[Super]Hot À† Minsung 21 ; Sweet Smile/Bitter Bite .ᐟˎˊ

The harsh freeze of the bathroom’s tile is cold against his side. Touching him where his clothes ripped and his limbs went limp against the ground.

His fevered body trembled as it’s warmth drained slowly from him. Pooling onto the tile and seeping between the cracks. The slightest movement a jolt of visceral pain flaring from the wounds on him.

A shadow in the doorway loomed over his body.

“Get up.”

He forced his eyes to open again at the familiar voice. Though they burned, scrapping with sandpaper while their vision dimmed against the harsh lighting, he took in the surrounding bathroom.

The sink’s faucet was running. Pouring with water trickling down the drain. Bloody handprints that slipped along the marble basin when he collapsed. Droplets of blood had yet to be washed away too.

The silhouette reached over and twisted the faucet off.

“No one is coming to help you. Get that into your head now.”

Gingerly, he rolled himself onto his stomach. Despite the recent patches opening his skin up; Skims from bullets, cuts and stab wounds, he must’ve broken his wrist when he fell.

Jisung pressed himself up to his scrapped elbows.

Hobbling as every inch of him fired, throbbing and searing him, what screams or cries wanted to escape from him muffled by biting into his own tongue. Collapsing, toppling over as his arms gave out underneath him, and his bathroom wall caught him. He dragged himself against it, trying to stay upright. Propping his weak body against the support.

Seungmin stepped into the bathroom and heeled the door behind closed. Peeling his jacket off to toss onto the towel rack, he dug into Jisung’s cabinets. Searching every inch of them for bandages, some sort of disinfectant, tweezers, anything that could’ve been helpful.

He couldn’t keep his head up to watch him. Simply slumping forward. His hands by his sides loose and unmoving. Only knowing that Seungmin crouched in front of him and lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his wounds off with the dap hand towel. Feeling it’s sting burning the sensitive wounds, his hoarse voice whispered, “Why do you hate me?”

“How could I ever hate you?” His boss answered gently. Treating each of his wounds with a care Jisung had never seen from him before. With every swipe of the towel cleaning the wounds off, or the tapping of the disinfectant into the split skin, Seungmin didn’t treat him roughly as he always did, “This way of living is going to kill you if you can’t keep getting up after you’re hurt. I don’t hate you. I really like you, Jisung. You’re a good person, you’re soft. You’re not cut out for this type of work.”

A silence fell over them. Tense stillness that was only filled by Jisung’s strained breaths and his sharp hisses when the disinfectant stung him. Or when his boss took up his bruised wrist to assess the damage.

“You need to kill yourself.”

His shirt was discarded and bandages were wrapped around his chest, his gut. On his arms where the bullets grazed his skin. The bruises that laid nearby syncing with his heartbeat slowing down.

“Whatever that means to you. Lose your convictions, forget your morals, get high, dissociate, do something, but kill yourself. Kill whatever is inside of you that makes you who you are. Take it, find a way to rip it out, and do it fast. Do it before something else pries you open and kills you first.”

His wrist too, was only bandaged up. Plastered with tape that kept it from flexing too much.

When Seungmin was finished, he left the supplies on the floor. He stood up.

“Get up. You’re the one who took the job.”

Leaving Jisung alone inside of the bathroom.

“Finish it.”

Even if it hurt.

Even if he felt as if he walked to hell and came back alive.

Jisung forced himself to stand up on his unsteady legs.

Even if he lost his strength, collapsing again onto the floor, he forced himself to stand up again.

With a heavy limp to his step, he grabbed his rifle and slung the case over his shoulder again.

Autumn nights always had a brisk breeze to them. The temperatures stealthily dropping as the weeks went by offered a rest from the boiling heat of summers, yet created a different form of suffering in the evening. If someone stayed up late enough outside. Late enough to see the moonlight at full beauty, to witness the misty fog of splattered hues that hovered over the city to block out the view of the stars in the sky (How long had it been since he had looked up and seen more than a light-polluted sky? Since he was a child?), or even to stay a moment longer past sunset until the indigo of twilight bled openly. The autumn gusts were often cutting. Stinging and drying until his skin cracked and his hands flaked from the lack of moisture.

