The Way You Look At Me

by Olly BaaBaa-Chan

The company executives have become aware of Minsung, and they believe it has gone to far. They command Han and Lee Know to separate from each other, but the two men find that harder to do than expected.

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Chan sat at his desk, playing with some new audio effects on his soundboard. He was deep in the groove, bobbing to the funky beat track he'd created when there was a knock at the door. He paused the music.

"Yeah," he called, "It's open."

Chan glanced up as the door creaked open, revealing a rather disheveled-looking Han. He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment but then slid into the room and closed the door. "The track sounds good," Han said.

"Oh yeah – thanks," Chan clicked 'play' on the track again to listen to a few more bars. Han sidled over to stand by his chair, admiring his Hyung's work. "Just playing around with some new stuff."

"Aren't we supposed to not be working right now?" Han asked, "We're supposed to be on break."

"I could say the same about you, holed up in your room every night." Chan gave him a scolding look. "What have you been up to, eh?"

Han grimaced and flopped down on the edge of Chan's bed. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Yeah, actually, that's what I was coming to ask you about. I need a favor?"

Chan swiveled in his chair to face his friend. "Yeah? What's up?"

Han gave him an unreadable look before dipping his eyeline to look at the floor. "I've been, um, working on a way to talk to Lino…"

Han paused, rubbing his hands together nervously. Chan rolled his chair a bit closer and leaned in, hoping to appear comforting. "Oh? That's good."

Han nodded reflexively but still did not look directly at Chan. He felt ridiculous asking such a request, but the idea of approaching Minho without Chan's help felt even worse. Han cleared his throat and said, "I, um, would like to talk to him privately, you know? I wondered if—" he finally looked at Chan, "I wondered if you could help me, um, clear the room?"

Chan watched as Han's eyes dipped again, presumably out of embarrassment. Chan could not help but smile at how cute Han was being. He laid a hand on Han's shoulder. "You need me to create a distraction so you can talk to Minho? What is this, a spy mission?" he joked.

Han looked up quickly, at first slighted, but then he struggled to hide his shy smile once he saw Chan's unapologetic grin. "Shut up, hyung!" he whined, and Chan laughed. "I just want some privacy, damn!"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." Chan said. He leaned back in his chair, still smiling, but his gaze traveled somewhere towards the ceiling while he thought. He then looked back at Han, his eyes sincere. "So you're going to talk to him to figure things out?"

Han chewed his cheek. He was honestly terrified of how things might turn out, but he at least had to try. "That's the plan," he said quietly.

Chan nodded slowly and tucked his arms across his chest. "Well, I'm sure everything will turn out fine, okay? Remember what I told you. We're on your side."

Han remembered, but he was unsure which side he was even on. He had tried to mentally prepare himself for any possible outcome he could think of over the last several days, but so far the probability of negative consequences far outweighed the chance of a happy ending. He just had to hope that he, Minho, and the team would be able to move forward no matter what the end result may be.

Chan took notice of Han's worried silence. He leaned forward again and patted Han's knee soothingly. "You aiming to do it tonight, then?" Han gulped. He could just as easily plan to do it maybe never, but that seemed like a less helpful option, so he nodded. Chan sighed and gave his friend a kind smile. "Got it. I'll arrange to take the group out for dinner to give you a few hours. Is that good enough?"

"Yeah." Han nodded gratefully. "But you'll make sure Lino stays behind?" He was not sure Minho would willingly stay to talk to him if he asked. If he found out all the other members were going out to dinner, he might very well try to join the bandwagon just to avoid Han.

"No worries, mate. I'll handle it," Chan assured him. "I'll be extra sneaky for this super-secret spy mission." He immediately dropped into a ridiculous pose, holding finger guns like he was James Bond. Han groaned at his idiocy but found himself laughing, nonetheless. Chan had such a charming way of easing tension in a room.

Chan split into a wide grin again before it softened, and he leaned in to give his friend a hug. Han accepted it, squeezing his Hyung affectionately. "You've got this Hannie," Chan said, "You focus on what you need to do and I'll handle the rest, yeah?" he pulled away and patted Han's shoulder. "I'll shoot you a text when the coast is clear."

Han spent the next several hours locked in his room, anxiously waiting. He paced the small space, practiced what he wanted to say, and generally just wallowed in his anxiety. He tried to envision what Minho's reactions and responses might be, prepping for a variety of scenarios, but as the afternoon stretched into evening, Han felt like his nerves were on fire. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone suddenly pinged, sounding as loud as a foghorn in his brain. He took a deep breath and checked it.

'Wolf leader to Quokka. Perimeter is clear. Mission is go for launch.'

"So stupid," Han muttered to himself, though he couldn't help but feel the pull at the corners of his mouth.

He exhaled a deep, calming breath, grabbed what he needed, and left the quiet security of his dorm, walking the few meters to the other guys' dorm down the hall. He knocked very lightly out of courtesy, but when he found the door unlocked, he gently turned the knob and peaked his head inside. True to his word, Chan had somehow miraculously cleared the area. The dorm sat empty and quiet. A few mugs and dishes still sat in the kitchen sink from earlier that morning. There was a hoodie slouched over the living room couch, a laptop left on the kitchen bar, and an energy drink can left unfinished on the side table. Han scanned the space, finding it so uncannily empty he wondered if Minho was even there. If he wasn't in the common area, then he must be in his room. Han swallowed hard and turned down the hallway, stopping outside Minho's door and listening. Faint dinging sounds could be heard through door, as though Minho was playing some sort of game. So he was in there. Han weighed his options—the thought of escaping back to his own dorm felt especially tempting—but he finally took a breath, steeled his nerves, and knocked.

"Yeah…?"

Minho's voice was muffled through the door, but it still gave Han butterflies. He gritted his teeth, trying to stave off the urge to run away. "Hey!" he called timidly, "It's me…" He paused and then lamely, "it's Han, I mean." He pinched his nose, utterly embarrassed. Of course he knows that, you idiot!

There was a suffocating silence from the other side of the door. Even the faint dinging sounds stopped suddenly. Han counted his heartbeats, feeling them rapidly accelerating, until after several seconds there was the light sound of some shuffling. The doorknob clicked, the door swung open, and there was Minho: standing there in front of him, his t-shirt and joggers wrinkled from sleeping in them and his hair slightly disheveled. He must not have left his room all day. Han reflexively bowed in surprise, rising to see Minho's judgmental expression eyeing him curiously.

