When Jisung wakes up, he has no idea what time it is, but the beam of afternoon light shining through the windows directly into his eyes leads him to believe he's been out for at least an hour, maybe two. He squints his eyes against the sunlight and stretches out on the floor, releasing a pained groan as his back pops loudly–ouch. Minho had been right, he should've just gone back to bed. But the idea of sleeping rooms away just hadn't appealed to Jisung in the slightest, not when today he gets the rare treat of some quality alone time in the house with Minho. He feels a little bad for falling back asleep to begin with, but it may have been inevitable given how poorly he slept last night. He'd been up half the night, restless and eager for the morning to come so he could hang out with Minho–he had even asked Felix to shake him awake when the other boy left early this morning. He didn't tell Minho that–though he had totally called him out about it during breakfast, to Jisung's embarrassment.
Speaking of Minho, Jisung turns to the couch where he last saw him, not entirely surprised to see that Minho has apparently gotten up and gone somewhere while he slept. Watching Jisung sleep sounds pretty boring, after all.
Jisung groans again as he forces himself to a sitting position, noticing for the first time the blanket that has been placed over top of him. He rubs the soft fabric between his fingers, a pleased smile breaking out onto his face–one guess as to who may have covered him with it while he was asleep.
Minho is so great.
Jisung shoves his face into the blanket, hiding the smile that grows ever wider as he revels in how true that statement is. Minho is the best. Jisung loves all the boys he lives with–loves collaborating and performing and hanging out with them–but there's just something about Minho and him that just clicks. He had seemed so intimidating when they first met, all stoic good looks and quiet, calm demeanor. Jisung had been so happy when he managed to break down his walls and soon find out that, behind the mask Minho puts on for others, he's actually a super silly, fun, and caring guy. He laughs and teases and jokes along with the others now; he doesn't seem afraid to be himself anymore and it fills Jisung's heart with pride each time Minho drops his barriers a bit more and lets him and the others see through to the real him.
Minho cares for others so deeply, and he feels things so deeply. You wouldn't guess it from first impressions, but Minho has a lot going on behind his pretty eyes. Jisung had been shocked the first time Minho confided in him about his anxiety and his history with panic attacks. It's not something that Jisung can say he's ever experienced, but through the last few years getting to know Minho, he feels like he's learned a lot. Minho used to have to deal with his anxiety by himself, but the closer the two get, the more easily he seems to seek out Jisung to help him through the worst of it.
Jisung understands what a huge privilege it is to be the person Minho feels comfortable talking about his mental health with, among other things. And the more Minho shares, the more Jisung feels like he wants to share, too. It's something unique to the two of them, the easy and comfortable way they can talk about anything and everything, even the painful or scary stuff.
Minho's his best friend and Jisungs loves him, so much.
He loves how Minho can somehow be the goofiest person in the room one moment and then the second someone needs him, he becomes the steadiest pillar of support one could ask for. He loves how he calmly helps Jisung and the others work through their emotions, listening intently and offering thoughtful, compassionate responses. He loves how he so easily steps into the role of leader and voice of reason when Chan's not around or otherwise occupied. He loves how he looks out for him and the other younger members and how gentle and kind he speaks to them. He loves the easy way he offers care–in words, in cooking, in offering a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on at a moment's notice. He loves how he gives as good as he gets when Jisung teases him and how his eyes light up with mischief when he does so. He loves how he responds to Jisung's desire for closeness, never shying away from a hug or headpat, given or received. He loves how aware of Jisung he is, always catching his intense eyes watching him from across the room or during rehearsals and performances.
Jisung feels pretty certain he loves everything about Minho, but he especially likes the attention he gets from the older boy; he craves it, misses it when they're apart even for a moment–feels like he can never have enough. He doesn't like when Minho gets paired up with someone else during video shoots or interviews or rehearsals–he gets it, that it's their job and stuff, but he still doesn't like it. He wants Minho to only ever look for him, reach for him, stand next to him and hang out with him. Maybe until they both die.
That's…normal for best friends, right? Totally normal best bud behavior?
There's something there that Jisung knows he should confront soon, but not right now. Normally, he'd probably ask Minho's opinion on it–like he does with any other confusing thoughts or emotions–but he's not going to. Mostly 'cause it seems like it would be pretty awkward to say, "hey Minho, I'm pretty sure I have some kind of, like, unhealthy obsession with you. What do you think I should do about that? Also, I love when you touch me and I never want you to stop touching me and by the way could you maybe touch me now? Like, right now? Thanks!"
