiculous.

“What’re you doing?”

Jisung turns to see that Chan and Changbin have finally caught up with him. His cheeks threaten to turn pink, wondering if they heard any of his conversation with Seungmin, but they just stare at him cluelessly, so he plays it off with a scowl, “Just waiting on you losers.”

Chan shrugs and steps forward to tap his knuckles on one of the doors.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to leave, J–oh, you have friends now.”

Changbin turns to Jisung with a questioning huh?, but he just elbows him in the side and keeps his attention on Seungmin, “Yep,” Jisung says, popping the ‘p’, “I’m with them.” He points to his roommates on either side of him and they offer dumbs grins to the host.

Seungmin somehow looks more skeptical, but before he can turn all three of them away, Lee Felix himself peeks around the door with a devastating smile pointed directly at Chan.

“Chris! I thought that was you! I’m so glad you guys could make it,” Felix shifts his eyes to Jisung and Changbin for only a second before his attention is back on the now blushing fool.

“Hey, Lix,” Chan greets, lovey puppy eyes on full display.

Jisung wants to throw up. “Yay! Woohoo, we made it! Let’s go inside now,” he loses his fake excitement during the last sentence and pushes past a puzzled Seungmin with a victorious wink.

Behind him, Felix has already latched onto Chan’s arm and is leading him further into the house with Changbin and Seungmin reluctantly in tow. Jisung can already feel a headache coming on from too much social interaction, but he forces his feet to carry him around the first floor to get a layout of the monstrous place.

Passing by the two swirling staircases to the second level, he wanders in the opposite direction of the others. There are more people here than he expected, seemingly from just about every social circle on campus.

In the hallway are who he knows as the Basics, those who have boring majors and boring personalities, but objectively pretty faces. Most of them have a drink in hand, just filling up space and yelling dumb stories in each other’s faces, always trying to one-up the other. He finds the Math Heads in the first room, just a bunch of academic losers who communicate through numbers and are afraid of their own shadow. They all look terrified sitting on the pristine couches with their thumbs twirling in their laps. Jisung reaches an arm out to flick a kid he knows to be Taehyun in the ear and watches him jump, just for sh*ts and giggles.

Moving on to the next room, he recognizes the Theatre Freaks, known for their overdramatics and unwelcomed Shakespeare reenactments. By the looks of it, they’re already two hours deep into something tragic. Not many pay him any mind as Jisung comes and goes through each room, more comfortable to steal glances and whisper something in a friend’s ear than interact with him and risk tainting their shining reputation. He’s happy to play the part they’ve written for him; it’s simply easier to just roll his eyes or flick them off.

Jisung finally finds the kitchen, thankfully unoccupied at the moment, and full of alcohol he’s never heard of before. The only thing he’ll willingly drink is beer–and even then he doesn’t care for the taste—but he can’t find any he doesn’t hate amongst the fancy glass bottles. Maybe he should take it as a sign.

A few rooms are unoccupied and dark, perhaps off-limits, so Jisung turns the corner and comes across the biggest space yet, all the furniture pushed to one side to make room for a makeshift dance floor. A table is set up on the other side, and an actual DJ is tinkering with the stereos as they blast the first song Jisung thinks he might actually know.

Here too, are the Untouchables. Well, the Untouchables, Chan, and Changbin. They’re known for being impossible to reach unless you’re already in with them. Jisung knew beforehand Felix was associated, more than that, he’s practically their frontman, always held to the cheap image of surface-level perfection. Unfortunately, Minho is on the same pedestal.

Admittedly, there’s not a lot about Lee Minho that Jisung can say he knows for certain. He’s a dance major, a year older than Jisung, and an absolute bitch. Minho might as well be in the same realm as Jisung with all the crazy sh*t that’s said about him on the regular. The rumors Jisung had told Chan earlier in the day are completely true, passed around campus like an STI, much like the ones said about Jisung himself.

The major difference between the two is in how they respond to the bullsh*t. Minho has supposedly mastered the art of deflection. Over the years, he’s collected a small group of loyal friends who back him up any chance they get like yippy guard dogs. And when faced head on, Minho plays off the outrageous assumptions with his sharp tongue, skillfully hidden behind an innocent smile.

Jisung doesn’t have the kind of support Minho does. He has Changbin, but Jisung told him from the very beginning to stay out of it, and although reluctantly, his roommate listened. In the beginning, he wanted to explain everything away, but Jisung quickly realized he had become some sort of campus scapegoat. So now he neither confirms or denies any of the rumors spread about him, just says something cryptic enough to spook people off.

From across the room, Chan meets Jisung’s eyes with a nervous smile. He and Changbin are barely included in the circle of Untouchables and Minho has firmly planted himself between his darling brother and Chan.

Jisung isn’t surprised by any of the other faces in the circle. Seungmin, on the other side of Felix, is there because he’s loaded and happily provides the place to hold such extravagant parties. Next to him is Hwang Hyunjin, the true definition of an air head, and Felix’s best friend. He’s the classic pretty face, smokin’ hot body, wears his heart on his sleeve type, but there’s not a whole lot going on upstairs.

Then there’s Changbin, standing on Hyunjin’s other side with the stupidest look on his face, something akin to awe-struck fascination. But if Jisung knows anything about his friend-by-default, Changbin will overcompensate, act like a superb douchebag, and completely ruin his slim chance with the guy. Yang Jeongin practically vibrates with energy next to him. A freshman, Hyunjin’s cousin, and probably only included out of pity.

Jisung’s eyes land on the golden boy, a blinding ray of sunshine with his icy blonde hair and pastel clothing, almost guaranteed to burn you if you stray too close. Felix looks pouty, calculating and defiant as he makes eyes at Chan over Minho’s shoulder. Then of course, the sun to Felix’s rays is none other than Minho himself. He’s an overwhelming presence, hot-headed and detrimental to your health if exposed to him for too long.

Over the heads of all the dancing people, Jisung watches Minho step back from the circle, but not before eyeing Chan with clear distaste and squeezing him a little too tight on the shoulder. It looks like Minho’s heading for the kitchen, the bodies around him part with ease to make room.

Throwing a wink in Chan's direction and chuckling at the way the other slumps in relief, Jisung squares his shoulders and sets off after his prey like a lion in the tall grass. Minho does disappear around the corner towards the kitchen, but Jisung makes a last minute decision to take a different route. He turns on his heel and wanders through the hallway until he reaches the other entrance to the kitchen.

Bent at the waist and elbow deep in the refrigerator, Lee Minho sways his hips to the music, oblivious to Jisung’s—or anyone’s—heavy gaze. Jisung allows himself to stare, eyes roaming over Minho’s low-waisted jeans with stars bleached into the back pockets. His shirt is a dark purple. Terrycloth, thin and long-sleeved, and Jisung barely withholds a pleased hum when Minho stands up straight and Jisung takes note of how the bottom hem rests a few inches above the top of his jeans.

If Jisung is going to get burned tonight so his roommate can get some ass, he might as well try to get some too.

“Hey sweet thing, what are you up to?” Jisung drawls with a tone he knows works on virtually anyone.

Minho’s spine straightens and his shoulders tense for a brief second before relaxing again. Then he’s turning around, hand wiping at his forehead with an over-exaggerated flare and a sigh, “Sweating like a pig. And yourself?”

Well, this should be fun.

Their eyes meet and it instantly turns into a challenge, but that doesn’t surprise Jisung. They’ve never spoken before now, Jisung isn’t sure if Minho even knows who he is, but the two of them wait to see who cracks first. To see if Jisung will scoff and wander off like Minho wants him to, or if Minho will lose his brash facade and crumble under Jisung’s heady stare.

A pair of drunk Basics stumble into the room, giggling and fumbling over their own feet, but when they see Jisung and Minho—together, in the same room, as if they’re two urban legends combined to create one horrific story–they stop, eye them warily, and grab their refills before leaving with hushed voices. Neither one of them pays the intruders any mind, but it does make Minho tilt his head and curl his lips into a sickeningly sweet grin, as if to say: Well?

If this is all the firepower Minho plans to use against him, tonight is going to be easier than Jisung thought. He pulls his own easy smile across his face and tips his chin up to stare at Minho through half-lidded eyes. “Just how I like ‘em, baby. How’d you know?” He purrs and takes great pleasure in the way Minho’s smile morphs into a scowl.

“Can’t say I agree with your tastes,” Minho bites in return, taking his annoyance out on the refrigerator door as he slams it shut behind him and breaks for a quick exit.

Jisung can’t let him get away that easily, not before he’s played all his cards. With quicker steps, he moves to block Minho’s path by placing a hand on the counter in front of him and leaning into it. Jisung makes it so Minho can back up and leave if he really wants to. He's not necessarily into holding someone against their will, but he does hope he can claim his stake without too much effort.

“Oh, but I haven’t even gotten a taste yet,” Jisung coos, making sure to drop his jaw just enough so Minho has a clear shot of the silver piercing on his tongue.

Up close, Jisung can see the gray liner around Minho’s feline eyes and the gloss on his rather opulent lips. Thin chains hang down from his ears with yellowish gems glinting at the ends and a dainty gold choker rests gently against his throat. It’s strange, seeing such delicate features paired with Minho’s brazen personality.