"Why did you bow?"

Han instantly felt like an idiot.

"Um, I don't know."

He suddenly felt very small looking up at Minho. It was like he was seeing him for the very first time. His eyes caught on to the tiniest details of Minho's features, like the small clump of long eye lashes that were stuck together, or the gentle shadows under his eyes. He admired Minho's perfectly sculpted nose and the tiny, adorable cupid's bow of his upper lip. When he finally caught sight of Minho's dark and intense eyes, his mind went completely blank.

"So?" Minho leaned in the doorway, keeping the door still mostly closed to show that Han was clearly not entirely welcome. "Did you need something?" Han blinked at him numbly, trying to remember what he was even doing there before Minho's gaze dipped further downward. "Why do you have a guitar?"

Oh. Right. His guitar.

Han gripped the neck of the instrument tightly. His brain was slowly catching up to him again. "Yeah, I, um…" he struggled.

Minho shifted on his feet, but his expression remained impassive. His eyes flicked beyond Han warily. "Where's everyone else?"

"I don't know," Han lied. Quickly to deflect suspicion, he asked, "Can I come in?"

Minho's eyes flicked back to him, dark and unreadable. He stared at Han for a moment, but then dipped his head, "Jisungie, I don't think—"

"—Please?"

Minho looked startled to be interrupted. Han chewed his lip. Please, please don't make me do this in the hallway…

Several seconds passed—fifteen heartbeats, Han counted—until Minho cautiously opened the door a little further and turned away, walking back to his bed but leaving the doorway open. Han let go of the breath he had been holding. The first hurdle was over. He was here, with Minho, alone. There was no turning back now. Han held tightly to his guitar and stepped into the room, gently closing the door behind him. Even though there was no one else in the dorm, the closed door still helped him feel a little safer. He turned slowly to find Minho seated cross legged on his bed, looking at Han expectantly. Han let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the setting of what might be his greatest triumph or his most tragic failure. Again, it felt weird being in a space he had been in before hundreds of times, but now it somehow felt different. His eyes locked on to Minho's desk chair, which he crossed to and sat down in, setting his guitar on the floor beside him. Minho watched him silently, and Han could feel his anxiety rising from his legs up to his throat. He immediately lost all the courage he had built up to just enter the room, and now he needed a moment to compose himself.

So he stalled.

"What were you playing?"

"Huh?" Minho looked genuinely confused at the question.

Han tried again, attempting and failing at appearing casual. "I heard noises that sounded like a video game."

"Oh, uh… yeah. I was playing one on my phone."

"What game was it?"

"Just a stupid game."

"A game about what?"

"Cats making sushi."

Han snickered, unable to hold back his amusement. Of course Minho was playing a cat video game. That was so like him. He always appeared so serious and withdrawn, but he was secretly so adorable. But when Han raised his eyes to meet Minho's, his smile fell. Minho did not look in the least bit amused. He was quickly becoming irritated with Han's stalling.

"Why are you here, Jisung?"

Han felt his nervousness rising again, causing his knee to bounce and his neck to sweat. He had to get this over quickly, or he would lose his chance. Avoiding eye contact, Han scratched at a spot on his sweatpants. Say it, he commanded himself, Just say it already!

"I wrote a song," he suddenly blurted. When he looked back at Minho, he felt distressed to see that Minho's expression had not changed. He dropped his gaze again, feeling very self-conscious…but then Minho took pity on him.

"A song?"

Han looked up again to see that Minho's face had softened. He didn't look excited, or even pleased, but at the very least he seemed to understand that his dark, expressionless stare was making Han uncomfortable—and the small fact that he had changed it simply to protect Han's feelings gave Han hope.

Feeling a surge of confidence, Han lifted his guitar into his lap. "Yeah," he responded, "I wanted you to hear it." He watched Minho's Adam's apple dip, but he did not appear to want to stop Han. Taking that as a sign of allowance, Han reached for his notebook to quickly scan his lyrics and chord changes. It had taken him the better part of two nights' work to pull it together, so he still felt shaky on the progression.

He quickly settled in his seat, pulling the guitar close and trying to regulate his breathing. He carefully strummed E-minor…then B-minor… rolling through the chords he would need while muttering quietly to himself has he practiced the hand placements. He closed his eyes, feeling the smooth finish of the guitar under his arm, feeling the pressure of the strings resisting against his fingertips. This was his moment. Music was his safe space, his release. It was how he processed his feelings and his fears. His passion to create was driven by his need to connect with the world around him, and he did so with his music.

Just feeling the instrument in his arms brought Han a sense of calm. He breathed deeply and slowly, and then his right hand began to sway up and down, his pick striking the strings in rhythmic intervals. He allowed himself to fall into the music, focusing on the familiar comforting motion instead of his surroundings or his audience. His eyes slid open, locking onto his own hands working: his right strumming in time while his left moved smoothly across the fretboard. And then, he sang:

I've never felt more lonely than when I was surrounded
I've never felt more tired than when I have been grounded
I've never felt more hungry than when I thought I was full
I've never felt wise until I was made a fool

His voice was light and shaky, but as the words came through him, he felt his confidence growing stronger.

I've never felt more closed away than when the world was open
I've never wished for more until you left me hoping
I've never felt so blind even with a bright lit sky
I never knew what love was until I let it pass me by

He swallowed hard as the chords built up to the chorus. He could not look at Minho yet. He was too afraid he would lose his nerve. He took a breath.

But what is love, love,
If I'm too blind to see it?
What is love, love,
I didn't know that I would need it.
How can I know
If I will know
what love is or what could be?
But I know that I can feel it
in the way you look at me.

He thought back to all those clips from before, the ones where Minho was looking at him with such adoration and he never even knew it. Minho had been there for so long, waiting for Han to love him back and quietly believing it would never happen… but he would not have to wait any longer.

Han slid his hand over the frets while his right tickled the strings for an improvised bridge section. He had only written a few verses. He would have to face Minho soon.

I've never felt so cold on a warm and sunny day
I haven't been the same ever since you went away
It's not what I thought it would be saying goodbye to a friend
and so the pain I felt made me start to think again

Finally, the last chorus. He slowed his strumming into a gradual ritardando. He needed Minho to hear every bit of this last part clearly.

