Work Text:
Do you remember the day you smiled white?
If I could give you everything I felt;
Wind, bring me spring
(Cherry blossoms fluttering)
Time, it’s my springtime
More and more
***
1.
Jisung really needs to stop letting Hyunjin talk him into things—that should be the life lesson that he takes away from this. He likes staying inside and he was looking forward to a chill evening stuffing his face with too much takeout and descending down a new weird YouTube rabbit hole.
(Last week it was several hour long explainers of the lore of Bloodborne— a game he will never play.)
But then Hyunjin came crashing home from his latest glamorous modeling gig, inexplicably drenched, and declared that he needed stress relief, and that meant going out. Which would have been fine, but then he decided to call Jisung boring for wanting to stay home and said that Seungmin would be coming to the club with him and if Kim Seungmin can handle a club then Jisung absolutely can.
So here he is, two hours later, in a new underground club in Itaewon, dressed in a shirt that Hyunjin said shows off his hard-earned arm muscles well; glitter in the corners of his eyes that is going to be a bitch to get off later, plus contacts that are going to be irritating eventually; sticky lip balm that tastes too much like cherry all over his mouth; heeled boots that he’s still too short in. Hyunjin tried to style his hair for all of five minutes before declaring it impossible, but Jisung managed to get his bangs off his forehead enough to look eighteen instead of twelve (he’s twenty-three, but no one ever believes that). He’s had two very colorful drinks, which means that the noise and lights and people all around him are tolerable instead of anxiety-inducing.
Once he finishes the third neon drink that he just procured from the bar, he might be up for dancing. But he’d still rather be home on the couch, where he belongs. Especially since both Hyunjin and Seungmin ditched him two steps inside the door to meet up with other friends—Hyunjin’s arm draped across Seungmin’s shoulders in a way that’s meant to be casual, screams mine instead. Which means Jisung might have to interrogate him again about the massive crush that he refuses to acknowledge.
So Jisung is alone and trying to get drunker(?)—more drunk(?)—so that he can have a good time now that he’s trekked all the way out to fucking Itaewon (it’s like ten minutes by subway but that’s still a trek), and that’s when it happens.
The most gorgeous fucking woman he’s ever seen in his twenty-two years of life appears at the bar next to him. She’s got on a fuzzy light blue coat that she’s pushed off her shoulders, revealing a sleeveless black dress. She has a deer tattoo on the back of one shoulder, with long, branch-like antlers covered in flowers, some of them blowing away in an invisible wind. Her blonde hair spills down her back in a shimmering cascade and she’s so tall—has to be at least 185 centimeters in her heeled boots, though it feels like two meters from Jisung’s vantage point. He catches a glimpse of pouty, red-painted lips, strong cheekbones, and a cute nose as she leans against the bar, flicking some of her hair out of her face. Her nails are painted black and her long, crystalline earrings catch the light, swaying with each turn of her head, and Jisung is in love.
Unfortunately, he’s also had three drinks and that means his already tenuous brain-to-mouth filter is completely gone.
So he blinks at this absolute goddess and blurts out, like an idiot, “excuse me, noona, do you have a boyfriend?”
For a second, he has the hope that the pulsing music will drown him out but no, her head is turning towards him and her pretty, cat-like eyes are drifting down to meet his. Shit, okay, confidence. Be confident, Han Jisung. Changbin told you that you were a catch last week and yeah, sure, that might have been out of a pity or to stop you from moaning about singlehood again, but take that assurance at face value right now.
At least the goddess doesn’t immediately look turned off by his lack of height or the probably stupid grin he can feel stretched across his face. She just arches a questioning eyebrow at him and says, “no, I don’t.”
Okay, good. This is good.
“Then do you want to dance?”
She shrugs and Jisung tries not to stare at the way her black dress hugs her trim waist and shows off her slender, fucking endless legs. “Sure.”
Fuck yes.
