Chapter Text
The day after Jisung’s high school graduation, his grandfather keeled over from a heart attack. Jisung was sure there was something wrong with him, psychologically, because he found he wasn’t too torn-up over it. He mourned, of course. Grieved for the man who’d raised him. But there was a secret, ugly part of him that was relieved. Like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.
The day after the funeral, Jisung broke up with his boyfriend. Then he took the graduation money Grandpa had gifted him to a salon and bleached his hair. He felt like a new person.
Grandpa used to say that Jisung was his second chance at raising a child. A chance to get it right. It was all about appearances with Grandpa, and his daughter had blown it by getting knocked up in high school. Which meant Jisung had to be exceptional.
And exceptional he was. He skipped the third grade. He won a scholarship to attend a private high school for gifted students. He graduated at the top of his class at seventeen years old. All while staying firmly in the closet - at least to Grandpa - just so he could be a grandson worth bragging about.
And then, without ever truly knowing his grandson, Grandpa died. And Jisung wondered what it had all been for.
Jisung wasn't cut out for freedom, it turned out. Without someone pushing him to study, he struggled through his first semester of college. Without someone to disappoint, he got caught up in the campus life, dedicating his evenings and weekends to parties and random hookups. This culminated in a full-blown panic attack in his best friend’s dorm room the week before finals. It had taken six months for the loss to finally hit him. He cursed his grandfather for leaving when Jisung still needed him.
Underneath the veil of indifference, he was still Jisung. Still with a pathological need to please people. Still basing his entire self-worth around his ability to do so. A new hair color didn't make him a new person after all. It still grew out black, the brassy blond eventually trimmed away.
+☔️+
Jisung worried sometimes that he was taking advantage of Hyunjin’s easy going nature. That if he wasn’t such a pushover, Hyunjin would’ve ditched him two years ago. This wasn’t the case, of course – Jisung’s brain was more unkind to him than any friend ever could be – but knowing that didn’t stop the worry from creeping up now and then. Worrying was what he did best, after all.
That, and blow jobs.
“Maybe we should just cancel the show,” he said, wringing his hands nervously.
Hyunjin looked at him sharply. “We’re not throwing away all of our hard work just because one actor quit.”
“But what if no one auditions? Or what if it bombs? Or what if nobody comes to see it ?” Jisung pictured his mom in the front row of an otherwise empty theater. “Oh my god, new fear unlocked.”
Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Relax, Jisung. When has anything ever gone as badly as you predicted?”
“You mean besides my relationships?”
“I mean when it’s something you actually put effort into.”
“Okay, ouch.”
Hyunjin dragged Jisung through the double doors of the student union. “Just don’t sleep with anymore of the cast members and everything will be fine.”
“For your information, Charlie didn’t quit because I fucked him. He quit because I dumped him.”
“You’re testing my patience.”
“I’ve been doing that since we met, but your patience passes every test.”
Hyunjin sighed dramatically. “It’s true. I am a saint to put up with you.”
Truth be told, Hyunjin was one of the few people Jisung felt like he could be himself around, flaws and all. Their first meeting hadn’t scared him off, so Jisung was fairly confident nothing could. Jisung was a lot . He tried to be less, most of the time, but he felt safe with Hyunjin. As annoyed as he pretended to be with Jisung’s antics, he could always be counted on to have his back.
Hyunjin had been the one to convince Jisung to submit his original play to the theater department for consideration for their spring production. It had ultimately been rejected in favor of A Midsummer Night’s Dream , because of course it was. Jisung was no Shakespeare. He had expected it to end there, but Hyunjin had insisted they could still put on Jisung’s show on their own, and Hyunjin could be convincing when he wanted to be. But the closer they got to putting on the show, the less convinced Jisung became. Losing one of their lead actors didn't bode well for them, and there were still a million other things that could go wrong. He’d spent a good chunk of the afternoon listing them and testing poor Hyunjin’s patience.
They’d been friends since their freshman year, shortly after Hyunjin had arrived in the States. Jisung had gotten plastered at a banquet for the Asian American Student Union like the absolute mess that he was and had somehow ended up in Hyunjin’s lap in the bathroom, sobbing about the ex-boyfriend he'd just run into. Hyunjin, like any self-respecting international student would, pretended not to speak English. Which didn’t faze Jisung, who was proficient enough in Korean and intent on oversharing, apparently. So here they were.
