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Dim light filtered through the closed shutters. Outside, the city was slowly beginning to wake. Cars rumbled to life, sleepy birds still sang, and somewhere beneath the pile of blankets on the bed came a quiet, distressed whimper.
Jisung tossed and turned in his sleep, kicking at the sheets and squeezing his eyes shut. Then he jolted awake, as though someone had yanked him out of a dark abyss.
His hand flew to the phone on the nightstand.
4:30 a.m.
He was shaking like a leaf. His eyes were wide, his hair a complete mess. Both hands clutched the back of his neck as if they could somehow keep the nightmares from reaching him.
He stumbled into the kitchen in search of a glass of water, hoping it would help him calm down. Still dazed, he pulled a glass from the cabinet—
—and it slipped from his fingers.
The crash echoed through the apartment as shattered glass scattered across the floor.
Jisung froze.
His breathing caught in his throat.
Without thinking, he dropped to the floor and curled up beneath the kitchen table, wrapping his arms around his knees and rocking himself ever so slightly.
Less than a minute later, he heard soft footsteps approaching.
He couldn't make sense of what was happening. He couldn't even bring himself to open his eyes.
He never noticed that someone had crouched down beneath the table in front of him.
Minho looked at him with worry written all over his face.
This wasn't the first time he'd seen Jisung like this, and all he could think was how grateful he was that Jisung had asked him to stay the night. At least this time he wasn't facing another panic attack alone.
They'd planned a quiet evening together. With finals approaching, Jisung had been overwhelmed by stress for weeks, and he'd wanted nothing more than to spend one peaceful night with his best friend.
Realizing he was getting lost in his own thoughts, Minho gently brought his attention back to the trembling boy in front of him.
"Hey, Jisung," he murmured. "I'm here. You're okay now. You don't have to be scared."
There was no response.
Keeping his voice soft, he asked, "Can I touch you? Can I hold you?"
For several long moments, nothing happened.
Then Jisung gave the smallest nod.
Minho didn't hesitate.
Carefully, making sure not to startle him, he wrapped his arms around him.
Jisung clung to him immediately, as though Minho were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
A while later, quiet sobs finally broke the silence.
Minho let out a slow breath.
He gently loosened the embrace just enough to look at Jisung's face.
The sight made his chest ache.
His cheeks were stained with tears, his expression exhausted. A tiny shard of glass had nicked his cheek. The cut wasn't deep, but it was enough for a thin line of blood to trickle down his skin.
Their eyes met.
In Jisung's gaze, Minho caught a silent thank you.
As he brushed a thumb across Jisung's soft cheek, murmuring quiet words of reassurance, he suddenly noticed something.
Some of the blood wasn't Jisung's.
He glanced down.
A cut stretched across the back of his own hand. He must have sliced it on the broken glass when he'd crawled under the table.
Jisung noticed too.
"Oh my God, Minho-hyung!" he exclaimed, panic replacing the fear in his voice. "I'm so sorry! This is all my fault. I'm so, so sorry."
He immediately took Minho's hand, carefully examining the wound.
It was deeper than the cut on his own cheek.
Still, Minho barely seemed to notice. His attention never really left Jisung.
Once they had both calmed down, Minho helped him to his feet, moving slowly so he wouldn't get dizzy.
Together they sat down on the couch.
Silence settled over the living room.
After a few minutes, Jisung finally spoke.
"Hyung... if you want to leave, you can."
Minho frowned.
"I'd understand. I wouldn't want to stay with someone like me either."
He forced out a weak laugh that sounded far more miserable than amused.
"I'm such a mess."
Minho immediately straightened up and took both of Jisung's hands in his uninjured one.
"Don't ever say that again."
His voice was gentle, but firm.
"If you really were a burden, I wouldn't be here, would I?"
He squeezed Jisung's fingers lightly.
"I’m perfectly happy being with you.
There's nothing wrong with you, Jisung. Nothing."
Jisung slowly lifted his eyes to meet his.
For just a moment, Minho caught something there.
A tiny spark.
Something he'd never seen before.
He decided not to dwell on it.
The day had already been overwhelming enough.
The rest of the morning passed more quietly.
Feeling guilty about what had happened, Jisung disappeared into the bathroom and came back carrying the first-aid kit.
"Hyung," he called softly. "Come here."
They sat side by side on the couch while Jisung carefully cleaned the cut on Minho's hand.
He soaked a cotton pad with disinfectant before gently pressing it against the wound, holding Minho's hand as steadily as he could.
He was so focused that he never noticed Minho watching him the entire time.