If it wasn’t for the dense hoodie he had thrown over his pajama shirt, or for the thick fabric of his sweatpants, maybe for his Hello Kitty-themed house shoes, or for the clear glass he wrapped his hands around, a foul-smelling transparent liquid sloshing around on the inside; He would have caught hypothermia long ago. Where he sat in the small space of his backyard, sitting on the concrete patio steps with his drink and an empty mind gazing off into the walls that kept his house separated from the next. There wasn’t enough space to do much except for the clothesline hung with clothespins waiting for his next load of laundry, for a smaller or lazy dog, but not for anyone who needed a place to run in. But his patio was perfect for nights like these. Night when he wanted a moment to breathe. When he wanted to be left alone.

Night when he had gently stirred awake from his dreams and couldn’t seem to fall back asleep no matter how much he tried. Nights when a certain twinge of a feeling he wanted to feel vividly flashed, before waning in front of his eyes. Nights when he wanted to hold onto whatever that sensation was, a sour taste like guilt bubbling up like soda on his tongue? Guilt? Dread? A looming he knew he couldn’t shake off even if he wanted to. Which was it? Why couldn’t he hold onto that feeling? Why did it only show itself in his fading dreams?

Behind him, the glass doorway was slid open. Someone stepping through the threshold into the brisk night air with a soft hiss leaving his lips, the door behind them being pulled closed as he continued to spill swears under his breath. Cold? Jisung glanced over his shoulder to the intruder. To Minho, only in his thin sweater he had chosen instead of taking the offer to have a decent shirt to sleep in, a bowl of some sort of food brimming over the top (Grapes? Jisung did say it was alright for him to snack on anything in the fridge if he really needed it, and his fingers clasped around a steaming mug. Bare feet too directly on the frigid concrete. He hurriedly shuffled forward as he came to join Jisung, “I was wondering where you disappeared off to. Why are you awake? I thought it’s a school night?”

The hitman showed him the glass he was drinking out of, “Getting a drink.”

“Me too,” Minho plopped down on the step beside Jisung, he set the bowl of crunchy green grapes between them before briefly lifting up his mug of warmed water as if to give him a silent ‘cheers’. Consolidation of being awoken at an odd hour because their throats were parched and craved to be quenched with the quickest solution they could find.

“Not quite,” Jisung corrected him with a weak smile. He grabbed the tall glass bottle on his other side and placed it on the concrete step for Minho to see too. The half-finished bottle of a high-end vodka, a gift during his birthday Seungmin had given him not without a protest and insults slung his way, one that he had been slowly working on, shot by shot, ever since then, “A drink.”

The bounty hunter blinked at the label, “Oh.”

Probably, that was why he wasn’t so cold. Not as cold as Minho was, aside from their difference in clothing choices to protect themselves from the night, but he didn’t tuck his arms around himself or keep a flushed palm against a heated mug to keep himself from freezing. He only returned back to swirling what little liquid was in his glass (Like he said, he was a bit of a lightweight and not much of a drinker to begin with. He only filled the short glass up with a shot and had been slowly sipping away at it instead of slugging it down all in one go). Occasionally taking a small taste that stung his throat and nothing more. But the alcohol dusted his cheeks with the rush of blood pounding in his veins. The nerves lingering in his gut were temporarily settled out. Despite knowing once he woke up, the anxious feeling would come back to hit him in double it’s force.

They returned to their own devices. Minho cupped his hands around the mug. Drinking the warmed water and keeping the lip of the mug close to sip away, most likely not to burn his tongue. His knees tucked close to his chest, and his body hunched over more. Sometimes, his eyes would snap downward to Jisung’s Hello Kitty slippers, but he didn’t comment on it more than a silent glance. They were cute anyway: Big, white, and fuzzy, with a fuzzy red bow and the embroidered Hello Kitty face on the front. Jisung simply let him look him over. If his gaze drilled through his chest, his arms, or the glass he was swirling in whirlpools mindlessly, then he simply let him. Again, these eyes seemed to be looking elsewhere, all while taking in the hitman beside him.

Meanwhile, Jisung only reached over to the bowl of crunchy green grapes. Snapping one off the stems for himself, he took a bite from the little marble and chewed away it. A tangy, flavorsome punch of bittersweet step that counterbalanced the poison of vodka lingering on his tastebuds. The taste of the grape he chased with another sip at his dry drink, and to quell the burning on his throat, he devoured the last bit of grape. Delicious. Green grapes were by far superior to red grapes, and not even the bounty hunter boring a stare into the side of his head would convince him of anything otherwise.

I wonder why I thought about that moment. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about what Seungmin said to me back then. How many years ago was that now..? A while, right?