Minho barely spares Jisung a glance, just rolls his eyes as he sidesteps the other, “In your dreams, Han Jisung.”

Jisung knows he shouldn’t be shocked that his reputation precedes him, but it definitely would have made tonight easier if it didn’t.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” Jisung states the obvious, his tone lacking its earlier silkiness and taking on something a little more bitter. He follows Minho’s movements with his eyes and spins to gently catch him with fingers around his wrist, “All good things I hope.”

Minho’s sarcasm is suffocating, “Nothing but glowing reviews.”

Jisung hums and narrows his eyes at Minho, willing himself to ignore the irritation growing in the pit of his stomach, “Care for a drink?”

A cold plastic water bottle is shoved in Jisung’s face. “I don’t drink,” Minho insists.

“Neither do I, not really anyway,” Jisung admits and darts after Minho when he slips around the corner. The music feels louder than it had been just five minutes prior and Jisung’s head throbs. He feels around for the joint in his pocket, “A smoke then? Cool down a bit outside?”

Whipping around with a fed-up huff, Minho leans into Jisung’s space and doesn’t hold back the disdain in his voice. “Not interested, Han,” Minho spits out his name like acid on his tongue.

It almost makes Jisung pause. He really can’t say he gets rejected very often. Despite no one wanting to associate with him publicly, Jisung has never has a problem finding someone to f*ck around with. People are shallow in that way. When the door is shut and locked, they bask in the recklessness of being with someone like Jisung, but as soon that door opens, they scatter like roaches.

He’ll let the last name drop slide for now, more focused on how the hell he’s supposed to keep Minho’s attention. The other has already stepped back into the crowd, probably not interested in hearing anything else Jisung has to say.

The rejection doesn’t affect him for long, if anything, it fuels a fire under Jisung. He takes a breath and trails after Minho in his path along the outskirts of the crowd. Every so often, Minho glances at the dance floor, his eyes curiously tracing the lack of space between a pair of dancers as they pull each other close. Jisung watches too, but his gaze scarcely moves from Minho and the frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, reminding him of his earlier makeshift plan.

Now close enough to reach out and touch, Jisung rests a hand on Minho’s lower back, letting his pinky rub against bare skin.

“Dance with me,” he says, trying a different approach and softening the edge of his voice. If Jisung has to devolve into something mushy and gross, so be it. He’s always been pretty shameless, now seems a better time than any to play into it.

Minho scoffs and turns to face him again, “God, you’re so…”

“Charming? Wholesome?” Jisung offers.

“Unwelcome.”

At this point, Jisung just skims past Minho’s off-putting comebacks, his dismissals rolling off his back like water. But now Minho’s focus is elsewhere, across the room where Felix is undoubtedly being talked-up by Chan.

Tugging on the hem of Minho’s shirt for his attention, Jisung leans in so his breath fans warm on his ear, “Come on, baby. I know you want to.”

Minho may be able to hide behind his words, but his eyes are tragically honest. They shimmer with intrigue and perhaps something vulnerable too. It’s then that Jisung wonders if Minho has ever been asked to dance at a party before.

Still, Minho’s tongue is venomous, always his main line of defense, “I’m not your baby,” He affirms, giving Jisung a slow once over that definitely doesn’t send a zing down Jisung’s spine.

“No?” Jisung pouts. “Shame.”

Then Minho’s intensity shifts, “Think you could keep up with me?”

Jisung jumps at the opening, “Let’s find out,” he beckons, slipping the water bottle from Minho’s hand and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. Jisung intertwines their fingers and leads an already regretful looking Minho into the swarm of party-goers.

An upbeat melody pumps through the speakers from all angles and Jisung’s first instinct is to pull Minho close until they’re just a few inches short of being chest to chest. But of course, Minho won’t let it slide, pointedly moving Jisung back by the shoulders and making room between them for a whole third person. Jisung wants to roll his eyes, but he stops himself, plastering a placating smile on his face.

Gotta play nice.

Minho seems familiar with the current song and it’s not long before his body moves in sync with the lyrics, swaying in one spot and letting the sound take over his senses. It’s not something Jisung can do so easily, his movements awkward and forced, but watching Minho lose himself so completely makes him slightly bolder, more comfortable.

The people around them have shifted away, curious eyes trying to get a good look to ensure what they’re seeing is real and not some fever dream. The high and mighty campus oddity dancing in tandem with the infamous deadbeat douchebag. What a pair.

By the time the second song comes to an end, Jisung has to admit—Minho looks real f*cking good. He doesn’t think anyone is able to deny that, seeing as it’s glaringly obvious. Minho’s face might as well be carved from marble, with his high cheekbones and the smooth slope of his nose. And have mercy, his body. So much exposed skin around his hips and collarbones, glistening with traces of sweat. Minho’s legs are long, his thighs filling his jeans so well until they flare out at his calves, putting the actors in that f*cking p*rno to shame.

Jisung is taken over by the sudden urge to get closer, to touch and feel the heat of Minho’s skin against his own.

And it’s perfect timing when the next song that plays is slow and dripping with vehemence, the sultry feminine voice twirls through the hot air like thick tendrils of smoke. Minho has done his absolute best to avoid Jisung’s eyes, half of his attention always wandering to keep tabs on his brother and the other half set on keeping his distance.

“Come here,” Jisung prompts, slipping his fingers around Minho’s hips and tugging him in, not as close as before, but close enough to see the drops of sweat on Minho’s brow.

Their new proximity makes Minho huff a nervous laugh and it fills Jisung’s chest with a foreign warmth. He searches for Minho’s eyes, hoping to form a better gauge of what he’s really feeling. What Jisung finds is hazy, clouded uncertainty, but he’s surprised—and somewhat delighted—to recognize the same flashes of heat he’s feeling reflected there too.

Face to face must be too much for Minho to handle. He offers Jisung a coy smile and spins in his hold until Jisung’s chest is lined up with his back.

Jisung can’t withhold a dark chuckle, “You afraid of me or something?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Minho scoffs, and much to Jisung’s bewilderment, he rolls his hips back into Jisung with an evil little grin on his face.

Embarrassingly—and even more unexpectedly—it pulls a soft groan from Jisung’s throat, but it only makes Minho laugh high and light, a little ah~ tagged on at the end.

“Maybe not, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked, huh?” Jisung purrs against Minho’s neck, trying to distract the other from his little slip-up.

This time Minho’s laugh is more like an incredulous bark, “Am I that transparent?”

Jisung hums, ignores the sarcasm dripping from Minho’s retort, and begins to sing along with the lyrics buzzing around them, softly in Minho’s ear.

I’ve done wrong, and I wanna suffer for my sins

He can practically feel Minho roll his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away when Jisung fits their hips together.

I’ve come to you ‘cause I need guidance to be true

Minho lets his head fall back onto Jisung’s shoulder and raises a hand to tangle fingers in the hair at the nape of Jisung’s neck.

Heaven help me for the way I am

Another press of Minho’s hips makes Jisung hiss.

Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done

Jisung needs to get a f*cking grip. He keeps one hand in a firm hold around Minho’s hipbone and slides the other to rest on his lower stomach. Rubbing small circles into the bare skin there with his thumb, it works to ground Jisung.

Until his thumb catches on something cool to the touch.

You’ve gotta be sh*tting me, Jisung thinks.

He peers over Minho’s shoulder, and much to Jisung’s sick satisfaction, a small silver stud rests just above Minho’s navel, paired with a single blue gem on the other end of the piercing.

“f*ck.”

Minho gasps when Jisung presses his palm harder into his abdomen, taken back by the sudden strength in his touch. “What?” he asks, lifting his head from Jisung’s shoulder to get a better look at him.

“S’hot, baby,” Jisung mumbles, overwhelmed by how one little piercing can look so damn good against Minho’s tan skin. But the muttered confession flips a switch in Minho and his eyes grow wide like a frightened deer in headlights.

The song comes to an end and a flustered Minho pulls away from Jisung’s tightening grip. He gives Jisung one last once over, his eyes foggy, and then he’s gone.

<>

A giddy Changbin appears out of nowhere in the middle of the dance floor, not thirty seconds after Minho ditched Jisung.

“Dude, f*ck bro. Do you know Hyunjin?” he asks, one arm wrapped tight around Jisung’s neck, the other slung around the hips of no other than Hwang Hyunjin.

Jisung genuinely didn’t think Changbin had it in him, but with the way the two of them are hanging all over each other, rosy cheeked and possibly a little high, whatever moves he pulled clearly worked. Somewhere along the way, Changbin shed his jean jacket, now left in just a black tank top with his ridiculous arms on display. The tall brunette glued to Changbin is clad in a frilly yellow top that hits him just below his chest and loose low-rise jeans, making him look soft and malleable as he gives Jisung a tiny wave.

“I don’t,” Jisung says, an amused smirk on his face, “but clearly you do.”

Changbin shakes his head rapidly as if Jisung has it all wrong, “Nah, man, we met like an hour ago,” Yeah, Jisung thinks, they’re definitely high, “but he’s so cool.” Changbin swoons, then turns to Hyunjin and repeats himself, softer, “You’re so cool.”

The bashful smile that pulls at Hyunjin’s lips is endearing, “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Changbin swivels back to Jisung with an ‘are you seeing this sh*t?’ look on his face when Hyunjin giggles and tucks his head against Changbin’s neck.