Jisung groans and smothers himself with the blanket, rubbing it harshly against his face in a way that's sure to leave him all red and blotchy, but he doesn't care. Feelings are dumb and if he ignores them long enough, maybe they'll just go away forever and he won't have to confront the ever present and confusing desire for more. More what–Jisung isn't sure, but he finds recently that everytime Minho looks at him, laughs with him, touches him, there's some primal part of his brain that screams more, more, more.
God, he wishes he could talk to Minho about this. But he can't. These feelings are too much and he doesn't want to scare Minho away with them. He doesn't want to ruin the amazing, wonderful friendship that they've managed to cultivate over the last few years. Even if keeping whatever these feelings are inside makes him feel like his heart is too big for his chest, like his clothes are too tight, like he's only ever one small misstep away from spilling his guts and ruining their friendship forever–
He can't tell him. He won't risk their friendship over these stupid, ridiculous, obsessive feelings.
Jisung feels somehow more exhausted now than he did before taking a nap, but he's done sitting here–done dwelling on feelings that he can't change that only serve to frustrate him.
He wants Minho. Even though he's the source of all these terrible feelings, he's warm and comforting and Jisung needs some comfort right now. He doesn't need Minho to understand or reciprocate his feelings–he just needs what they have right now to never end. He needs his best friend to hold him and remind him that everything's okay–that they can continue to exist just like this, even if Jisung wants more.
Shoving himself off the floor, Jisung chucks the blanket back onto the couch, pausing only to switch off the TV that's still playing for some reason. Minho must've forgotten to turn it off before he went elsewhere.
Jisung makes his way down the hallway towards their bedrooms, checking to see if the bathroom is occupied as he passes it. It's empty, so Minho must be in his and Hyunjin's room. They all have their own beds, but they're paired up two to a room: Minho and Hyunjin; Chan and Changbin; Seungmin and Jeongin; and Jisung and Felix. Hyunjin and Jisung swap beds for the night every so often though, since Hyunjin and Felix are practically connected at the hip just as Minho and Jisung are. Obviously, Jisung never minds having to switch–loving any opportunity to be close to Minho, though he never usually suggests it unless Hyunjin asks because it feels kind of embarrassing for some reason. That, and Chan has made it abundantly clear that he kind of hates it when they switch because it usually means all four of them don't get enough sleep, staying up late talking and laughing and generally being a nuisance, making them poorly rested for the next day of rehearsals or whatever else is on the schedule. So to appease Chan and make everyone's life easier, they don't do it too often. Truthfully, they'd switch rooms permanently if Chan would let them, but for obvious reasons, he does not, so they all settle for the occasional sleepover.
They had spent the previous night in their own beds, since both Felix and Hyunjin had important things to do today and needed their rest. Jisung is pretty sure that Minho had gotten up around the same time as Felix today though, so maybe he's taking his own nap right now to catch up on his sleep. He's not gonna wake him if he is, all Jisung needs is a quick peek of Minho to replenish his energy. That's all.
Minho's door is cracked open just wide enough for Jisung to poke his head in, forgoing a knock since the door isn't shut for privacy. As he'd suspected, a Minho shaped lump rests under the covers of the older boy's bed, gently shifting with the rhythmic rise and fall of his sleeping breaths. It looks like Minho has managed to essentially swaddle himself beneath the duvet, only the shock of his dark, sleep tossed hair visible from the doorway where Jisung is paused, watching.
He should let him sleep. He got his quick peek, so Jisung should just leave him be so he can rest.
That's what he thinks, but in the next moment Jisung is somehow standing to the side of Minho's bed, staring down at the boy with a conflicted expression on his face. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing it nervously as he fidgets with the hem of his hoodie.
He can still leave. He can leave and wait for Minho to wake up and he can pretend that this never happened. He can pretend he never came in here and he can pretend he doesn't have feelings and he can pretend to be normal.
