Work Text:
Water cascaded down Jisung’s body, catching in the gentle grooves of his stomach. Small hands kept his hips in place, held firmly against cool tiles. Steam clouded the glass shower door, creating a private world where nothing existed except the two of them.
Flights. Logistics. Hell, even Seoul itself slipped out of focus. Only the warmth of the rapper beneath Minho’s fingers and the weight of the man against his tongue.
“Fuck.” Jisung’s head fell back with a dull thud. His fingers threaded through Minho’s wet hair, the light catching silver strands as he gave a gentle tug. There was no guiding. Just a gentle assurance the older man was doing well, despite the quiet protest of his knees.
“Hyung.” This time the sound came out as a whine. Low and grainy, as if the musician were trying to hold it back. The word dissolved into a moan as Minho hollowed his cheeks and took him deeper.
Minho barely remembered asking Jisung to join him. The silent answer of the rapper following him into the bathroom. Everything else was a blur. Undressing, turning on the tap.
All that truly mattered was Jisung, trembling beneath his touch. The way his stomach tightened when Minho took him particularly deep.
It was strange how easily he was able to find a natural rhythm. Muscle memory taking over. His tongue traced patterns he thought he'd forgotten, drawing sounds from the younger man he hadn't expected to hear again from anyone. It surprised him how easily it came back to him. The dance of lips and tongue, the careful management of teeth, the hollowing of cheeks at just the right moment.
Years had passed since he'd been intimate with anyone, his career and personal struggles pushing such desires to the background. Yet here, on his knees with warm water streaming down his back, it all returned with startling clarity.
“Hyung.” The honorific fell from Jisung’s lips like honey. Deliberate. Sticky sweet. “S’good… Your mouth is perfect.”
Hips stuttered forward, fingers tangling in salt and pepper locks to hold the older man in place. Every word, every movement sent electricity down Minho’s spine. Jisung knew exactly what he was doing. Knew how to easily unravel him. One night together and the musician already knew exactly how to undo him.
Jisung's hand moved to cup his jaw, fingers trembling slightly as he applied gentle pressure. Their eyes met as Minho's chin tilted upward, lips still stretched. It should have made him falter. Should have broken his concentration. But instead, it only intensified his determination. He maintained his rhythm, his lips sliding along the thick length without hesitation, all while holding that penetrating gaze.
Jisung's breath hitched. "God, hyung.” How he managed to speak was a miracle. Eyes locked on him, on the way Minho knelt there with his mouth stretched and willing, it was enough to push him over the edge. “I’m so close.”
The words sent a shiver of anticipation through Minho's body. The thought of Jisung coming down his throat made him moan involuntarily, the vibrations causing his lover to gasp and tighten his grip in damp hair. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, overwhelmed by desire as he reached between his own legs to give himself a few strokes.
He wanted nothing more than to make Jisung come. To taste him. To savor every drop. And after that, he'd rise to his feet, press the young rapper against these slick tiles, and take him until they were both shaking, until Jisung was begging to come again, voice ragged and—
Minho’s eyes snapped open.
It took a second for the heat to fade. For the memory of steam and breath and Jisung to dissolve into the familiar quiet of early morning. Light filtered in through the curtains, illuminating an empty pillow beside him.
He stared at the ceiling, heart still beating a little too fast.
“...Huh.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d relived that morning. Felt Jisung under his fingertips and against his tongue. Woke up alone and longing, surprised he was still prone to such vivid dreams at his age.
This time, however, it was different. Less fantasy, more anticipation. Like his thoughts were already moving ahead of him.
Minho pushed himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom, splashing water on his face before turning on the shower. The warmth helped, grounding him back in his body, in the reality of the day waiting for him.
Because today wasn’t just any day.
Today was their first real date.
Giving Jisung his number was a little bold of him. Hopeful, but only barely so. He didn’t expect the pretty young rapper to actually reach out. And when days went by without so much as a word, he assumed that that was where things would end up.
A lovely memory and nothing more.
Instead, he found himself texting back and forth with a man he by all rights should not have been talking to. Laughing late into the night at the absurdity of their conversations, and acting like he didn’t need several cups of coffee to get through his work day.
Minho watched his reflection in the mirror, frowning when his gaze lingered a little too long. He wasn’t insecure, exactly. But Jisung was young. Vibrant. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made rooms feel brighter when he walked into them. Minho was aware of the lines at the corners of his eyes, the years he carried with him.
He looked good for his age, and he genuinely liked who he was. He just hoped Jisung would, too.
The worry didn’t lessen his excitement. If anything, it sharpened it.
As he finished drying off, his phone buzzed on the counter.
Yongbok 🐣 [8:45 AM]
Do NOT cancel
Also
Found you something to wear
You’re welcome in advance
Minho snorted softly. Of course he had.
Another notification slid in beneath it.
Kim, Seungmin [8:46 AM]
Don’t overthink tonight
If he doesn’t like you, that’s his problem
An odd way to wish him luck, but if Seungmin ever showed signs of maturity, it would honestly be cause for concern. The man lived in a constant state of emotional constipation.
One last message loaded.
Jisung.
There was a selfie attached. Hair still a little messy. Hoodie pulled up around his neck. Sunlight hitting one side of his face. He was smiling, small and sincere, like he’d just woken up and decided to share that fact with Minho specifically.
Jisungie 🐹 [8:47 AM]
Looking forward to tonight
🥰
Something warm settled in Minho’s chest, steady and certain.
Hyung ♥️ [8:47 AM]
Me too
And he meant it. Even with all of the nerves, the anticipation, the risk of taking this step.
He wanted to see Jisung across a dinner table. To hear him laugh in real time. To find out whether the chemistry that started half a world away and they’d built upon through screens and late-night conversations would hold when they were standing face to face.
Minho set the phone down and took a breath.
Whatever happened tonight, it mattered. And that alone told him everything he needed to know.
He was ready to see where this could go.