Bodies are pushing and pulling around them, shoving Changbin all the way in Jisung’s personal space. His roommate takes the opportunity to yell much too loudly in Jisung’s ear, “Hey, where’s Minho? You lose him already?”

Jisung shakes his head and makes up an excuse he hopes is believable, “Bathroom.”

That makes Changbin laugh, “You sure about that? Don’t think he’s just hiding from you?”

Before Jisung can fire back with his own mocking tease, Hyunjin is pulling Changbin away and asking him to dance, making whatever Jisung has to say completely null in his roommate's mind. He leaves Jisung with a pat on the back and a distracted, “Later, bro!”

With a huff, Jisung shoves his way out of the crowd and keeps his eyes open for Minho’s head of messy brown hair. Maybe he did go to the bathroom. Maybe he ran off because he had to piss and not because Jisung got lost in his own head and spooked him off.

When he does find Minho, he’s in the kitchen again. This time furiously wiping down already spotless counters and reorganizing liquor bottles in different arrangements like it’s his favorite hobby.

“Looks clean to me, babe,” Jisung declares.

Minho jumps and turns to locate the origin of the voice, not looking too pleased to see that it’s Jisung again.

“What do you want?”

“Come on, I thought we had something good going out there,” Jisung pouts, “was my dancing so bad that you needed a drink or something?”

“I told you, I don’t drink,” Minho insists, gathering up empty plastic cups and throwing them into a trash bag. Jisung was mostly joking, but obviously it didn’t land.

“Minhooo~” A slurred voice calls from the entrance to the kitchen.

A very tipsy Jeongin is followed in by a rattled Seungmin. They make an odd pair, one of them practically bouncing off the walls at all times and the other a royal stick in the mud.

Jeongin barrels his way towards Minho with open arms, “Minho, play beer pong with me! Please? Seungmin says he won’t do it unless you do too.” His puppy eyes are impressive, sure to soften even the coldest of hearts, but Minho catches him by the upper arms and observes him warily.

Seungmin does the same thing to Jisung from across the room, his skeptical gaze flits between him and Minho, probably trying to make sense of why they’re together in the same room. His eyes settle on Minho and he shrugs, nodding to Jeongin, “He won’t let it go. Says he wants to experience every classic party cliche.”

Minho and Seungmin must be pretty close, which would make sense. Their personalities are equally frustrating and antagonistic.

“This is my first college party! I have to!” Jeongin whines, much like a child, and turns to Jisung as if just now noticing him, “Hey! You be Minho’s partner, okay?”

Minho does a double take, “Oh no. He won’t be joining us.”

“Sure I am,” Jisung shrugs, much to Minho’s chagrin, “sounds like fun.”

The whoop of victory that comes out of Jeongin is ear-shattering, making everyone within a three yard radius wince. Minho sends Jisung daggers with his eyes as Jeongin steers them out of the kitchen and into an open area with Seungmin reluctantly in tow, but Jisung only offers him a self-satisfied smile.

Their game is short lived, but Jisung expected as much. To avoid getting drunk at parties, he mastered the art of beer pong pretty quickly, landing the ping-pong ball in a cup every time. Minho wasn’t so bad either—probably good for the same reason—a smug smile taking over his face as he made all his shots and poor Jeongin had to pay the price.

The outcome was great for Jisung and Minho, each of them only had to take one gulp of sh*tty warm beer, but Jeongin and Seungmin weren’t so lucky. Seungmin almost popped a blood vessel early on once he realized their low chances of survival and Jeongin missed every single shot. By the end of the game, he was vibrating at an inhuman frequency.

Watching Seungmin chase a drunk Jeongin through the house is nothing short of fantastic. Jisung turns to Minho with a pleased grin, “Damn, if I had known you were good too, I don’t think I would have played.” Then he sighs, faking sympathy, “Think he’ll be okay?”

Minho’s laugh is the same as before, such a happy little sound, “He’ll be fine. Seungmin won’t let him do anything too stupid.”

“Yeah, well, Seungmin will have to catch him first—”

“Oh, f*ck no.”

It gives Jisung whiplash, how fast Minho crosses the room and pushes through the sea of bodies. He mumbles a curse under his breath when he sees what Minho most certainly did too—Chan and Felix are pressed close on the edge of the dance floor, Felix’s arms around Chan’s neck and Chan’s hands firm on Felix’s hips.

Jisung hasn’t had to deal with a pissed off Minho yet, just a slightly annoyed version, and he really doesn’t think he wants to. But when he sees Minho practically rip Felix away and turn to Chan with the fiery rage of an angry chihuahua, Jisung can’t help but feel a little itty bit responsible.

When he gets closer, Chan is taking the berating like a true champ, a calm smile on his face to cover the nerves building underneath. Felix is absolutely mortified from behind Minho, looking like he wants to step in, but Jisung doesn’t think anything he could say would stop the fire burning beneath his brother.

“Hey now, let’s take it down a notch, alright?” Jisung approaches with upturned palms, effectively cutting Minho off mid-interrogation. “Chan’s not so bad, right Felix?” He directs his comment behind Minho with a playful wink.

Which was supposedly the wrong move, because Minho moves to shield Felix completely, and redirects his daggers towards Jisung, “Why are you here? This has nothing to do with you.”

Jisung ignores him and slings an arm over Chan’s shoulder, “Come on, darlin’, Chan wears polos on the regular. He’s not a bad guy.”

Minho’s eyes flash, “You’d certainly know everything about being a bad guy, huh, Han?”

Jisung can feel his mood darken along with the room and sharp defiance creeps up his throat as he slides his arm off Chan’s shoulders and takes a step towards Minho, “The f*ck is that supposed to mean?”

Next to him, Chan chuckles anxiously, his relief at no longer being the center of Minho’s attention is palpable.

“Just that wherever you go, trouble’s never too far behind. All that time in prison not enough to keep you from acting out?”

Minho’s words are like a slap to the face.

“Or how about all the slimy ways you make quick cash?”

Jisung is used to the whispers behind his back, has grown immune to the stares and the groundless rumors, but having them spit out right in front of him is entirely new. His instinct is to brush it off, to roll his eyes and make light of the situation like he always does, but hearing these things from Minho of all people bites into Jisung way more than it should. Especially after he thought they were actually beginning to be cordial with each other.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jisung tries to keep his voice steady and he’s thankful the music's loud enough to drown out any chance of other’s listening in. Having Chan and Felix’s wide eyes on him is enough.

“No? I don’t see you denying it.”

A part of him wants to throw Minho’s own rumors in his face, a little taste of his own medicine. But he won’t. Jisung knows what that feels like now, and as good as it might feel in the moment, it’s not worth it.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are,” Jisung hisses. His face is warm. It’s f*cking hot as hell in this house.

“And you’re not as badass as you think you are,” Minho shoots right back, eyes hard and glinting in the low light like diamonds.

Jisung realizes there’s no f*cking point to this conversation.

“f*ck you, Minho,” He says, but there’s barely any bite behind his bark.

Minho apparently has nothing to say to that. He just grabs Felix by the wrist and pulls him off into the crowd. Jisung blinks at the now empty space in front of him, feeling burned and raw on the inside.

A hand is placed on his shoulder, Chan frowns next to him, “That was really uncalled for, man. Uh, here.” He moves to reach into his pocket, but Jisung doesn’t stick around.

“I don’t want your money.”

Jisung turns away with a scoff, leaving behind a guilt-ridden Chan.

<>

For some reason, Jisung hasn’t left yet.

His feet immediately lead him out the sliding glass back door to take a much needed smoke break. He wastes a fair amount of time taking long drags and watching the smoke float up and away, but he only gets about halfway through his joint before he snuffs it out and spends twenty minutes conjuring a plan to get home.

As if Jisung’s night couldn’t get any more f*cked up, someone spills a drink down the front of his shirt once he steps back into the house.

If there’s any kind of silver lining, Jisung took off his flannel and tied it around his waist while outside in the heat, so at least he has something to cover up with.

It’s not too long past midnight according to the clock on the wall and he feels eyes on him now that he’s alone. These ones aren’t filled with disgust, but rather curiosity, pouring into his back or the side of his head. They belong to people who want his attention without having to ask for it, hoping Jisung will pick them out of the crowd discreetly, and take them upstairs or pull them into a bathroom.

Jisung considers it for a moment. A quick f*ck would do the trick to take his mind off of the bullsh*t from earlier. It would be easy too.

But his shirt sticks to his skin thanks to a half cup of spilled sugary sweet jungle juice and Jisung itches to clean himself up. He goes to the first bathroom he sees, gets three feet from the open door, and a stumbling couple shoves him to the side, slamming the door behind them.

“Oh, screw you!” Jisung hollers, banging a fist on the painted wood and throwing up his middle finger as if they could see him.

He stomps off, indignant and still f*cking sticky. It doesn’t take long for Jisung to realize no one here is using the bathrooms for their intended purpose, so he weaves his way through the hallway until he’s at the bottom of one winding staircase.