Jisung holds out a hand that miraculously isn’t shaking (thank you, three cocktails). Her hand nearly engulfs his own and she takes the lead, guiding him towards the dance floor with a brief stop to dump her coat in a booth where several people are sitting—one of them cheers at the sight of their intertwined fingers, shouting something that sounds like, “yeah, Junie!”
The goddess (Junie?) rolls her eyes, but her mouth is twitching.
“Come on!” she shouts as the music picks up, bass thumping through Jisung’s rib cage.
They end up in the middle of the multi-colored floor, beneath the dazzling flash of the lights. Jisung isn’t a bad dancer—thank you, three years as an idol trainee—but he suspects that he has nothing on her because she moves with a fluidity that’s all long lines and lethal grace. One sinuous grind of her body against his and Jisung wants to get on his knees for her, god.
“You’re amazing!”
She laughs, but it isn’t mean. Her arms are heavy on his shoulders, her bangs have started to stick to her forehead a little from sweat and the damp heat of the club—so many bodies packed together.
“You’re cute!” she replies, voice raised to be heard over the music.
Jisung tries not to preen and probably fails spectacularly. They dance through three more songs before Junie drags him back to the bar and orders them both another round of cocktails—this time something purple and slightly fizzy, tart on Jisung’s tongue. He drinks it a little too fast and the world goes loose and hazy at the edges in a way that makes him even bolder.
“Do you wanna hook up?” he asks Junie—too blunt, shit.
She hesitates, uncertainty crossing her face. She doesn’t look disgusted, though, which Jisung is counting as a win even if he desperately wants to crawl under one of the nearby tables and disappear forever.
“Um, before I say yes, you should know … I’m trans,” she says and there is a vulnerable undercurrent to her voice now, a careful defensive in her shoulders and spine that Jisung knows all too well. He thinks that she’s so brave and even through the blur of alcohol, he’s honored that she’s being up front with him, that she’s willing to risk trusting him with this. A wave of sheer joy hits him next, lighting up all his nerves, because now he doesn’t have to be afraid. She isn’t going to judge him, she understands.
“Awesome!” He says with a hiccup and a laugh. “Me too!”
It’s probably the easiest he’s ever told someone that, and he takes a moment to goggle in amazement at himself before he’s captivated by Junie relaxing and shifting even closer, laying a hand on his arm. Her eyes are soft now—a sudden connection stringing between them beyond initial attraction. Jisung sways further into her orbit, thinks about kissing her right here at the bar, wonders if she would let him. There’s the same joy on her face, too, and for several seconds they just sit there grinning at each other like fools.
“Let’s go, then!” Junie eventually says (and Jisung really needs to get her actual name), and pushes off the bar, taking his hand again.
She leads him towards the back of the club, skirting the edges of the pulsating crowd. A tremor of excitement rumbles down Jisung’s spine because finally he is going to be able to check hook up in a dingy club bathroom off his bucket list.
Except there is a literal line for the bathroom, full of far too many irritated people in bright outfits.
“Shit,” Jisung mutters in dismay.
Junie doesn’t let go of his hand. “Plan B.”
She steers him to the left, where stairs wind back up to street level. Outside the air is humid and sticky, the typical weight of summer. The narrow street in front of the club is teeming with people but the narrower alley leading to the back of the buildings isn’t. It’s almost as good as an unhygienic bathroom, with dumpsters lining one wall and puddles of rainwater still evaporating. Junie pushes him up against the non-dumpster filled wall—brick rough against his skin through the flimsy barrier of his shirt—and leans down to seal her mouth over his.
Her lip balm tastes like strawberry, mixed with alcohol, and the remnants of her perfume are warm and woody—some sort of floral scent that he can’t identify. He groans into the kiss, opens his mouth for her tongue, lets her take what she wants as she tilts his head to give herself better access, pressing deeper.
When they break apart for air, Jisung feels lightheaded and weak-kneed. She’s going to make him so fucking wet if they continue this, just from how good she kisses.