Minho couldn’t remember the last time he went on a first date. Or any date for that matter. It sounded so easy in theory. After all, he and Jisung already shared more than a few awkward moments over pasta. Picking out an outfit for this dinner shouldn’t have felt like a Herculean task.
And yet, he stood in his bedroom with his arms crossed over his chest staring at himself in the mirror like it might blink first.
“This one makes you look like a divorced dad.” Felix was kind enough to help him look his best. Apparently that meant tearing through his closet and pulling out every shirt Minho had ever owned.
“I am a divorced dad.”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to look like one.” The blond sighed, rummaging through the pile for the tenth time. “It’s giving ‘parent-teacher conference’ energy.”
“It is very responsible.” Hyunjin had, against his will, been dragged into this as well. He gave his input from the bed, sitting crossed legged with his back against the wall.
“I don’t own irresponsible clothes.”
“And that’s the problem!” Felix searched for a moment before pulling out yet another shirt and shoving it at his dad. “Here.”
Minho eyed it suspiciously. “It’s black.”
“Yes.”
“And tight.”
“Still yes.”
He pulled it on anyway, fingers fumbling slightly with the hem. When he turned back toward them, Felix squinted like a judge on a talent show.
“…No.”
The accountant deflated. “No?”
“It’s fine.” Felix waved a hand dismissively. “I mean, you look good. You always look good. But not date good.”
Minho sighed, taking the shirt off and folding it neatly. He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to this. They had a connection, and he really liked Jisung. But if trying to date someone younger than him came with this much pressure, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do it right.
“Okay. So, your wardrobe is obviously a bust. Remind me to take you shopping on your next day off.” Felix sighed as he bounced out of the room.
“Why is he like this?” Minho muttered.
“He says he gets it from his mom.” Hyunjin laughed, clearing a spot on the bed for the older man to sit.
Not even thirty seconds later the model returned with a shirt in hand, holding it like it was the spoils of war. “Here. I think this is the one.”
It was lightweight black silk, soft and patterned, sheer enough to be distracting without trying. “It feels expensive.”
“Just put it on, dad.” Felix whined, joining Hyunjin on the bed and smiling when strong arms found their way around his waist.
Minho had to admit that it fit well. Hugged him in just the right way. But it felt too nice to wear, the silk light against his skin. He kept tugging at the hem, painfully aware that it showed more of him than he was used to.
“I think we have a winner.”
“It looks ok?”
“You look good in anything.” Hyunjin said with a smile.
“Not true. But I appreciate the flattery.”
“I told you he’d like it.” Felix giggled.
Minho froze, glancing at his son through the mirror. Just what did that mean? Did they plan this from the beginning? “Explain.”
“Well… I thought you might like to dress up a little more than usual. So… we sort of borrowed—”
Minho cut him off. “Borrowed? Felix, is this from one of your shoots?!”
“Not mine.”
That meant it was Hyunjin’s. He didn’t need to see the brand name to know what it was, and the thought made him bristle. “This costs more than my monthly grocery bill.”
“No one knows we took it.” The blond tried to explain only to receive a stern look from his father. “Besides, it’s not like I can take it back today. Might as well get some use out of it.”
“Don’t worry, appa. Han-ssi could tear that thing off of you and we’ll be fine. It’s insured.” Hyunjin backed his boyfriend up with a nod.
For some reason that did not make him feel better. “You two are unbelievable.”
Felix grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief again. “So.” He clapped his hands once. “How do you feel about makeup?”
Minho’s soul left his body.
1203.
Minho checked the number twice. Not because he got it wrong, he knew he didn’t. Nerves were simply getting the better of him, turning confidence into a tentative knock and a prickle of unease under his skin.
He smoothed a hand over the front of his shirt reflexively, acutely aware of how different it felt from anything he usually wore. For a moment he worried it was too much. Too flashy. Too revealing for someone his age.
Before he could think himself into a spiral the door opened, and in an instant he forgot whatever he was about to say. Forgot how to speak entirely.
Jisung stood there in a neat, casual outfit. Nothing flashy or overdone. But it suited him perfectly. Clean lines. Dark colors. Hair styled just enough to look intentional without trying too hard.
Comfortable. Effortless. Beautiful in a way that took Minho’s breath away.
“You look—”
“Damn.” The word slipped out before Jisung could stop it, eyes openly dragging over Minho head to toe.
It took a moment for Minho to recalibrate. He willed his mouth to work, still rendered speechless by the pretty young man in front of him. “Hi to you too.”
“Sorry… Hi. You just…” He gestured vaguely. “That’s a nice shirt.”
“It’s not mine.”
Jisung paused, head tilting ever so slightly. “What?”
“Hyunjin’s. Felix insisted since my wardrobe is apparently lacking.” Minho chuckled.
“Oh. Well, that explains… everything.” The younger man grinned. “You look really good in it.”
The compliment didn’t catch him off guard, but it did make him the slightest bit shy. Flustered, with a blush high on his cheeks. The honesty of Jisung’s words always struck him square in the chest.
Blinking several times to try and regain his composure, Minho pulled a small bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “I almost forgot. These are for you.”
Jisung froze.
It wasn’t anything over the top. Merely thoughtful. Soft colors. Fresh blooms chosen with care. Minho watched the exact moment it registered, the way Jisung’s entire expression lit up like someone just handed him something precious.
“You brought me flowers?”
“You mentioned liking them.” The older man shrugged as if it were completely normal. He wasn’t entirely sure if people these days still bought their dates flowers. Social norms changed constantly, and he didn’t want to break some cardinal rule just because he wasn’t well versed in them anymore.
Beyond that, he simply wanted to give Jisung something he knew he’d like.
The musician brought the bouquet to his face for a smell, eyes falling shut as he enjoyed the light fragrance. “Thank you.” He smiled, offering a hand to tug Minho along. “Come in for a second.”
Again, Minho blinked. “Oh… okay.”
“I just want to put these in water.” The door shut behind them with a click. “I don’t want them to wilt while we’re out.”
It was his first time seeing Jisung’s place in person. He’d seen glimpses in the background of video calls and selfies, but that did little to prepare Minho for the reality of stepping foot into the small apartment.