So what is love, love?
I think I know the answer
This is love, love,
and it deserves a chance here
Now I know just how it feels
to love the one I see
Because the way I look at you—

He lifted his eyes to look at Minho directly.

—Is the way you look at me.

He ended with a gentle strum, plucking each individual string slowly and letting the sound ring into the air… but his eyes were fixed on Minho's. Minho's face had gone almost completely slack; his mouth was just slightly agape and his eye lids were relaxed. He seemed almost stunned. The men stared at each other for a long time, neither one willing to break the silence. Han could not help but admire just how beautiful Minho was just sitting there in front him. He could stare at him forever.

At long last, Minho blinked several times as though he was drawing himself back into reality. He shifted, ducking his head so Han could not see his eyes. "W-wow," he stuttered, looking vastly uncomfortable, "That was, um," Usually Minho was not so easily flustered. Han's heart swelled, wanting so badly to reach out and comfort him. Minho finally looked back at him. "That's a beautiful song, Jisungie." He hesitated a moment before saying, "I'm sure STAY will love it." And then he ducked his gaze again.

"Wha—?" Han gave a sort of disbelieving huff. Is he being serious right now? He tried to lean down to catch Minho's eye. "I didn't write it for STAY," he said emphatically. "I wrote it for you."

This time when Minho looked up, Han could see his discomfort more clearly. He looked almost distraught. Panicking, Han put his guitar on the floor and crossed the room, placing his hands on Minho's shoulders. He did not know where this sudden surge of courage came from—he was just more worried that Minho's reaction seemed to be tragically opposite of what he had hoped for. He just confessed his love for the man, and for some reason he looked terrified like he had just been diagnosed with some horrible disease.

"Linoring," he whispered, "Hey, hey, look at me." Minho seemed to be struggling to look at Han. He tried a few times, but he could not hold the eye contact for long. Han squeezed his arms in desperation. "Lino, please—"

When Minho continued to avoid eye contact, Han slipped his hands upward, so they were resting on either side of Minho's strong neck. He used his thumbs to gently push Minho's face upward, forcing him to look at his face. Minho did not fight it. He stared at Han, his eyes brimming with fear but also something else. Han could feel Minho's pulse thrumming quickly under his fingertips. His eyes dipped to Minho's perfect, pink lips. His mouth was slightly open. Han felt a heady warmth take over him.

He leaned forward.

"What are you doing?!" Minho gasped and lurched backwards. He was still in Han's grasp, but his hands now stretched up to claps Han's wrists defensively. Han felt the fuzziness receding as he realized what he had tried to do. But instead of feeling fearful, he suddenly felt bold. There was something about seeing Minho be so vulnerable that set his nerves on fire.

"I want to try it," Han said, too bashful to actually say the word itself. His voice sounded deeper than he expected. "If… you'll let me."

Minho gaped at him in disbelief. His breathing was shallow, and Han thought he could even feel Minho trembling under his hands. His eyes traced Han's face from his eyes to his lips to his throat to his eyes again until—after what seemed like an eternity—he gave a tiny, shuddering nod.

Han felt the heat return to his head, nearly blurring his vision. This was it. It was actually going to happen. He swallowed thickly and nodded back, confirming his intentions. Minho straightened, breathing heavily but trying to retain composure. Han as well felt like he was drunk, moving in slow motion. He could feel Minho's thumbs gently rubbing his wrists and it made him feel dizzy. He moved slower this time, worried any sudden movements would scare Minho away again—

But Minho did not move away.

Not when Han's nose brushed his.

Not when the baby hairs of their cheeks brushed against each other.

Not when their lips finally connected.

The kiss was soft and sweet and over as soon as it started. Han pulled away just far enough to see Minho's dumbstruck face, his pink lips still parted and pouting. Han's mouth pulled into a tiny smile. He had done it. He hadn't run away this time. He was more in control of himself now, more aware of how he felt and what he wanted, and as his eyes continued to linger on Minho's mouth he realized that what he wanted was more.

He leaned in again, this time with more fervor. He heard Minho gasp just before their mouths connected again, but Han was too enthralled with the feverish pulsations rushing through his head and chest to notice. He had not kissed someone in so long, not since before he moved to Korea, and he had forgotten how fucking amazing it felt. He pressed his face towards Minho hungrily, until he suddenly felt himself being ripped away—

When his eyes came into focus, he could see Minho locked in his arms and panting, but Minho's arms were extended out, pushing Han away from him. Dread suddenly flooded Han as he worried he had done something wrong.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "D-did I hurt you?"

Minho was still panting. His eyes were wide and his lips now shimmered wet from their kiss. His mouth opened and closed a few times as though he was trying to speak, but no words came out. He finally shook his head 'no'. Han felt relief that he had not unintentionally hurt Minho somehow, considering he was a vastly inexperienced kisser—but now he was filled with worry as to why else Minho had stopped him.

"What's wrong?" Han asked. He let one of his hands drift up to stroke Minho's cheek instinctually, and Minho almost flinched away from it. He finally gained his voice back.

"I can't, I c-can't" he finally gasped. His voice was hoarse and quiet, and his chest still rose and fell in shuddering rhythm. His eyes searched Han's face desperately.

"Can't what?" Han asked. He suddenly recalled Minho saying something similar in the dance studio before running away. Han swallowed dryly, trying to ignore the fear that might happen again.

Minho shook his head and licked his lips, seeming to struggle with what to say. "I don't know what this is," he finally admitted, "But if you're doing this somehow to appease me—I can't let you do something like that," His eyes slid closed as though he was afraid to see Han's face or hear his response, but he stayed leaned into the hand that Han had placed on his cheek.

Han felt confused. Did Minho think Han was forcing himself to do something he did not want to do? Why was he suddenly being so closed off? "Did you listen to the song?" he asked, almost laughing in disbelief. "Did you hear what I was saying?" Han gently brushed away some stray hairs from Minho's forehead. "I'm trying to say I love you."

Minho opened his eyes again and stared at Han. He bit his lip, carefully contemplating his response: "But you're not—I didn't think you were—" he struggled for the right way to say it, but Han felt he was starting to understand. "When we were in the studio, you pushed me away when I—"

His voice faltered. Han could see the shame rolling off of Minho. He must have felt so horrible after that day, thinking for weeks afterward that Han was repulsed by his attraction. He must have felt so scared exposing his secret, only to have his closest friend and romantic interest seemingly reject him. Han felt terrible for putting Minho through such worry and disappointment, but now it made sense why Minho was so scared this time.