His eyes lingered on every tiny expression that crossed Jisung's face.
"You're cute when you're concentrating."
The words broke the silence so unexpectedly that Jisung nearly jumped.
The moment their eyes met, warmth rushed to his cheeks.
His face turned bright red.
He could swear sparks were dancing beneath his skin where Minho's warm hand rested against his.
"T-thanks, hyung... but don't distract me like that."
"Too late."
With an amused smile, Minho slipped the cotton pad from Jisung's fingers and reached for a fresh one.
He lifted his hand toward Jisung's face.
His fingertips brushed lightly beneath his chin, almost as though he were silently asking for permission.
Jisung completely froze.
Heat spread across his face so quickly it felt as though he were burning.
He couldn't bring himself to look up.
Without another word, Minho gently dabbed disinfectant onto the small cut on his cheek.
When he finished, silence settled between them once again.
This one was different.
Heavy.
Awkward.
Neither of them seemed eager to break it.
Finally, Minho smiled.
"There. All done."
He flexed his fingers experimentally.
"My hand already feels much better."
Jisung let out an awkward laugh.
"Your first aid skills aren't bad either."
For a few long seconds, neither of them looked away.
Time seemed to slow.
Then Minho abruptly stood.
"I'm starving," he announced, heading toward the kitchen.
Jisung blinked and hurried after him.
"What are you doing, hyung?"
Minho looked over his shoulder with a grin.
"Aren't you hungry? I'm pretty sure I heard your stomach growling."
He opened one of the cabinets.
"So... what do you want for breakfast?"
The image of Minho wearing his apron in his kitchen sent Jisung's thoughts in a very dangerous direction.
He quickly waved a hand as if he could physically brush those thoughts away.
"Anything's fine."
Minho got to work.
After a moment's thought, he decided on a chocolate cake.
He had only just started mixing the ingredients when he sensed someone standing behind him.
"Are you planning to just watch," he asked without even turning around, "or are you going to help?"
Jisung blinked, snapping out of whatever thoughts he'd been lost in.
"I'll help."
He stepped up beside the counter, trying his best to look casual. Resting his hands on the edge, he glanced quickly at the mixing bowl.
"So... what should I do?"
"Mmm..." Minho tilted his head as if he were giving it serious consideration. "You can start by cracking the eggs."
Jisung nodded almost immediately, relieved to have something to focus on.
He picked up an egg and tapped it against the rim of the bowl.
A little too hard.
Tiny pieces of shell dropped straight into the batter.
"Perfect," Minho deadpanned, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"Don't."
Jisung sighed dramatically as he fished the shell out with his fingertips.
"I'm working under a lot of pressure here."
"Oh?"
Minho stepped a little closer.
"And what's causing all this pressure?"
Jisung froze.
He could feel Minho standing beside him now, close enough for the warmth of his body to brush against his side.
He swallowed.
"You."
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Silence.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Jisung's eyes widened.
"I mean—not like that—I just meant—"
"I know."
Minho's voice came out quieter than usual.
Jisung didn't answer.
Instead, he buried himself in stirring the batter with perhaps a little more force than necessary.
Minho watched him for a few seconds before reaching over and gently catching his wrist.
"Hey."
Jisung stopped immediately.
"You're trying to beat the life out of the batter."
The contact rooted him to the spot.
Minho's fingers still circled his wrist, light enough that he could pull away if he wanted to, yet firm enough to keep his hand still.
Jisung couldn't stop staring at them.
"You have to be gentler," Minho murmured.
"Like this."
He guided Jisung's hand in a slow, smooth motion.
It was such a simple gesture.
And somehow...
far too slow.
Jisung held his breath.
"Hyung..."
"Hm?"
"...Could you let go?"
For a brief moment, Minho hesitated.
Then he loosened his grip.
Even so, his fingers lingered as they slipped away, brushing against Jisung's skin just a little longer than they needed to.
"Sorry."
He didn't sound particularly sorry.
Jisung shook his head a little too quickly.
"No, it's just... I can do it myself."
"I can see that."
Minho folded his arms and leaned casually against the counter beside him.
Silence settled over the kitchen.
The only sound was the spoon scraping gently against the side of the bowl.
Then—
"You're staring."
Jisung still refused to look at him.
"I'm not."
"Hyung."
"...Maybe a little."
Jisung stopped stirring again.
This time, he looked up.
Their eyes met.
Neither of them looked away.
The awkwardness from before had faded.
There was no rush anymore.
No obvious embarrassment.
Just something quiet...
something suspended between them.