Warmer than he imagined. Lived in, but not messy. Cleaner than he’d expected the home of three young musicians to be. Comfortable. Creative chaos contained just enough to feel intentional.
“Are your roommates home?”
“Nope.” Jisung was already in the kitchen, filling what looked like a tall glass with water. Minho was certain it would topple over once the flowers were added. At least, that’s what experience had taught him. He made a mental note to buy a proper vase. Next time. “There was an… ingredients fiasco.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Changbin wanted Chan to make dinner.” The rapper explained, amused. “Forgot we were out of something important. So they had to go out and fix it.”
“Ah. A crisis.” Minho leaned against the counter, watching as Jisung tried his best to arrange the flowers. As predicted, it toppled a little when the weight leaned too heavily to one side. But the musician easily fixed it before making a mess.
It was domestic, in a way. Jisung carefully placing each bloom so it would be visible, hands moving with gentle precision. It filled Minho with a sense of nostalgia he wasn’t sure he was allowed to claim.
“So.” The younger man never looked up from his task, focused despite trying to carry on a conversation. “How’s that case you mentioned? Seungmin-ssi’s big thing.”
“Messy.”
“Messy how?”
“Divorce.” Minho sighed, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “And not an easy one. They have tangled assets. A business. Neither wants to compromise… I swear, it’s giving me ulcers.”
Jisung glanced over his shoulder, lifting his hands to see if the glass would tip over again. “That bad?” The flowers remained where they were, standing upright just as they were arranged.
“That bad.”
“I could never do what you do.” The musician smiled from ear to ear, happy with his little flower project. He carefully picked it up and carried it over to Minho, holding the flowers up so the older man could enjoy their smell. “I’d get emotionally invested and then ruin everything.”
Minho breathed in the sweet scent, offering a nod of appreciation. “I couldn’t do your job either.”
The widest, heart shaped smile spread on Jisung’s face. “Really? Sleeping until noon, writing a song about spicy noodles because you’re hungry but too lazy to get out of bed, and then arguing with Changbin for an hour about chord progression not your idea of fun?”
“Not even a little bit.” He chuckled, giving his head a shake. “But, at least it’s work.”
Jisung cooed softly, giving Minho a gentle shove to the shoulder. “You’re cute when you lie to me.”
“Sometimes the creative process involves instant noodles.”
Once again the rapper smiled. Beautiful and brilliant, setting off a kaleidoscope of butterflies in Minho’s stomach. “See? You get it.”
Their laughter faded into something quieter. Comfortable.
Minho was suddenly aware of just how close they were. How easy it would be to pull Jisung into him. Close the distance neither of them seemed all that keen on keeping. The musician’s eyes dropped down to his lips, briefly, before flicking back up. The air between them felt charged, like a held breath.
He wouldn’t deny the thoughts that flashed through his mind. The very ones that filled his dreams with heat.
“I… uh…” Reluctantly, he gently moved Jisung away with a hand on the hip. The loss of the young man’s heat made him ache. “We have a reservation.”
Jisung blinked a few times before exhaling like he’d almost forgotten where they were meant to be headed. “Right. Yeah.”
He reached for his jacket, fingers brushing Minho’s hand by accident. Or maybe not. Neither of them pulled away right away.
Without another word they made their way to the door, tension still humming quietly between them.
Unresolved. Deliberate.
The restaurant was on the fancier side, something Minho hadn’t given much thought to until they walked through the doors. Jisung tensed almost immediately, eyes wide as they darted around the small lobby.
It was a typical restaurant, at least in the accountant’s mind. Korean food in a quiet, restrained atmosphere. A bit pricey, but he wasn’t one to complain.
The pair were shown to a table, Minho just a step behind Jisung as they wove through the densely packed dining room.
It was elegant without being showy. Low light. Soft music. Conversations kept deliberately quiet. But the other patrons were dressed sharply enough that it was easy to feel out of place if you weren’t expecting it. Jisung’s gaze lingered too long on a nearby table, his steps slowing just a fraction as they followed the hostess.
One hand moved to rest on the small of Jisung’s back, thumb pressing gently through the fabric like an anchor. Minho leaned in close, voice low enough for only the rapper to hear.
“You belong here.” He murmured. “Keep your head up, jagiya.”
The shift was immediate. Back straightened, shoulders rolling back just a hair. Jisung’s confidence returned as Minho held the seat out for him, sharing a smile before the older man rounded the table to his own.
Luckily, the menu worked to ground the nervous musician even more. Familiar dishes they’d both grown up with, only presented in ways Minho found unnecessarily pretentious given the price points.
Jisung flipped through the pages slowly, eyes raking over each offering with care. Then they went wide, no doubt in response to just how expensive this place truly was.
“The short ribs here are really good. And the seafood pajeon, if you like sharing.” Minho offered offhandedly, eyes glued to his own menu, pretending he wasn’t reading Jisung as easily as he was.
“You’ve been here before.”
“A few times.” The older man chuckled. “Seungmin’s a fan.”
This earned him a soft laugh as Jisung returned his attention to the menu. “He has expensive tastes.”
“He charges by the hour so he can afford it.”
The gentle laughter softened Jisung even more, shoulders easing a bit like he’d been given permission to stop performing.
“The tofu stew’s a solid choice. Comfort food.” Minho added casually once the conversation died.
“You’re not helping me narrow it down.”
“I’m not trying to.”
A quiet settled between them. Minho took the lead when their waiter came to the table, ordering his favorite wine and asking for some more time to look over the menu. All the while Jisung watched him with a fond expression, eyes impossibly round and the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips.
“Can I ask you something?” The rapper neatly closed his menu, eyes never leaving Minho’s face. He was less overwhelmed. More deliberate. Like he knew exactly what he wanted to say.
“Of course.”
“Can you… order for us?”
The words were soft, but the intent was anything but. There was no hesitation. Jisung didn’t look unsure. Merely curious. Expectant. Almost as if he already knew what to order and was choosing to ask anyway.