Jisung turned his head back onto Minho. Meeting the bounty hunter’s eyes drilling through him, even if he immediately looked away as if he hadn’t been caught.

Probably…

He’s not the best at this, is he? While the bounty hunter has been so friendly and open to him, making it clear he wanted to become closer than coworkers. He brushed him away. Time and time again, without a second thought. He reached for another grape. Snapping the fruit off the stem and shoving it into the side of his cheek to slowly chew away at as he tried to start up, “Tell me more about yourself.”

“That’s a weird way to start a conversation,” Minho’s gaze locked past him. At him, but past him again. As if there was something else to see. Something else to discover, another plan, another thought on his mind lingering elsewhere, as if he was searching for something he knew he would never be able to find. “Usually people ask questions.”

The grape popped underneath the pressure of Jisung’s teeth. He covered his mouth with his hand as he chewed, “What would you ask someone to get to know them?”

The bounty hunter beside him fell quiet. Thinking for a brief moment, before he decided, “Maybe something like… How do you think of yourself? When you have a mental image of yourself, what is it? The way people think about themselves tells you a lot about who they are as a person. It can be a bit personal, but if you’re willing to answer, usually it’s easier to get close to them.”

“Alright. So… how I think of myself…? Blank space, I guess…?” He furrowed his eyebrows together, “I’m not sure, I’ve never thought much about that. What about you?”

Minho smirked and shot a sleazy wink to Jisung, “A super hot model.”

The hitman couldn’t stop the small snort that left his nose. Even if he tried to move his hand to cover up his lips, he couldn’t stop the genuine smile that peeled the corner of his lips up. How could he not? When Minho gave him that sort of look, that smirk he directed toward him with such a strength of self-confidence not even a main character of a low-budget rom-com would possess.

“You have a sweet smile, Firecracker. It’s a shame you don’t smile more honestly like that,” Minho commented. As soon as he mentioned it however, Jisung couldn’t help the small flush of heat that touched his cheeks like a lover’s embrace against him. His smile? Nice? How could anyone, much less Minho, think that? While Jisung battled with his lips and his heart to force his smile back straight into flat pressed lips (And was miserably loosing, the grin Minho had on his face was enough to alleviate the urgency he was pressing onto himself), the bounty hunter set his mug of now lukewarm water down. With a sudden bought of energy taking him over, he proclaimed, “Okay! Let’s do it! Let’s get to know each other! What else do people ask? Um, what about tattoos? Do you have any tattoos?”

“No, I don’t have any. Seungmin has four though, a big one on his tit of a swan. On his back, he has a tattoo of a sword along his spine and a bunch of flowers. Then, on his upper arm is his birth constellation, and on the back side of his left arm, above his elbow, is a butterfly. He says he does it so he can be identified, but I think he does it because he has a massive ego and he thinks he looks hot with them. So I’ve thought about getting one or two at some point. Do you?”

“I do! I have one. And a half? I have one on my thigh. From here to here. If you ask me nicely, one day I’ll take my pants off and show you,” Minho measured out where the tatoo was; the outside of his thigh, it seemed, from just below his hip all the way to a few fingers above his knee. He then snatched a few grapes, chewing away while he spoke, “Then I have a small one on the inside of my ankle. A spider. This one time.  I woke up and saw it, and I didn’t remember it’s my tattoo so I was like ‘OH SHIT! THAT’S A SPIDER!’ and smacked the shit out of my ankle.”

Jisung covered up his smile as a soft laughter slipped from his lips, “Really?”

The bounty hunter raged, “Yeah! I had a bruise for like three days I smacked it so hard! What the fuck is wrong with me?! Okay. Okay. I’ve got a good one, my munchie companion. Favorite food?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Bao. Soft, squishy, warm. They can be filled with pork, red beans, sesame, or anything you want. They’re easy to carry around. Portable. Easy to reheat. I love them. You?”

“Fettuccine Alfredo. I could eat that shit any day, any time, anywhere, cheap, expensive, I don’t care. I will guzzle fettuccine alfredo and slurp the sauce. And those watermelon gummies. Can’t forget the watermelon gummies. Next, favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Red? Why?”

“It’s comforting to me. That, or gun metal gray,” The hitman swirled the vodka in the glass again, giving the liquid a good spin before he lifted the glass to his lips. To take another sip of the drink off the top. Even if he was given a borderline concerned or questioning look from the person beside him due to his vague answer, he simply swallowed the vodka down and moved on, “And yours?”