Han gripped Minho's shoulder tightly, while his other hand continued to rest against Minho's cheek. He swept his thumb gently back and forth over Minho's cheekbone while gazing into his eyes. He whispered sweetly, "Listen to me, Linoring—I meant what I said. I want this. All of it." He smiled bashfully, dipping his gaze away, feeling a hot blush rushing to his ears. This all felt like a poorly scripted romance drama, but it was true. He had to say it. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it, but I want us to be together. That's what the song was saying. I'm not myself when I'm not with you." He carefully looked back at Minho, hoping he could see the sincerity in his eyes. "You are a piece of me and I'm not going to let you go."

Han could feel his heart pounding in his chest like it might burst through his ribcage then and there, but he forced himself to stay locked on Minho. Minho looked stunned, his beautiful face still cradled in Han's hand. He waited—two heartbeats, then five heartbeats—the two men simply staring at each other in quiet, astonished silence until something in Minho seemed to click. His wide eyes appeared to relax, and one corner of his mouth ticked upward, making Han's heart flutter. He could feel Minho's hands still on his chest, but they felt softer and less rigid now. Slowly, Minho's fingers began moving, twisting. Han glanced down to see the thin fabric of his t-shirt was now wrapped securely in Minho's strong grip, and when he looked back at Minho his expression seemed to have changed. His dark eyes looked almost hungry, and Han could tell Minho was not looking at his eyes. He was looking at Han's mouth.

Suddenly, in a flash of skin and hair, Minho lurched forward while at the same time yanking Han's shirt towards him. Han came crashing down, but Minho caught him with a feverish, desperate kiss. Something had clearly changed—Minho was no longer timid and reserved. He kissed Han so hard it drew out a muffled groan of surprise from the younger, but Minho did not let up. He tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss while his hands traveled up to grasp Han's neck, his fingers digging deep into the base of Han's hairline. Han felt the rush of adrenaline hit his consciousness at lightspeed. Every nerve on his body felt hot and tingly. He tried to keep up, but Minho was fully monopolizing every angle, leaving Han to desperately fumble with his hands while his lips tried to keep up with Minho's. He grasped at Minho's shirt, at his arms, his shoulders, his hair—he didn't know what to do. He could barely remember to breathe while the delicious, fluttery sensations continued to cascade through his limbs.

They continued hungrily at one another, neither one willing or able to break away, but the position soon became uncomfortable. Minho was still crouched on the bed while Han leaned over him, so Minho let his hands travel downward. He hooked the back of Han's knee, coaxing him to climb onto the bed, then he hooked the other knee, leading Han to sit straddled over his lap. Han felt immediately embarrassed, having never done something like this before, but Minho held him fast. He pressed their bodies together as they finally broke apart for air. While Han was left gasping, Minho quickly turned his attention to Han's neck, now that it was within his reach. He spread small, hot kisses along his jawbone and down behind his ear. When he found the crook of Han's neck, he left his lips pressed against the skin and sucked, shooting a pleasurable shockwave through Han's limbs. His head dipped backward reflexively and he let out a small, gasping moan.

Instantly Han's back snapped straight and he slapped a hand over his mouth. Had that sound really just come from him? He sounded like a lewd pornographic video. Minho sensed Han's rigidity and pulled away, also lost for breath and panting. When he caught sight of Han's shocked expression, his now puffy lips pulled into a mischievous smile. He chuckled while Han continued to hide his blushing face. "What's wrong, jagi?" he teased.

Han melted at hearing Minho call him that again. It had been so long since he heard it last, but now after everything that had happened it felt like it meant something more. They used to call each other jagiya mostly as a joke, but now it felt real. He peaked out from behind his hands, gazing at Minho's handsome face. It truly just wasn't fair how pretty he was. "Nothing," Han finally answered. He could feel Minho's hands caressing the sides of his body up and down, gently squeezing at the curvature of his narrow waist.

"You're okay?"

"Mhm."

Minho's grin shifted into a sweeter smile. He wrapped his arms tightly around Han's middle. "Can you stop hiding your face from me then?"

Han tensed, still not entirely recovered from his embarrassment, but he let his hands drop slowly, leading them to rest on Minho's broad shoulders. Minho continued to stare at him fondly, unable to hold back his smile as his eyes roamed over Han's now visibly flushed face. His hands fiddled with the hem of Han's shirt, his fingers delicately brushing at the skin underneath. Han felt the goosebumps erupting from each stroke of a fingertip.

Minho gave a heavy sigh, his lazy smile still playing in his lips. "You really love me?"

Han smiled shyly, trying to focus while Minho's fingers drew little squiggles along his lower back. "Yeah," he muttered, "I do."

Minho's dark eyes seem to sparkle. His smile grew wider. "Say it again."

Han pursed his lips, feeling indignant. "I just said it!"

Minho shifted, pulling Han even closer, though there wasn't much space left to begin with. "I want to hear it again."

Han 'tsked' and rolled his neck. The greedy bastard was doing this on purpose, making Han squirm just to see his reaction. This was so like Minho to push his buttons like this, but secretly Han couldn't help but feel the butterflies in his stomach. He could see the muscles in Minho's jaw tensing, trying to hold back his devilish, teasing smile.

"Jagiya," Minho whined when Han did not respond, "Say it again!" His hands drifted further up Han's shirt, making Han jump when his knuckles brushed past a ticklish area.

Han withdrew himself into a tight ball, giggling as Minho tried to reach further, more sensitive areas. "You heard me say it!" he laughed, "I wrote a whole song saying it!" Minho began to laugh now, too, completely enthralled in watching Han's unintentional cuteness. Han continued wriggling in Minho's lap, trying to speak clearly through his giggles. "I've said it twice—already and you—you haven't said anything to me yet!"

Instantly Minho's hands stopped roaming and his smile dropped. He pulled Han tight against him, staring intensely into his eyes. "I love you, Jisungie." He said it so firmly and calmly it made Han blush. "I've loved you for years." He let one of his hands go, reaching for Han's hand at his shoulder and lacing their fingers together. "I've loved you since you held my hand when I had to rap for the first time, and I've never stopped since."