Minho was the first to move.
He stepped a little closer and lifted one hand.
His thumb brushed lightly across the corner of Jisung's mouth.
"Flour," he said softly.
Jisung didn't move.
"Oh."
Minho made no attempt to step back.
"...Hyung."
"Yeah?"
"...You already got it."
"I know."
Another silence. Neither of them moved. Then...
Beep.
The oven's timer cut cleanly through the moment.
Jisung flinched, as though someone had suddenly shaken him awake.
He took half a step back and turned toward the bowl.
"I-I'll... finish mixing."
"Okay."
Minho finally looked away.
"I'll get the cake pan ready."
As he reached for the tin, though, he couldn't quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips.
And without thinking, Jisung absentmindedly touched the corner of his mouth, right where Minho's thumb had been only moments before.
About half an hour later, they were sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the finished cake.
"You could almost call it pretty," Jisung said with a crooked grin. "Almost."
"Hey." Minho pointed an accusing finger at him. "I worked hard on that. If it's leaning to one side and all the chocolate chips sank to the bottom, that's hardly my fault."
"Sure, sure. Don't worry, Mr. Perfectionist." Jisung waved him off. "You just need a little more practice."
Minho raised an eyebrow.
"Are you saying we should bake together more often?"
"W-What?" Jisung nearly choked. "No—I mean—it's not that I didn't enjoy it, it's just—"
He grabbed a fork.
"Let's just eat the cake."
Minho couldn't help smiling.
Jisung had done a decent job of sounding casual, but the bright red tips of his ears had already given him away.
They ate in comfortable silence.
To both of their surprise, the cake was actually delicious.
Once they finished, they carried the dishes into the kitchen.
"What a mess," Minho sighed, looking at the sink. "I'd better clean up."
"No, hyung."
Jisung stepped in before he could move.
"You've already done enough today. Besides, this is my apartment. I'll take care of it. You should head home and get some rest."
Without waiting for an argument, he rolled up his sleeves and started washing the bowls and utensils they'd used.
Minho didn't protest.
Instead, he leaned against the counter with his arms folded and simply watched.
Jisung was completely absorbed in what he was doing.
His hands disappeared beneath the soap bubbles, the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt slightly damp around the cuffs. A tiny crease had formed between his brows as he concentrated, and the tip of his tongue peeked out ever so slightly between his lips—a habit Minho had always found ridiculously adorable.
His black hair stuck messily to his forehead, damp from the mixture of water and sweat.
"Cute."
The word slipped out before Minho even realized he'd said it.
Jisung froze.
He'd heard every syllable.
Minho blinked, snapping back to reality.
He cleared his throat.
"...Right. Give those to me. I'll dry them."
So they settled into a rhythm.
Jisung washed.
Minho dried.
For a while, it worked perfectly.
Then Jisung accidentally bumped Minho's elbow.
The contact sent a strange jolt through both of them.
They looked up at the exact same moment.
Minho took one small step closer.
Then another.
Until barely a few inches separated them.
Slowly, almost absentmindedly, he lifted a hand and rested it gently against Jisung's cheek.
Jisung leaned into the touch before he even realized he was doing it.
Minho seemed to snap out of whatever trance he'd been in.
"Oh."
He glanced toward the bandage on Jisung's cheek.
"There was some soap on your bandage."
His voice had returned to its usual calmness.
"You should be more careful. You don't want the wound getting infected."
Jisung nodded quickly, painfully aware of how warm his face had become.
Minho simply smiled—that infuriatingly confident smile of his—and went back to drying the dishes.
One day...
Jisung glared at the back of his head.
One day I'm going to wipe that smug grin off your face.
Once the kitchen was spotless, Minho gathered his things.
"I should get going."
Jisung walked him to the door.
"If you need anything," Minho said, slipping on his shoes, "call me. You know I'm always here."
"I know."
Jisung smiled softly.
"...And thank you."
Minho paused.
"What are you thanking me for?"
He already knew the answer.
He just wanted to hear Jisung say it.
"For everything."
Jisung looked down shyly before meeting his eyes again.
"For being the best friend I could ask for. I'll repay you someday. I promise."
Minho's expression softened.
"Alright."
He opened the door.
"See you soon... jagiya."
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Jisung stood frozen in the middle of the entryway.
...Did he really just call me jagiya that naturally and then leave?
His ears burned.
He's so dead.
Jisung had read through the same page of his notes five times that afternoon before his phone finally rang.
"Hey, Changbin!"
"Bro, you will not believe what happened."
There was a brief pause.