“Hmmmm….Well… green maybe…? I like pastel green and mint. To me, green is pleasant to look at,” Minho followed his lead, even if he had a certain glimmer to his eyes of a puzzlement that wanted to ask more, wanted to press on the subject more, he dropped it. Switching onto a different topic instead, “What’s the first thing you notice in another person?”

The first thing…

Jisung looked at Minho. He looked at him, not through him or past him, he looked at Minho and at his gaze. His eyes, though distant at what laid ahead, carried a sort of color that Jisung couldn’t ever help himself from sneaking glances to. Like honey, or amber lit up, but without the same backboned soul. With something deeper, that ran further. Darker. But that unusual feline-structure of his nose, his jaw, as if they were permanently trapped in keeping a secret, they would never be able to tell. Sure, there was more. Prominent cheekbones and a well-sculpted nose, standard black hair that framed his features. A balanced appearance in his face and his body. But he could help but be pulled into those eyes every time. Darkened pupils, shaped narrow and suspicious toward what they saw like a feline’sー Jisung always had a thing for eyes like that, eyes that stared through him rather than at him.

Probably, more than his own feelings; More than the heat in his face or the jitters to his fingers he had to suppress whenever the other was around, more than the addicting scent of indulging peppermint that always hung around Minho even in moments like these, more than his likeness for the bounty hunter’s grin or for the bounty hunter’s voice, or for the nickname he called Jisung by, ‘Firecracker’. More than whatever he repressed inside of his heart to protect, these feelings were only because of the alcohol, weren’t they? They were omly because his inhibitions were lowered comfortably. Only because he was almost finished with a second shot of vodka. That was the only reason he felt like he did, wasn’t it? Because he was drinking, and Minho was attractive…

Yet he answered him truthfully, “Eyes. I notice someone’s eyes first. Like yours. I like their distance. You’re always looking at something else, like you’re looking for something else, like there’s something else on your mind, or a plan ahead of you. I like that.”

“You’re interesting,” Was the quiet response from Minho, his arms coming to balance themselves neatly atop the fold of his knees. His comment more a notion to himself than to Jisung. Though he wasn’t certain what Minho meant by that comment alone, nor was he certain why the other pressed his lips together thin. All he knew was Minho tipped his head upward to the sky, yet hunching further over his knees as he spoke, “When I first meet someone, I notice their confidence. So needless to say, that night we met fascinated the hell out of me. How could someone with such a sweet face and quiet confidence be so bitter? Bold. It makes more sense now that I know you. I think I have you figured out, then you say something like that or you stay up until four in the morning to help your students, and I’m back to thinking I hardly know who Han Jisung is at all.”

The hitman just nodded, allowing the others words to sink into him.

He swirled the last of the vodka around once more. Then slammed the rest of his back.

As he set the empty glass down between them, he swallowed the vodka down.

“That’s a shame.” 

As they continued to chat, gentle smiles passed between him and questions beating around what they truly meant: A single thought graced Jisung’s mind. He was certain, from the glimmer in his eyes and the emptied bowl of grapes between them, the nearly finished bottle of vodka they shared and the scattered laughter that left them as their inhibitions broke down, Minho must’ve thought the same.

What a perfect waste of a perfect night.

Meanwhile, Seungmin was having the time of his life with Hyunjin. No, they weren’t doing anything crazy or super exciting, but… He had spent so much time prepping to make their home theater date perfect, he was proud of the results.

Massive bowl of popcorn? Check! Nearly eaten down to the last few kernels now. A plate of gooey homemade brownies? Check! All of them had been devoured, and not by him. A stack of fuzzy blankets? Check! Though they had been shuffled and shifted around, the main one was now laying on the floor in front of the couch. A dimmly scented vanilla candle? Check! It had been flickering on the coffee table the whole night. The lights down low with city skyline through the large windows of his highrise? Check! Now that the sun had fully set, they could see the thousand million dollar lights flickering about outside as the hours ticked on through his windows. A crappy horror movie? Check! But paused at the moment. Hyunjin had gone to wash the brownie goo off his hands in the kitchen.

He glanced up from his phone screen as he heard Hyunjin shuffling back to him. A sleepy Hyunjin, that reminded him of a sleepy little kitten padding back to him. Warm. Snuggly. Bundled up in one of Seungmin’s hoodies, cozy judging by the unruliness of his wavy hair once combed out neatly and tediously now frazzled from being disturbed by laying around. A little yawn on his lips and paws from the hoodie’s hem, he’s so damn cute melting Seungmin apart from the slightest sight of him. Expecting the other to cuddle back into his side underneath the blanket as they had been doing, Seungmin clicked his phone off and opened his arm up to him. A gentle smile offered up to welcome him back.

