SHINee Duets 2013: royalwisteria & ikui (Part Two)

[replaymods]

The fourth time they meet is at Jinki’s house.

After their meeting in Hapjeong, bellies full of fried potatoes, they had agreed to meet a couple days later at a café. And after that, another meeting for a late night meat grill with two or three - or maybe eight bottles of soju. It was from that day and their intoxicated states that Minho attributes the development of their most recent plans. During that night, after stuffing their faces with fatty meat and having a heated discussion about which social network was the most user-friendly and comprehensive (Class A cool conversation territory), Minho had observed Jinki could hold his alcohol well. However, that did not mean Jinki was completely unaffected, composure loose around the edges. After all, it was with this lax demeanor and a flushed face that Jinki told Minho, “Hey, you should come hang at my place.”

Minho thinks the soju must have gotten to him since his immediate response was a cheery, “Absolutely!” Although, that is not to say Minho would have refused had he been more sober; but, perhaps he would have been a little less eager with his response, a little less clingy, prompted to hang all over Jinki for the rest of the night. To be fair, Minho was one to do that with any person he was close to, but it felt somewhat strange, considering this was his first time entering foreign territory of becoming close friends with someone he met online. This scenario was only meant for people like StarCraft players or so Minho thinks, vaguely musing about Kyuhyun and the infinite amount of hookups the man seemed to have.

It was funny, Minho reflects upon it, blinking up at a very white ceiling. How could he become so close to someone he did not know in person until two weeks ago? In addition, being close to someone he initially thought was a lunatic after seeing up front and in person. He had not disclosed it to Jinki yet, but Minho had seen the man mindlessly walk into the restaurant in Hapjeong that day, fumbling about while reading a manga with a very pink cover, proceeding to send ice and coffee into the air upon collision with another customer.

That incident, viewing the clumsy man in the yellow hoodie - the agreed upon identifier of “Onew”, made Minho hesitate from approaching. Minho shamefully admits, he had been hoping for a less - embarrassing - person in yellow to show up, praying that in his 10 minute span of denial, this whole thing was a mistake and the real Onew would show up. Of course, it was not a mistake; the guy sitting in the corner table, reading manga intended for adolescent girls, that was Onew.

“Hey, I added two sugars. Hope you don’t mind.”

Minho tilts his head back, eyes met with an impossibly charming smile and a welcoming mug of coffee. He then lifts himself, twisting around to take the mug into his hands. “That’s perfect.” Minho returns the smile. “Thank you.”

It was a good thing his conscience had told him to just get it over with and talk to Jinki, instead of leaving the restaurant and running for his life. That would have potentially been one of the worst decisions Minho could have ever made.

“Hey you there?”

Minho blinks, watching the famed Onew - or Lee Jinki take a seat beside him, drinking from his own cup of coffee.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Well, weren’t you the one who said you would trounce me in Street Fighter?” Jinki laughs, tossing a controller Minho’s way. “Not that you didn’t already wipe the floor with my ass in Fifa.”

“You almost won that match to be fair.” Minho grins, taking another sip while watching the television glow before him.

“Yeah,” replies Jinki, slouching into the sofa, “Almost. Until you tackled me from getting that last shot.” He pouts bitterly. “That game should have gone into overtime.”

Minho laughs, recalling the unfair tactic, Jinki beneath him and struggling, then fighting back with a surprising force that sent him back into the sofa. Too bad the effort had come just a second too late with Jinki bemoaning his demise and dramatically resetting his PlayStation.

“Just wait till I kick your cheater ass with Chun-Li.”

Minho watches the man spitting out the lame threat with a string of dried squid in his mouth, snacks for the night. He can’t help but smile at the strangeness of it all. Minho’s never had so much fun doing well, nothing.

Recently, that point was made sharply apparent to Minho, by his ever-so-caring roommate Jonghyun.

That’s all you’re doing? Video games? Don’t get too excited with your steamy midnight date over there hotshot.

Sender: Jjong

Minho rolls his eyes at the text, glancing briefly at his cell as they wait for the game to load. Although, in hindsight, even Minho has to admit Jonghyun has a slight point. Typically, a night out with friends meant noraebang, a trip to the theatre, going for a soccer match, getting plastered at the club, or attending (a sometimes dreaded) group date. Staying home, playing games, and talking about seemingly meaningless subjects weren’t part of his normal agenda.

No need to hide your jealousy.

Still Minho likes the difference, that fact made affirmative as he sends Jonghyun his reply.

“So I saw that comment you received the other day, by Jun? That must have been exciting.”

He likes it a lot.

“Yeah, I mean I’ve been following him for years.” Minho pauses, punching the buttons on his controller as the match starts. “I mean, his predictions are always so spot on - so I mean - yeah, his comment on what I had to say about the upcoming match with Arsenal and uh - Manchester United was unexpected- Oh come on!”

Jinki laughs triumphantly and Minho tries his best to put on an offended face as his character flies backward, a dramatic animation of red and yellow on the screen indicating his defeat.

“Hyung, you cheated!” Minho exclaims. “If I wasn’t distracted…”

“It’s called karma Minho.” Jinki lightly punches his shoulder. “But seriously, I’m happy for you. I tried reading Jun’s blog before yours, but it was too complicated to follow. But I know everyone loves him, or at least the comment count would indicate so.”

“Yeah. I wish my own entries could reach his level. I mean his writing is so sophisticated when he analyzes the players, the coaches’ strategies-”

“Still, I like your blog better,” Jinki interrupts, an earnest smile directed Minho’s way, “I mean overall, it’s a lot more approachable. Also, your last entry about Minsun was cute.”

Minho’s teeth scrape over his bottom lip as he grins abashedly. This is what he likes most about having met Jinki, being able to talk about this realm of his life and approaching it in such a manner that makes it actually seem significant. Sure people are aware of his online life, but only a handful of Minho’s friends ever approach the topic, since the idea of devoting time to a blog seems like a silly habit. Really, it hurts, knowing that this thing that is so important to him and takes a significant amount of effort is constantly dismissed by others. But in the long term, Minho has learned to accept it, knowing only one person in his life who takes an active interest in his blog.