Jisung followed Hyunjin across the student lounge to the large bulletin board on the wall.
Without the theater department backing them, the cast and crew consisted mostly of Jisung's extended friend group. Formerly, it also included one guy who’d wanted to get into Jisung's pants. (He had succeeded, but at what cost?)
Jisung’s major was in literature, which was theater-adjacent, but he only had one friend in the theater department. Jeongin had convinced as many of his fellow theater nerds as he could to help out. But with most of them opting to focus on A Midsummer Night’s Dream , Jisung was just hoping beyond hope that there was some other guy outside of the theater department with time to waste right before finals and a secret passion for the performing arts. Which was why he and Hyunjin were currently plastering the campus with fliers.
Hyunjin stepped back from the bulletin board to admire his handiwork. The watercolor sunset he had painted for the flier he seemed too pretty to be lost in a sea of advertisements for tutoring and student rideshares that cluttered the bulletin board. It was too pretty for Jisung's play, for that matter.
“We’ll find someone,” Hyunjin said, with a reassuring hand on Jisung's shoulder.
“Or…you could do it?”
“No English,” Hyunjin said flatly.
“Shut up. Your English is better than Innie’s, and he was raised by white people in Bumfuck, Montana.”
“I'm telling him you said that.”
“Go ahead. He knows he's dumb.”
Another student slipped in front of them to post his own bulletin - the basketball team’s season schedule. Jisung rolled his eyes. The basketball flier was obnoxiously large and colorful, and completely unnecessary. The school sent regular updates about upcoming sporting events to their student email, and even if they didn’t, people talked about the basketball team like they were actual NBA stars and not a bunch of unpaid college students who attended made-up classes so they could maintain their GPAs and save their brain power for the court.
Jisung wasn’t bitter at all.
His roommate had taken a sudden interest in basketball recently, and it took everything in Jisung not to snap at Felix’s cute excited face every time he brought it up.
“ Endless Night ?” the student in front of the board read, observing Hyunjin's flier.
Jisung’s face heated up when he heard his play’s title out loud. Was it a cheesy title? Was it too pretentious? Should he tear down the sign before anyone else saw it?
He was seriously considering this when the student turned around, and Jisung was met with warm brown eyes and pretty down-turned lips.
Jisung’s mouth went dry. He felt a hand on the small of his back - Hyunjin’s gentle reminder that he was still there with him.
Jisung recognized Minho Lee immediately. Not only was he the starting point guard for the basketball team, he was, well, beautiful.
“I heard they were doing some Shakespeare play,” Minho said, pointing a thumb toward their flier.
“This is an independent show,” Hyunjin explained. “Jisung wrote it.”
Minho’s eyebrows shot up. “You wrote a play?” he asked, sounding genuinely impressed.
“Yeah,” Jisung croaked.
“Maybe I’ll come see it,” Minho said. “If I have time. Basketball, you know.”
“Well, if you have time,” Jisung replied lamely. “There will be plenty of open seats.”
This earned him a sharp jab in the rib from Hyunjin.
“No there won’t. It will be a full house. Buy your tickets early.”
Jisung clutched his rib and sent Hyunjin a dirty look. Hyunjin shot back his most charming grin.
Minho glanced around the student lounge awkwardly. “Okay. Well, good luck. Or, break a leg? Is ‘break a leg’ just for actors?”
“Thank you,” Jisung said. “You too. I mean, good luck. With basketball. Don’t break a leg.”
He felt the blood drain from his face as Minho walked away. Hyunjin kept a hand around Jisung's waist, as if to steady him. Maybe he thought Jisung was going to faint. Maybe he was going to faint. Because he thought he’d run through every worst-case scenario in his mind, but he had just been forced to consider, for the first time, the very worst thing that could happen to his show, and it was that Minho would see it. And know it was about him.
+☔️+
Their secret spot was a concrete parking lot overlooking a private beach near the naval air station in Oak Harbor. It was never crowded, because there was no beach access. People would stop by occasionally to take in the view, but they never stayed long. Why would they, when there was a public beach a mile down the road? But their spot had a beautiful ocean view and a nearby bike trail, and Jisung and Minho could sit on the hood of Minho’s car and breathe in the ocean air and watch the jets fly overhead. It was summer, so they could stay out late into the evening before the sun would start to set. Jisung would tell his mom he was going for a bike ride, which was technically true, but he would leave out the part about meeting up with an older boy he’d met at the marina and making out in his Chevy Malibu.