And they shouldn’t go any further in a public alley where anyone can walk in on them and they could be arrested for indecency, but Jisung is still four-drinks bold and he dares to put his hands on her waist.
“What do you want?” he breathes. “Want me to go down on you?”
He would, without any hesitation—even though this is his favorite pair of jeans. He’d let her fuck his throat, choke him with her dick ( god , he bets she has a gorgeous cock, just like the rest of her), and then probably thank her after. But her smile is tragically regretful.
“Sorry, honey, I’m tucking right now.”
Oh. Right. Shit.
“Ah,” Jisung says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
“I don’t really want to deal with all of that just to get off,” she continues ruefully. Her long fingers brush his sweaty bangs off his sweaty forehead. “But I could get you off? If you want?”
She teases along his waistband and he considers. He doesn’t think he’d mind her hands on him, inside of him. She’d probably be able to fill him up so well and he feels himself getting wetter just imagining it, making his boxers damp and uncomfortable. But then this will be over, once she gets him off. They’ll go back to their respective friend groups and probably never see each other again.
He doesn’t want that. He wants to know her name; he wants to know her; he—“What about a date?”
She blinks at him, taken aback. He keeps talking, words spilling out anxious and unchecked from his swollen lips.
“What if we went on a date? Would you go on a date with me? I know that’s totally different from a club hookup and I’m sorry if I’m being too forward but you seem like so fucking cool and I’d like to spend more time with you and uh, learn your name, and oh shit if you’re actually a noona? I kind of just assumed about that and it was probably offensive, shit. I’m sorry, I’m a little tipsy and I tend to just blurt shit out without actually stopping to think—”
“Yeonjun,” she says, cutting him off mid-sentence, thank god.
“Um—” he says eloquently and she’s smiling at him now, but it’s with gentle amusement—soft enough not to grate, not to make him feel defensive.
“My name is Yeonjun. And I was born in 99.”
“Oh!” Jisung says. His hands are still on her waist. She doesn’t seem inclined to move them, though. “I’m Jisung. I’m 2000, so you are a noona.” He winces. “Unless I shouldn’t call you noona? I can totally switch to Yeonjun-ssi, if that would be better?”
“Jagiya,” Yeonjun says, still radiating amusement. “We were just making out. You can call me noona.”
“Oh, oh good. So, uh, a date?” Damn, he’s probably really pushing his luck here. A part of him wants to find a hole to crawl into so he can disappear. Maybe if he stands out on the main road a car will hit him—
“Okay,” Yeonjun says. “Let’s go on a date. You’re very cute, Jisung-ah.”
Oh. Well, that’s flattering enough to make his face go hot. “One of my friends keeps insisting that I look like a quokka. He’s Australian.”
Yeonjun bursts into adorable giggles, face scrunching up. Her tinted lip balm is all smeared—red smudged in the corners of her mouth and onto her chin, marring her foundation. “You do look like a quokka.” She presses closer again. “But you’re pretty, too. So yes, let’s go on a date. And I could still get you off, if that’s something you want?”
Her hand drifts lower, between his legs, the heel of her palm grinding right on his cock.
“Yeah,” he babbles, shoving his back against the wall to keep himself upright as his knees wobble. “Yeah, you can. I want. Shit.”
She grins, mischievous and bright. “You have to stay quiet, okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll try.” He’s horrible at keeping quiet during sex, though usually it’s stream-of-consciousness babble he has to be wary of, rather than obscene moaning or anything like that.
“How much can I touch you?” Yeonjun asks. “Is inside okay? And what words should I use?”
Oh god, he might already love her.
“Yeah inside’s fine. Cock is good. Don't mind cunt, either.”
Yeonjun nods, then nudges his legs further apart with one heeled boot. She towers over him, engulfs him, and he swallows down a groan when she flicks open the button on his jeans and gets her hand inside, fumbling for only a second before she finds his cock and begins to rub in maddening circles.