Minho shifts in his sleep, the blanket pulling away from his face to rest at the top of his shoulders, exposing his peaceful, tragically handsome face. His cheeks are lightly flushed and creased from where he had shoved his face into the pillow and his hair is pushed back off his forehead, tangled and unkept–starkly different from the way Minho meticulously styles it each day. His brow is slightly furrowed but his jaw is slack, a trail of drying drool connected to his relaxed, pouty lips. By all accounts, Jisung should not think that the sight is beautiful. He shouldn't think that the disheveled, sleeping face of his best friend is beautiful or perfect or breathtaking.
He knows that, and yet…
Jisung is certain he's never seen anything or anyone so beautiful. So heartbreakingly beautiful. So devastatingly, unfairly beautiful. He's suddenly overcome with the urge to touch him–to find out if Minho is as soft as he looks, fingers twitching with poorly kept desire. He knows he shouldn't. Minho's sleeping, for god's sake, why is Jisung being so creepy?
Why does it have to be Minho, his best friend?
Jisung's reaching out before he even realizes what he's doing. He ghosts the back of his knuckles along the side of Minho's face, barely even touching him as he traces the smooth skin of his forehead, down to his cheekbone, over his cheek, and ending down at the sharp corner of his jaw.
Why does it have to be you, Minho?
He gently runs the pad of his thumb over Minho's slightly parted lips, realizing for the first time that they're soft–so impossibly soft. An unprompted, forbidden desire to find out what it might feel like to press his own lips against them shoves its way into Jisung's mind, startling him with just how okay that sounds–how much he wants to do that.
Jisung's mouth is so dry.
Why did I have to fall in love with my best friend?
Jisung struggles to swallow past the sudden tightness in his throat, pulling his hand away from Minho as if burned. He covers his face with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut tightly–a visceral reaction to trying to hide himself from what he's just realized: the truth that has just slipped through his consciousness.
Love. In love with Minho. His best friend. Minho.
He's in love with Minho.
The realization hits Jisung like a slap to the face and he only just manages to hold back a whimper as he sinks to his knees next to the bed. He briefly pulls his hands away from his face to check on Minho, wheezing a relieved exhale when he sees that the boy is still blessedly asleep, unaware of the sudden crisis that Jisung is having mere feet away from him.
How did Jisung not realize this earlier? Why did it take him until this moment to properly identify his feelings? It's so obvious, in hindsight.
Jisung wants to be upset. He wants to be shocked or appalled or maybe even disgusted with himself. But for some inexplicable reason, the most prevalent emotion he's feeling right now is relief.
He releases a shaky, relieved breath through his fingers.
Thank god I'm not obsessed with him, oh thank god. I'm so glad, oh my god. Being in love with him is so much better than having some freaky, fucked up, possessive obsession with him. Thank fucking god.
Jisung can't help the wild smile spreading across his face. He probably looks like a psycho, kneeling next to a sleeping Minho, face in his hands, holding back what could either be a laugh or a sob of relief–he's genuinely unsure at the moment–for fear of waking up Minho, the person he's in love with.
He raises his fist to the sky in what has to be the world's quietest, most relieved fist-pump.
So he's in love with Minho. It's not exactly ideal, given that they work together, live together, are best friends, and not to mention are both men the last time he checked, but Jisung thinks he can work with this. He's just happy to have an answer that makes sense–one that doesn't have him questioning his mental faculties.
If the choice is gay or crazy, Jisung will pick gay everytime. Not that being gay is a choice, obviously. Or being crazy, for that matter.
Jisung feels reenergized and lighter than he has in weeks, still smiling dumbly as he gets to his feet. He doesn't hesitate when he reaches out to Minho, gently running a hand through his messy hair, brushing it back off his forehead so he can see his pretty face better. He pets him a few more times, relishing in the quiet moment–in the shocking but pleasant new feeling that Jisung now proudly identifies as love.
He'll leave now and let Minho finish his nap. Maybe when he wakes up, he'll want to play a game or go to a cafe or something. Jisung's up for anything, as long as it's with Minho.
He freezes when Minho's shifts, eyes fluttering open and landing on Jisung, whose hand goes still in shock, still resting in the tangles of Minho's hair.
Ah, fuck, Jisung thinks.
Minho blinks once, twice, before releasing a content yawn and snuggling down further into his warm blankets. He peers up at Jisung through sleepy, squinted eyes, smiling easily at the sight before him.