“So are you going to reply to him?”

Well, two people now.

“Yes, but I am kind of drafting a response,” Minho admits, leaning over his coffee mug as he feels the need for a recharge. “I don’t want to say something stupid you know?”

“Oh man, I know that exact feeling.” Jinki hikes his knees up to his chest and Minho tries to ignore the feeling that tells him it isn’t right for someone that old to look this cute. “I spend hours writing my entries. You should see all the drafts on my blog.”

“Can I?” The words slip past his lips before Minho even realizes it, suddenly feeling embarrassed as he gives an apologetic wave. “I mean if you are comfortable. I mean, I know it’s personal and all and hey you can refuse- That was rude of me to ask, so just ignore it...” Minho pauses.

Jinki’s eyes are on him, blank and difficult to read. It makes Minho’s chest tighten, worried about having made a grave misstep. Seconds pass, the tension only relieved when Jinki makes a move.

“Sure.” Jinki’s lips are pressed together as he stands up, walking towards his console and turning it off. “Sure, you can take a look if you like.”

“Ah, you don’t have to.” The words die on Minho’s lips as he feels a slight twinge of guilt.

“No, it’s fine.” Jinki counters the awkward atmosphere with his undeniably bright smile. “I mean, you’ve showed me a lot from your entries and emails. I should return the favour.”

“But that was my choice,” Minho clarifies, watching Jinki grab his laptop and bring it towards the coffee table. “I chose to email you those messages and make those posts public.”

“And this is my choice.” Jinki takes a seat beside Minho again, booting up his computer and logging onto his account. “I mean you know, if I can be honest, I think it’s your personal entries that drew me to your blog. I’m envious of them.”

Jinki’s eyes are glued to the screen as he speaks, making it difficult for Minho to decipher whether the man was angry or not.

“Envious?”

“Yeah, you know-” Jinki lifts a hand over his cheeks, a contemplative yet somewhat conflicted look. “The way you are able to express yourself so, um, frankly. I wish I could do that.”

It doesn’t make much sense to Minho but before he can protest, the laptop is pushed before him, Jinki logged onto Onew’s blog, an instant access pass to year’s worth of information and private texts.

Jinki smiles at him, embarrassed, Minho not reading any anger. “There isn’t anything interesting in there really, and there are a few entries I haven’t published - you know, those rants you write but never post, and yeah some other boring stuff. But uh, feel free to look at it. I might have written something dumb, considering I started this blog as a freshman.” Jinki’s hand is on his neck, rubbing it as if it was sore.

“Are you sure?” Minho’s hands are on the keyboard, gut telling him he should not invade Jinki’s privacy. Simultaneously, Minho struggles, not being able to deny the fact that ever since their first exchange, he has always been a little more than curious about Onew.

“Yeah.” Jinki presses his lips together once again before rising. “Well I’m hungry,” he announces, eye contact all but lost with Minho, “I can make a mean Shin ramen, if that works for you.”

The mention of food makes Minho’s stomach grumble. “If it isn’t too much of a hassle…”

“Consider it done!” Jinki’s face has a cheery complexion, though Minho wonders if he catches the slight twitch of a falter. “Feel free to ask me anything while you are browsing.” Jinki proceeds to stiffly stalk off towards the kitchen, located just behind the living room.

Despite the act, Minho is not dumb to the hint that his hyung is a little more than uncomfortable. However, Minho’s curiosity selfishly wins out this round, ignoring his conscience, which tells him to just close the laptop.

Still, even with an infinite wealth of information before him, Minho swallows, finding the task to be on the verge of overwhelming. Honestly, reading Onew and meeting Jinki were two different things: Onew being well-composed, confident and witty; Jinki still just as intelligent but a little more human, fumbling with words and almost guarded. Although, maybe it was a little unreasonable for Minho to be drawing such conclusions, having only met 4 times.

But.

Barcelona: Similar Yet Different, Taking it Slow, Relaxing

Minho scrolls through a blur of bolded text and dates, spotting the title beside an icon of a lock. Obviously an entry not meant to be seen, but an entry he now has access to. Minho clicks.

Taking time to cherish this moment, I’ve dropped down to only a few words. As opposed to the photos that Taemin captures, I’m more of the type to use words to express my feelings. So it seems, that rather than digital, I am an analog person.

And thinking upon it now, using the term “writing articles” to describe the diaries I am composing, seems a bit too generous. Writing “records” seems more accurate.

Bringing a little notepad whilst traveling, I organize and write down everything from my head, time permitting. Although, these days, I’ve been benefiting from the memo app in my phone. Compared to taking pictures, these note files are what occupy the space.

Naturally, I have been writing diaries ever since I was young; however, I dare not read what was written. Despite being curious, I have never once opened these memories again.

Perhaps you can say I am self-conscious, as the contents are thoughts that have been only disclosed to myself. Would I be embarrassed, viewing the mind of my younger self?

Still, I want to treasure it.

Instead, I choose to read letters received from friends, during my Elementary school days. A lot of them wrote, “you really look good in yellow clothes.” Whenever I read that, I cannot help but laugh for a long time.

Did I really wear yellow clothes that often?

“Do you like cheese in your ramen?”

Minho hears the shout from the kitchen, his smile only growing wider. He can take the hint, Jinki not so subtly checking up on him. “Yeah, that’s fine hyung.” Minho purposely stops for a few seconds before continuing. “So you’ve gone to Barcelona?”

“Ah yeah!” Jinki’s voice seems to have gone a few notes higher. “So you’re reading about that?”

“It explains the yellow hyung.”

Minho’s response is met with silence and he can’t help but chuckle, not needing to turn around to see Jinki’s flushed face. It’s enough to allow him to continue with his browsing.

And with every click, Minho discovers a little more about Onew and Lee Jinki: Onew, he has decided, being the published entries; and Jinki, the unpublished entries, with the occasional unexpected appearance. Onew seemed to be some objective journalistic god, talking about exotic travels, global issues, and the occasional literature analysis. Meanwhile, Jinki was much more subjective, showing a more reflective side of Onew, sharing the occasional unrelated personal story, and rarely popping up in Onew’s entries.