“So wet already,” she murmurs in his ear.
“Yeah,” he pants, trying not to squirm as he soaks more of his underwear. “Yeah, sorry, I get, like, really wet, it’s—”
“Hot,” Yeonjun says. “It’s hot, baby, don’t apologize.”
She shifts, pulling his boxers out of the way so she can touch him properly. He presses his mouth to her neck as she takes him apart, whining into her skin when she gets two of those incredible fingers inside of him, stretching him just as much as he thought she would. His scrabbling fingers find the back of her dress, gripping tight, and he tastes that floral perfume and the tang on her sweat on his tongue.
She fucks him hard, murmurs filth and encouragement—how good he feels, how pretty he sounds, all whimpering breaths and slick, wet noises with each pump of her fingers into his cunt. It’s been so long since someone’s taken this good care of him and she’s doing it in a fucking back alley behind a club, with faint EDM music and the noise of the street serving as something like ambiance.
When he comes, he accidentally sinks his teeth into her shoulder to keep from fucking screaming and she makes a sound that isn’t displeased.
“Wow,” he gasps when he has his breath back, probably looking like a wreck sagged against the wall.
She smirks at him—all smug satisfaction and glorious confidence—and raises her sticky hand to her mouth, licking Jisung’s come off her fingers, which has to be one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.
“Fuck,” he whimpers in dismay. “Stop.”
“You taste good,” is all she says, looking like a sated cat. Jisung is addled enough from drink and a mind-blowing orgasm that he almost proposes marriage.
Instead, he focuses on buttoning his pants back up and adjusting his shirt to hide the stain he’s made around the crotch area.
“You’re incredible,” he tells Yeonjun and her smile inexplicably goes shy at the edges—cheeks. flushed in the neon light. “Seriously. Holy shit.”
“Thank you,” she says, still weirdly shy. “Now you should give me your number. Or KT ID.”
“You can have both,” Jisung promises, digging his phone out of his back pocket. “You have your phone?”
Yeonjun pats her form-fitting dress, which is a bit hilarious, and then shakes her head. “No, shit, it’s in my coat, back inside.”
“Right, then,” Jisung says, taking her hand. “Onward! Back into the fray.”
Yeonjun giggles, allowing Jisung to lead her back into the chaotic atmosphere of the club. She takes over once their inside, forging a path to her booth, which now only has one person in it, slumped over with his head pillowed on his long arms.
“Aigoo, Binnie,” Yeonjun coos, patting his back. “Did you drink too much?”
“Yeah,” Binnie mumbles without lifting his head. “Don’t feel great, noona.”
Yeonjun shakes her head, retrieving her coat and phone. “His tolerance is shit,” she says to Jisung and Binnie whines in agreement. “I’ll need to take him home.”
Jisung has had enough of this club, too, and he holds himself back from blurting out something stupid like “I can help you get him back”—just exchanges numbers and KT IDs with Yeonjun. Her profile picture is a cute cartoon fox. Jisung might honestly be in love already.
“I’ll text you,” he says and Yeonjun nods.
“I’ll hold you to it,” she replies, sounding serious. Jisung wants to kiss her again, but he holds himself back from that, too, settling for reaching out to squeeze her hand—rub his thumb across the ridge of her knuckles.
It’s probably too soft and intimate for this club, for her hand down his pants in a dirty alley, for the imprint of his teeth stamped into her shoulder and the smear of her lip balm across his cheek.
But she squeezes back hard, like a promise.
And that’s the beginning.
***
007
where do i take someone cool on a date?
INSUFFERABLE FERRET
a cool place or a cool person?
a cool place FOR a cool person
PUPPY
how did you manage to score a cool person?
CHICK
aw good for you, jisungie
why does that feel condescending?
and pls just give me advice
PUPPY
wait is this that gorgeous woman you were with at the club?
are you taking her on a date???