For a moment Minho studied him, making sure he understood. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve always liked that in movies. When someone just… knows. Takes the lead.” He shrugged lightly, eyes never leaving Minho’s. “It’s kind of hot.”
Jisung’s smile had an edge to it. Mischievous. Sharp. Something electric buzzed through Minho’s spine.
“Alright. But you can’t blame me when we end up with pudding and nothing else.”
“Deal.”
Minho ordered with little fuss. Short ribs. Pajeon to share. Rice. Stew on the side. He didn't make a show of it. Just steady. Confident. Attentive.
When the server left, Jisung grew quiet again. His eyes darted around the room for a moment, taking in the crystal and silver as if he’d never seen anything like it before. Which Minho suspected was true.
Jisung didn’t strike him as the sort to date formally. Given his age, and his past love life, it stood to reason that he didn’t go out often. Not to anywhere that wasn’t a hole-in-the-wall bar, at least.
“Everyone here is dressed so nicely.”
“Really?” Minho blinked.
“Yeah.”
Leaning forward to rest his chin on one hand, Minho let his eyes trail over the pretty young man sitting across from him. Soft curls. Big brown eyes behind thin rimmed glasses. Cheeks puffed up as Jisung pouted. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Jisung laughed under his breath, the tips of his ears coloring as his gaze dropped in that shy way that made Minho’s chest tighten. His foot brushed the older’s beneath the table, unmistakably intentional, before pulling back just as quickly.
“Anyway…” He cleared his throat, lifting his head with sudden purpose. “We, uh, got accepted to that song camp I mentioned.”
There it was. The pivot. Moving on to something safe. Something that didn’t make the younger man’s heart pick up speed.
Minho hid a smile behind his wineglass, taking a measured sip. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jisung continued, relief bleeding into excitement as he spoke. “It’s three days, spread out over a week. Last time we did one, we managed to write six songs.”
The shyness was gone now, replaced by that bright, animated confidence Minho liked just as much.
“Six?”
“Mhmm. Good ones, too.”
“Impressive.” Jisung had gone over the songwriting process at length several times. While Minho nodded along enthusiastically, he still had no idea what actually went into it. Still, creating that many songs in such a short amount of time seemed like a lot of work. “Is that the goal this time?”
“Kind of. Chan-hyung already has a few tracks lined up, so we’re hoping that will help us get more done this time around.”
“For an album?”
“Sort of. We’re finishing negotiations for a couple gigs, so we want new stuff to play and records to sell.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “We’re kind of burning through our savings. The gigs and sales are gonna be a godsend.”
Money troubles were pretty common for men of Jisung's age. Add to that trying to get a production company off the ground, and it was no wonder the songwriting trio was short of cash. Still, it didn’t keep the concern from gnawing at Minho. He went to speak, only to fall quiet when Jisung continued.
“I can’t ask you for money, jagi.” His voice was soft but firm. “This is something I need to do for myself.”
The older man watched him for a moment. Not offended, just thoughtful. There was a determination to Jisung that rarely made its way to the surface. Confidence, true confidence. Like he already knew he and his friends could do this if given the space to work it out on their own.
“I wasn’t going to offer that.” Minho gave his head a soft shake. “But if you ever find yourself hurting for money, the firm is always looking for help. Even short term.”
Jisung looked up at him, eyes wide.
“And I can go over the contracts for you. No charge.” He smiled, earning one in return. “I’ll call in a few favors.”
Jisung laughed softly, relief and gratitude clear on his face. “I’ll bring it up to my hyungs.”
The food arrived shortly after, the conversation easing back into lighter territory. But Minho found himself watching Jisung more than the table, struck by how easily admiration turned into something steadier.
The drive to their next stop felt shorter than it was, eased along by Jisung’s soft voice singing along with the radio. Minho barely noticed the light changing until they arrived, the sun already hidden among the tall buildings, the city settling into a cool, violet twilight.
They walked side by side, people bustling past them with a hurry neither man seemed to want to match. The city noise faded behind them, paths curving ahead of them under the warm glow of streetlights.
“Do you take all of your dates here?” Jisung asked, shoulders bumping as their shoes crunched the gravel beneath their feet.
“I don’t date, remember?”
“Okay, fine.” He chuckled. “If you did. The last guy you were seeing.”
Minho slowed just a fraction. He didn’t really like talking about Hyunwoo. The hurt wasn’t fresh, but the man had still managed to waste a year of Minho’s life.
“He worked a lot.” Minho shrugged, trying to play it off as meaning less than it did. “So we mostly stayed in.”
The pair continued their walk, leaning into each other more than was necessary. Minho couldn’t help replaying his previous relationship. Moments that still made his chest ache, alongside a few that brought an unexpected smile. “I did take him to this pop up restaurant once.” He chuckled, giving his head a little shake at the memory. “One of those chef led places that changed locations every night. He’d talked about it nonstop.”
Jisung smiled, warmth softening his features as he listened.
“Turned it into an entire night out. You know, dancing and drinking. But dinner was first. So… we got there right on time, and were whisked away to our table. It was good. More than I could afford at the time, but worth it.”
Minho laughed. A deep, belly laugh that had absolutely no mirth to it at all. “And he just… complained the whole time. Hated everything about it. Said it was pretentious.”
Jisung's expression fell.
“We didn’t go dancing after that. I got the feeling he didn’t like being seen with me. So it became our last actual date.”
Jisung stopped walking. Without a word, merely stood in the center of the walkway with an expression that could curdle milk. Minho noticed, turning back just in time to see the flash of anger cross the young man’s face.
“That’s bullshit.” He growled. “You’re a great person, Minho. I’m sorry he couldn’t see that.”
Before Minho could respond, Jisung reached for his hand. Their fingers laced together, hesitant for half a second, then sure. Both of them flushed, neither pulling away.
“You need ice cream.”
“Ice cream?”
The rapper nodded, dragging him along to a vendor not far from their path. After a quick order and an unnecessarily dramatic flourish of a bank card, they ended up sharing a single bowl and spoon between the two of them.