The wood railings are stained dark and the carpet covering the stairs is a horrendous floral pattern—Jisung’s eyes hurt just looking at it. He takes a left once he reaches the top and starts jiggling door handles until he finds one that opens. It doesn’t surprise him that the majority of them are locked; Seungmin definitely seems like the kind of person to lock up anything of value. But Jisung can’t blame the guy. Chances are, if he saw something shiny he thought he could shove in his pocket, he would probably take it.

The first unlocked door is what Jisung assumes is a guest room, everything inside is white and spotless. The second one leads to an empty office with absolutely nothing out of place. He sighs. Boring.

Finally, Jisung opens a door and spots a porcelain toilet on the far end of the room. Bingo.

His eyes go straight to the mirror, taking in the condition of his soiled shirt. The dark fabric is soaked a deeper shade of black and the harsh lighting of the bathroom illuminates the way it sculpts a perfect copy of his torso underneath. He grimaces. It’s not that Jisung has sh*tty clothes, but this was one of his good shirts, goddamnit.

The easiest course of action presents itself quickly, so Jisung blows out a breath of resignation and reaches for the hem of his shirt, ready to pull it off.

There’s movement behind him in the mirror. Two feline eyes peek over the edge of the deep jacuzzi tub, followed by an airy giggle.

Jisung scoffs at the sight to hide his surprise and tugs his shirt overhead, “I thought you didn’t drink.”

Minho’s amusem*nt fades. He narrows his gaze and pointedly lifts the liquor bottle in his hand to his pursed lips for a long swig. He looks a mess with smudged eyeliner and disheveled hair, his face pink and beyond flushed. Part of Jisung thinks he should abandon ship and hunt for another bathroom, but he’s already here and now Minho is speaking to him.

“You should probably wash your shirt.”

Jisung doesn’t voice a reply, just plops his shirt on the counter with a wet slap, tugs his flannel from around his waist, and shoves his arms into the sleeves.

Minho takes another swig, his lips form a pout around the rim, and he mumbles “Why’d you cover up?”

“It’s f*cking cold in here.”

“Mm,” Minho hums, then he’s giggling again, “Yeah kinda.”

It’s like Minho is lost in an alternate dimension. One where their little argument from an hour ago never happened and Minho isn’t disgusted by Jisung’s presence. In fact, Minho almost appears pleased, like Jisung is his own captured prey and not the other way around like before. At least that’s what his eyes say, drunk and swimming with interest.

Jisung just shakes his head and cranks the faucet on, twisting the knob all the way to the left to run his shirt under the stream. Soft humming begins over his shoulder, and with a glance, he can see Minho’s eyes are closed now, one corner of his mouth curled in a lazy smile. The tune carries through the air between them, and Jisung realizes it’s the same song they were dancing to, when the two of them were pressed close and hot to the touch.

Drunk Minho is proving to be very different from sober Minho.

Once Jisung’s shirt is clean to the best of his ability, he wrings it out over the sink and pauses. The hell is he supposed to do with it now?

“You could lay it over the air vent. ‘Probly dry quicker that way,” Minho slurs, tilting his head so his cheek rests on the edge of the tub.

“Well aren’t you full of bright ideas,” Jisung grumbles, bending down to do just that, but when Minho smiles fully in response, Jisung eases up his bite. “What are you doing up here?”

Minho shrugs, his shoulders sagging lower than before, “What are you doing up here?”

He sounds like a child who’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and Jisung supposes getting drunk is not something Minho is proud of, especially after being so open with his distaste.

Jisung turns to fully face Minho for the first time since he’s been in the bathroom. In the lavish tub, Minho looks small, dare Jisung say fragile.

“Just waiting for my shirt to dry,” Jisung says, his sarcasm thick, which delights Minho and definitely does not make Jisung smile in turn. He leans against the cabinet across from the tub and slides down with a groan until his butt hits the floor.

He could leave. He should leave. The deal is off, Jisung doesn’t even want the money anymore, so there’s no reason to stick around. But something about Minho’s--

No. Jisung doesn’t do sh*t like this. Jisung sits alone in his room, watching p*rn on a laptop he stole from his roommate or pretending to work on his neglected pile of assignments. He doesn’t sit in awkward silence with someone who might as well be a stranger and avoid eye contact because he can’t risk reading any more into their gaze.

But Jisung is much too stubborn to chicken out and risk appearing anything other than indifferent, so he gets settled and stays put.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Of all the things to come out of Minho’s mouth, that question is not one of them.

“What?”

Minho rolls his eyes, “We might as well talk about something while we wait for your shirt to dry.”

Jisung is well aware of Minho’s own stubbornness, and perhaps he doesn’t want to give up whatever escape from reality he found in the upstairs bathroom of his friend’s big dumb house, but engaging in a game of twenty questions is not where Jisung thought his night would end up.

“It’s red.”

“That’s boring,” Minho fires back without missing a beat.

Jisung prickles in his spot, rubs his tongue piercing against the roof of his mouth subconsciously, “What’s your favorite color then?”

“Mint.”

“In what world is mint better than red?”

Minho hums, stops to think, “This one. Now it’s your turn.”

“I just asked one,” Jisung points out.

“You can’t ask the same question as me!” Minho says, looking insulted. “Do you know how this game works?” In exasperation, he swings his arm holding the bottle up and out, bumping the wall of the tub with an echoing thud.

Images of the glass shattering flash in Jisung’s mind. He moves to his knees and shuffles forward until he’s within arms reach of the bottle, “That’s enough of that,” he strains. Minho has caught onto his plan and is now waving the bottle around just out of Jisung’s reach.

“f*cking stop it, would you?” Jisung grits through his teeth, his single ounce of patience running thin.

But Minho is enjoying himself immensely, his little laugh morphing into breathless hiccups as he continuously dodges Jisung’s attempts to snatch his drink away. The bottle clanks against the ceramic again, this time much louder, making both of them cringe and shy away from the noise.

With bashful reluctance, Minho finally hands it over.

Jisung moves away with a self-satisfied hmph and pushes the bottle back onto the cabinet where it won’t be a safety hazard anymore. When he turns around, Minho drops his timidness and is back to looking at Jisung expectantly.

“Uh, okay, f*ck. What’s your favorite…fruit?”

“Watermelon. Do you have any siblings?”

The question strikes Jisung in a weird way, “My favorite fruit is strawberries, thanks for asking,” Minho just arches an eyebrow at him, so Jisung continues with a huff. “No, I’m an only child.”

“I have a brother.”

“I’m aware.”

“His name is Felix.”

“Uh huh.”

“We got into a fight earlier. He’s mad at me now.”

Jisung decides to keep his mouth shut with that one. If this is going where he thinks it's going, it’s better to stay quiet.

Minho confirms Jisung’s suspicions and grumbles, “So what if I’m overprotective? People are the f*cking worst. Felix shouldn’t have to put up with any of it. Not like I did anyway. If I’m not there to make sure he’s safe from people like…” The glance he not-so-subtly throws at Jisung is met with a frown, “Well, you know. If I’m not there, then who will be?”

His words aren’t slurring as much as they did when Jisung first found him, but his eyes are still distant, somewhere else entirely. It makes Jisung uneasy, the way Minho shifts to lean his back against the wall of the tub, the way he stares at the ceiling with a furrow in his brow.

Jisung wasn’t even the one hitting on Felix, yet he’s the first to blame, apparently the perfect example of everything that could be wrong with a person. And as much as Jisung knows now is not the time, his defensive habits are hard to break.

“Can’t blame you, he’s a pretty one.”

Minho’s jaw drops, “You’re f*cking disgusting.”

“But you already knew that, didn’t you, hun?” Jisung’s smile is smug and weighed down with fake sweetness, but teasing Minho isn’t as entertaining as it was before.

Minho just shakes his head, looking tired, “I can’t believe you.”

There’s a heavy pause before Jisung speaks, “Why do you do what you do?”

“What are you talking about?”

Jisung leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, “What’s the real reason you’re so protective of Felix?”

“Because when you’re kind and sweet and happy all the time, people take advantage of you. I got to learn that one the hard way,” Minho’s filter seems to have disappeared completely, “It’s just easier to be the bad guy for him, so he doesn’t have to.”

Something sour fills Jisung’s stomach. He doesn’t know what Minho is referring to, but he can tell Minho’s words hide something much darker beneath them. Was Minho not always like this? So harsh and sharp around the edges? It almost seems impossible, but who is Jisung to know?

“You should tell him that,” he says softly.

“Such great advice coming from you.”

Before Jisung can think better of it, words are leaving his parted lips with a bitter aftertaste, “What kind of person do you think I am, Minho?”

Minho scoffs, “I don’t think, I know.”

They sit in silence for a long while, not looking in the other’s direction. Jisung is positive Minho doesn’t know whatever it is he thinks he does, but it won’t matter in the long run. He looks over at his shirt on the floor, puffed up in the middle by the air blowing on it, urging the damn thing to dry faster. For a split second, Jisung thinks about the three inches of liquid Minho left in the bottle of liquor, and wonders if he should follow the other’s lead and get sh*t-faced to avoid his problems too.

He won’t, of course. Jisung would much rather stub his toe a million times.

And then Jisung is blurting out words he’s spent so much time keeping to himself, revealing parts of himself that only Changbin and Chan know, “I’ve never been to prison.”

Minho turns his head to stare at Jisung, eyes giving away nothing for the first time all night.