His eyelashes dipped, for now it was his turn to be bashful while Han simply gazed at him with astonishment. He had not expected Minho to give in and confess so easily, but it must be a relief knowing he had held onto these feelings for so long and could finally say them out loud. Han knew the moment Minho referenced. It had even been televised from before their debut, and Han had seen the clip dozens of times, even when he was watching Minsung videos the other night. He remembered it so vividly, all of them terrified and shaking, fearing elimination from the group. Minho had actually been the first to hold Han's hand because was physically shaking from nervousness, but when Minho was commanded to rap a verse that he had never practiced before, Han had grasped his hand back. It was notably one of the founding moments of their close bond together, and now Han realized why. They truly had loved each other all this time. Perhaps Minho was more aware of what it really was earlier on, but now Han understood too, and it brought warm waves of adulation to his chest.

Han blinked slowly and leaned forward, pressing a sweet, soft kiss on Minho's lips. He loved this man so much. Minho hummed contentedly into the kiss, but when Han pulled away his playful smile had returned. "Now will you say it again?"

Han made a mocking noise of disgust and shifted like he was trying to stand up, but Minho's grip was too strong. "Are you serious?"

"Say it!"

"Fine!" Han stopped struggling. He tried to assume a look of irritation, but he could feel the muscles in his cheeks fighting to smile. "I love you."

Minho's smile stretched further. He bit his bottom lip. "Again."

"You're unbelievable!"

Minho chuckled, unable to contain his obvious joy. He leaned forward and used the tip of his nose to trace along Han's jawline. Han swallowed down the flutters that threatened to race up his throat.

"Again."

Han bit his own lip and groaned, both furious at Minho for his teasing but also secretly angry at himself for liking it so much. Through gritted teeth, Han obliged. "I love you."

Minho continued tracing along Han's jaw. He leaned in further, his hot breath rolling down the sensitive skin on Han's neck. He kissed Han's left earlobe, making Han shudder, and then shamelessly whispered,

"Again."

Han nearly successfully ripped out of Minho's grasp this time. His introversion was raging, but his body was loving the tingling sensations Minho's teasing gave him. Perhaps this was all a mistake. He could not be close to this man after all. Minho was going to drive him mad with his incessance. He whipped to face Minho, ready to scold him, but when he saw Minho's dark, pleading eyes he instantly deflated. Minho had him absolutely whipped, wrapped up around his littlest finger. Han would give him anything he asked for.

Finally resigned, Han squeezed his eyes shut tight. "I love you, Lee Minho!" He ducked his face into Minho's shoulder, too embarrassed to look at him directly. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!"

Han felt Minho's shoulders shaking as he laughed, hugging Han tightly around his middle. When Han pulled back to see his face, Minho was smiling so big his eyes nearly disappeared. Han squeezed his lips together, still trying not to smile. "Is that enough times?" he asked snidely.

Minho bit his lower lip, still lightly laughing. "For now," he relented, "But I'll never get tired of hearing it."

"Oh—you—" Han blushed hotly. "You're such a flirt."

Minho ducked his head under Han's chin. His hands moved to grasp Han's hips firmly, as though holding him in place. Han could feel the vibrations as Minho hummed low in his throat, his lips dragging along Han's collarbone.

"Can you blame me?" he muttered, pressing his hot lips against Han's exposed skin.

Han let his eyes slip close as pleasurable flutters began to build within him again. He could smell the clean scent of Minho's shampoo from his hair. He could feel his own heart beat drumming in his throat. He let his body relax into Minho, who took the opportunity in stride. This time he did not hesitate at the edge of Han's shirt, but instead his hands drifted fully inside, stroking and groping at the muscles along Han's back. Overwhelmed, Han searched for Minho's mouth and found it, pulling him into another heated kiss. It was all he could do stop himself from moaning again as Minho's hot hands set his skin on fire.

Both men continued this way, rocking, panting, clinging to each other, until Minho's hands traveled further to Han's front. When Minho's thumb grazed his pert nipple, Han suddenly let out a hiss of air. He had not expected it to be so sensitive.

Minho took this moment as his chance. Tugging at the thin fabric, he growled, "Take it off."

Han felt his heart skip a beat hearing such a command. His jaw was still slack, his mouth still wet, and his brain still foggy from their kiss—but this demand still made him nervous. Kissing was one thing, but Minho's demeanor seemed to have switched into something much more sexual. Han worried if he was ready for such a step. He felt very inexperienced in the whole area, but as he looked over Minho's expression he suddenly felt a deep excitement building. Minho was looking at him hungrily. Desperately. Minho wanted him—and that feeling of being desired was a powerful drug. Han found himself wanting to make Minho want him. He wondered absently if maybe he held the same seductive power over Minho that Minho weld over him. Maybe he could make Minho just as flustered as he had felt. Maybe he could wrap Minho around his finger, too.

"Take yours off first," he dared. He smirked slyly, crossing his arms over his chest. To his enjoyment, Minho looked genuinely blindsided, not expecting to be challenged. He narrowed his eyes.

"I asked first," he countered, "So you should take yours off first."

"I don't recall you asking anything," Han retorted sharply, his face pulling into a judgmental expression. "There was no 'please'!"

"Fine," Minho sneered. "I told you to take it off." His hands slipped downward and cupped Han's tight little ass from behind, trying to assert dominance.

Han inhaled sharply at the contact. Minho had slapped, tapped, and grabbed his butt before, but not like this. The man's grip felt so tight on his cheeks that Han felt every single finger digging into his skin through the fabric of his joggers. It felt wickedly enjoyable.

Holding firm to his resolve, Han licked his lips, trying to keep his mind clear. "And I told you to take yours off first." He doubled down: "You take off your shirt first or else I won't take mine off."

Minho tongued his cheek in annoyance. His gaze roamed over Han's still-covered chest as though he wished he could simply remove it with his eyes. He did not like being beat at his own game. They each stared each other down for several seconds, but finally Minho's impatience got the better of him. Practically sulking, he withdrew his hands and leaned backward, never taking his eyes of Han. He used one arm to cross his body, grabbed the bottom edge of his shirt, and pulled diagonally so that the flimsy article was removed in one fell swoop. He crumpled the fabric angrily and tossed it behind Han, who in that moment seemed to have entered a comatose state. He felt winded, like he suddenly could not breathe. He could only rake over Minho's beautiful, chiseled chest with his eyes, tracing the shadows and lines of his abdomen muscles, catching a glimpse of his old surgical scar, watching how his shoulders and his pectorals budged as he shifted underneath Han.