Minho's subconscious has really outdone itself this time, he thinks. Jisung looks even prettier than he normally does in his dreams. And he's even wearing the cute cropped hoodie from breakfast that shows off his waist that Minho absolutely adores him in. Maybe his dreams are trying to make it up to him for the small panic attack earlier or maybe Minho is just getting better at lucid dreaming. Either way, he isn't complaining; he loves this dream.
He reaches a hand up to his head, where Jisung had previously been petting him just a moment before, and rests his fingers over Jisung's soft, warm hand. Why did he stop? It felt nice, and far warmer than his dreams are usually able to conjure up.
Jisung begins to pull his hand away and that simply won't do, so Minho latches onto his wrist before he can get too far, giving him a quick tug to clue him in on what he wants. When Jisung continues to just stand over him, resting a knee against the bed but making no move to join him, Minho tugs him closer more insistently.
"C'mere," Minho nearly whines, beginning to feel annoyed that Dream Jisung isn't following his lead like usual, "lay with me."
Minho pats the space next to him, but doesn't wait for a response as he firmly pulls Jisung's wrist again, Jisung falling alongside him onto the mattress with a cute yelp. Minho pulls him under the covers and loops an arm over his waist, holding him close to his chest so he won't try to get back up.
"A-uhh, Minho, what are–?"
"Shhhh," Minho silences him, releasing Jisung's wrist so he can snake his other arm around his cute, exposed waist. He trails his fingers over the soft, warm skin there before allowing his hand to travel up the back of his hoodie, marveling at the smooth skin of his back before finally moving to rest his palm in the small of Jisung's back.
He's so warm its fucking unbelievable.
Jisung squirms a bit as Minho's hands begin to wander, slowly mapping out the skin of his waist and back–unable to resist how soft and warm and real he feels. The boy's breathing is far more uneven than usual as he squeaks and fidgets under Minho's hands, but he doesn't try to get back up, so Minho's satisfied with that.
"You're so cute, Jisungie. So sweet and precious, my baby," Minho nuzzles his face into the top of Jisung's head, once again caught off guard by the sensations–how his hair even smells real, and how it tickles against his face.
"Hyung, I–this is, um–"
Jisung's more talkative than usual, but Minho doesn't mind it. His voice is sweet and flustered, his little breaths tickling the skin of Minho's neck. He takes a deep inhale through his nose, as if he might imprint Jisung's scent into his brain so it can remain even when he wakes up. He holds him there for a long moment, just enjoying the sensations, before slowly craning his face down to the side of Jisung's neck. He can feel the racing beat of Jisung's heart where he ghosts his lips over his pulse point. Minho breathes him in once more before placing a soft kiss there, just below the line of his jaw, lips pulling to a smile when Jisung lets out a startled gasp. He's so cute.
"Mi-Minho-hyung."
Minho's enjoying himself, but the waver of Jisung's voice gives Minho pause, his smile dropping as quickly as it had come. The younger boy's hands find a grip on Minho's shoulders and he shakily but forcefully pushes him several inches away.
Minho blinks, caught a bit off guard.
New distance between them, Minho peers down into Jisung's eyes, able to take in Jisung's expression for the first time since pulling him down to the bed.
That's when Minho realizes that he has fucked up.
Jisung's eyes are wide with some strong emotion, glassy and wet with unshed tears. He squeezes Minho's shoulders tightly, crumpling the fabric of his t-shirt, his nails digging into the skin of his shoulders so hard it hurts.
It hurts…?
Minho's blood runs cold, reality hitting him like a wave.
This isn't a dream. Which means–
Minho gasps, releasing his grip on Jisung and sitting up so quickly that his head spins. Jisung sits up almost as quickly, now that he isn't having to push Minho off of him.
Oh, no.
What has he done?
"I–I–" Minho feels like he might be sick, his mind racing to try to understand what just happened, what he's done to poor Jisung, who sits flushed and confused in Minho's bed, staring unblinkingly at Minho. Minho, who has just assaulted him.
Jisung finds his voice before Minho, forcing a smile onto his face as a single tear finally escapes, Minho watching in horror as it trails down his flushed cheek.
"It's okay, I'm okay. You're–I just wasn't expecting…and I'm a little confused, but I'm okay, Minho. Seriously."
Minho can only stare, fighting for his voice–to explain, to apologize, maybe to scream–but his throat is too tight, too dry.