This whole notion of two personalities being connected to one person is a little mind boggling, but it makes Minho wonder if he and Sano are no different.

“I’m almost done!”

“I’m reading about your trip to Japan. I know you told me a bit but you should have told me more hyung!”

Minho can almost hear Jinki choke, and feels a little ashamed for teasing his more than generous host.

“I’ll make it up to you.” Jinki’s voice is a lot quieter this time around.

“A good bowl of ramen is enough!” Minho doesn’t miss a beat and continues scrolling through the entries, smelling the almost finished instant noodles.

Which is why the timing is almost a little too perfect, Minho’s eyes stopping at an entry dated two years ago, the title somewhat graphic in nature.

Sex and Candy

A voice in the back of his head tells him to stop, but Minho disregards it, having defied his conscience more than once today. He impatiently taps the trackpad.

They say that sometimes you know right from the beginning. Other times, as my psychology textbook indicates, you won’t know until you are at least thirteen years old. I found out a little late I suppose, not realizing it until my first year of high school, during the classic don’t-tell-your-mom about the dirty things you watch in cram school. But hey, no need to worry mom! I don’t like porn!

Minho swallows after reading the blunt confession, the warmth on his cheeks impossible to hide.

Thinking about it, that video was the only time I’ve ever seen a woman’s legs spread so wide, not to mention viewing the unconventional use of a lollipop. The rest of the guys were getting a kick though; I remember their red faces, watching the actress struggle and moan on the sheets. She was undeniably pretty, breasts jostling, skin a pale white.

But I had no reaction. None at all.

Although, I think I made a joke about blue balws and cold showers when the guy shut his laptop, creepy grins mirrored on everyone’s faces.

Still, the video would have been better with someone like Changmin hyung-

crash

Minho swivels around, hearing the distinct noise of glass shattering.

“I-It’s not what you think.”

A cold rush strangles his throat, Minho jerking back from surprise at the man standing close behind him, Jinki deathly pale, eyes wide and fearful. He looks completely mortified, glancing for a second at the computer screen then back to Minho, taking little care to notice the hot soup spreading around his feet.

“No-” Minho can barely compose his thoughts, wishing he had listened to his god forsaken instinct instead of being selfish.

“Look, what I wrote there was a joke. You know, just thinking about things but not really thinking-”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Minho responds automatically, feet hitting the floor, ditching the laptop to pull Jinki from the mess of broken dishes and spoiled food. “It’s not a big deal.”

Or so he says, Minho feeling a slight uncertainty at the back of his mind. However, that detail was less important than the matter at hand, Minho’s chest clenching with anxiety, worrying more about the consequences of his insensitivity. He hurt Jinki.

“Hyung, I don’t care.”

“I’m gay Minho.” Jinki’s looking at him directly, eyes watering at the edges. “Tell me with a straight face that being a homosexual male does not matter to you.”

The words twist in his brain and at the moment, Minho has little capacity to truly make sense of it; there were other priorities at hands.

“There’s ramen on the floor.” Minho glances at Jinki’s feet, guiding the man away from the sharp edges and slippery hazards, the mess just asking for injury. “We should clean up.”

Jinki’s insistent look suddenly dissipates, blinking for a few seconds, catching onto Minho’s words. He backs away before remembering to inhale oxygen. “I’ll get the mop.”

With his head lowered, Jinki shuffles away, a wet trail left behind him. Minho watches this pitiful scene - caused by no other than him - and hunches over, picking up the large pieces of jagged porcelain.

Jinki returns seconds later, mop in hand and gaze averted; he does not like the dark complexion behind Jinki’s eye. His hand reaches out, grasping Jinki’s sleeve, an apologetic and expectant look. He does not want it to end like this.

“Do you want to meet again? In a few days?”

This time when Jinki stops, he gives Minho an astonished but hard look. Minho’s thinks he sees Jinki during the few seconds of contemplation, lips tremble, but it’s not for the worse.

“Yeah.” Jinki looks back to the floor, mopping everything into a heaping pile. “We can do that.”

Minho can still recall, with an unfair and unwanted preciseness, when he fell in love with Heeyoung. She had been his first love and she used to always wear her hair in a French braid and leave a few inches of hair loose at the end. It’s always part of the image that pops into his mind when he thinks of her: round eyes, almost too-thin eyebrows, hand pulling the braid over her shoulder and running fingers through the ends. Her head is always slightly turned, as though she doesn’t ever look anything straight on. It never used to bother him, because Heeyoung’s smile was so charming, relaxed, flashing bits of gums now and then, but after their break up he hated it. He had thought that she had never looked at him properly, since a semester apart had been the only requirement for their breakup. Heeyoung had never taken him seriously.

He knows now that their breakup had nothing to do with how she held the wispy ends of her hair, and more to do with him and his unfair expectations. Minho had grown up with parents who were desperately in love and still are. His dad tells stories of his mom’s long braid, the curling ends and the straight line it made down her back, following her spine; his mom sighs over memories of thin wire-frames perched on his dad’s nose and how he was the kindest, gentlest man she had ever met. He grew up with parents who knew what they wanted from each other and from their only son, and then he had projected those desires onto Heeyoung.

Heeyoung never mentioned it, never hinted in the slightest that Minho can recall, but he now shoulders the entire blame and doesn’t lay any at Heeyoung’s doorstop. She had been his first love, the kind he used to think would shatter the world once over. Whenever Minho visits home and sees her next door, he smiles at her and pretends that they were only ever just good, childhood friends.

But Heeyoung’s slim waist and delicate wrist bones had always led him to believe that he was completely and utterly straight. There had never been a shadow of doubt in his mind that maybe, potentially, square fingers with blunted bitten fingernails and hair haphazardly cared for would ever be able to attract him. There had been a firm line in his mind drawn that he could never be gay.