Minho seemed to enjoy watching Han watch him, but when Han extended a tentative hand forward, Minho caught his wrist and 'tsk'd' at him. "A deal's a deal," he mumbled, now smirking devilishly.

Han swallowed hard, suddenly feeling inadequate. Even with all the work outs he'd been doing recently, he was no where nearly as built as Minho was. What if Minho was disappointed? He clenched his teeth together, his jaw muscles ticking with tension. He felt so nervous… He could not watch Minho's reaction. He carefully crossed both his arms across his middle and fingered the edge of his shirt, breathing heavily and avoiding Minho's eyes. His arms lifted in an 'X' as he pulled the shirt upward and over his head, exposing his body but hiding his blood-rushed face. He slowly lifted the fabric over and off of his head and pulled his arms through, letting the shirt fall to the floor behind him.

He gulped again and again, his throat dry with anxiety, but when he finally gathered the courage to look back at Minho, it appeared he need not have worried. Minho seemed entirely lost in himself, his eyes blinking rapidly and his lips parted. He was completely overtaken staring at Han's naked chest. Han smiled shyly, pleased to see that Minho did not at all look disappointed in what he saw.

Minho suddenly stretched his body like a cat, reaching again to cup Han's rear and press their torsos fully together. Both men gasped at the immediate heat of so much skin-to-skin contact. Han felt his own back arch reflexively, pressing into the delicious feeling. He felt he could stay in that rapturous moment forever, but then Minho was quickly shifting, leaning further and further forward, so much that Han had to wrap his arms around his neck to keep from falling backwards. With his hands still firmly grasped onto Han's backside, he untangled his legs beneath them and stood, lifting Han clear into the air before he turned around, leaned over, and promptly dropped him on to the bed. Han landed on his back with a surprised 'Oof!' while Minho towered over him. He sidled onto the bed above Han, straddling his hips. His stare was so intense that Han felt like a prey animal being watched by a predator.

Feeling incredibly exposed in this position, Han attempted to cover himself with his arms, but Minho swiftly grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. The veins in his strong arms bulged prominently from his skin. "Don't," he warned hungrily. "I want to see you."

Han's chest rose and fell in deep, ragged breaths. Minho's words made him feel somehow dirty, but he didn't dislike it. He secretly enjoyed watching Minho's eyes scour over him. He even didn't mind the pressure of Minho's hands against his wrists. Feeling so vulnerable and desirable made him feel… excited. The view of Minho's long, strong body arched over him made his brain fuzzy, and a familiar tightening feeling began to bloom in his lower abdomen.

"You're so beautiful, Jisungie."

Han felt heat rush to his face, but it did not appear Minho saw it. With Han's wrists still pinned, Minho dipped his long, elegant neck downward, so that the tip of his nose barely grazed Han's skin. Han gasped a soft, "Ah!" and his breathing immediately quickened. This man was surely going to drive him crazy. Looking down at his own body, Han could just barely see Minho's dark grin. He was enjoying teasing him. He kissed a spot right above Han's bellybutton, seemingly amused by how Han squirmed beneath him. When he licked a hot line up Han's middle, Han's back snapped taught and his hips rolled forward instinctually as he tried to stifle yet another moan from escaping him.

Minho seemed incredibly taken with that last motion, as he glanced down at their hips curiously. Releasing Han's wrists, he let his own hands press against the mattress underneath them, stabilizing his body weight. Using one of his knees, he gently separated Han's legs, just as he had done in the dance studio all those weeks before. He carefully placed himself in between Han's thighs and delicately lowered his hips.

This time, Minho was not the only one with an erection.

Both men groaned simultaneously at the pressure against their cocks. Minho's seemed completely overcome by the experience, his forehead dropping to rest against Han's bare chest. Han's eyes wandered wildly across the ceiling, trying to focus, but the sensation seemed to have literally blurred his vision for a moment. His hands moved of their own accord, seeking something to hold on to. He reached from under Minho's arms to grasp at his back, feeling like he was holding on dear life. Minho's skin felt like it was on fire under his palms.

It took a moment for them to both recover, but soon Minho had regained himself and he lifted his eyes to meet Han's. They shimmered like black onyx, searing straight through Han and bringing heat to his neck and cheeks. Minho rolled his hips again, watching ravenously as Han's chin tilted upward, unable to stop his back from arching into the pleasure. How had he gone so many years without this? How had he barely even thought of it? He was going to be ruined after this. He would never not think about it now… especially as Minho's hips rolled again…and again…and again…grinding in a hypnotic rhythm. Han could feel his eyes rolling back and closing. He felt like he was drowning.

He might have been lost entirely, except that one of Minho's hands reached up to grope his chin, and he felt his fingers playing at the edge of his lips until suddenly Minho shoved one long finger directly into his mouth.

"Suck." he panted.

Han did not stop to think about what he was doing or how vulgar it was. He could only barely focus on the delicious shivers coursing through him every time Minho ground against his throbbing erection. He closed his mouth around the digit and did as he was commanded, sucking on it hard. A low, throaty moan escaped Minho as he did so, and his thrusts became harder. The sound made Han's head go numb. God, what he would do to hear it again. He continued to suck on the finger, rolling his tongue around it, feeling the bend of each knuckle. Minho's panting was becoming harsher, his movements more erratic. Han began reflexively pushing his hips upward to meet Minho's, using his hands on Minho's back to lift his weight upward. He could feel the tension in his lower body building. If they continued like this for very much longer, he might very well come apart in his pants.

Just as he could feel the sweet high building to a climax, Minho suddenly pulled away, withdrawing his finger and leaning backward, leaving Han confused and shivering beneath him. His gaze slowly came into focus, roaming over Minho's heaving chest, now glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He too was looking down at Han, his face now flushed and his hair beautifully tousled from Han clinging to it. Han dipped his line of vision and could clearly see the lump of Minho's member stretching tauntingly through the fabric of his pants. He looked even lower and nervously gazed at his own hips, a clear triangle poking outward from his own pulsing cock. It felt so weird seeing the both of them in this state, but Han's embarrassment was more overwhelmed by the disappointing escape of his tantalizing orgasm.