"I thought you were a dream." Minho finally manages, voice barely above a whisper. "Jisung I–I'm so fucking sorry."
"I know, Minho. It's okay." Jisung wipes at his face, Minho's chest twisting painfully as Jisung laughs wetly. "You just caught me off guard, it's okay, I'm fine. Are…are you okay?"
Minho's stares, truly speechless–an invisible hand squeezing around his throat, forcing his airway closed. He opens his mouth but no sound, no air comes out. He can't explain–he can't do anything at all. Of course he's not okay but that doesn't matter at all right now. He made Jisung cry, touched him without permission, assaulted him in his own home, and now Jisung is trying to ask him if he's okay?
Minho can't speak, he can't breathe. His chest hurts and his heart is so distracting, picking up pace so quickly Minho fears it may actually explode. He tries to get off the bed, but he stumbles–feet caught in the blankets–only barely managing to stay upright by throwing himself against the nearest wall to support his weight, the loud sound of his arm slamming the wall startling them both.
"Minho, you're shaking," Jisung says, worry coating his voice–worry that Minho doesn't deserve, not from him. Not after what Minho has done. "And you're white as a ghost. You need to sit down, here–"
Jisung stands, reaching out for him and Minho startles like a wild animal, tripping over his feet again as he tries to keep as much distance between them as possible.
"Minho…"
"No," Minho wheezes, " I–can't. I need to–you–" Minho pants roughly and attempts to take a breath, panic really setting in when he realizes that he can't. All he can manage are quick, wheezing breaths. He's not getting enough air and his head starts to spin again, the room tilting as Minho sinks down to the floor using the wall to support his weight.
He's slightly aware of the muffled sound of a voice, but he can't focus enough to make out the words over the roaring of his own pulse in his ears. His vision blurs and his chest is throbbing, so he closes his eyes and lays his head back against the wall, feeling like he may pass out.
Minho must be dying, he thinks. No panic attack has ever felt this terrible, like he's being crushed under the force of some invisible weight on his chest–like all the air has been sucked from the room, leaving Minho in a vacuum of space where all he can feel, all he can hear is the terrible, frantic pounding of his own heartbeat.
He isn't sure how long he sits there, certain he's dying as his heart surely approaches its last, painful beat. It could be seconds or hours, for all Minho knows. He's lost all feeling in his limbs–numb, and hardly even able to feel the pressure of the wall he leans against anymore, his breaths still coming hard and fast and unhelpful.
Why won't he just pass out already?
Minho slowly becomes aware of his hands, he can't move them but there's a strong sensation in his…palms? He tries to close his hands into fists and realizes that he can't–that there's something in his hands. It feels cold, and kind of wet.
Suddenly, the same sensation touches his face, and Minho lets out a surprised hiss, managing to crack his eyes open just enough to try and see what's going on.
Jisung kneels before him on the floor, expression tight and concerned, holding what Minho realizes must be an ice cube up against his cheek. He moves it in a small arc over Minho's face, from one cheek, over his forehead, down to the other cheek and back. Minho glances down to his hands, loose and useless at his sides. He manages to twitch his fingers, slowly realizing that Jisung has placed an ice cube in the palm of each of his hands, cold and wet and slightly uncomfortable.
He manages a shaky, painful breath.
"Minho, open your mouth. Don't swallow this, just suck on it."
Minho doesn't understand the request–his mind muddled and dumb from lack of oxygen–but he drops his jaw obediently, finding it a bit easier to focus on Jisung's voice than before as he focuses on forcing himself to breathe, even though it feels awful.
Jisung pops something small and round into his mouth. Minho wonders if it could be another ice cube, but decides it can't be as he finds it's not cold at all. He sucks on the object lightly and realizes pretty quickly that it's a piece of hard candy–ginger, if the sharp taste and sting in his nostrils is any indication. His face scrunches up a bit, not really enjoying the taste, but he doesn't spit it out. He understands what Jisung's doing at this point, and it's working.
"Good, hyung. You're doing great, you're okay. I'm right here."
Minho whimpers pathetically, unable to speak yet and shutting his eyes again so he doesn't have to see the caring, worried expression on Jisung's face. He doesn't deserve to be taken care of right now, especially not by Jisung. But he doesn't fight it–too weak to resist, even if he wanted to. He selfishly allows Jisung to keep looking after him as he comes down from his panic attack.