Jinki changes that. He hadn’t done it on purpose, Minho knows, but he stills feels a residual bitterness over the man so easily shaking Minho’s foundation. He knows that Jinki is gay in a very objective sense, but after the unintended revelation, he tries to pretend that he doesn’t see it crop up when they’re together. Like Jinki smiling a little flirtatiously at a male clerk, or how when Minho would nod to a hot girl walking down the street, Jinki would shift uncomfortably in response. In these instances, Minho would hurriedly change the subject.

Sometimes however, Minho cannot avoid it. Occasionally, Jinki will bring the topic up, willfully, his eyes flashing a little. His entire body tenses during these conversations while Minho always tries to avoid them, but isn’t able to. Like when they accidentally fall into the discussion of marriage, Jinki manages to insistently dog the topic.

“They should be allowed to legally marry,” Jinki says defensively. “Gay couples currently receive none of the benefits a straight couple does and I think that’s unfair.”

“It’s just- it just doesn’t seem possible right now. Somehow.”

“That’s not logical,” Jinki says and Minho thinks it’s double edged: teasing and desperate. “Give me a logical reason why.”

Minho isn’t able to give one.

“See? Logically, there’s no reason. Gay people should be allowed the same, basic, human rights as straight people. It doesn’t make sense that just because they’d rather kiss a person of the same gender, they’re lesser human beings.”

“This sounds personal,” Minho says, trying to keep the argument lighter. It only makes Jinki more frustrated.

“It is personal. Political is now personal. My life is dictated by politics Minho.”

Minho doesn’t have a response that is proper, because they still haven’t fully discussed Jinki being gay.

“There is a psychological theory,” Jinki says a moment later, a little bit of his tension draining away, “about a sexual orientation continuum.”

He stops there and Minho needs to prompt him with: “and?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, actually. Instead of there being black and white, straight and gay, everyone is a shade of grey in between.”

“So if black is straight, then I’m a really dark grey.”

There’s a helpless sort of shrug. “And I’m a pale grey.”

Minho doesn’t know how to respond to this, this is a whole new ballpark for him after all, and so he says nothing. It’s his new MO.

Jinki’s a good friend. A friend who’s made Minho start to wonder about sexuality and what it means to be straight and think that yeah, maybe guys can be beautiful too - but still a good friend. Maybe opening Minho’s eyes to possibilities is part of what makes Jinki so good, someone who doesn’t let Minho rest on his haunches with the ease of being a straight guy.

He doesn’t think he’s full-on gay, not like Jinki’s pale grey, but he’s definitely drifting to the middle, no longer a dark, almost charcoal grey. Minho sees himself something like a lighter slate grey. Nothing too fancy about greys, although he does catch himself ironically thinking that the shades between white and black aren’t the colors usually associated to gay rights movements.

What upsets him most about these revelations is how they now focus on Jinki. He can stand thinking that yeah, okay, maybe he’s not completely straight like he thought he was, but he starts thinking he’s not because of Jinki. He’s starting to notice Jinki romantically and it frightens him because- Jinki. Jinki’s his friend, someone who laughs at Minho’s jokes and has an affection for puns where Minho pulls lame faces at but appreciates them nonetheless. He is someone who Minho plays video games with and they take turns at being good and bad at various games. This is Jinki, who has let Minho in on the privacies of his life and this is a betrayal of their friendship, a violation Minho cannot forgive himself for. Forgiveness does not come easily to him.

He’s dropping hints, but he’s not sure if Minho has picked up on any of them. They’re harmless sorts of hints, like sitting close to Minho when they play games, silly text messages of the kind Jinki would send to no one else. And okay, they’re not subtle, but Minho’s not picked up on them. He ignores Jinki’s proximity and he replies in like to the texts, as though questions of blue vs red tulips with an unnecessary cutesy smile at the end are valid and normal.

Jinki thinks sometimes that maybe he’s wrong, that maybe the hints that Jinki has picked up from Minho are wrong, but the kicker is: he doesn’t want to be wrong. He’s not completely dim and oblivious, despite Taemin’s blatant hints at otherwise, and Minho is definitely sending Jinki signals. Maybe Minho’s not aware of it, of how he takes things out of Jinki’s hands with a smile, a hand on his lower back as they walk through crowded streets. To Jinki, these are blatant signs of interest. But, he tells himself, he has a history of being gay while Minho does not. Minho probably doesn’t even realize he’s dropping so many hints and signs of interest, which Jinki can handle, possibly, but it doesn’t tamper the want he feels for Minho reciprocate.

In Jinki’s mind, there has never been just a friendship between them. It had always been a one-sided affair on his side, from the moment Minho had replied to his comment. That feeling had only been solidified at the cafe with the spilled coffee and humiliation, Minho smoothly sliding into the seat across him. He’d been willing, for Minho’s sake, to hide it and pretend that he wasn’t gay.

He’d been willing to pass it off as a momentary attraction, though he subconsciously knew it was more than that, but as of now, they’ve been friends for months and months and it’s killing him. He doesn’t want to risk Minho’s friendship, but all these signals they’ve been giving each other, eyes meeting and sliding away ineffectually, are just too much.

“I have two tickets for Les Mis this Friday,” he suggests casually, on the train. Jinki couldn’t think of any other way and although he’s a bit of a romantic deep down, it never manifests itself when he really wishes it would. “If you don’t mind watching seeing how shitty life in France can get, want to go with me?”

Minho has a little frown on his face and Jinki’s heart has a few moments of too-fast beating. “I thought the movie was out of theaters? Isn’t it coming out on DVD soon?”

The smile on Jinki’s face is fleeting. “It’s for the musical. I’m going to see it for my job.”

“Oh,” Minho mumbles, staring out the train windows. Jinki stares at him and wonders why MInho isn’t looking at him, because they’re underground and there’s no way he’s that interested in the barely-visible graffitied walls flashing by.

“So?”

“Sure, if you need someone to help you deal with the miserableness. How long is it?”

“Three hours.” Jinki clears his throat and looks out the window, hand tightening on the pole. The train isn’t full, but most of the seats are taken up. He whispers, “And I was asking you out.”

Minho’s gaze does not move from the outside wall. The train slows down, automated voice coming on above them, please stay clear of the train until it has stopped and the doors open, and a couple of people move past them. More enter and the door closes.