He let his eyes travel back upward, locking onto to Minho's. He seemed to be struggling, his shoulders still rising and falling in desperate pants, the muscles in his neck tensed. "Jisungie," he rasped, "I want you—" His mouth hung slightly open as his eyes traced over Han's body once more, "I want you so bad."

Han swallowed hard. He knew what Minho meant, but he again felt foolishly inadequate. He had never done anything like this before. He chewed his lip nervously, his chest still heaving. "I-I don't know how," he admitted quietly, feeling very small and self-conscious laying underneath this perfectly sculpted Greek God of a man.

Minho gave him a small smile. "My sweet jagi," he cooed. He leaned over Han, gently brushing away damp hairs from his face. "If you trust me, I'll show you."

Han felt his heart rate spiking, racing to a new tempo now. His brain turned over and over, trying to review every small detail he recalled about sex and how it worked, particularly between two men. Uneasy flutters trickled through him. Wouldn't it hurt? How would he know if he was doing it right? What if he didn't like it?

Minho took notice of Han's hesitation. His face fell slightly, looking concerned, and he retracted. "It's okay," he whispered, "We don't have to." He stroked Han's face lovingly. "I would never make you do something you don't want to do."

But Han did not feel relief as Minho leaned away, creating distance between them. He instead felt immediate disappointment as the heat dissipated. His own sweat now felt too cold on his skin. He needed to feel Minho close again.

"Wait," he said anxiously. He reached to grab one of Minho's hands, lacing their fingers together, the same way they had done when they tried to comfort each other all those years ago. "I do trust you," he whispered, "I'm just nervous…"

Minho looked down at him adoringly. He leaned forward, still clasping Han's hand in his own, and pressed a long, warm kiss against his lips. Han felt the heat returning, warming him from the inside out. Minho pulled back to look at him again.

"Are you sure?"

Han nodded.

Having received the confirmation he needed, Minho licked his lips and propped himself backward on his knees. He released Han's grasp so that he could place both of his own hands at the edge of his waistband, his thumbs hooked under the fabric. Han could only watch, completely transfixed on every small movement. He noticed Minho hesitating. For all the confidence he portrayed, he too seemed to be nervous about this next step—but, after mustering the gall he needed, he pulled the waist band downward and his cock sprang free—red, veiny, and throbbing in the cool air of the room. Han's jaw dropped against his will, staring unabashedly at it. He'd of course seen penises before—it was a natural hazard when one lived with seven other men—but he had never seen another one so fully erect and in person. He watched Minho's strong hand reach down to grasp it, stroking himself gently. A small, dewy bead of moisture peaked out from the slit on the head.

"Are you okay?"

Han closed his mouth, suddenly tasting how dry it was. He blinked furiously as his heart threatened to explode out of his chest. "Y-yeah," he nodded, still unable to draw his eyes away. His voice sounded suddenly higher in pitch. He cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

Minho continued stroking himself while looking down at Han. "You sure?"

Han nodded again, and finally tore his eyes away to look at Minho's face. He was not sure what he should do next, and Minho seemed to understand and took pity on him. He asked gently, "Can you…take yours out, too?"

Han panted nervously, knowing what he wanted but still fearful to do it. With trembling hands, he reached for the edge of his joggers, where his erection was still pressing fretfully against the thin fabric. Biting his lip, he carefully lifted his hips and slid the edges downward. There was brief moment where the elastic resisted at first, but then his dick finally leapt free from its imprisonment, standing proudly erect above his thighs.

"Damn, Jisung," Minho muttered, looking down admiringly at Han's exposed flesh. Han felt his member twitch in response and he turned his gaze away, embarrassed. Breathing heavily, he gripped himself to mirror Minho, feeling his cock pulsing under his grasp. Now what?

Minho bit his lip and carefully shuffled his pants even further down, such that waistband was now even below the curve of his ass. Han found himself mildly disappointed that he could not see it, but his attention was drawn elsewhere as Minho shifted again. With his incredible upper body strength, he held himself aloft with one arm while lowering his hips until, at last, their cocks brushed against each other. Han gave a small, strangled moan at the feeling of bare skin on bare skin, but this felt even more intense than before. His penis was so sensitive that even the tiniest brush against it sent jolts of electricity through him.

Minho, too, seemed overwhelmed. He gasped at the contact as well, and his hand gripped so forcefully into the bed sheets that Han felt the fabric pulling underneath him. With his other free hand, Minho grabbed both of their members together, holding them shaft to shaft. Han felt intense trembles of pleasure at the feeling of another hand, not his own, touching his sensitive cock. Minho squeezed experimentally, making Han's hips jerk reflexively upward at the sensation. Pleased with this reaction, Minho began stroking up and down, maintaining firm pressure from base to tip. He let his thumb hook over the tops, so that he gently pressed into the sensitive heads with every stroke.

"Nnngh!" Han gasped. He could barely function against the sensations rippling through his body. He lifted his arms without thinking, covering his face while he squeezed his eyes closed, sinking into the sensational feeling.

"Don't…hide your face," Minho gasped hoarsely. "I want… to see you."

Han lowered his arms as he was told and looked into the eyes of his lover. Minho was staring down at him so intently, so fiercely, it made his toes curl. He couldn't hardly form thoughts, but the ones that flashed through his mind were all essentially the same: I love him… I want him… He's so handsome… I love him…

Minho apparently couldn't look long at Han's flushed and gasping face. He ducked his head, but still continued stroking them both. "Your hand…" he groaned.

Han reached out his hand, and Minho let go of their swollen cocks briefly to help guide Han's hand to where he wanted it. "Hold tight," he said, and he laced his fingers with Han's around both their lengths. Han could feel the heat and hardness underneath smooth skin. He felt the wetness leaking from both of them dripping down beneath his fingers, lubricating their touch. Minho lowered himself to his elbow, altering their position so that he was more above Han now. Han could not see their hands anymore, he could only feel what was happening between them.

And then Minho thrusted forward, his cock squeezing into the pressure of their conjoined grips. Han moaned at the friction. His mouth hung open as he panted furiously. He could not believe how good it felt.

"You have… no idea…" Minho groaned, his eyes barely open. "How long… I've wanted this." His dick continued to pump through their encased hands, again and again and again, rubbing deliciously along Han's full length. "You have no idea… how many times I've imagined…seeing you beneath me… like this."