INSUFFERABLE FERRET
which gorgeous woman????
jisung met a gorgeous woman???
and she agreed to go out with him????
i’m going to block all of you
seriously
CHICK
psh
you’ll unblock me as soon as you
get stuck trying to make ramyun again
THAT WAS ONE TIME
look if you won’t help i’ll degrade myself
and ask the hyungs
INSUFFERABLE FERRET
nooo don’t do that
they’ll give you terrible advice
go to an art museum
art museums are cool
PUPPY
aren’t art museums boring?
INSUFFERABLE FERRET
to uncultured swine like you, yes
PUPPY
=_=
CHICK
ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
art museum
great
i’ll take it
which art museum
INSUFFERABLE FERRET
you’re hopeless
do a naver search
but i still won’t know what’s good
just tell me
you’ve been to like
all of them
PUPPY
ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
because he’s boring
INSUFFERABLE FERRET
i’m changing the door passcode
PUPPY
ㅅ'ㅗ
INSUFFERABLE FERRET
and jisung i’ll send you links
idiot
thank u
not even gonna be bothered about the insult
INSUFFERABLE FERRET
what insult?
i’m just stating facts
ㅅ'ㅗ
***
2.
Yeonjun looks stunning in a flowy, floral green sundress and sneakers, with hair now rose pink and brushing her shoulders—a new wig, Jisung realizes, and what is her collection like? She also looks bored, and has for the last two rooms in this modern art museum. Right now, they’re standing in front of a large solid red painting that takes up most of one wall. Inside and Outside, 1983 the tag reads. Artist: Kim Gui-line.
If Hyunjin were here, he’d be able to peel back this painting’s layers—unspool the artist’s message from the particular hue of the chosen paint and shape it in a way that Jisung could understand. But Hyunjin isn’t here and art for Jisung has always been music, movies: things that make his body move and his head settle down.
“It’s very red,” Yeonjun says, trying too hard to sound complimentary.
Jisung winces. Fuck, this was clearly a mistake.
“It is,” he agrees, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans to hide his sweaty palms and the anxiety tremors that are starting in his fingers. It’s okay, he tells himself. If it gets bad, he can always find a bathroom to have his panic attack in—he’s done that plenty of times, he’s a pro.
Yeonjun turns to him, a nervous expression on her face. “I’m sorry,” she blurts, which isn’t what Jisung was expecting. “I’m not really a contemporary art person? I mean I really like fashion. And dance. But this—” She gestures to the painting. “—is pretty much lost on me.”
“Oh me too,” Jisung breathes. His chest is getting tight, that familiar ruthless band pulling taut over his lungs. “I’m so sorry, noona. You’re just so cool and I wanted to impress you.”
Yeonjun blinks at him. “I’m really not? I mean I know I dress up well.” She gestures to herself and yeah, supreme understatement there—why does every dress she wears just highlight the fact that her legs go on forever? “But I’m not cool. Ask any of my friends.”
“No, you’re, like, really cool,” Jisung insists.
“You barely know me,” Yeonjun points out, not unkindly, and okay, fair point.
Jisung gathers the shreds of his courage. This is so much harder when he’s sober. “Then let’s ditch the boring museum and do something else? I still want the chance to get to know you. I have to cement my Yeonjun-noona-is-super-cool theory.”
Yeonjun snorts a laugh. “You won’t get any evidence to support that, but sure. Let’s go somewhere else.”
“Well, I’m clearly awful at this, so you pick this time?”
“Okay,” Yeonjun says, and takes him to an arcade.
It’s tucked away in the corner of a multiplex—not easy to find if you don’t know where to look, which means that Yeonjun’s probably been here at least a few times before. She gets them tokens from a bored-looking cashier who is clearly a high schooler on summer break and passes Jisung a handful.
“I have to warn you,” she says. “I’m way too competitive, so I’m sorry in advance. In fact, I probably shouldn’t have brought you here.”