Jisung fed him the first bite, as if that might somehow make up for the hurt Minho still carried. Show him he was appreciated, even if what they had wasn’t labeled as anything more than friendship.
They walked for a while in silence, sharing bites as they followed the path toward the faint music ahead.
“This new guy I’m talking to is pretty great, though.” Minho began, glancing sideways at the young man beside him. “Total opposite of that jerk.”
“Yeah? Tell me about him.” Jisung hummed with the spoon in his mouth.
“He’s a musical prodigy. Gonna take the world by storm one of these days.”
“K-pop idol?”
“He’s got the looks for it.” Minho smiled fondly. “But no. Rapper. Produces his own music. Ridiculously talented.”
Jisung whined, the sound lacking any sort of dignity. “You can’t just say things like that.”
The older man chuckled, enjoying watching him squirm. They walked in comfortable silence, sharing bites, as well as a few stolen glances, as they strolled along.
“What about you?” Minho tried for casual, landing somewhere between nervous and far too curious. Since the first text he’d wondered where he stood with Jisung. If their flirting was merely fun or something more.
It felt like more. At least to him.
“Seeing anyone?”
“Oh, yea. Met an older guy in New York.”
Minho’s stomach flipped.
“Total nerd. He works with numbers and he’s stupid smart.” Jisung smirked. “And hot as fuck. Like… his thighs. Honestly, they could end me and I’d be grateful.”
Minho nearly choked on his ice cream.
“But… he’s not what I’m used to.”
“How so?”
“He’s… sweet. Respectful. Never pushes. Doesn’t have any expectations. Just sort of… meets me where I am. And I sort of like that.”
“Like what?” He asked quietly.
“Taking it slow. There’s a lot I want to do to him, don’t get me wrong, but… The waiting feels good.”
With the ice cream momentarily forgotten, Minho reached out to brush a stray lock of hair back from his friend’s face. His fingers lingered just a second too long.
“You’re worth the wait.”
Music grew louder as the small amphitheater came into view. Brass and bass, someone singing in a language Minho didn’t quite understand. It had a nice beat to it, one he could see himself getting lost in if his joints weren’t so bad.
“Is that live music?” Jisung bounced on the soles of his feet, hand tugging at Minho’s where they were intertwined.
“I heard there was a concert series going on.” He tried to seem uninterested, play it off as mere coincidence and not part of his plan for the night.
The low key, relaxing concert on the grass was just Minho’s speed. A chance for them to enjoy each other’s company without any pressure. Good music, good company. A perfect evening.
But the longer he thought about it, the more he worried it was too casual. The kind of thing people Jisung’s age might call cringy. A walk in the park, a lawn full of elderly couples, smooth jazz humming in the background.
His fingers tightened briefly around Jisung’s as his anxiety began to spike. Suddenly he was nervous he had chosen the wrong thing for them to do. A walk in the park was cliche as it was, adding to it a lawn full of elderly couples while a band played smooth jazz seemed outright dull.
“Can we listen?” Jisung was bouncing again, his excitement making his entire body vibrate. “Please, Minho? Just for a few minutes.”
Minho looked at him wide eyed.
It took a moment, a series of quick blinks, for what Jisung was saying to register.
“You want to watch?”
“Yes!” Jisung whined, tugging Minho along. “It sounds so cool.”
All the older man could do was laugh. Why did he ever doubt himself? Of course a musician like Jisung would jump at the chance to hear live music, regardless of the setting.
With a little laugh he allowed himself to be pulled along, following his friend to an empty spot on the grass. They didn’t have a blanket like most of the others in attendance. So Minho merely made himself comfortable with his coat folded neatly beside him.
For a moment Jisung hesitated before moving to sit in Minho’s lap.
Minho’s breath caught.
Every instinct in him wanted to hold on. To keep Jisung close, warm and solid against him. But instinct had never been the thing he trusted most. He’d learned, over the years, that wanting didn’t mean taking. And that just because the rapper leaned in didn’t mean he was allowed to assume anything.
So he waited.
Only when Jisung settled fully, relaxed and unguarded, did Minho let himself respond. Slowly, deliberately, he wrapped both arms around the young man’s waist, hands resting easy at his sides. Not possessive. Not tight. Just there.
Jisung sighed, soft and content, leaning back into the hold like it was exactly where he was meant to be.
Music began to play, songs bleeding into each other as the band continued their set. Slow beats and words Minho didn’t understand but could feel in his soul.
The pair swayed gently to the music, the rapper humming along as if he already knew the songs while Minho merely enjoyed the rhythm. It was quiet. Low key, yet somehow exciting.
“This was the plan all along.” Jisung murmured, leaning back in the older man’s arms. “First dinner. Then the walk. Then music.”
“Am I that transparent?” Minho hooked his chin over the rapper’s shoulder, tightening his grip just a hair. It was intimate in a way that made his heart flutter, despite being surrounded by so many people.
“Maybe a little.” Jisung giggled softly, almost shy. “But, it’s nice. Most guys go to loud clubs, or packed bars. It’s hard to have a good time when it’s so loud you can’t think.”
A lady bug began to crawl up Minho’s leg, only to be carefully picked up by a curious rapper. The way he eyed the thing was adorable. Both confused and interested at the same time. With a little smile he moved to place it in the older man’s hand. “This is much more fun.”
“Playing with bugs in the park?”
“Just being with you, really.” He smiled as their lady bug friend flew away. “The bugs are just a perk.”
The walk back to the car was shorter than it should have been. Jisung rambled excitedly about the music, arms waving around animatedly as he spoke. Every so often he turned around, walking backward while Minho kept a more leisurely pace.
He had to admit the night hadn’t gone in the direction he’d anticipated. The loud part of his brain had insisted it would be a disaster. That his plans were meant for an older crowd, that Jisung would be bored.
Minho was pleasantly surprised to find that wasn’t the case. Jisung genuinely enjoyed each and every song, tapping along to the beat and leaning back in the older man’s arms.