It wasn’t that he didn’t think she would approve. His grandpa would disapprove for sure, but his mom wasn’t judgmental like that. He usually shared everything with his mom. She was more like a friend than a mom, really. Thrown into that role far too early. Jisung was nearly the same age now that she’d been when she had him. She liked to joke that they were growing up together.
But this thing with Minho wasn’t something he felt like sharing just yet.
Minho was perhaps the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his entire life. He worked part time at a self-serve frozen yogurt shop near the pier. Jisung had gone there with his friends on the first day of summer vacation, and his breath had caught in his throat when Minho asked if he wanted to enter his phone number to join their rewards program. His friends didn’t seem to notice how flustered Jisung had gotten, but Minho must have, because he’d given him a coy smile and scribbled his own phone number at the bottom of his receipt.
Now it was late August, and summer break was drawing to a close. Jisung would start his junior year at his private high school, just before his sixteenth birthday. It would be harder to see Minho, who would be starting his senior year at his public high school.
It could be difficult to see Minho even during the summer. He had a part-time job and a strict curfew. A few times, there had been several days in a row when Minho couldn’t make it out to their spot. After those stretches, Minho would return with this look of quiet desperation in his eyes, and Jisung’s mouth would go dry, because how could someone this beautiful want him this badly?
This time, it had been four days. Jisung propped up his bike and climbed into the passenger seat of Minho’s car, and he saw that look–Minho’s eyes heavy with desire and his lips parted ever so slightly. His whole life, Jisung had been told how smart he was, how strong, how talented. But nothing in his life had ever made him feel as special as that look.
“Hey you,” he greeted breathlessly.
Minho’s eyes darted to Jisung’s lips for a split second before he was grabbing him by the collar and pulling him over the center console into a searing kiss. Jisung let out a surprised squeak, but he fell easily into the kiss, carding his hands through Minho’s silky hair.
“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, when Minho finally let him up for air.
“I am now,” Minho replied.
“Revitalized with one kiss?” The list of people Jisung had kissed was one name long, so he was pretty sure his skills were nothing to write home about. So either Minho really liked kissing, or he really liked Jisung.
“Almost,” Minho replied, his eyes still trained on Jisung’s mouth. “Do that thing I like?” Jisung rolled his eyes and puffed out his cheeks. Minho smiled, hand over his heart. “Much better,” he sighed.
Jisung laughed. “You’re a weird dude, Minho,” he said fondly.
“But you like me,” Minho sang, leaning in for another kiss.
Jisung hummed in agreement.
Minho’s hands slid to the back of Jisung’s neck, teasing the hairs there as he deepened the kiss. He let out a frustrated whine.
“What’s wrong?” Jisung murmured against his lips.
“You’re not close enough,” Minho growled, in a voice Jisung had never heard before. The wave of desire it sent through his body was mixed with another (less pleasant) feeling he couldn’t quite identify. Then, “Can we move to the back?”
Dread. That feeling was definitely dread.
Jisung wasn’t sure if the backseat meant Minho wanted to do more than kiss, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Minho was two years older than Jisung. He’d probably already done a lot of things Jisung wasn’t ready for.
“Yeah,” he breathed, trying to shove the unpleasant feeling down.
It was Minho. Minho liked Jisung, of all people. Wanted Jisung in his backseat. Who was Jisung to deny him anything?
Minho scrambled into the backseat, climbing over the center console. Jisung, who didn't trust his own limbs not to embarrass him if he followed suit, opened the door and stepped out of the car. He took a deep breath of warm, humid air, trying to steady his heartbeat, before climbing into the backseat with Minho.
As soon as he was seated, Minho climbed into Jisung’s lap, the top of his head brushing the fabric-padded ceiling of his Chevy Malibu as he straddled him.
“Hi,” he said tenderly, and the warmth in his voice put Jisung a little more at ease.
A little.
Minho kissed him. Slowly. Less urgently than before. The moment Jisung had taken outside of the car must have been enough to reset the mood. He relaxed a bit, running his hands up Minho’s back. Minho shivered at the touch.
“I missed you,” he whispered against Jisung’s lips.