"...Wait. Am I interrupting?"
"Nah. I was just studying." Jisung stretched lazily. "Come over in an hour and tell me everything."
"Deal. See you."
True to his word, exactly one hour later Changbin was standing outside Jisung's apartment.
"So," he began before Jisung had even finished opening the door, "remember that girl I told you about?"
"Wow. Hello to you too."
Changbin ignored him completely.
"I asked her to be my girlfriend."
He grinned so hard it looked painful.
"And she said yes!"
Jisung laughed.
"Seriously? That's amazing! I'm really happy for you."
"Thanks!"
"You deserve someone who makes you happy."
As Changbin excitedly rambled about all the dates they wanted to go on, Jisung gradually stopped listening.
Without meaning to, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
To Minho.
He imagined the two of them sitting beside the Han River, sharing a picnic.
Traveling together.
Watching movies curled up beneath the same blanket.
The realization hit him so suddenly that he almost winced.
His cheeks warmed.
Embarrassment.
Because every single one of those daydreams involved his best friend.
And sadness.
Because deep down...
they were exactly what he wanted.
"Okay."
Changbin folded his arms.
"What happened this time?"
To be fair, Jisung had vented about Minho to Changbin more than once.
He had good reasons.
"So..."
Jisung rubbed the back of his neck.
"I invited him over last night because I wanted to relax a little before exams, and then..."
He told him everything.
The panic attack.
The first aid.
The cake.
The lingering touches.
The way Minho had looked at him.
By the time he finished, his face was bright red, and he couldn't stop fidgeting with his fingers.
Changbin stared at him.
"So let me get this straight."
He counted on his fingers.
"He took care of you during a panic attack."
"Yeah."
"He patched you up."
"...Yeah."
"You baked a cake together."
"Mm-hm."
"He kept finding excuses to touch you."
Jisung covered his face.
"...Maybe."
"And he practically suggested doing it again."
Silence.
"...Yeah."
Changbin burst out laughing.
"Dude."
He pointed dramatically at Jisung.
"You've been smiling this entire time."
Jisung blinked.
"What?"
"I'm serious."
Changbin shook his head in disbelief.
"You've got literal heart eyes right now, and your face is the exact same color as my hoodie."
His hoodie happened to be bright red.
He let the silence hang for a moment before delivering the verdict.
"Jisung..."
"I hate to break it to you..."
"...but you're completely in love with Minho."
Jisung's eyes widened.
Deep down, though...
he'd already known.
"...You think?"
Changbin snorted.
"'You think?'"
He laughed again.
"Come on. It's written all over your face."
He glanced at the time and stood up.
"Anyway, I've got a romantic dinner waiting for me."
As he reached the door, he turned back one last time.
"Oh, and one more thing."
He pointed a finger at Jisung.
"Make a move before it's too late."
His grin returned.
"It's obvious you two like each other."
He opened the door.
"And I can't wait until we can all go on double dates."
With that, he left.
Jisung remained standing in the middle of the living room, feeling more lost than ever.
There was only one thing he knew for certain.
He was hopelessly in love with his best friend.
Min Ho was on the verge of losing his mind.
He had spent the entire day trying to tidy up the house. Or at least, he had tried to.
Every time he attempted to focus on a chore, his mind immediately drifted back to Jisung.
Almost unconsciously, he found himself thinking about his best friend.
He kept replaying the moment when his hand had brushed against Jisung’s cheek without him even realizing it.
It was as if his mind had acted on its own, trying to satisfy a need he had been desperately trying to suppress.
Jisung was a lively and sweet person, and those were exactly the qualities that made him so attractive in Min Ho’s eyes.
“He’s so cute,” “he’s adorable,” and “I just want to squeeze those precious cheeks of his” were only some of the thoughts constantly running through his head.
He hadn’t managed to finish a single one of the household tasks he had planned for the day, and he was furious both with himself and with Jisung.
With himself, because he was embarrassed to admit that maybe—just maybe—he was completely in love with his best friend.
And with Jisung, because his face was just too unfairly cute.
“His stupidly sweet face…” he muttered through gritted teeth.
He was already on the verge of a nervous breakdown when a brilliant idea suddenly came to him: inviting Jisung over for one of their usual sleepovers, just like they used to have back in the day, even though something had definitely changed between them.
That way, he could pay closer attention to Jisung’s behavior and figure out whether it was worth taking a step forward.
So, caught up in the moment, he quickly typed out a message, trying to make it sound as casual and indifferent as possible.
“Movie night at my place? Bring your pajamas😉"