It was everything Minho had hoped it would be. And more.
That is, until they reached the parking lot and his heart dropped to his stomach. It hit him all at once. Not wanting their date to end. To continue spending time with Jisung, doing anything or nothing at all. He’d never felt this hollow at the end of a date before, like something had been cut short.
Minho told himself this was normal. Dates ended. You said goodnight. Wanting more didn’t mean you were owed it. Still, the thought of unlocking the car and watching Jisung walk away left him unsettled.
He wondered if the younger man felt it too, the unfinished edge of the night, or if that ache was his alone.
Jisung stopped a few steps from the car, hands fiddling with each other as he merely stood there. Whatever thought he was just saying died on his tongue, the musician quiet as he watched Minho unlock the doors. “Minho…”
“Hmm?”
“I um…” He paused, leaning forward onto his toes before rocking back onto his heels. “I don’t want to go home. Not yet.”
Minho couldn’t help the fond smile that touched his lips. Apparently they were thinking the same thing, that calling it a night wasn’t what they wanted. “You know, we could always go back to my place.” Jisung’s gaze shot up, eyes wide. “To meet the cats. See if you pass inspection.”
For a long, torturous moment, Jisung seemed to weigh the choice. Not fear. Just consideration. Trust. Minho waited, forcing himself not to rush it, not to fill the silence with reassurance the musician hadn’t asked for.
Then Jisung nodded, small and decisive, reaching for the passenger door. “Why not. I’ve made worse impulsive decisions.”
Minho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he started the engine, his heart beating faster at the quiet thrill of it.
“That it will never come again,” he said lightly, smiling to himself, “is what makes life so sweet.”
And tonight, he was willing to believe it.
The apartment was quiet when Minho opened the door. His feline companions were either uninterested or perfectly content, sprawled wherever they pleased.
“Make yourself at home.”
Jisung gave a polite bow of his head before slipping off his shoes, happily taking the guest slippers when offered. They weren’t anything fancy. White and simple. A stark contrast to Minho’s own pink pawprint patterned pair. “You have a nice place.”
Minho smiled to himself as he made his way into the kitchen. He wasn’t a very boastful man. Happy with where he was in life, successful in ways that mattered, proud of what he’d built despite the hardships along the way. Still, hearing Jisung compliment his small apartment made something warm settle in his chest.
“It’s good enough for the cats, so I’m happy with it.” He made himself busy getting his pets dinners ready. Three bowls of kibble, three plates of wet food. A small sprinkle of extra vitamins for Soonie.
It wasn’t long after he placed them on the counter that the three furballs came running in, mewling and chirping as if they had never been fed before. “Aish. Stop screaming. I’m ten minutes late.” Minho grumbled, maneuvering as best he could to deliver each bowl to the correct kitty.
“Are they always this demanding?” A soft coo, and Jisung was leaning in the doorway watching the chaos unfold.
“Only when I’m late.”
“You could get one of those automatic feeders.” He hummed, amused. There was a fond smile on his face. Like the domestic chaos was genuinely fascinating.
“I’d need three. They’re brothers, they don’t share.”
“Yeah, I remember how that is.” Jisung paused, Minho cocking a brow in confusion. “Older brother. Jihoon.”
“You two close?”
“Used to be.” He shrugged. “Kind of drifted apart when I moved back to Seoul. But we talk sometimes.” He paused. “How about you? Any siblings.”
“No. My parents had a hard enough time raising me, so I think they gave up trying.” Minho laughed. “Apparently, I was a terror.”
Jisung looked him up and down for a moment, then glanced around the cat themed kitchen. Hardly the look of a ‘terror’. “Clearly.”
With another soft laugh, the older man took his friend by the hand and tugged him along. “Come on. It’s time for a tour.”
The tour wasn’t lengthy, Minho’s apartment spacious but straightforward. Jisung was left in the bedroom with a small pile of clothes to change into.
“Are you staying the night?”
The question slipped out before Minho could stop it, spur-of-the-moment and unguarded. His ears burned almost immediately. There was no pressure behind it, only curiosity. And the soft nod Jisung gave in response made Minho’s chest tighten all the same.
Tea was made while the rapper changed into something more comfortable, Minho swapping his date clothes for sweats and a tank top. The borrowed shirt was folded neatly and placed by the front door, ready to be returned as soon as possible. He didn’t trust himself to keep it without risking something stupid. Damage, forgetfulness, sentiment.
“Really?”
Jisung’s voice pulled his attention back. When Minho turned, he found the younger man standing in the doorway wearing a very familiar shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts.
“You kept this?”
“It’s a good shirt.” Minho said, a little too quickly.
He stopped himself from closing the distance. Just looked instead. Jisung swallowed by cotton and memory, the fabric hanging loose on his smaller frame. Familiar, and somehow devastating.
Minho cleared his throat. “I mean. It… fits you.”
Jisung’s mouth twitched, like he knew exactly what the older man wasn’t saying.
“I put the kettle on.” He turned away before he could overthink it. Or reach out. “You can…uh… make yourself comfortable.”
The living room lights were kept low. Soft. Intentional. Minho handed Jisung a mug and gestured vaguely toward the couch.
“I usually put something on.” He said. “Background noise.”
“Anime?” Jisung asked immediately, hopeful.
Minho smiled despite himself. “I should’ve known.”
They settled on opposite ends of the couch at first. Not awkward, just careful. Minho queued up something familiar, something easy. The cats drifted over one by one, claiming laps and armrests without asking.
Minutes passed like that. Quiet. Comfortable.
Jisung laughed softly at something on screen, glancing over without thinking, and Minho caught himself watching the way his face lit up. The way he leaned forward when a scene caught his interest.
Eventually, without comment, the younger man shifted closer. Not touching. Just close enough that the older could feel the warmth of him.
Minho didn’t move.
“Have you watched this show before?” Jisung asked, glancing from the corner of his eye. “It’s good. I like it.”
In all honesty, Minho hadn’t been paying much attention. It was hard when the prettiest young man he had ever met was sitting just a few cushions away, looking like a dream in a tacky New York t-shirt.