Jisung had missed him too, of course. It hadn’t just been four days without seeing each other. It had been four days of radio silence from Minho. Jisung didn’t ask why. That was just how Minho was sometimes. He would cancel a meetup at the last minute, or reject Jisung’s calls, or take two days to reply to a text message. The last thing Jisung wanted was to push Minho away by being too needy, so he didn’t complain, even though it bothered him. He didn’t want to draw attention to how immature and inexperienced he was. So he went with the flow, even when he felt like he was being carried away by the currents.
Minho took a break from kneading Jisung’s lower lip between his teeth to trail hot kisses down his jaw to his neck. It did things to Jisung’s body that he prayed Minho didn’t notice.
Minho noticed. If the way he grinded against his lap was any indication. Jisung let out an involuntary hiss, which seemed to encourage Minho, who began pawing at him through his jeans.
And while his body was very, very in favor of what was happening, Jisung’s brain was in panic-mode. Because while he was certain now he wasn’t ready for this, he couldn’t get his mouth to vocalize it.
“S-st-” he stuttered, pressing his palms against Minho’s chest, but not quite pushing him away. Minho murmured his apparent agreement, fumbling with Jisung’s zipper.
“STOP!” Jisung shouted, surprising even himself.
Minho fell back against the headrest of the passenger seat, pupils blown wide and hair standing on end from rubbing against the car ceiling. And goddamn if he didn’t look more beautiful than ever.
“S-sorry,” Jisung whispered, struggling to catch his breath.
“Jisung?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not… I’ve never done… anything …”
“Jisung, no ,” Minho said hurriedly, lurching forward to cup Jisung’s face in his hands. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I went too fast. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to…”
“You don’t have to explain. You don’t have to do anything.”
Jisung nodded, feeling like he’d failed.
“I'm sorry,” Minho murmured again, stroking Jisung's cheek.
“It's okay,” Jisung said, even though he didn't feel okay at all.
Minho pushed Jisung’s hair back off his forehead and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “Can you lie down for me?” Jisung’s eyes widened. “I’m not gonna try anything,” Minho promised.
So Jisung licked his lips and nodded again. He spread out as much as the cramped back seat would allow, and Minho tucked himself into his arms, his back to Jisung's chest.
“Is this okay?”
Jisung hooked his chin over Minho’s shoulder in response, his uncertainty melting away.
They were fine. Minho still liked him.
“I wish I could stay here with you,” Minho whispered. “Like this, forever.”
And while they couldn’t stay like that forever, they did stay until the sun started to set, and he told Minho regretfully that he needed to go before it got too dark. He rode his bike home under the dim streetlights, heart soaring and head full of words he needed to write down before he lost them. It was dark by the time he got home. His grandpa would be asleep already. He would probably get an earful tomorrow for missing curfew. He parked his bike in the garage and greeted his mom with a kiss before retreating to his room to check his phone.
I won’t be able to talk for a while , Minho had texted him.
Is everything okay? Jisung replied.
He sat at his desk, an open notebook in front of him, but couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to write.
Minho didn’t return his text that night. When Jisung woke up in the morning, he still hadn’t replied.
He didn’t reply over the next couple of weeks either. Jisung visited the frozen yogurt shop a few more times before the end of the summer, but Minho was never working. When Jisung returned to their spot, he was never there.
School resumed in September. Jisung turned sixteen soon after. He did well in his classes. He passed his driving test after two attempts. His messages to Minho went unread. His calls went straight to voicemail. He stopped calling when he realized Minho had blocked him.
Jisung went on with his life. Wrote a lot of emo poetry. Lost his virginity to the first guy who showed him any attention since Minho. Felt better, eventually.
Jisung turned seventeen. Received acceptance letters from six colleges. Chose one that his grandpa approved of, close enough that he could drive home whenever he wanted to, but far enough that he probably wouldn’t run into any of his high school classmates.
Jisung had a couple more boyfriends who he didn’t love the way he had loved Minho, because he’d vowed to never love someone the way he’d loved Minho ever again. Minho was a lesson, a memory, a ghost. Someone Jisung would never see again.
Jisung turned eighteen. Started college. Saw Minho again. Pretended his heart wasn’t folding in on itself.
+☔️+
“My mom wants to know if you’re coming over for the break.”