They sit there on the floor together for an indeterminate amount of time as the room slowly comes back into focus, feeling gradually returning to Minho's limbs. He feels gross, damp all over, having sweat a ridiculous amount in the throes of his panic. Jisung doesn't shy away from him though, mumbling frequent, comforting affirmations of how good Minho's doing; how he's safe and that he's okay. At some point Jisung gets up again, leaving the room and returning with a glass of water and a small hand towel. He helps Minho take a few sips of water, making sure he doesn't drop or spill the glass and then uses the towel to dab at Minho's face, moist from the mixture of sweat and water from the melted ice. Once he's satisfied, Jisung then moves the towel down to the ground to clean up the water from Minho's hands and on the floor where it's pooled.
He doesn't force Minho to speak–doesn't ask for an apology or an explanation. Doesn't insult or yell at him for what he's done. Jisung just stays by his side, caring for him and watching him carefully, making him slowly drink the rest of his water.
Once Minho realizes that he isn't dying–that he's finally able to breathe without it feeling like a rope is tied around his neck, he clears his throat and dares to meet Jisung's eyes.
"Jisung…I'm sorry," Minho swallows roughly, leaning forward a bit now that he has the strength, wanting to place his head in his hands–but he quickly changes his mind and shoves his hands into his lap. No, Jisung deserves eye contact while Minho attempts to beg for forgiveness–not that he even deserves forgiveness for what he's done and how he's reacted. Who makes their victim help them through a panic attack right after assaulting them?
Minho stares into Jisung's eyes and tries again.
"I…I thought I was dreaming and I did something terrible to you and I'm so, so sorry, Jisung. It's no excuse and I understand if you–if you hate me now. Or if you want me to leave you alone for a while–or forever. I–I wish I had realized sooner that you were, uh, real. And I understand if you want to report the assault to Chan or upper management, I'll accept whatever punishment they decide is–"
"Whoa whoa whoa whoa, whoa. Wait a second, Minho–just, wait," Jisung interrupts, eyes going wide as he shakes his head in disbelief. "Do you–are you seriously saying that you think what just happened…that you think you assaulted me?"
Minho stares at Jisung dumbly, but nods his head once.
And for whatever reason, Jisung laughs.
Minho is shocked into silence, half of his still muddy brain stupidly enjoying the sound of Jisung's laugh while the other half continues to stew in its confusion. Jisung seems to realize that Minho doesn't get it and his laughter peeters off, but he's still smiling when he starts talking again.
"Oh my god, you are serious. Minho. You were half asleep. You didn't hurt me, you didn't force me to do anything I didn't want to. You literally just, like, cuddled me and kissed my neck once. And most importantly, you stopped when I pushed you away. You respected my boundaries, Minho. I promise you that you didn't assault me, okay? I wouldn't be having this calm, reasonable conversation with you if I thought you had. I'd have called up Chan or Changbin and they'd be here, kicking your ass right about now."
That startles a laugh out of Minho, the image of Changbin and Chan beating the shit out of him, and Jisung just keeps smiling at him, raising a hand up to Minho's face to smooth back the hair sticking to his still damp forehead.
"Seriously, Minho. It's fine. How many times have you put up with me when I'm half asleep? You didn't really do anything more to me than I've done to you in the past. Don't you realize that?"
Minho feels like that isn't technically true, but he supposes he can see where Jisung's coming from. Jisung is very cuddly when he's tired, usually hanging off of Minho or the closest person he can find–typically Minho–during early morning or late night travels and especially after meals. But that's always been so innocent, Jisung doesn't mean anything by cuddling up and seeking affection from Minho. Minho had overstepped this time, pulling him into his bed of all places and holding him far closer than what can be excused by being half asleep and largely unaware of his surroundings.
"It's…different, though," Minho argues weakly, "you never touch me inappropriately, Jisung. And certainly you've never pulled me into your bed like I did."
Jisung just shrugs. "And if I didn't want to be there, I would have gotten up or pushed you away sooner. You know my love language is touch…I wasn't uh, unhappy, with the attention or anything. It's just when you–er, k-kissed me that I was a little…" Jisung trails off, cheeks flushing lightly as he drops his gaze down to the floor. "But, you were half asleep, so obviously it's not like you were like, intentionally trying to kiss me or anything."