“My stop is next.”

No, then.

Jinki tries not to slump, resisting the display of disappointment and fear that threaten to show themselves in the lines of his body. The train starts moving and their bodies sway slightly. “Yeah. It is.”

“I’ll- what time? On Friday?”

Jinki looks over at Minho. He’s looking at Jinki now, embarrassment faint on his features. “Seven-thirty.”

“Want to, I don’t know, grab dinner beforehand?”

“Umm, okay.” He swallows. “So this is a date, yes?”

Minho looks apprehensive. “Y-yeah. I think so.”

“You know what, never mind,” Jinki says, doubt getting the best of him, hand sliding down the metal pole to feel something cool beneath his fingertips. “I’ll just go with someone else.”

“No, no, really, it’s fine. I’ll go.”

The train calls Minho’s station and Jinki sees the tiles and edge of the platform appear. “I don’t want to make you do something that makes you uncomfortable...”

Minho stares at him and Jinki watches him hesitantly raise an arm, Jinki trying not to flinch as Minho rests his hand at the nape of Jinki’s neck. His fingers are long and slender, with bony knuckles and the last joint is chillier than his palm. “If you’re okay with me, there is no way I’ll be uncomfortable.”

The train stops. They jolt a little because they aren’t paying attention and Minho’s hand slides away from Jinki, though he squeezes Jinki’s shoulder just before he steps off the train. Jinki’s heartbeat is unfairly fast and he knows it’s a miracle that allows him to hear Minho’s goodbye.

Their entire date on Friday evening is awkward. Jinki wishes the conversation would flow as it always did, but Minho keeps jumping every time Jinki touches him. Even slight ones on the shoulder to get his attention, arms bumping accidentally being enough for Minho to pull away. Jinki frowns each time and after Les Misérables he has had enough.

“Let’s forget this happened, okay? It was a mistake.”

Minho tenses just a little more than he already was. “How so?”

“Look at us!” Jinki’s patience dies as he bursts out. “You’ve been freaking out the entire evening so how am I supposed to think that this is okay?”

“Jinki... I wanted to come.”

“Then why have you’ve been on pins and needles the entire time?” Jinki finds himself saying this rather ironically.

Minho shifts. “I don’t mean to be.”

“Well, you have.” Minho doesn’t say anything, just looks longingly at something in the distance that Jinki can’t see. It only fuels his frustration. “I’m going home.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Minho says, following Jinki. His damned long legs keep pace and Jinki slows down on reflex. “About that continuum you were talking about before. The orientation one?”

“And?”

“Well, maybe I’m not as dark grey as I thought?”

“Is that a question?” Jinki is not amused because he’s absolutely terrified of being led on. He doesn’t think it’s likely, coming from Minho, but the fear is still there. He doesn’t want to be a joke or anything.

“No, not really, no. It’s not.”

Jinki takes a deep breath and stops. They’re on a side street, a shortcut to the nearest train stop. Minho takes a couple more steps and half-turns to look at Jinki. It’s a look Jinki can’t interpret, but he’s been muddling along without knowing the tells of Minho’s slightest, subtle expressions for long enough to know that those wide round eyes and the slight curl of rounded lips could mean anything.

“I like you.” He sees the bob of Minho’s adams apple as he find himself confessing. “An unfair amount.”

“Jinki, I...”

“And, don’t stop me, you’ve been giving me signs too. You know that don’t you? You’ve been dropping hints with your gross smile, your generosity - and how am I supposed to react?” Jinki does not think he has ever been so frustrated - desperate - before. “I’ve felt something for you since you wrote about your sister’s pregnancy. Wrote, Minho, wrote.”

“That was months ago,” Minho says softly, blinking with a relatively calm but slightly astonished gaze.

“Yeah, months ago and it’s only gotten worse since then - my feelings that is.” Jinki looks up, trying to remain just as collected. “Minho, you need to tell me if I’ve been reading the signs all wrong, or if I’ve been reading them correctly.” He pauses. “If I’m wrong,” he continues in a much softer voice. “I think we need to go back.” Back to a time where physical contact wasn’t a thing, Jinki muses,leaving the thought to dangle wordlessly.

It’s then that Minho’s hands trail up his shoulders, heels on his collarbone. “You haven’t been wrong,” he mumbles. “I’m just not used to this - I didn’t know I was giving signs.”

“Even so,” Jinki says, repressing the thought that he is being unfair, not liking the hitch in his voice at all. “Minho, you’ve known where I stand for a while now. You can’t do this and expect me to be okay with things continuing the way they have been. I’ve told you as clearly and honestly as I can, and in return I have, at most, received vague answers.”

“You gave me an ultimatum.”

Jinki jerks away from Minho, but he just catches Jinki again. His grip is stronger this time, fingers digging into Jinki’s arms; Jinki wonders if they will be sore tomorrow morning. But he won’t back down, having already taken a risk that he has never taken with anyone else. “Well, I’ll give you another one then.” Jinki looks around, thankfully no person in the immediate vicinity during the late night hour. “We are alone right now so I’m going to count to three. At three, I’m going to kiss you. That is how long you have to make a decision.”

Minho’s eyes widen at the bold proposal.

“One.”

Did he push too far?

“Two.”

What would happen if Minho left?

“Three.”

But Jinki has learned from experience that one can’t achieve anything if they don’t risk it - even if that endeavour was not the easiest thing for him.

Jinki brings an arm around Minho’s neck and pulls him down, leaning up to kiss him. Minho doesn’t pull away, draws closer instead, fingers digging a little deeper before loosening, one hand falling to curl around his waist and the other slowly traveling up to cup the back of Jinki’s head.

Jinki’s breathing slows, a contrast to his hammering heart and the hyper-awareness of the arm around his waist and fingers curling in his hair. He feels the tension release from his shoulder, a wet tongue timidly pressing against his own. It makes Jinki flush, murmuring softly against Minho’s lips, “I was right.”

“Yeah,” Minho chuckles, a little nervously. Jinki feels the hand slide away from his hair, resting lightly at his nape. “Sorry for the run-around.”