“What I don’t like.” Jisung continued, shifting yet again. “Is how far away you are.”
“Just… trying to give you some space.”
The rapper moved sideways on the couch, looking up at Minho with wide innocent eyes. “I said I wanted to take it slow. Not that I wanted you to stay six feet away from me.”
Minho hesitated for a moment, the episode they were supposed to be watching continuing to play though largely ignored. The warmth between them felt different. Settled, but charged. Like a wire pulled just tight enough to hum.
He shifted. Not much. Just enough to turn his body slightly toward Jisung, one arm lifting to rest along the back of the couch. Open. Unassuming. An invitation without pressure.
Jisung noticed immediately.
His shoulders drew in a fraction, bashful in a way Minho hadn’t seen before. He ducked his head, fingers fidgeting in his lap before reaching out almost absentmindedly, tracing slow lines along Minho’s forearm. Up. Down. Light enough that the older man felt it everywhere.
Neither of them looked at the screen anymore.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.” He replied, voice steady despite the way his pulse kicked.
Jisung hesitated, fingers still moving. “Do you ever… think about New York?”
It was the first time either of them had said it out loud. Since returning to Korea, it seemed to be the one topic they both tried desperately to avoid. It had sat between them ever since, an elephant neither of them had been brave enough to name.
Minho didn’t pretend to think.
“Every night.”
Jisung’s breath caught, fingers stilling for a moment. He nodded, dropping his eyes to a vein just under the elder’s skin. “Me too.”
“You don’t regret it, do you?” Why Minho would ruin the moment asking something like that was beyond him. Perhaps a touch of insecurity, wondering if New York meant the same to Jisung as it did to him.
“Not what happened at the hotel.” Jisung’s gaze shifted slightly, glancing at Minho through his lashes. “The rest, though…Not my finest moment.”
Minho turned his head enough to look at him fully. The way his smile fought against a pout. The way he worried his bottom lip like he wasn’t sure what came next.
“I’m really glad you ended up texting.” Minho said quietly. “I didn’t know if you would.”
Jisung huffed a small laugh. “Neither did I.”
“I hoped you would.” The older man admitted, moving just a hair closer. “More than I probably should have.”
The rapper looked up, meeting his eyes. It was brief. Bashful and shy in a way that made Minho’s heart skip a beat.
“I don’t usually make decisions like that. But you made it easy.” He smiled softly, thumb flexing once against the back of the couch, resisting the urge to reach out. “I never wanted it to be a one time thing.”
“Minho…”
“I still want you.” He said simply. “Just… like this. Too.”
Jisung’s smile softened. He didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he leaned in.
Slow. Careful. Giving Minho every chance to pull away.
Minho didn’t.
It was gentle at first. Unhurried. Deliberate. Nothing like New York, and somehow exactly the same. Both were testing the weight of it, measuring how much they were willing to give. Minho kept the kiss soft on purpose, lips moving slowly against Jisung’s, hands still where they were.
He could feel Jisung doing the same. Trying to keep himself from taking more than the older man was willing to allow. Fighting desperately to keep his body from moving on instinct. They were both very aware of just how easily this could tip into something else if either of them stopped paying attention.
Jisung pulled back just enough to exhale, the sound barely there. Warm and unguarded before Minho closed the distance again with a subtle shift of his weight.
It was deeper this time. Still restrained, only closer than before. Jisung’s response was instant, fingers curling into the fabric of the older man’s tank top to ground himself. As if the soft cotton could keep him from being swept away.
They paused. Foreheads nearly touching. Breathing shared.
Then the softest, sweetest sound caught in Jisung’s throat. Akin to a laugh, only breathy. Needy. Whiny.
And Minho’s composure slipped.
He deepened the kiss without thinking, lips parting as he pulled Jisung closer, the restraint giving way to want. Not rushed, just honest. The musician gasped quietly, the sound swallowed between them as he kissed back with equal intent.
The room filled with small noises. The faint hum of approval from Jisung, Minho’s answering sigh when he felt it.
Jisung shifted.
Subtle, at first. Like he was just trying to get more comfortable. Then his knee pressed into the couch beside Minho’s thigh, and before the older man could fully register it Jisung was straddling him. Settled into his lap as if he belonged there.
And he did. God help him, he did.
Jisung fit against him with an ease that stole the breath from Minho’s lungs. Like this was where he’d always meant to be. Arms looped loosely around his neck, lips slotting together in a way that felt less like discovery and more like memory.
It was devastating how right it felt. How familiar. As if New York had never really ended, only paused.
Minho froze for half a second. Not because he didn’t want this, but because he wanted it too much.
His hands hovered uselessly at Jisung’s sides, every muscle in his body working to stay exactly where he was. To keep the moment from tipping too far, too fast.
Jisung sighed softly against his mouth, kissing him again, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly how thin the older man’s self-control already was.
Minho kissed him back, controlled and aching, letting the heat build without letting it break them.
Not yet.
“Hyung.” Another breathy sigh as the rapper rolled his hips. “I missed this.”
“Me too.” How he managed to find words was a miracle. Jisung was all encompassing, even like this.
“Touch me.”
And who was Minho to deny him? Both arms wrapped around the musician’s small frame, tugging him close as his fingers splayed out over the expanse of his back. Jisung arched in his hold, head rocking back as he ground down into Minho’s lap.
“Fuck. You’re already hard.”
So was Jisung. One heated make out and the pair were already so desperate. Minho hummed to himself as his lips found the soft skin of Jisung’s neck, savoring the familiar taste of salt and warmth.
“Okay.” Jisung breathed, laughing quietly as he allowed better access with a tilt of his head. “Okay. We need to slow down.”
Minho stopped immediately.
A small, betrayed sound slipped out of him before he could help it, more whine than protest, and Jisung laughed outright at that, shoulders shaking.
“Wow.” He teased softly. “That bad?”
“You have no idea.” The elder admitted, smiling despite himself. His hands stayed where they were, firm but still. “I’m fine. I just…” He exhaled. “I really want you.”