It’s probably the worst thing he could do, but Jisung continues, “I took a year off to take care of my grandfather. I didn’t– I never set one of the labs on fire or got caught dealing or whatever the new rumor is people have decided to spread,” he takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly when Minho still doesn’t show any type of reaction, “All I’m saying is, you don’t know me like you think you do.”

At least Minho appears to ponder the thought. Jisung half-expected him to burst out laughing, much like he did with Chan what feels like days ago. He wonders what Chan is doing right now, Changbin too. If they’re still getting on just fine with their respective interests, or if they’re looking for him so they can all leave together because they’re just nice like that. With Jisung’s luck, Chan and Felix are huddled close in a corner somewhere talking about anime and Changbin and Hyunjin are discovering their mutual love for skin care or something equally boring.

Then Jisung has to ask himself again, why the hell is he still here? Why did he think it was a good idea to spill his guts to someone like Lee Minho?

“The only thing people know about me is that I’m scary.”

Minho’s sudden confession is just another unexpected thing to add to tonight’s list. Jisung focuses on draining all emotion from his face while Minho continues on.

“No one wants to know me,” Minho says wistfully and then chuckles, “Not that I want them to, but I guess it’d be nice if someone tried once in a while.”

Jisung lets Minho’s words float through the air for a moment. They’re heavy, baring much more than Jisung ever assumed the other was capable of, but Minho probably thought the same of him until a moment ago. Jisung wants to make a joke out of it, fears that that’s the only way he knows how to deal with situations like this.

What Jisung settles on is an attempt at being sincere, but it ends up a little too sarcastic, “What am I doing right now then?”

He’s physically taken aback by the look Minho gives him. It’s a sad smile, stained with something akin to acceptance, but quickly shielded by a fiery tongue, “Making 25,000 won.”

f*ck.

“Felix told me. During our fight.”

For the first time in his life, Jisung thinks he actually feels the consequences of his actions. It comes in the form of a blistering cold, almost painful as the blood drains from his face. His first instinct is to be pissed at Chan—he must have told Felix—but no, Jisung wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for his own scheme to make some quick cash. And now it’s all blowing up in his face.

“I—um, sh*t okay, I—“

Minho pulls himself to his feet with a dancer’s grace and steps out of the tub. He only wavers for a second before stretching his arms high above his head. Jisung’s eyes are immediately glued to Minho’s bare midriff and that f*cking piercing he’s been trying to forget, glinting at him in the light. Minho catches him watching, the room is tense for a moment, but Minho rolls his head in a stretch and pouts, “Is your shirt done drying yet? I wanna go outside.”

He recognizes Minho’s deflection, but it’s much softer than before. Minho’s steps take him towards the door, where he pauses once it’s cracked open and turns to glance at Jisung over his shoulder, “You coming or what?”

Jisung doesn’t know why at this point. He doesn’t know why he pushes himself to his feet, leaving behind his damp shirt on the tiled floor. Regret pulses through him, not for following Minho, but for the hurt he saw flash in Minho’s eyes and Minho’s haste to cover it up, to move past it.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, but Jisung finds relief in what he thinks he does know—whether it’s a stupid game of cat and mouse, a pointless fight, or simply sitting in silence—being with Minho is anything but boring.

<>

The air is heavier than it was when Jisung was out here by himself, more humid and laced with the promise of incoming rain. A breeze blows through the air, cool enough to make Jisung close a few buttons on his flannel. Minho leads Jisung through fancy deck furniture and past an oversized pool, around trimmed hedges and abundant rose gardens. Lanterns light the ground every handful of yards, illuminating their path along the grass. Minho stops when they reach a towering tree up on a slight hill, away from everything else, its leaves already turning color in time with the changing seasons.

It’s the biggest f*cking tree Jisung’s ever seen. The trunk is wide, the two of them probably wouldn’t be able to connect hands around it if they tried. A simple swing is tied to the sturdiest branch with thick faded blue rope and Minho gently lowers himself onto the wooden plank seat.

Jisung stays a few yards away, neck craned back to gauge just how high the tree really stands, but its features are lost in the darkness. The blaring music from the house is reduced to murmurs this far out, and Jisung’s head is the clearest it’s been all night.

“Han.”

Jisung grimaces. “Quit calling me that.”

Minho picks his eyes up from where they were studying the ground, “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Just call me Jisung, yeah?”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a few beats, just gnaws on the inside of his cheek until he’s fixing his slouched posture and kicking his feet against the ground, “Jisung,” Their eyes meet in the dark, “will you push me?”

If he were asked the same question twelve hours ago, Jisung would laugh in Minho’s face and tell him to f*ck off.

But right now, Jisung just strolls over with light steps and positions himself a few paces behind Minho. He tentatively reaches out with both hands, grabs the rope on either side of Minho’s hips and pulls back ever so slightly.

Minho emits a happy little sound from the back of his throat when Jisung lets go and he glides forward, cutting through the air with outstretched legs. Jisung panics as Minho comes swinging back, not sure where he’s allowed to touch, but he decides mid-back is a safe enough place. They continue like this for a while, with Jisung giving Minho gentle nudges to keep his momentum going as the crickets sing in the distance.

It’s f*cking weird, how Minho acts as if Jisung isn’t the biggest douchebag for being paid to spend time with him. Maybe it’s the alcohol messing with him. For sure when Minho is sober again, he’ll go back to hating Jisung’s existence. But for now—

“Tell me something true,” Minho requests.

That’s easy enough. Jisung thinks of something he knows to be undoubtedly true, “I hate peas.”

“No,” Minho laughs, “Something real.”

“My heartfelt confession from fifteen minutes ago wasn’t enough for you?” Jisung scoffs, “Tough crowd.”

“So you didn’t actually go to jail?”

“f*ck no,” Jisung shoves Minho a little harder at the brash question. Minho seems genuinely curious, but Jisung makes a joke out of it like always, kind of embarrassed by his moment of weakness in the bathroom, “I’m too pretty for prison.”

That makes Minho laugh, “Yeah, they’d eat you alive in there,” he pauses, makes a funny thinking face. “Okay, so you didn’t serve time. Did you sell your kidney on the black market?”

“Are you the leader of a satanic cult?”

Minho snorts, “Haven’t heard that one before.”

“No?” Jisung jokes, “That’s one of my favorites.”

Minho starts to pump his legs, propelling himself forward and up, and Jisung has to take several steps to the side to avoid getting hit. From here he can see Minho has his head tilted back, eyes on the black sky. A mirthful grin creeps onto his face.

“Took a year off to take care of your grandfather, huh? How did that get spun into time in prison?” Minho asks and his voice carries a little too much, making Jisung glance around to see if anyone is possibly within earshot. But no, it’s just the two of them out here.

Jisung rocks back and forth on his heels, “Sooo, you do lead a gang of devil worshipers?”

“Stop answering my question with another question!” Minho hollers, craning his neck to look at Jisung.

Jisung’s logic may never make total sense, but he’s made it this far, and he can’t find a reason to stop now. With a snicker, he walks in a wide curve until he’s a safe distance in front of Minho.

“Fine,” Jisung sighs, amused, “I did not sell a kidney on the black market. Both kidneys are safely inside my person,” he taps his stomach with both hands. “However, I do have a scar from a f*cking power washer accident,” Minho raises a brow at that, but Jisung shakes his head and shudders, not willing to elaborate further. “As far as the rumors, I don’t f*cking know how any of them started.”

It’s true. Jisung came back after his year off and things just changed.

“Yeah, well. People have always said sh*t about me,” Minho muses, kicking his legs harder and huffing out a breath. “I don’t lead a satanic cult. It’s called Wicca and it has nothing to do with the devil.”

Jisung pauses for a second, feeling kind of bashful for his next question, “Does it have anything to do with drinking blood every morning?”

“That one I have heard,” Minho groans, “It’s a f*cking mixed berry smoothie! I have to get my antioxidants somehow!”

Hearing the rumors and their perfectly reasonable explanations one right after another is almost laughable.

Minho continues wistfully, “How can people believe this sh*t?” Something in his demeanor shifts and he stops pumping his legs. “I mean, sure, you’re an arrogant asshole,” He brushes right over Jisung’s indignant hey, “and I guess I can be harsh sometimes—don’t look at me like that, I’m being serious.”

As Minho slows down, Jisung inches closer, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, “You believed everything about me. What’s that say about you?”

He doesn’t mean for the question to hit so hard, but it clearly does. Minho’s face falls, no longer able to meet Jisung’s eyes.

“As much as it says about you for believing everything about me.”

Jisung saw that one coming, “That just means we’re not as different from each other as we thought, huh?”

Minho drags his feet against the grass, pulling himself to a full stop. When he tilts his chin back and stares at Jisung through his lashes, it takes everything in Jisung to hold back the hitch in his breath. Minho’s eyes are probably swimming, traces of alcohol still evident in his veins, but Jisung isn’t looking at them. His attention is caught by the way Minho parts his lips with a sigh, pulling Jisung under his spell much too effortlessly.

“Kiss me?”

His words are so gentle, enough to make Jisung believe he actually means it.

A lump gets caught in Jisung’s throat. He’s so close. The toes of their shoes are touching, and all Jisung would have to do is lean down, steady himself on the rope framing Minho’s shoulders, and give him what he wants, what he so kindly asked for.