“So you’re dating Onew now.”

Minho turns to see his roommate giving him a slack jaw expression. That face would probably look more exaggerated if he had confessed to Jonghyun that he had more accurately been in a relationship with Jinki for a total of twenty-two days.

“Yes - Well no, I’m dating Lee Jinki,” Minho corrects, rolling his eyes while dropping his laptop and power cable into a bag.

“You.” Of course Jonghyun isn’t letting the issue go easy, prodding a finger into Minho’s chest. “The guy who was hung up on his high-school-to-college girlfriend, you’re dating a guy now, a guy you met online.”

“Is that problematic for you?” Minho makes it a priority to swat at Jonghyun’s hands.

“Yeah, let’s not joke around here.” Jonghyun kinks his neck back, taking the hint and stepping away from Minho’s assault. “You know I am the last one to judge that kind of thing - And just in case you have forgotten, a reminder that I do host the domain for your beloved blog, and probably know you better than your own mom.”

Minho grins, fully aware of the truth behind the blonde man’s words.

“And it’s because I know you so well ,” Jonghyun continues, now stalking around the living room with pretentious authority, “That I know, this development is unexpected.”

“But his kisses are nice.” Minho interrupts and makes a sappy face, taking enjoyment from the response of his roommate: a cry of distress and fingers curling in and out from the complete cheesiness.

“You’re in deep then.” Jonghyun pauses enough to look back at Minho with the direct statement.

“Yeah, I am.” Minho returns the response with his own sincerity, eyelids shuttering open and close. He then looks around before placing his wallet in his back pocket. There is a brief look, downcast and reflective. “But I admit, it’s different.”

“Different?” Jonghyun doesn’t miss the opening and takes the opportunity to inch closer to Minho while leaning over the back of a chair casually. “You tug his dick yet?”

“What the fuck man!” Minho’s cheeks flare a bright red as he nearly shouts at Jonghyun. The shorter man always had a knack for approaching sensitive topics with shockingly frank statements. “Why would you even ask that?”

“So that means no.”

“Of course it means no!”

“You’re going there now right?”

Minho halts, caught halfway in a dramatic pose intended to knock Jonghyun over with a cushion. He does not follow through however, catching the unsaid words of Jonghyun’s sentence. Will you do it now?

Minho is left to cough, lowering his arms, a hand pulling at the collar of his shirt. It may sound invasive, but he knows Jonghyun is getting to the point, something he can only avoid for so long. “We just haven’t gotten to that stage yet,” Minho clarifies.

“But it’s in the plans?”

Jonghyun obviously won’t this let go, not letting Minho escape the reality of the situation. It might seem like a jerk move but Minho thinks it’s what he likes most about Jonghyun, that the man is willing to give him a swift kick in the ass when he needs it.

“Maybe - yes, I think. Well no, I mean yes it is.” Minho sighs as he falters, frustration bubbling forth from the lack of answers he seemed to have. He could argue about it over and over in his head, how dating a guy was never in his plans - no he isn’t against the idea or condemns different sexual orientations - but fuck, thinking about political correctness and how to sort his thoughts - he’s just confused. He’s gone twenty-three years without even considering the option because it wasn’t even an option; men have relationships with women, end of story. Or as so he has been told since birth.

But now, his world is turned on it’s side, the reality slammed in his face, Minho experiencing that headache of cognitive dissonance his lit prof always went on and on about - he probably should have paid more attention in class. To be homosexual, it is always someone else you know, that person you don’t talk to, a friend of a friend of a friend - not you.

Except, irony of ironies: it is him.

Right now he has no clear answers, except maybe one. For all his nights of tossing and turning, Minho has only been able to conclude one thing for certain.

“Hyung, I want Jinki to be with me.”

The words feel thick on his tongue, vague and almost selfish in nature. Jinki isn’t an object that can be possessed or owned, that isn’t it, but Minho can find no better way to phrase it. He wants Jinki to be there.

The confession strikes a melancholic chord in him, Minho falling back into a chair, recalling how many times he’s made Jinki upset due to his unstable footing with this completely new realm of his life. He’s supposed to be an adult, a man, so it would be silly of Minho to say he isn’t ready yet. Right?

“I already have a bad enough track record as is,” Minho takes the time to further admit to Jonghyun, glad to have his invasive but accepting friend willing to listen, a privilege granted to few. “I mean I just keep thinking, what if I jumped too fast into this, what if I make him even more upset?”

It’s one of those moments where Minho pauses in earnest, waiting for advice from his roommate. Despite having a deceivingly flippant image, Jonghyun was a lot more reliable than most people perceive him to be.

“It’s obvious.” Jonghyun demonstrates that reliability immediately, patting a reassuring hand on Minho’s shoulder. “I was getting ready to tell you to get the fuck out of this - no point in lying.” Minho grimaces at the honesty. “But you don’t need to worry about it.”

Minho gives Jonghyun a suspicious look, eyeing the way Jonghyun’s smirk seems to have that extra accent of confidence as he continues. “You and I both know that you, Choi Minho, do not have the balls to make an impulsive decision over things like this. You’re too good of a guy.”

Minho blinks behind a flush, reading Jonghyun’s easy grin and the surprisingly rare compliment.

“You’re in love with Jinki, like grossly. You’ll do the right thing.” Jonghyun swings back to his feet with a shit-faced grin. “There’s only one setback as of now; you’re scared of his penis.”

Minho nearly chokes, instantly taking back any and all mental praise he has ever given Jongyhyun.

“I’m leaving hyung.”

Minho hoists his backpack over his shoulder, shutting the door and the laughing parade behind him. Consequently, it nearly kills him inside when he hears Jonghyun managing to get the final word, echoing through the walls.

Don’t be scared. You have one too!

He really needs a new roommate.

“What was your first love like?” Jinki asks, leaning back and stretching his arms behind him. Minho can hear a faint pop.

“Well,” he starts, then stops, fingers on the trackpad of his computer quick as he scrolls. “She was my first love. Nothing much to say.”