Jisung’s grin softened. “I know. I want you too.” He leaned in just enough to brush their noses together. “But…”
He murmured it against Minho’s lips, like a secret.
“Patience is a different thing from delay.”
The older man huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re quoting poetry at me while sitting in my lap.”
“Paraphrasing.” Jisung cracked a smile. “Also, if we don’t stop now, we’re not stopping at all.”
Minho laughed, resting his forehead against the rapper’s. “Fair.”
He pressed a softer kiss to Jisung’s jaw, then his cheek giving it a playful nip. “You’re worth waiting for.”
The musician’s expression gentled, something soft and certain settling between them as he relaxed back into the strong arms holding him tight. “Yeah.” He sighed quietly. “You are too.”
“Fuck, hyung. I’m close.”
Minho knew this part. Jisung’s hand was familiar, gently lifting his chin until their eyes locked. The sound of water hitting the floor was the same. The way Jisung tilted his head back, eyes closing as he was taken impossibly deeper.
A memory, vivid and unchanging.
He followed the rhythm of it. Remembered the way his lover gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. Allowed his eyes to flutter shut, his own hand to wrap around his neglected length for the only relief he knew was coming.
But something shifted. The steam thickened instead of clearing, the room blurring at the edges like condensation dragged by a palm. Jisung’s hands didn’t move away when Minho expected them to. They lingered. Guided him. Brought him to his feet.
“Hyungie.” Voice was sweet like honey, the words pressed to the older man’s lips as he drew him closer. “Please.”
He didn’t say that. Minho knew he didn’t. But the want flared anyway.
The realization came softly, like the moment before waking. The dream didn’t break. It deepened. Jisung pressed into him, pressed closer, heat and weight and intention where there had been none before.
“Jisung, I…” But the words died on his lips as Jisung claimed them, thoughts scattering like dust in the wind when the younger man moaned.
His body reacted before he could remind himself of the truth. That this was a memory. That he ended that morning on his knees, mouth used until Jisung came down his throat.
That this was only a dream, and that he wanted it anyway.
The world reduced to sensation. Heat. Skin. The steady pull of desire. Jisung looking at him like he already knew what Minho wanted to do next. Like he’d been waiting for it.
“Please, hyung.” The rapper begged, untangling himself just long enough to turn around and glance over his shoulder.
The moment his hands settled on the gentle slope of Jisung’s hips, solid and real, the dream tipped fully into something else. Jisung sighed, pleased, familiar and new all at once, the sound enough to make Minho’s breath stutter.
He slipped in with no resistance, his lover’s body relaxed and pliant as it took him inch by inch. Minho reminded himself that this didn’t happen.
But the thought was nothing more than a flicker. Distant and powerless. The dream carried him forward anyway, past memory into something imagined and achingly specific.
“Don’t stop.” Jisung stuttered, cheek mushed against the glass as his body rocked with the force of Minho’s thrusts.
The dream stretched, elastic and indulgent, holding him there just a second longer than it should. Long enough for Minho to register the difference.
His chest tightened with the truth of it. Not guilt. Not confusion. Just longing. Clean and uncomplicated. A want that wasn’t desperate, only patient. Like his body already understood what his mind had been circling for days now.
The image wavered. Jisung’s voice softened, losing its edges, the sound folding in on itself as if carried underwater. The heat faded last, stubborn and insistent, clinging to him even as the world thinned and pulled apart.
Minho exhaled.
Slowly he blinked his eyes open, no longer in the hotel shower but tucked into the warmth of his bed. The familiar weight of his eldest cat pressed against his chest, while another was curled up by his shoulder.
It took a few minutes for the dream to fade completely. For the heat to leave his skin and the echo of Jisung’s voice to leave his head.
He rolled to the side, happy to find the rapper there, curled beside him. His breathing was slow and even. One arm tucked under his pillow, lashes dark against his cheeks. Peaceful. Real.
Minho watched him for a long moment, the dream dissolving under the weight of reality.
That wasn’t how it ended, he thought to himself.
And somehow, the truth of that didn’t disappoint him at all. If anything, it made the quiet weight of Jisung beside him feel even more real.
With a smile he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind Jisung’s ear, kissing a round cheek before prying himself out of the bed. His feline friends were less willing to leave the warmth, opting to curl up beside the rapper.
He made breakfast on autopilot. Eggs, toast, coffee. Three bowls of kibble, three plates of wet food.
The memory still clung to him. Made his pulse trip when he focused on it for too long.
Their meeting. Their night at the hotel, and the sweet morning that followed.
Soft lips against his while a forgotten anime played in the background.
Patience is a different thing from delay.
Minho exhaled softly.
He understood it now. Not as restraint, not as denial. But as choice. Wanting Jisung in every way and deciding, deliberately, to give them time to grow into it.
The hunger wasn’t gone.
It was just… quieter. Steadier.
An impatient Dori nipped at his toe, earning a soft ‘Aish’ and a gentle kick of his foot. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Brain is still foggy.” He set the bowls in their proper places, surprised to find all three of his favorite kitties had joined him.
“Morning.” The voice was soft, but deep. Grainy with sleep but still adorable. Jisung stood in the doorway, rubbing one eye as he yawned.
Minho thought the man had never looked more beautiful. Absolutely perfect in the morning light.
“Good morning, bug.”
They ate against the counter, shoulders brushing. Easy and unhurried, like they had nowhere else they would rather be.
“I was thinking.” Jisung began, cheeks round with food. “There’s this new jazz club opening up near the studio.”
“Hmm?”
“Maybe… I can let you take me sometime.”
“How generous of you.”
“I’m practically a saint.”
Minho watched him for a moment, taking in the smile that tried desperately to be cocky but only came across as shy. Feeling a bit bold, he lifted the young man’s chin up, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.
His thumb brushed along Jisung’s jaw, slow and familiar, and the younger man leaned into it without thinking. The wanting hummed between them.
Not urgent, not quieted. Just waiting.
“It’s a date.”