But it feels wrong. Minho is drunk. Jisung is losing his f*cking mind. He’s not even supposed to be here. The only reason he’s here to begin with is because of easy money, even if the plan did go to sh*t in record time. Hell, if it weren’t for tonight, the two of them probably would have never met. They would have continued on with their equally ridiculous rumor-filled lives, graduated, and left all this sh*t behind.

Minho is drunk. There’s no way he would want any of this sober. He’s just emotional and vulnerable and Jisung can’t take advantage of that.

“Uh,” Jisung’s soft laugh is so obviously fake, “no?”

Minho’s eyes widen and his lips form a small ‘o’. His eyelashes flutter, a rejection probably the last thing he expected.

“Damn,” Minho scoffs, incredulous, “25,000 won not enough to kiss me?”

Jisung doesn’t know what to say. The same bitter frown that painted Minho’s face for the entire first half of the night is back, darker and filled with hurt. Of course the amount of money has nothing to do with Jisung’s rejection. But if Minho thinks the only reason Jisung is still here is because of the f*cking money, that’s a whole other issue. What was the point of their entire conversation if Minho still expects that of Jisung?

He gets it. People don’t just change overnight. When tomorrow comes, Jisung will probably go back to being his good for nothing douchebag self and he’ll be fine with that. Minho will go back to despising him, maybe even pretend they never met. But for a second, after all the cleared up rumors and moments of weakness, Jisung wondered if maybe they didn’t have to go back to normal. At least not with each other.

Even if it’s just a mutual understanding, a sense of peace knowing someone else out there is dealing with the same bullsh*t he is. Jisung doesn’t need a best friend, he doesn’t want study sessions or Saturday night hangouts, but he wouldn’t mind having someone else in his corner.

Minho isn't looking at Jisung anymore. Jisung shuffles away, figures putting some distance between them would be best, but he really doesn’t want to leave altogether. Instead, he drags his feet over to the tree and plops down in front of it. He focuses his attention on the grass, digs his fingers into the green blades and tugs until a few come loose.

After a few dead silent moments, Minho rises up from the swing. Jisung expects him to wander off without saying goodbye, but Minho doesn’t leave, he simply finds a comfortable spot right next to Jisung and burns holes into the side of his head with his gaze.

The weight of it is searing. It makes Jisung feel nauseous, a cold rush of sweat breaks out over his body. He frowns.

“You’re drunk, Minho,” Jisung mumbles, flicking away the loose pieces of grass in his hand. “I’m not kissing someone who’s going to regret it in a couple hours.”

His attempt at giving Minho an explanation falls flat, he can tell by the way Minho scoffs, can practically feel his eye roll.

“No need to worry,” Minho chuckles darkly, “I’m definitely sober after all this bullsh*t.”

Minho can say all he wants with that sharp tongue of his, but Jisung will believe it when he sees it with his own eyes. So he does. Jisung rests his head against the trunk of the tree and swivels his neck until he’s finally looking at Minho, searching for something, anything that makes sense.

What he finds is much different than the far-off alternate dimension Minho was lost in while in the tub. There’s no fog, no swirls of uncertainty from the very first time Jisung read into them either. Minho’s eyes hide nothing, they reflect every spec of light surrounding them, shining onto Jisung like tiny suns misplaced in the night sky.

It’s f*cking dumb really. How Jisung was so sure he would get burned, how much of an inconvenience it would be. In some ways he did; the heat from the dance floor, the scorching slap in the face from Minho’s venomous words. Jisung had his chance to cool down, he tried to screw some sort of moral compass into place, but f*ck it.

What’s even more dumb is how far Jisung is willing to fall just to feel warm.

“Ask me again.”

Minho’s brow furrows. His lips push out in a pout. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Ask. Me. Again,” Jisung demands, voice quieter the second time, but filled with so much more. Understanding flashes behind Minho’s eyes and he swallows thickly.

“Kiss me? Please?”

Jisung moves as soon as the question leaves Minho’s lips, but so does Minho. They meet in the middle and it’s a challenge all over again, throwing Jisung back to the very first moment they met. Minho tangles a hand into Jisung’s hair and tugs hard enough to make Jisung gasp. Jisung latches his own hand around the softness of Minho’s inner thigh and chuckles against his mouth when Minho spreads his knees further apart at the contact. Their overall position is awkward, necks bent at an odd angle and hands scrabbling for purchase, but Jisung is too far gone to care.

He finds the heat he’s been looking for in the way Minho’s hot tongue flicks against his own, gentle at first to test the waters, but soon enough Minho is licking into his mouth, toying with the silver stud on his tongue and whining.

“f*ck,” Jisung groans, “c‘mere.”

With a firm grip on both of Minho’s thighs, Jisung pulls one of them over his lap and positions Minho until he’s right where Jisung wants him. Jisung’s head hits the bark of the tree hard with how fast Minho reconnects their lips and wraps his arms fully around Jisung’s neck. It’s suffocating, being completely engulfed by the body on top of him, but Jisung is eager and willing as he pulls Minho tighter against him and digs his fingers deeper into warm skin.

The fact that they’re out in the open, where anyone can see and run off to tell their friends is the last thing on Jisung’s mind. He’s too focused on the sounds escaping Minho, how soft they are, how they pitch in volume when Jisung can’t help but rut his hips up against him. Jisung melts even further when Minho pulls back just to latch his spit slick lips onto his jaw. Minho sucks, bites into the thin skin of his throat, and Jisung wants nothing more than to leave marks of his own.

But then Minho is squirming in his lap, twitching his hips until he’s moving against Jisung’s clothed erection in slow circles. It makes Jisung’s brain short-circuit, and he wonders if Minho can feel the hard outline of his co*ck against his ass, wonders if he’s losing it just as much as Jisung is.

Nimble fingers hook into the collar of Jisung’s shirt and slide down to the first closed button. Jisung really thought he would be the one in control here, with how malleable Minho is in this state, but he’s struggling to breath when Minho slowly pops open each button and runs a thumb over one of Jisung’s nipples.

“Sensitive, baby?” Minho hums when Jisung shudders, dipping down even lower to nibble at Jisung’s collarbone.

In an effort to regain some semblance of control, Jisung reaches a hand up and uses it to pull Minho’s lips off him by the hair, “M’not your baby,” He grunts, eyes locked on the glimmering skin of Minho’s exposed throat.

“No?” Minho pants. “Shame.”

Jisung ignores his teasing words in favor of his neck, latching onto the perfect spot right under his ear. Minho whimpers and grinds down with purpose, pulling a dark noise out of Jisung in turn.

He lets go of Minho’s hair to feel along his exposed skin. Minho’s shirt has slipped off one shoulder and the bottom hem has shifted up, teasing Jisung with the delicate little piercing against his navel. He wants to see it up close, to watch the way the light refracts off the blue gem, the way Minho’s chest rises and falls as Jisung licks along his skin.

Minho yelps at the sudden movement, but Jisung is gentle. He cradles Minho’s back and uses the momentum of their bodies to lay him down in the grass. From this new angle, Jisung can see just how affected Minho is, his own co*ck outlined through his jeans. It’s mesmerizing, the glint in Minho’s eye when Jisung repositions himself over top of him, hikes his shirt up even more, and slowly crawls down his body.

Jisung doesn’t stop until he’s eye to eye with Minho’s navel. He hums as Minho’s breathing increases rapidly and he fists the grass as he watches Jisung stick his tongue out and trace a wet circle around the piercing. The skin under Jisung’s tongue is soft, smooth to the touch and so warm. It makes something curl low in his gut, the same heat from their moment on the dance floor back and more intense.

“You look so f*cking good,” Jisung whispers, lips light against Minho’s stomach. “I can’t get over this piercing.”

Minho hums, content with Jisung’s ministrations, “Mm, I like the way this feels on my skin.” He pauses to grip Jisung by the chin and pull on his bottom lip with his thumb to get a look at the stud in Jisung’s mouth, “S’nice.”

Jisung wishes he could do more. He so desperately wants to unravel the man beneath him and discover every single thing that makes him tick, but as the air around them dips in temperature, he’s reminded of where they are. Still, Jisung takes his time leaving a trail of kisses up Minho’s torso, open-mouthed and wet, until he’s close enough to reconnect their lips.

They’re much slower now, more relaxed, but their breathing is heavier, adrenaline still rushing through them. Minho pulls back after a particularly tender kiss on Jisung’s fuller bottom lip, looking satisfied, “You’re not as vile as I thought you were.”

Jisung snickers, “Thank you? I thought we already established th–”

“Oi! Quit disrespecting my yard!”

Minho rolls his head to the side and groans, “f*cking Kim Seungmin.”

Harsh footsteps pound up the slight slope in the grass until an out of breath Seungmin is crouching down a couple yards away.

“Did you run here?” Minho scoffs, and Jisung grumbles when he’s pushed off to the side.

Seungmin holds a hand out in wait, takes his time running fingers through his already disheveled hair and wheezes, “What the f*ck are you two doing?”

Jisung sits up in time with Minho and decides that he certainly does not have an answer to that question. He looks between Minho’s faded flush and Seungmin’s fresh one, and simply shrugs before fumbling with the buttons on his flannel. He doesn’t miss Minho’s eye roll in his periphery, clearly not amused by Jisung’s refusal to participate.