“I've already booked my flight to Sydney,” Felix said, taking a seat next to Jisung on Seungmin and Jeongin's futon. “Tell her thanks, though.”
“So, just Hyunjin then?”
Hyunjin nodded. He had spent nearly every break at Jisung's house since freshman year, even summer breaks. He didn't have anyone back home that he cared to visit. Grandpa's old bedroom was basically Hyunjin's at this point. It was just a given that he'd be spending the coming winter break there.
Hyunjin wedged himself between Jisung and the armrest. Jisung tucked himself into Felix's side to make room. The five of them were gathered in Seungmin and Jeongin’s dorm room for their weekly take-out night. It was their preferred hang-out spot, since Hyunjin lived in a different building from the rest of them, and Jisung and Felix’s room was always a mess. Seungmin was a neat freak. Plus, he had a lumpy futon that fit three people almost comfortably. Seungmin refused to eat on his own bed, but had no qualms about eating on Jeongin's, so the two of them sat side by side atop Jeongin's comforter.
“She wants to have Michael over for dinner while I'm home,” Jisung said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Three heads looked up from their takeout boxes in surprise. Jeongin had been in the middle of stuffing an entire egg roll into his mouth. The way it hung limply from his lips undermined his concerned expression.
“Your mom’s boyfriend?” Seungmin clarified.
Felix, the newest addition to their group, looked around the room, confused. “Is that a big deal?”
Jisung was grateful that Hyunjin would be there. His mom never brought her boyfriends home to meet him. She had never even dated a guy more than a few months, until now. She'd been seeing Michael for nearly a year now.
Jisung shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I guess it’s serious.”
“You’re feeling protective,” Hyunjin said, reading his mind.
Jisung speared a piece of chicken onto his fork. “Yeah, well, she’s the only family I have.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“Innie, we’re not related. We literally did DNA tests together.”
“Blood doesn’t make you family, love does,” Jeongin shot back. “That’s what my white dad told me.”
“Why is it every time I hang out with you guys, I feel like I just walked in mid-conversation?” Felix wondered.
Felix had fallen into their group through pure serendipity. Jisung’s roommate of two years had gotten a girlfriend over the summer, and they’d moved in together pretty quickly after she met Jisung. It seemed she didn’t trust her boyfriend to be around him, which was ridiculous. Jisung may have had low standards, but he did not hit on straight guys. Regardless, Jisung was roommate-less when Felix transferred a week into the fall semester.
He slotted seamlessly into the mix. Even Seungmin had taken to him immediately. It had taken Seungmin months to warm up to Jisung. He’d only begrudgingly befriended him for Jeongin’s sake.
Seungmin and Jeongin had arrived at South Kent University a year after Jisung and Hyunjin. Jeongin had immediately latched onto Jisung upon meeting him, and since he and Seungmin came as a set, the four of them had formed their little group. Seungmin and Jeongin had been best friends since they were kids; the only two Korean kids in their otherwise all-white school in rural Montana. Jeongin, adopted as a baby, hadn’t even met another Asian person until Seungmin’s family moved to the States from Seoul. Jisung wasn’t sure which one of them followed the other to Washington for college, but it wasn’t his place to judge their co-dependent relationship.
His two-year-long friendship with Hyunjin was a drop in the ocean by comparison, but it was the longest Jisung had ever been friends with anyone. The two were kindred spirits, different in all the apparent ways, but alike in ways that only mattered to them. Hyunjin’s parents were strict and unforgiving, like Grandpa, which was why even at his lowest, Jisung felt like Hyunjin understood him. They'd had their rebellious phase together freshman year. They'd even gotten friendship rings their first Christmas together to solidify their bond. (Hyunjin would argue that tongue piercings were not friendship rings, but that was just semantics.)
“Maybe they're getting married. Maybe that's why she wants us to meet him while we're home.”
Jisung winced. “Isn't it too soon for that?”
“She's still young enough to have kids,” Jeongin mused. “Sungie, if she and Michael have a baby, you’ll be closer in age to your mom than your younger sibling.”
“Didn’t you say Michael has a daughter?” Seungmin asked.
“Yeah, she’s like eight.”
“So you could have a little sister.”
Hyunjin perked up. “We’d have a flower girl for our wedding.”
Jisung frowned. “You don’t need a flower girl to sign some papers in a courthouse.”