“Hmm.” Jinki sits back, normally, head propped on his hand as he stares at his own computer screen. “Sounds like it was a big deal.”

Minho snorts. “First loves are only a big deal at the time.” He glances up at Jinki. His eyes look a little glazed as he scrolls.Minho watches as he supresses a yawn, back of his hand pressed against his mouth. “And you?”

“Oh, I don’t remember my mine. I was in preschool or something.”

“Was it a guy?”

Jinki flashes him a quick smile. “No, actually, it was a girl. I don’t even remember her name, but my parents tell stories about how I drew pictures of her all the time. Apparently I threw a tantrum once when they wouldn’t put one of them on the fridge.”

“I dated my first love for five years.”

Jinki stops and his eyes aren’t glazed over anymore as he looks over at Minho. “That’s a long time,” he says softly.

“Yeah, but I’m over it. It’s a little embarrassing, now, to admit that I was in love with one girl for more than ten years.”

“How is that embarrassing?” Jinki smiles at him; Minho involuntarily smiles back as his heart does that annoying leap to his throat. “I don’t think it is at all.”

He ducks his head and reads a couple more comments he has yet to reply to. Most of them have been about his analysis, but a couple have been direct questions about Minho himself. There’s another comment from Jun and Minho tries to not be too excited about it. Then he tells himself that it’s okay to be excited, because this is Jun, a blogger Minho had admired for a long, long time.

There’s a clicking sound and Minho glances up, a question on his tongue, until he sees Jinki grinning at his phone’s screen. “You’re far too photogenic,” he tells Minho, glancing up at him. “I’m a little jealous.”

“You’re photogenic too, hyung,” Minho protests, eyeing Jinki’s fingers as they sweep over the screen. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m thinking of-” Jinki’s fingers stop at the same time he stops speaking and he looks back at Minho. “Hey, your profile pic is still that grainy thing from forever ago, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, I just chose some picture I found on my hard drive.”

Jinki is smiling really widely and he carelessly drops his phone onto the couch and heads across the room. “Here, let’s take a new picture for you.” He picks up his camera from a nearby cabinet, a Nikon D5200 he had bragged to a clueless Minho, and walks back over.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Minho nervously says watching Jinki adjust the oversized lens. “None of my readers--”

“Lies,” Jinki says, peering over Minho’s shoulder. “I’ve seen comments asking - you keep forgetting I read your blog too - and look! There, that person wants a picture!”

“I don’t see why I have to gratify their wishes,” Minho retorts, quickly going to his profile stats page.

Jinki’s eyes widen. “Hey, you’ve been getting a lot of activity lately, haven’t you?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I don’t pay much attention.”

“You were the one who said you wanted to take blogging more seriously right?” Jinki smiles easy and slow. “If you want a larger audience, this calls for some more personalization. A part of that is a new profile pic. I insist.”

Minho squirms in his seat as Jinki rests a hand on his shoulder. The camera’s lanyard is around his neck, the black and yellow Nikon labelling clean. “I don’t really...”

“Minho,” Jinki continues, the hand moving to curl the ends of Minho’s hair around his fingers. “It might just be a hobby, but I’m still a photographer. Please.”

With Jinki’s fingers occasionally brushing skin, Minho finds it hard to say no. “Fine.” A bright smile spreads across Jinki’s face. “But just a couple. I don’t really like having pictures taken of me.”

“That’s fine, great even. I’ve wanted to take pictures of you for a while now.”

Minho flushes as Jinki pulls him out of his chair and to the front entrance of Jinki’s apartment. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course I have. Let’s go to the park.”

“But it’s cold outside,” Minho protests. He’s not sure he thought this through at all. In fact, he’s pretty sure he was only aware of Jinki’s hand in his hair when he agreed to this.

“It’s not that cold, come on. You don’t need the jacket.”

Minho acquiesces and puts his shoes on with a sigh, Jinki following suit and then dragging him to a park. “I don’t get what the big deal is,” he mumbles and Jinki smiles. He looks so very happy and Minho wants to kiss him. He, very suddenly, wants to press Jinki against a wall and kiss him, nip at his lips and settle hands at Jinki’s waist, possessive and tender.

“It’s not that it’s a big deal,” Jinki says when they’re standing in the park, apartment locked behind them. “It’s that I want pictures I can show off with.”

“Show off? Who to?” Minho’s nose wrinkles and Jinki brings the camera to his eye and snaps a picture. “Wait, I wasn’t ready.”

“No such thing,” Jinki gently admonishes, snapping another picture. Minho half-freezes, his face awkwardly posed halfway between a smile and a grimace. “Relax a little, it’s not like I’m a guy taking a picture for the family Christmas portrait. Act normally.”

Minho’s first thought is that he’s not exactly sure what normal is, but he doesn’t say it and instead follows Jinki around the park, allowing him to direct Minho to stand next to this tree or lean against this bench. The last picture they take is the two of them together, though they don’t use the Nikon, Minho instead pulling out his phone and snapping a shot. The two of them look happy, sweet, a picture of either best friends or a couple. As they walk back to the apartment, Jinki still snapping pictures of Minho as though it’s a drug, Minho changes the background on his phone.

“Let me upload the pictures real quick, and then we can change your profile pic.” Jinki acts quickly, at his computer before Minho’s done pulling his shoes off. He stands behind Jinki for a few moments before breathing deeply, taking the initiative. Minho slowly leans forward, arms going around Jinki’s neck as he bends to rest his head on top of Jinki’s. His hair is soft and a little ticklish.

For a moment, Jinki’s fingers still, feeling a puff of hair, Minho inhaling Jinki’s scent. Minho then drops lower still, pressing soft kisses against the back of Jinki’s neck.

“Minho...?”

“I was just thinking about some things.” Minho continues his ministrations, finding it far from the unpleasantness he once shamefully - and insecurely - imagined.

“J-just wait.” Jinki jerks forward, cheeks red, looking back at him with lips pressed together. “Let me finish this first.”