“Braiding each other’s hair and telling secrets,” Minho fires back at Seungmin, sarcasm oozing with every word.

“Really? Cause I’m pretty sure his tongue was in your belly button like fifteen seconds ago.”

Minho chokes, but Jisung laughs and struggles to hide it behind his hand. A darker pink creeps down Minho’s face and neck, and he hastily tugs his shirt over his bare torso, “What do you want, Seungmin?”

“Oh sh*t, right.” The intruder clears his throat. “I’m pretty sure a fight is gonna break out,” he glances at Jisung, “One of your boys is involved.”

Jisung cringes outwardly, “Don’t call them my boys, that’s gross. Wait–-is it Chan? He’s too soft for a fight, the guy can’t throw a punch to save his life.”

The only reason Jisung knows this is because the first time he met Chan, he was coming out of the bathroom after a shower and thought the other was robbing the place. Turns out it was his new roommate and Jisung had made a great first impression by nearly hitting him in the face. Luckily, Chan yelped like a child and dodged the attack. Good times.

“No, not him,” Seungmin corrects. “The short one? The one Hyunjin’s been hanging around all night.”

Jisung’s eyes grow wide. What the f*ck did Changbin get himself into?

“Why do you need us?” Minho grumbles as he gets to his feet, brushing off the grass stains on his jeans and frowning. “It’s your house. Kick them out.”

Seungmin doesn’t miss a beat, “Yeah, but you’re much scarier. Plus, I think the other guy is one of Jinnie’s exes.” His expression is much more serious now and even Minho curses under his breath.

“f*ck, okay. We’re coming.”

Jisung doesn’t anticipate Minho grabbing him by the hand and tugging him to his feet, but he goes willingly. They follow behind Seungmin with quick steps, and the closer they get to the house, the louder the ominous chants of fight, fight, fight grow.

<>

The room that once housed the dance floor has now turned into some makeshift boxing ring. Nearly everybody at the party is shoved into the already crowded space, packed together like sardines aside from the cleared space in the middle. Jisung can see both of his roommates in the center, along with Felix, Hyunjin, and someone he doesn’t recognize.

There’s no doubt in his mind Changbin can hold his own in a fight, but from the looks of it, he’s managing to keep his cool, hands held up in a placating manner as he speaks calmly to the guy opposite him. Jisung can’t hear what he’s saying, but he can see how each word continuously riles the other up.

“It’s Jungwoo,” Minho grits, exasperated as he makes a path through the bodies. “Bastard hasn’t gotten over Hyunjin, but decides causing a scene wherever he goes is the best way to say ‘baby, come back.’ How the hell did he even get in?”

And yeah, this Jungwoo guy is a mess; dressed like a rich Basic asshole, waving his arms around and hollering crude things to both Hyunjin and Changbin. Hyunjin looks nervous, beaten down by the situation, and pulls on Changbin’s shoulder gently as he whispers something in his ear. Jisung catches the tail end of something especially uncalled for towards Hyunjin, and surprisingly, Felix–who has been held back by Chan up until this point–rushes forward after wiggling from the other’s grasp. Jisung can definitely see the likeness between the two brothers in this moment; they both resemble an angry chihuahua when defending something.

Felix has no shame, he gets all up in the guy’s face and snarks, “And you wonder why he left your ass behind. You’re f*cking disgusting.” The words sound foreign coming from someone like Felix, but it only makes Jungwoo smirk, a rather nasty look spreading across his face. Minho’s body tenses up and the grip on Jisung’s hand tightens.

“Well, you’re just a spoiled little princess, right? Or are you a slu*t like him?”

Jisung can feel the way Minho flinches at Jungwoo’s words.

So many things happen at once. The crowd ooos like they’re watching a bad movie, completely out of touch with reality. Both Felix and Hyunjin gasp, all traces of fight stripped from their faces. Minho growls and shoves the rest of the people out of the way, leaving Jisung behind. Changbin huffs, eyes dark as he makes a fist with his right hand, ready to reel it back and swing.

But Chan is the one who makes it there first. He grabs Jungwoo by the collar of his stupid looking khaki blazer and punches him square across the jaw.

People around Jisung erupt into cheers and words of encouragement towards Chan and Jungwoo, depending on where their loyalties lie. Jungwoo snaps his head back after the hit, laughs like it didn’t hurt, and moves to strike back. Chan stands his ground, using his body to shield everyone else behind him as he stares the other down. It’s the same look he pointed towards Jisung earlier in the day, and with it Jisung finally realizes just how protective he is of Felix.

His feet move before he knows what exactly the plan is, but Jisung breaches the crowd and grabs Jungwoo by the back of his shirt, tugging him away from his revenge seeking roommate. Normally, he would be absolutely down to watch a good fight between two hotheaded idiots, but he’s unfortunately associated with one of them, and Jisung doesn’t feel like patching up any bruises later. Changbin follows Jisung’s lead and grabs Chan around the waist, one thick arm enough to keep him back.

Then Jungwoo grunts and turns around with a grimace. His eyes flash with recognition at the sight of Jisung, which isn’t surprising, but the way he relaxes in his grip and looks relieved is.

“Oh, dude, gonna help me teach this bitch a lesson?” Jungwoo asks, smug and gross.

Before Jisung can roll his eyes and say anything like No, I’m actually not gonna help you teach this bitch a lesson, Minho pops up behind Jungwoo with the darkest, most daunting expression Jisung has ever seen. His voice is terrifying as it carries over the music and through the entire room, “Get the hell out.”

Jungwoo scoffs, but Minho doesn’t let him speak, “Either you get out, or I have Hyunjin tell everyone how much you like being called baby girl in bed.”

That makes Jungwoo gulp, and it’s laughable, how one little sentence changes his demeanor instantly. A must-be friend of his comes to collect Jungwoo, pulling him out of Jisung’s hold as the crowd closest to them tries to stifle their laughs and snickers. Jisung ignores everyone around them, his attention glued to the way Minho glares at Jungwoo’s back until he’s out of sight.

He thinks maybe he should reach out, grab Minho’s hand and ask something, anything—

Minho finally looks at Jisung and forces a very unconvincing smile, “Go check on your people. I’m gonna check on mine.” And with that he turns around and beelines to where Felix and Hyunjin are huddled together.

My people, Jisung thinks as he searches for Chan and Changbin, I guess they f*cking are my people. Minho could be my person too. Maybe.

Jisung files away that thought for now.

In one corner of the room, he finds Changbin consoling a miserable looking Chan. The latter holds his right fist against his chest, massaging his knuckles anxiously as he pays Changbin no mind, his attention focused solely on Felix. He looks even more nervous when Minho wraps an arm around his brother’s shoulder and leads him out of the room.

When he’s finally close, Jisung pats Chan on the shoulder, “Give them a moment, yeah?”

Chan frowns, but nods his head anyways, resolving to lean back against the wall behind him. Glancing at Changbin, Jisung can tell he’s just as anxious over Hyunjin, who’s talking to Seungmin in the opposite corner. He doesn’t really know what to say to his roommates. Jisung has never been in the position to comfort them, or cheer them up, or anything other than just exist alongside them. Perhaps it’s time to change that.

Turns out Jisung doesn’t need to be the one to lighten the mood. Not a second later, Jeongin appears out of nowhere to clamber on top of an expensive looking table and opens his mouth to yell, “Hey, everybody! Hey, hey Seungmin, Hyunjin, everyone, listen.” Half of the room cringes as Jeongin almost trips over his feet, “I just wanna say,” he hiccups, “that tonight has been the best night of my life. All you people are so cool, well except that one guy, but seriously! I got to drink more than just the fizzy grape juice they give out on New Year’s Eve! I–I was in the same room as someone who was smoking pot. And I even had my first kiss!”

There’s not a single person in the room who doesn’t at least smile at Jeongin’s antics, but Jisung finds it very interesting how Seungmin turns a deep shade of red at that last part. The host seems to snap out of it though and throws a glance to the huge clock on the wall. It’s almost four in the morning.

After giving one last squeeze to Hyunjin’s side, Seungmin stomps over to shoo the DJ away and turn off the music. People begin to boo immediately, but Seungmin stones his expression and shouts, “Okay, wow, thank you for that uplifting speech, Jeongin. It’s time for everyone to leave my house now. Buh-bye! Go home.” He pauses to consider something, “Well, except you, you, you, you, and you. You guys can stay.”

Jisung follows Seungmin’s finger as he points at him and his roommates, as well as Hyunjin and Jeongin. Everyone else simply shrugs and begins to file out slowly, breaking off into smaller groups and downing the last few swigs of their drinks. The five of them wait, twiddling their thumbs and rocking on their heels until the last person leaves and Seungmin slams the front door behind them, “Time to clean, boys!” he calls from the other room.

Everyone in the room exchanges a quick glance, asking each other with their eyes if they’re really about to clean , but no one is willing to openly protest. So yeah, guess they are. From what Jisung can tell, the house isn’t necessarily dirty, but there’s plenty of plastic cups and empty beer cans lying around that need to be picked up. Seungmin comes parading back in with black trash bags and a broom and starts handing out assignments.