“Excuse me,” Hyunjin looked affronted. “Do I not deserve a real wedding?”
“Will you guys stop making inside jokes I don’t get,” Felix whined.
“Who’s joking?” Hyunjin asked, leaning over to plant a wet kiss on Jisung’s temple.
“Baby,” Jisung chastised. “Not in front of the kids.”
+☔️+
Jisung never kept secrets from his mom before Minho, but it got easier each time.
Even before Grandpa died, the person Jisung was most afraid of disappointing was his mom. Not because she expected him to be the perfect son, but because she deserved it. She’d always been the one he could show his ugly sides to, the parts of himself he had to hide from Grandpa. Her willingness to accept every part of him was the reason he started to hide parts of himself from her. Because she deserved a better son than the one she had.
After he lost his virginity to a stranger, she'd had The Talk with him. She never told him not to do it, just emphasized the importance of safe sex and autonomy. He ignored her advice. He didn’t tell her about the next guy he slept with, or the one after that. He didn't tell her about all the times he wanted to say no but didn't.
He didn't tell her that he felt relieved when Grandpa died, although he suspected she felt the same way.
He didn't tell her when he and Jeongin did genealogy DNA tests together. He didn't tell her that he’d contacted his half-brother in Spokane. He didn't tell her that he knew who his biological father was.
The secrets got easier to keep over time, but harder to live with.
+☔️+
Jisung did not attend college sporting events, as a rule. Especially basketball, for obvious reasons. But those reasons were not obvious to Felix, who was apparently smitten with someone on the team and had begged Jisung to go to the first home game with him. And it was hard to say no to Felix.
“So how did you meet this guy?” Jisung asked, as they made their way to their seats.
Felix hadn't even been at SKU for a full semester, and he’d already made more friends than Jisung had in two years. He was an international student, like Hyunjin, but with a name and accent that were a little more palatable to the mostly-white student body.
“He was waiting at a crossing in the rain, so I shared my umbrella with him. Then he looked at me and said, ‘You’re not from around here,’ which I don't know how he knew. I hadn't even spoken yet.”
“It was the umbrella,” Jisung explained. “Native Washingtonians just let ourselves get rained on.”
Felix furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because we’ve accepted our fate.”
“You make it sound so bleak.”
“Have you seen this place?”
“I think it's nice here.”
“If you say so.”
Jisung could never understand why anyone would come from out of state to attend college in Washington. The only pleasant weather they ever saw was during the three months that school was not in session. Unless you liked gray skies and rain, which Felix apparently did.
“Anyway, Chris is from Australia as well, but he's been here a bit longer than I have. He said my smile was the closest thing he's seen to sunshine since he's been here.”
A cheesy but accurate description of his roommate. Jisung nodded toward the court, where the basketball team was warming up. “Alright Sunshine. Which one is your boy?”
“Number three.”
Jisung scanned the court. “Isn't he a little short for basketball?” he said, when he spotted Chris’s jersey.
“Chris can jump really high,” Felix gushed, as if jumping ability was something to swoon over.
“Right,” Jisung said, unimpressed. “Do you actually know anything about basketball?”
Felix smiled. “Chris plays it.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Like you’ve never taken on a new interest for a guy.”
And, well, Felix had him there.
“I did take that theater class last year because I knew Jeongin was taking it.”
Felix grimaced. “I still can’t believe you used to have a crush on Jeongin.”
“What. It was before I learned he pours his milk before his cereal.”
“Well, at least you caught the red flags early.”
Felix turned his attention back to the floor. The team had apparently finished their warmups and was huddling up at the sidelines. Chris was stopped at the edge of the court scanning the stands.
“Do you think he’s looking for me?” Felix asked. “I told him I’d be here.”
“God, you two are cute,” Jisung groaned, begrudgingly.
Felix scoffed. “Obviously.”
“I just have one question though.”
“Hm?”
Jisung's eyes flicked down to the jersey Felix wore. He'd been trying not to look at it since they'd left their dorm. Instead of Chris’s jersey number, Felix wore number 25. That was Minho’s number, a fact that Jisung hated that he knew. “Why are you wearing that?”
Felix looked down at his jersey. “It has my name on it,” he said simply, turning away from Jisung to display the “LEE” printed on the back.