Minho watches patiently, looking at Jinki rifle through files with the click of a mouse. In the picture Jinki chooses, Minho’s not looking at the camera, but just beyond. Minho doesn’t remember the pose, though he recognizes the oak tree in the background where he had snuck a few kisses in the shadows, Jinki’s back against the bark. Jinki’s fingers are quick on his trackpad as he sets it and Minho has to admit that it’s a good picture of him: a hint of a smile, hair loosely blown, eyes unguarded.

“It’s my favorite,” Jinki says, turning partially to smile at Minho, smiling shyly. “You were looking at me.”

Minho smiles back. “Let me log-in real quick.” He leans forward and opens his blog, signing in while invading Jinki’s personal space, cheeks pressed against one another.

“I’ll upload it for your followers too, let them have a good look at how handsome you are,” Jinki teases, not looking at him. Minho can see the blush in his cheek and grins as he presses butterfly kisses to warm skin. “Stop it,” Jinki mumbles, squirming a little and craning his neck to get away from Minho’s persistence. “I need to finish this.”

“I’ll go heat up some soup from the other night.”

“Okay. Could you make some rice as well? I don’t have any in the fridge.”

He pads his way to Jinki’s small kitchen and pulls out the container of soup and sets it on the counter. A moment later he has a pot on the stove and has poured the soup into it, the burner set to medium-low. Jinki taught him how to make rice; Minho’s mom had never really taught him and Jonghyun had done most of the cooking at their apartment.

When he looks back at Jinki, he’s stretching at his computer again, back and arms a smooth arc. Jinki rubs his eyes and shuts his computer, glancing over towards Minho and smiles. “The rice is cooking? How’s the soup?”

“Almost ready,” Minho replies and Jinki pushes away from the table, stands up and walks over.

“You’re not even looking,” he laughs, pinching Minho’s forearm as he brushes by. Minho wrinkles his nose, closing the space between them, resting his chin on Jinki’s shoulder.

“A few moments ago it was almost ready, so I assumed.” Minho watches as Jinki takes a spoon from a drawer and stirs the soup, leaning into his touch cautiously. “You’ve uploaded the picture, then.”

“Yeah, and just wrote a little blurb about a walk in a park. Nothing huge.” Jinki takes the spoon out and cautiously tastes it, then shoots Minho an exasperated glance as he pushes away. “It’s not ‘almost’ ready,” he grumbles, “it’s just barely warm.”

Minho coughs and swallows while watching Jinki take another sample of the soup, licking the spoon. Jinki isn’t getting it.

“Can we have sex?”

Jinki sputters. “W-what?”

Minho reddens and glances away. “I just...”

“Oh shit, I spit into the soup,” Jinki mutters, distractedly, putting the spoon down and then accidentally knocks it off the counter. “Fu--”

Minho bends down to pick it up and hands it over. “I was trying to be more subtle... but.” Minho sighs, a hand falling on the back of his neck as he feels a faint warmth rise to his cheeks. “I guess I wasn’t being very suave about it.”

Jinki takes the spoon and his hand curls around Minho’s. “Wait you- You want to have sex with me?”

“Well-” Minho stutters, hearing Jinki’s implication. You want to have sex with a man?

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Jinki suddenly scrambles. “Have sex, that is. Because, yeah, I definitely want you to fuck me, but we haven’t been dating that long, right? And I know that you’re still mostly straight - uh, getting used to this - so I was thinking of taking things slow, bit by bit.” He laughs nervously, close to rambling.

“Well, maybe, if you don’t think it’s a good idea right now-”

“We could though,” Jinki cuts him off. “I have condoms- and lube.”

They stare at each other. Jinki’s hand tightens on Minho’s and the soup behind Jinki starts to boil.

“The soup is ready.”

His hand is dropped abruptly and Jinki takes the spoon and stirs it. “Get a couple bowls, please.”

Minho swallows and pulls two bowls from the cupboard. “Jinki?”

“Hmm?” He glances over at Minho, and Minho’s scared that Jinki will be angry, but he’s not. He looks normal, expression open, smiling gently. “We can talk about it later. For now, let’s just eat.”

The day does not end as Minho expected: there was no sex. Instead they eat quietly, Minho politely going about their normal routine, gathering the dishes and pulling his sleeves up to wash them. Which is why Jinki pulling him away and towards the couch takes him by surprise.

“I hope this is enough... for tonight.”

He’s pushed into the cushions, Jinki pinning a knee between his legs. And it does not take much for his mind to short-circuit, Minho moaning softly as Jinki leans in for a lingering kiss. A hand reaches down to his, lifting it until his fingers run across the waistband of Jinki’s pants. He isn’t sure if it’s his own arousal, the glide of eager tongues, or excitement from Jinki’s advances, but somehow Minho grows bold. His fingers twist, one button undone, further dragging down, zipper loosened.

Jinki groans, head dipping down, level with Minho’s collarbone. He can feel Jinki’s breath ghosting along his skin, warm, damp, soon replaced with lips and a bit of teeth. He can almost feel Jinki’s smile against his skin. In retaliation, Minho slips his hand into Jinki’s briefs and enjoys the gasp and small, keening moan. Maybe, maybe he could get used to this.

Minho returns to an empty apartment, Jonghyun out for the night. Stretching his arms out, he proceeds to step into the bathroom, taking a look at the mirror. A small grin reaches Minho’s lips, realizing Jonghyun would have no right to mock him anymore, admiring an obvious red welt on his neck, a parting gift from his boyfriend.

Still, Minho absent-mindedly wonders what lube is exactly. Changed into a set of boxers only, Minho walks around and sets his computer on his desk, checking his blog while standing up. The photo Jinki had uploaded has upwards of a hundred comments, compliments and the like. Minho’s not sure how to react; he’s never had so many comments on a single post, and his inbox has at least 20 more messages than usual. Minho hadn’t expected any comments or reactions, much less this deluge, and he’s not sure if he knows any of the people who commented. His face isn’t quite staring back at him, and Minho really wishes he could remember this particular photo, this pose. It’s impossible, and he can still only remember the tree and Jinki’s hair sliding through his fingers.

He does not know it yet, but this impromptu shot will be the first and only photo of Minho that Jinki ever hates.

tbc