Jisung shakes his head. He hasn’t been to an arcade in years. Probably not since he was a wide-eyed, teenage trainee and Chan snuck him and Changbin out one afternoon to unwind.
“It’s okay,” he insists. “I’ll give it my all. Fighting!” He raises a fist.
Yeonjun grins at him, a little sharp at the edges, and Jisung’s pulse thrums in response.
He does give it his all, he would like that on record, but he’s never been the best at coordination or a lot of sensory input. And Yeonjun is just so good. She hands his ass to him in every single game, even the ones he thought he was halfway decent at, like racing and air hockey—both of which he once managed to emerge the victor from, beating Chan and Changbin, thank you.
“Okay,” he pants after a grueling round of DDR, clutching onto the bars because his traitorous legs are refusing to cooperate again. “White flag. Surrender.”
Yeonjun laughs, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. She barely looks like she’s broken a sweat and that is so unfair. “Surrender accepted. You fought bravely, can I reward you with dinner?”
For a second, Jisung almost insists that he be the one to treat her because he’s the one who asked her out and he’s the guy, he should take care of the girl. But then he remembers how rooted in toxic masculinity and outdated gender roles that is and nods. “I will accept dinner.”
“Great,” Yeonjun says. “There’s a place a few blocks away that does amazing tteokbokki. We could eat it in the park?”
Jisung nods, breathing finally back under control. “Lead the way, noona.”
The tteokbokki is indeed amazing, just the right amount of spicy, and the park has fairy lights strung through the branches of the trees, turning the night golden and hazy like a scene out of a drama. Once they’ve finished eating, Yeojun sprawls in the grass, stretching out those long legs with a contented sigh
Jisung carefully touches the hem of her dress, rubbing his fingers over the soft fabric. “You are so much better at picking date activities than me.”
Yeonjun turns her head to face him. “Not really. I take all my dates to an arcade.”
Jisung arches an eyebrow. “So I’m not special?”
“It’s a test,” Yeonjun says. “You passed.”
Jisung does a dramatic victory wiggle to hide the butterflies that have just exploded all over his stomach, fluttering madly around between his ribs. “Woo! But what’s the test?”
Yeonjun rests her hands on her stomach, a more serious expression settling on her face. “There’s two tests, actually. The first one is them being okay with the fact that I’m trans.” A bitter smile. “That actually weeds most people out. And then with men, the second test is the arcade. I’m competitive and good at things—I want to see if they have a problem with that. If they get angry or defensive that a girl is beating them, then I don’t want anything to do with them.”
“Wow,” Jisung says with an impressed whistle. “That’s really smart.”
Yeonjun sighs. “You get burned enough and you get smart.”
Ouch. But Jisung kind of gets it. He’s been burned plenty of times too—by men and women who had problems with his gender, problems with his anxiety, problems with his talent, problems with how loud he can be around people he’s comfortable with. He got used to being too much or not enough and he wonders when he really stopped trying.
For so long, he used to dream that getting top surgery and starting hormone therapy would be enough—would fix him so that all those problems would go away. But it didn’t, and maybe a small part of him got jaded and hard and bitter. He’s tried to bury it, but he thinks that his friends can see it sometimes—so Changbin insists over and over that he’s handsome and makes him work out; so Chan prattles about true love and just needing “the right one”; so Hyunjin drags him out to have fun; so Felix cuddles him; so Seungmin teases him until he’s laughing; so Minho offers a quiet, non-judgmental shoulder to cry on; so Jeongin buys him weird little presents just to make him smile.
In some ways he’s lucky. He hopes that Yeonjun has people too.
“I didn’t get smart,” he says now, scooting closer. “I think I gave up.”
“You asked me out in a club alley,” Yeonjun points out, wry.
Jisung laughs. “The alcohol helped. And finding out that you’re trans too.”
Yeonjun turns on her side. She has a mole under her right eye, standing out dark against her skin, and Jisung wants to brush his fingers over it. “Tell me about yourself,” she says, hushed—like the rest of the park has faded away, including the shrieking children up the path, and they’re in their own private bubble.