Minho swallows, hands moving to fidget with the fabric of his sweatpants. This isn't the time to confess, probably. He should. He should tell Jisung that actually, yes, he does want to kiss him. Intentionally. All the time. Because he loves him. But Minho just…can't. Not right now. Not when Jisung is likely still reeling from the whole experience of being manhandled and kissed unexpectedly. Minho hates himself for withholding the whole truth, but now just is not the time to pile a confession on top of what he's already done to Jisung. As much as Jisung deserves the truth–to know just how intentional Minho's kiss really was and to judge him accordingly.
He'll hate you if you tell him, a nasty voice reminds Minho. He'll think you're disgusting–that you're using him.
"...Right."
Minho is such a coward.
It's awkwardly silent for a long moment, both of them staring intently at the floor until Minho clears his throat again, rubbing the back of his neck shamefully.
"It was still wrong of me so, I'm really sorry, Jisung, for kissing you. And for pulling you into bed in the first place. I probably scared you pretty bad. It won't happen again, I swear."
Minho tentatively looks back up to Jisung's face, surprised at the expression he finds there. If he didn't know better, he might think Jisung looks…disappointed? Upset? He's probably just uncomfortable, Minho rationalizes. And of course he is, Minho had kissed him for god's sake. He should consider himself lucky Jisung isn't running from the room or actually making good on his threat of calling someone to come beat Minho up.
"Yeah…no worries, Minho."
Minho forces a smile onto his face, relieved to be forgiven so easily, though he still feels that he doesn't really deserve it. He should be happy, probably, but his guilt firmly prevents him from really relishing in it.
"And thanks, Jisung, for helping me through my…reaction. I'm sorry you had to do that, I know it's not really uh, fun–to have to deal with me like that. So, thank you."
That gets Jisung's attention, the boy gently reaching out to punch Minho's shoulder, a scolding expression on his face.
"Don't apologize, stupid. I'm always happy to help you, you know that. Always." Jisung's mouth twists into a teasing smile–one Minho has never been more relieved to see than in this moment, despite what he says next. "Even if you kiss me."
Minho groans, succumbing to the urge to hide his face in his hands as Jisung laughs good-naturedly at his embarrassment.
"Can we just…forget this ever happened?" Minho says hopefully, face heating under Jisung's teasing gaze.
"Nope!"
Minho groans louder, though it's muffled behind his hands, as Jisung continues to laugh at him. Despite Minho's guilt and embarrassment, he feels his mouth pulling into a hesitant smile.
Thank god he didn't ruin their friendship. Thank god Jisung is so sweet and understanding, to excuse Minho's behavior. And thank god Jisung somehow doesn't realize what Minho's behavior really means–that holding and kissing him in his dreams can literally only mean that Minho wants to do it in real life. That he thinks about it constantly.
He'll have to be more careful, moving forwards. He won't let Jisung feel pressured or scared by Minho's affection. He won't overstep again and he won't ruin their friendship.
Even though Minho wants more, he won't show it. Even though Minho knows this isn't sustainable–that eventually he'll need to either confess his feelings or somehow get over them, the latter likely being impossible, despite how Minho wishes he could. He won't fuck this up. He won't make Jisung cry again by being too much, by touching him too much–by kissing him.
Jisung deserves the truth and should be able to make an informed decision as to if he is willing to put up with being friends with someone who's in love with him. Minho owes him that, especially after today. Each day that Minho withholds that truth from him is another day of taking advantage of Jisung's trust, which fills Minho with so much shame and guilt that it's nearly unbearable. So no, this isn't sustainable. And yes, Minho will confess–soon, hopefully.
He just needs a bit more time. More time to prepare himself for what happens if Jisung rejects him–if he ends their friendship over it. Minho needs to make sure that he's ready to deal with the consequences of his feelings, without having another embarrassing panic attack because that is not a reasonable response to being rejected and he refuses to guilt Jisung in that way.
But it has to be soon, regardless of if Minho feels ready or not.
He just hopes things can stay the way they are now. Even if Jisung rejects him, even if Minho never stops loving him–never stops wanting more. He just wants to be able to stay by Jisung's side.
It's probably unreasonable to even hope for that much.