“Okay, Jinnie?” The tall brunette straightens up with a hum, “You and uh, Changbin, right?” Changbin clears his throat and nods, “You two help me move the furniture back into place. And you guys,” Chan and Jisung stand at attention, “go around and pick up trash and whatnot.”

“What about me?” Jeongin pouts from beside Hyunjin. Goodness gracious he’s absolutely zooted.

“You,” Seungmin starts with an overly sweet smile, it’s not mean, but it’s definitely the tone someone would use with a child, “You’re on broom duty. Just start sweeping, Innie.”

With that, they all split off into their little groups. Chan accepts the trash bags from Seungmin with a mumbled thanks and hands one off to Jisung. To hopefully make the process a little more efficient, Jisung heads into a different room and starts there.

“So uh, how’d your night turn out?”

Chan apparently did not pick up on Jisung’s strategy, but he hums in acknowledgment anyway, “Wasn’t so bad.” He bends over to pick up a couple beer cans, “Ran into Minho again. We…talked.”

“Oh, good. I think. What about?” Chan asks. It’s an innocent question, clearly just thrown out to make small talk, but Jisung tenses up nonetheless. Instead of answering, he sweeps a couple plastic cups into his trash bag and shrugs it off, “Nothing exciting.”

Jisung really just wants to leave it at that, but something about the way Chan hovers around him sparks his curiosity, “What about you? Have a good time with Felix?”

Chan’s face lights up like a holiday tree and then immediately darkens into a deep blush, “He kissed me.”

“Nice,” Jisung nods, somewhat proud, “Where?”

Chan’s bashful grin is unmatched, “By the pool.”

That’s not exactly what Jisung meant, his mind is a little more in the gutter than his poor roommate, but whatever. He’s still happy for him. They finish the rest of the room in silence, along with the kitchen and the open space where Jisung and Minho beat Jeongin and Seungmin in beer pong. From down the hallway, Jisung can hear Jeongin complain about being too tired to sweep. Then he hears Seungmin’s responding sigh, followed by directions to a guest room.

Jeongin yawns on his way past them and Jisung keeps an eye on him as he drags himself up the stairs, worried he might not make it. But he does, thankfully, and Jisung goes back to cleaning.

A few feet away, Chan clears his throat. Jisung turns to look at him.

“You sure you don’t want that 25,000 won?” Chan rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, I feel like you deserve it after all the sh*t that happened.”

Is Jisung sure? During the silent cleaning, two possible outcomes of the night have become clear in his mind. He and Minho could part ways, pretend the other doesn’t exist, and forget everything that happened tonight. Or, they could…not. Making out with someone at a party isn’t exactly monumental or life changing, but their conversations keep eating at Jisung.

If Minho wants to forget, Jisung wouldn’t argue with him. It would sting, if just a little, but he would accept the other’s decision and focus on going back to normal. In that case, going home with the money would at least work to cheer him up a bit. But on the off chance that Minho choses to stick around, well, that would be worth much more than 25,000 won.

Jisung frowns. He’s pretty damn sure.

“Keep the money, Chan,” he affirms, then smiles crookedly. “Just buy me breakfast later, yeah?”

Chan snorts, “Yeah, okay.”

They make their way back into the main room where almost everything seems to be back in place, but Hyunjin and Changbin are nowhere to be found. Jisung throws Seungmin a questioning glance. The other just grumbles about being left to do all the work himself so they could ‘be gross in a guest room ’. There are a few cups scattered along a few remaining tables. Chan’s bag is practically overflowing, so Jisung scoops them up and ties off his own bag when he’s done.

“Where is everybody?”

Chan, Seungmin, and Jisung swivel their heads in time to see Minho and Felix walk into the room with confused looks on their faces.

“Seungmin kicked everyone out,” Jisung supplies helpfully.

Minho rolls his eyes, but Jisung swears he sees fondness there, “We figured as much when the music turned off and the stampede ran out the door. I’m talking about our three.”

Our three. Why does that make Jisung’s head spin?

“Jeongin went to bed. I don’t even want to think about what the other two are doing,” Seungmin grimaces and shudders dramatically.

Oh, right, Jisung slumps, he was talking to Seungmin.

But Changbin is technically Jisung’s, even if he is off with Hyunjin. He perks back up at that.

He perks up even more when Minho ruffles his brother’s hair, offers a semi-cordial smile to Chan, and then saunters right up to Jisung.

“Hi,” Minho whispers once he’s close enough.

“Hey,” Jisung says dumbly and finally asks what he wanted earlier. “You okay?”

“Mm, yeah,” Minho leans into Jisung’s personal space and he can feel his face heat up. “I told him. We’re okay,” he says and gazes at Jisung warmly. It confuses him for just a moment, but then Minho is looking over at Felix and Chan with the same content expression.

The two of them are standing just as close as Minho and Jisung, if not closer. Chan is profusely apologizing about something, his hands wringing in front of him with guilt, but Felix looks at him like he hung the moon. The blonde smiles sweetly, bright like the sun, and surges forward to plant a soft kiss against Chan’s lips. It stuns the other before a big goofy smile replaces his shock and he pulls Felix in for another embrace.

“Aish, everyone needs to get a room!” Seungmin groans from where he’s struggling to move a whole stereo by himself. He gives up a few seconds later with a huff, “f*ck it. I’m going to bed. Minho, Lix, you guys know where the guest rooms are.”

Seungmin stomps off in the direction of the stairs and not long after, so do Chan and Felix, hands clasped tight and heads titled together.

Jisung snickers at Minho, “It’s physically painful for you to watch them go, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Minho replies briskly, voice strained and body tense. He has to give Minho some credit though. This is a huge step up from the irritable mess he was earlier in the night.

They both wait until Felix’s light laughter vanishes behind a gently closed door somewhere upstairs. Minho meets Jisung’s eyes and offers a small smile, the corner of his mouth curling upwards just enough to counter how exhausted he must be. Jisung feels it too, the heaviness in his bones weighing him down and draining any energy he has left.

He isn’t sure what to do right now. His ride just walked up the stairs and who knows how long it’ll be before he’s back in commission. There’s no way Jisung is walking home, afraid he’ll pass out ten minutes in or something dumb like that. He surveys his surroundings. The room feels much smaller now with all the furniture in place, but there’s a couch, Jisung supposes he could crash on that for a few hours.

A yawn breaks him away from his train of thought. Minho takes a step back, stretches his arms above his head just like he did before in the bathroom, and Jisung thinks he must be doing it on purpose. Guilty as ever, Jisung zeros in on the natural curve of his waist into his hips and up to the bare skin of his torso. He’s just as mesmerizing as he was before, even more so now that Jisung has had his hands on him.

Minho hums and holds out his hand for Jisung to take, which he does. Jisung never dared to consider going anywhere with Minho at this point, even if they seem to be on decent terms. The thought of following the other up the stairs and into a foreign bedroom is daunting, but a spark of excitement zips down Jisung’s spine.

Minho doesn’t take him upstairs, he leads Jisung by the hand over to the lush couch in the middle of the room. It’s huge, big enough to fit at least four people comfortably. Two people could probably sleep side by side, Jisung notes, his brain growing fuzzy from exhaustion.

The atmosphere is strange between them as Jisung takes one side of the couch. Minho takes a minute flicking off all the lights except for a single lamp in the corner, and then he’s settling opposite Jisung. They each have their backs pressed against the armrests, their feet almost touching in the middle.

Everything is quiet in the early morning, such a contrast from the headache inducing cacophony of music and people from earlier.

Jisung hates to say it, but it’s awkward. There are no more barriers to hide behind, no more excuses for wanting to be near one another. Or at least, Jisung assumes Minho still wants to be near him.

Minho blinks his sleepy cat-like eyes a few times and yawns once more. Jisung yawns too, caught by the contagious nature of it and twiddles his thumbs as Minho shimmies down to lay properly on the couch. Should…Jisung lay down too? Is that what’s supposed to happen now?

“Go to sleep, Jisung,” Minho mumbles. The light from the lamp highlights one cheekbone and the bridge of his nose. Pretty.

Tentatively, Jisung shifts his body until he’s laying flat too, his head cushioned by the smushy armrest. Minho has his body pushed up against the back of the couch, so Jisung teeters himself on the outer edge, leaving plenty of space between them.

The only thing he can hear now is the sound of their steady breathing. And for yet another time, Jisung wonders what happens after this? His friends are upstairs, mingled among those Minho cares about most. They’re creating their own bonds among each other, sure to continue doing so once the sun is high in the sky and they’re forced to wake up from whatever dream or nightmare this night has been. If Jisung had to guess, it’s been a dream for most of them.

As for himself, it’s undoubtedly been a mixture of both. Bitter moments and pleasurable highs mix together in his tired brain to form something unrecognizable, something new. It’s not entirely unpleasant. Jisung just wishes he knew what comes next.

In one smooth movement, Minho slides one leg over and brushes it against Jisung’s left one. It’s still for a moment, and then Minho nudges him again, this time tangling their legs together completely and sighing softly into the cushion under his cheek. It makes Jisung shiver and pray that Minho doesn't feel it, but with the way he smiles, Jisung knows he did.

Jisung isn’t sure what comes next.

But he allows himself to hope.