“I make music,” Jisung says. “For a tiny indie studio. I could have become an idol, I think, but I realized that it would kill me if I went through with it. I live in a two-bedroom apartment with three other same-age friends and it’s hell, but I love it. I grew up mostly in Malaysia and once I was almost eaten by an alligator. I love cheesecake and horror movies. I can play the guitar. I was a rapper when I was a trainee, but I can sing too. I wear contact lenses because I can’t see shit and I think glasses make me look stupid, but the contact lenses irritate my eyes so it’s annoying all around.”
He swallows, stopping the outpouring of word vomit, but Yeonjun looks like she’s treasuring every stupid fact, every sad and funny and strange secret. It’s overwhelming and Jisung fights the urge to hide. To get up and run. He’s never liked being known.
“I design clothes,” Yeonjun says. “Sometimes I model them. The fashion industry loves my height. I’m also a professional dancer, but that mostly means I work for a studio that teaches other people how to dance. I choreograph, too, and I think I’m starting to get good at it. I never went to college. You already know how competitive I am. I live in a one room by myself, but friends are always crashing there so I really don’t feel like I live alone. I could have been an idol, too, probably but I realized when I was eighteen that I wasn’t really a boy. I decided I didn’t want hormone therapy, though. It’s…complicated. I’m still figuring it out. I don't like books but I enjoy video games. I wanted to become a rapper when I was younger.”
She pauses for breath, too, licking her lips. “I try to act cool,” she whispers. “Because it’s good armor.”
“I act loud and silly because it’s good armor too,” Jisung whispers back.
Yeonjun laughs, self-deprecating. “This is probably way too much for a first date.”
Jisung shrugs, shoulders scraping across the grass. He’s a chronic oversharer, anyway. It’s ruined more than one date so he’s just thrilled to have someone willing to meet him in the middle. “I think it’s fine if we’re both okay with it? You’re easy to talk to, noona.”
“It’s probably the trans connection,” Yeonjun whispers. Her eyes spark with conspiratory mischief and Jisung laughs.
“And that you’re cool. I still think you’re cool. You haven’t convinced me otherwise yet.”
Yeonjun heaves a dramatic sigh. “Guess I’ll just have to try harder, then.”
Jisung wiggles closer so that he can take her hand, reveling in the feeling of her warm skin against his own. “Guess you will.”
Yeonjun squeezes his hand—both affection and warning.
All in all, it’s not a bad first date.
***
3retcha
CHANNIE HYUNG
jisungie, innie said that you’ve met someone?
that traitor
wait seungmin is the traitor
since he must have told innie
great i live with him he’s easier to kill
CHANNIE HYUNG
so you have met someone
BINNIE HYUNG
jisung’s met someone? when?
ugh yes
couple weeks ago
it’s going fine
i don’t need interference
CHANNIE HYUNG
this is supportive curiosity!
not interference
BINNIE HYUNG
as long as they’re treating you well
she’s great
no worries there
i promise
CHANNIE HYUNG
she?
yes she
that’s all you’re getting right now
oh and that she’s very beautiful
and nice
BINNE HYUNG
jisungie….
no! don’t whine at me hyung
i’ll give you details eventually
but you both get overprotective
so let me figure this out on my own for a bit okay?
BINNIE HYUNG
there’s a reason we’re overprotective, jisung-ah
but fine
CHANNIE HYUNG
and we’re always here if you need anything
you know that, right?
yeah you’re both supportive amazing hyungs
that i’m lucky to have
now can we please discuss the song instead?