What he didn’t expect was for Hyunjin’s sweater paws to land on his chest, and for the younger to quietly push him down against the couch. Forcing Seungmin to quietly lay himself down as Hyunjin crawled on top of him and… Plopped down. Thumped down. All of his strength leaving him as he smacked on top of Seungmin’s body at once. Digging his cheek into Seungmin’s chest, burying his arms into his sides and grabbing onto the shirt he was wearing (Yes, Hyunjin got to see a hint of the butterfly tattoo, and though he could see the curious glance he gave it, the other didn’t ask). Worming and readjusting themselves until they were both comfortable with the position they were laying together in. Cuddling. Fully cuddling. Hyunjin’s hands were slightly cold where they bundled into fists by his ribs, his breathing was steady, and his heartbeat was content as he became glued to Seungmin.

One problem.

Seungmin resumed the movie. Then put his hands on the couch.

What the hell do I do?

Was he supposed to touch Hyunjin too? Where was he supposed to put his hands? Was he even allowed to? What happens if he puts his hands on Hyunjin, then suddenly the other crumbles to dust like an overaged skeleton, or what happens if he touches him and hurts him? What happens if he accidentally hurts Hyunjin just by trying to cuddle with him? What if he touches him wrongly or holds him too tightly, or what if his nails scratch him, or he ends up bumping a bruise or something of the type he didn’t know about? What then? What if Hyunjin hates him, and takes everything wrong, or if he touches him in the wrong place and suddenly Hyunjin starts thinking Seungmin wants to fuck him, and then he gets uncomfortable, and leaves, andー

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin murmured, effectively breaking him from his thoughts. He peeled his eyes off the horror movie and onto the barista glued to his chest. The nastiest stare he had ever been given stabbing into him as Hyunjin lectured, “Stop being shy and put your damn hands on me. Don’t treat me as if I will break as soon as your hands touch me. I won’t.”

Oh. Okay. So. He thought he was being subtle with it. Apparently not. Hyunjin is noticing his apprehension too. Still, what if? What if he hurt him? Or if he touches him in a way that he didn’t like? Fuck, how much he did want to touch him, how much he longed to bundle him up and hold him tightly, how much he longed to put his palms against his back, or how much he wished he was capable of threading fingers through the other’s disheveled hair. He balled his hands up into fists, quietly clutching onto the couch while Hyunjin snuggled closer to him, “I don’t want to be too rough with you. A quarter of the time I’ve seen you, you’re usually on the verge of tears. Plus, I don’t… I don’t want to hurー”

“Seungmin. Shove your damn hands under my hoodie and put your hands on my skin. You want to, don’t you?” Hyunjin interrupted him. For someone so nervous and flinchy most of the time to be so bold, so insistent about this, Seungmin was taken aback by the sudden strength Hyunjin pressed him with. Again, he didn’t mind, he wanted to. He was just taken off-guard by how firm the barista was being about this, “Your hands are warm. I’m cold. See? Now you know I want you to touch me and you know you won’t hurt me. So if you want to, if you’re comfortable with it, then do it.”

That seemed to be the final word about this. Hyunjin simply snuggled himself down into Seungmin’s chest again. Readjusting themselves to fit more comfortably together.

Hyunjin whispered against his shirt, “Anyway, even if you’re rough, your hands are still gentler.”

“What?” He questioned. Even if he heard him anyway.

“I’m talking to myself, it’s nothing important,” The barista shook his head against his chest.

What did you mean by that? Seungmin watched him carefully. Until the other had found a comfortable position to be laying in on top of him, and he had fully settled flush against Seungmin. Once cozy with him, he followed Hyunjin’s request; Tentatively, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the tiniest bit nervous to, he slipped his hands underneath the hem of Hyunjin’s hoodie. Still not fully certain with what he was supposed to do or how far the other was comfortable with, Seungmin just pressed the warmth of his palms flush against Hyunjin’s back. Hugging him a little closer into him. Holding him as a content hum left the other’s lips and the fabric of his hoodie rode up from his waist with Seungmin’s hands. He was cold though, almost oddly so considering he was wearing a hoodie and joggers.

“I can grab the blanket you knocked off,” Seungmin offered him, gaining a smudge more confidence to rub circles with his thumb on Hyunjin’s back.