Han was already trembling. He could feel the tension building again. Minho continued, "Do you know… how often I've wanted to fuck you, Jisung?" Fresh heat rushed to Han's head at Minho's words. He could not hold back his gasping moan.

"Argh—" Minho grunted, "Some days you look so good I have to physically stop myself from jumping you. I've had to run away and jerk myself off just to take the edge off."

Han's hips began to rock as well. Desperate little whimpers were escaping him now with every thrust, and he didn't even try to hold them back. Minho groaned restlessly, as though was beginning to lose control himself. "I always imagine… making you cum for me…" he said hoarsely, his rhythm picking up speed and his grip constricting around them. "I always imagine that you scream my name… because it was me that made you feel so good…"

Han was lost now. He could barely hold it together. He rolled his hips in time with Minho's, thrusting up into their hands at the same time that Minho thrusted down, and as Minho's confession washed over him he felt he could not hold it anymore. It was building, tighter and tighter. His hands clawed at Minho's neck and chest, trying to brace himself against the mounting pleasure until at last he could not withstand it anymore. He did call out Minho's name, just as Minho had said, and his back arched almost painfully as he spurted hotly through their hands and on to his stomach. The enormous blissful high that washed over him was intoxicating, and he rode the wave for several seconds until it finally began to ebb, leaving him shaking and weak. At witnessing Han's orgasm, Minho came as well, moaning loudly and slouching over him, unable to hold his full weight suspended through the experience.

For a long while, both men lay panting and exhausted, with Minho still just barely arched over Han weakly, his arm now shuddering under his own weight. He gently untangled their sticky hands and pulled upward. Careful not to crush Han underneath him, he leaned far to the side, reaching for some tissues by his bed which he used to delicately clean off first Han and then himself. Han was still speechless, but his breaths were steadily slowing as the feverish high of his orgasm melted away. He watched Minho quietly go about his business until he had finished, pulling his waistband up over his now spent member and helping Han do the same. Minho then laid down next to Han, pulling him close to his chest and nuzzling into Han's neck.

He sighed contentedly. "How do you feel? Okay?"

Han was still dazed. He felt more than okay. He was still coming down from his high. "That was…good" he struggled, "Really good."

"Just good?" Minho snipped.

"Amazing."

Minho huffed, apparently satisfied with Han's correction, but he wasn't done teasing him. "What, you expected me to be bad at it?"

"No!" Han rolled his eyes. "Quit being dramatic."

"Never."

"Fine, have it your way," Han grumbled. He wrapped his free arm over Minho's, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over one of his many prominent muscles. He turned his head so that his cheek rested on top of Minho's hair. He breathed in the comforting scent deeply and let his eyes slip closed. He was suddenly so tired. Weeks of anxiety, guilt, and depression seemed to be drifting off of him, leaving his body feeling heavy against the soft mattress... but even though he wanted to sleep, a new fear scratched at the back of his mind.

"Jagiya?"

"Hmm?"

"…What are we going to do now?"

"Sleep."

Han snorted. "You know what I mean."

Minho took a deep breath and lifted himself up, propping his head on his elbow so that he could look down over Han. He gently caressed Han's cheek with the back of one of his fingers. "We'll figure it out," he whispered reassuringly, but Han was still nervous.

"We have to tell the guys." Han said. Now after this, after everything that had just happened, there was no chance he and Minho would be able to hide their feelings from the group. Not indefinitely. And it would be miserable trying to deny themselves the joy that they had only just discovered.

Minho sighed heavily, his hand dropping to Han's torso and drawing little circles over his stomach. "Well," he muttered, "Chan already knows."

"Chan knows?"

Minho grimaced apologetically. "Well, he knows about me, I mean. About how I felt about you." He licked his lips nervously and looked down at Han's chest instead of his eyes. "That day in the studio, after you pushed me away… I had to talk to someone. I was terrified that I had ruined everything, that Stray Kids was going to fall apart because I had lost control…"

Han laid his hand over Minho's, feeling so terrible that he had reacted the way he did. Now it made more sense how Chan was so perceptive and helpful through the whole situation. He knew what Minho was going through, and he knew Han was the only one who could fix it.

Minho interlaced his fingers with Han's affectionately as though accepting his silent apology. He then said, "As for the other guys, I imagine they'll have already figured it out. They're not idiots." He then paused and thought for a moment. "Well—some of them are idiots, but the smart ones will tell the dumb ones, for sure."

Han snickered in spite of himself. "You dork," he chided, but Minho was probably right. If the other Stray Kids were already somewhat aware of the situation and had not yet intervened, perhaps that meant that they would be more accepting that he thought? He quietly recalled Chan's word's echoing through his mind: We're rooting for you, and we'll all be waiting for you on the other side…

But they still had another issue at stake. "What about Minsung?"

Minho's jaw tensed. He was still angry at their company for placing them in this position, but as long as Stray Kids was contracted with them it was going to be an unavoidable issue in their newly formed relationship. "Well," Minho sighed, "We can do what you said before: whenever cameras are around, we try to behave, but in private," his eyes narrowed suggestively, "We do what we want."

"You? Behave?" Han teased incredulously.

"I can if I want to!" Minho whined defensively.

Han laughed. "Sure, but you never want to."

Minho leaned over him, his face now very serious. "I will if it means protecting you," he said. And Han felt that he meant it.

Han smiled sweetly and nodded. It would be hard to separate himself from Minho, especially now, but at least they could now have these private moments together. They would have to be careful, even more careful than before. No interview, livestream, or concert would be safe, but if it meant protecting this small slice of happiness they had found, Han believed they could do it. It wasn't perfect, but it would be enough. It had to be.

Minho gazed at Han for a long time, and then he bent forward and pressed a sweet, tender kiss on his lips. Han felt all of his love, all of his desire, all of his hopes and plans for them pouring through that kiss. He had never felt more loved in his entire life, just as he could not imagine loving someone more than he loved Minho in that moment. Minho then pulled away and began tugging at pillows and blankets, tucking them in for a much needed rest. He pulled Han into a tight embrace, cradling him in his long, strong arms.

"Say it again," he whispered, nuzzling into the back of Han's head. Han smiled.

"I love you."

Minho hummed happily, his breath rustling through Han's hair. "I love you, too."

Tomorrow's problems could wait. For now, they had each other and that was all that mattered. Together, wrapped in each other's arms, they finally drifted off into a deep, satisfied sleep.

The End.