Jisung scowled. “I hate how cute you are.” He turned back to the court and finally let his eyes wander to the figure he'd been avoiding. Minho was now standing with Chris at the edge of the court, scanning the stands with him. He was admittedly not much taller than Chris, and considerably less ripped. But his shorts clung to his muscular thighs in a way that stirred something inside Jisung. “Tell me about Chris.”
Felix perked up instantly. “Well, he was born in Seoul, but he grew up in Sydney, like me. He has two sisters…”
“Are you writing his Wikipedia page?” Jisung cut him off. “I don’t want his life’s story, I want to know how big his dick is.”
Felix blanched. “I haven’t seen it!” he sputtered.
“But you’re trying to? Is that why you dragged me here?”
“I’m not trying to sleep with him! I just…” Felix looked down at his hands bashfully. “I just like him, okay?”
Jisung rolled his eyes. “That’s sweet, I guess.”
“You’re supposed to be supportive.”
“I support you! I’m here, aren’t I? I’m rooting for you guys. I hope you marry Chris and have all of his adopted babies.”
Felix gasped, sitting up taller in his seat. “He sees me!” he said, waving excitedly.
Jisung followed his gaze back to the court, where Chris was now smiling broadly up at Felix. Minho stood beside him, a hand on Chris’s shoulder. He was staring up into the stands as well, but his eyes were not on Felix.
Jisung cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from the court. “You’ll have to bring him by the dorm sometime so I can meet him,” he said.
“You’re gonna explain the game to me, right?” Felix asked, as the starting players began to line up.
Jisung raised an eyebrow. “If you want someone who knows what’s going on, you should’ve dragged Seungmin here instead of me. The extent of my sports knowledge comes from anime.”
“Drag Seungmin into a stadium packed with loud drunk people dropping popcorn on the floor?”
“I see your point,” Jisung conceded. “Well, we don't really need to know the rules. We’ll just cheer when everyone else does. Cheer extra loud anytime Chris has the ball, so all these desperate bitches know to keep their hands off.”
Felix nodded resolutely. “Fake it til you make it.”
“Exactly. I’m so much louder when I’m faking it.”
It turned out Felix was worried for nothing. Once the game was underway, it was pretty easy to follow. Jisung even found himself getting invested. Chris’s jumping ability, as it turned out, was quite swoon-worthy. As for Minho, he just seemed to be in his element on the court. Jisung couldn’t deny he looked good. The way his bangs were swept back off his glistening forehead. The way his basketball shorts rode up his muscular thighs. They were glorious thighs. Thighs that had once straddled Jisung’s in the backseat of a Chevy Malibu.
“Isn’t he hot?” Felix asked giddily.
“Yeah,” Jisung breathed.
“Sung, you’re not even looking at him,” Felix whined. “He’s over there.”
Felix nodded toward Chris, who was now standing on the sidelines next to their coach.
“When did he get subbed out?” Jisung wondered aloud.
“A while ago,” Felix chuckled. “Where have you been?”
Jisung shrugged, his face growing hot. “I just got caught up in the game.”
A wicked grin spread across his roommate’s face. “Who were you watching?”
Jisung huffed. “I told you, I got caught up in the game.”
“Right. The game.”
“Did you just wink?”
“No,” Felix said, with another wink.
“You little…”
A sudden outburst of cheers from the crowd pulled Jisung’s attention back to the floor, where Minho had apparently just stolen the ball from the opposing team and was now sprinting across the court. Jisung jumped to his feet, Felix right behind him.
“Go Minho!” Jisung screamed, as Minho jumped up for an easy layup.
The next few seconds happened in slow motion. Minho’s eyes locked with Jisung’s as if he had somehow heard his cheering over the rest of the crowd. That was impossible, obviously, but Jisung was sure he wasn’t imagining the eye-contact, even though it only lasted a split second. When Minho landed back on his feet, his face twisted in pain before his body crumpled to the ground.
The roaring of the crowd died down as the coach and referee rushed to Minho’s side. Jisung’s body went numb. He barely even registered Felix clutching his wrist with both hands, cutting off blood flow to his hand.
When the other players on the court spread out, making way for the medic, Jisung could see Minho writhing on the floor, clutching his knee. Through the closeup video on the jumbotron, Jisung could see tears in his eyes, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d seen Minho cry.
“Holy shit,” he said under his breath. “He broke a leg.”