The barista just shook his head again, “I’m comfortable, I don’t want to get up.”

“It’s right there, I can reach for it. Just lift up a bit.”

“No.”

“Are we watching the movie still?”

“I’m not following it much anymore, I’m feeling sleepy.”

“So, can I get the blanket to cover you up? And you can take a nap here?”

“No.”

Seungmin sighed. He pressed his head back against the couch’s armrest, simply returning to the movie as the barista settled his eyes closed. Not sure what was happening on screen too, they had picked some movie the other said he liked and Seungmin hadn’t seen before, but he seems to have lost a chunk of the plotline entirely somewhere along the way. While Hyunjin fought miserably, swinging wildly between the movie reflected in his eyes to completely knocked out against Seungmin’s chest, he kept rubbing circles on him. Rubbing his thumb against his upper back, running his hand a bit along the length of his back, keeping him hugged as close as he could within his arms.

It’s his fault. Completely. It was his fault Hyunjin fell asleep. Because of the soft hums that left him as he gently stroked the Barista’s back or trailed his fingers along his spine, because of the content sighs that had him melting the full amount of his weight into Seungmin’s body catching him as he slipped into his dreams, because eventually Hyunjin went slack and knocked out in the middle of the movie. It might have been the bowl of popcorn they were eating. And the sugar crash from eating eight brownies all by himself before Seungmin could stop him. Either way, he slipped off, and Seungmin kept rubbing his back. He turned the movie’s volume down too. Just in case. Just so he wouldn’t be woken up.

With Hyunjin asleep, Seungmin rotated between watching the movie, texting Jisung more information about Lobos and the racecourse’s schedule, and stroking Hyunjin’s back. A few thoughts he tried to push to the corner of his mind; How soft and smooth the other’s skin was against his palm, or how he seemed to have a decent amount of muscle on his back, or how the other’s features had never looked so at peace as he was in this moment with Seungmin, or the fact he had a sweet fragrance clung to his skin, one that Seungmin recognized but couldn’t place where in his memory he had smelled it before. Like candied marshmallows or burnt vanilla. Vanilla… Tobacco? A location… in a building? But what building smells like burnt vanilla and sugary tobacco?

He held onto Hyunjin, even as he slipped a bit off of Seungmin’s chest and the hoodie’s collar shifted on him.

But on the skin that was exposed by the tug of the fabric, the oddest thing laid against his smoothest skin.

Bitter bites taken from a canvas.

A hickey?

Purple spots along his collarbone, as if they were meticulously placed to always be just outside of someone’s line of site. To always be hidden just below the collar of the shirt he wore. Maybe he could’ve guessed it to be a mosquito bite, or an injury.

But as he gently pulled some of the hoodie’s collar back to see, he wasn’t mistaken. Those were hickeys. Three or four of those bruised oval shapes on his skin.

I thought he said he wasn’t with anyone.

The motions must’ve disturbed Hyunjin from his sleep. Seungmin quickly fixed the hoodie’s collar as the other stirred, soft breaths pouring off of his lips as he lifted himself up a bit from where henearly sloped off of Seungmin. He brushed some of his cascading hair out of his face, tucking his behind Hyunjin’s ear instead, “Did you have a nice nap?”

Hyunjin just nodded, inching closer before he plopped down on Seungmin again. More steady this time, slightly further up so his face could bury into the crux of his neck. His soft breaths evening out while he found himself in a comfortable position again.

Reluctantly, Sengmin pulled his hands off of Hyunjin, shifting a bit to reach for the fallen blanket.

“No…” Hyunjin snatched his hands, sleepily forcing them back to their spot on his waist again, “Stay…”

“I’m trying to get the blanket.”

The barista murmured softly, “No…”

But how could he act so carelessly? While knowing there was marks on his body from someone else, how could he act as if they didn’t exist? As if Seungmin was the only one he wanted to be with? Or if he did, and the hickeys were from a casual fling, then why didn’t he tell Seungmin he had a hook-up? Was he really with someone? Was he not…

Seungmin combed his hand through Hyunjin’s hair. Softly brushing the strands back as he gripped onto him. Steadying the other’s head against his chest as he fell back asleep.

A sickness washing along Seungmin’s spine as the world crashed down on his shoulders. That’s right… That’s something Jisung repeated to him again and again.

Good things never last for long, do they?

How much of what you’ve told me is lies?

▄︻デ ══━一ᝰ.ᐟˎˊ

Hmmmmmm 🤭🤭