BINNIE HYUNG
but where did you meet her?
can i know that at least?
because if hyunjin set you up you know how bad he is at that
i’m blocking you
CHANNIE HYUNG
no don’t fight
don’t fight
i’m like 3 minutes from the studio
we’ll talk more there
about the song
or i’ll block changbin in real life too
BINNIE HYUNG
ㅜ.ㅜ
but do you like her?
it’s going well?
oh my god
yes hyung
it’s going really well
really really well
CHANNIE HYUNG
i was wondering why you seemed so happy lately
i’m glad jisung-ah
BINNIE HYUNG
you deserve it
ugh i’m blocking both of you
CHANNIE HYUNG
^__^
***
3.
Much to Jisung’s elation and in spite of his friends’ terrible advice, more dates follow the first. They get drinks at a rooftop bar; Yeonjun convinces Jisung to go on a ghost tour, which is not scary at all, thanks; on a whim, Jisung drags Yeonjun to a fishing cafe and they nearly get kicked out for being too loud as they try to see who can catch more fish (Yeonjun, as expected). It’s fun, it’s easy, it’s kind of fucking marvellous, even if they’re not anything official yet.
Jisung likes Yeonjun so much but he’s trying not to move at lightspeed. So often, he’s been too much and he doesn’t want to scare Yeonjun away. But it’s Yeonjun who stops in front of her apartment building after Jisung insists on walking her home from the fishing cafe and asks “do you want to come up” with intent in her voice.
Suddenly Jisung’s palms are sweaty and his heart is thudding against his breastbone like it’s trying to play a whole traditional drum routine by itself.
“When you say come up you mean…?”
Yeonjun smirks at him. Her hair is bright blue tonight and it falls to the middle of her back in an electric waterfall, paired so well with her flared pants and shimmery, flowy top. “Come eat ramen with me.”
And okay, he knows that innuendo. He’s also been thinking about this since the alley so he ends up nodding enthusiastically before he manages to get any words out. Yeonjun laughs at him—that one that might sound mean coming from someone else, but drips affection falling from Yeonjun’s mouth.
“It’s not much,” she warns him as she leads him up to the third floor. The building is older, smaller, tucked away on a hilly side street and faded at the edges—so different from the glass towers and officetels dominating the horizon.
Jisung only finds it charming. It suits Yeonjun, he thinks.
“I live in a pretty tiny apartment with three other dudes,” he assures her. “Anything is impressive, noona.”
Yeonjun laughs and beckons him inside, reaching around him to flip on the lights. It’s a small one room, just like Yeonjun told him on their first date. A bed in one corner, with a gradient blue duvet and a purple neon sign hung above it: good vibes only. (“A gift from my cousin,” Yeonjun sighs. “I like it even though it’s tacky.”) The other corner is dominated by a sewing machine, a little table piled high with fabrics, and a mannequin sporting what looks like the beginning of a dress. (“Aish,” Yeonjun hisses, “I’m so sorry, I forgot to clean up.”) The walls are covered in sketches pinned up by tape and tacks in a chaotic college. A sofa and a small kitchen table take up the rest of the space, with a little TV perched on top of a bookshelf that’s full of knick knacks instead of books. (“Like I said before, I don’t really read,” Yeonjun admits. “But I like collecting cute things.”)
Jisung touches the leaves of a hanging plant near the kitchen and wiggles his toes in the soft rug taking up most of the main floor space and proclaims, “it’s very you.”
Yeonjun hovers, still radiating strange nervousness. “Is that a good thing?”
“It’s a great thing,” Jisung says. “I love it.”
Yeonjun relaxes a fraction. Jisung waggles his eyebrows at her and throws his arms out wide and dramatic. “So, baby, we were gonna eat ramen?” He purposefully makes his voice smarmy, too suggestive, just to get her to laugh again.
It works. She giggles and comes over to smack him on the shoulder, which is the perfect opportunity to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her closer. Her expression turns more serious as she settles her arms over his shoulders.
“What’s okay?” she asks him. “What do you like?”
The question, the consideration, makes his stomach flutter. “I like penetration,” he says, then grimaces. “Ugh, that sounds too clinical. I mean I don’t mind being fucked and, like, either way is fine but my cunt is usually easier—anal is so much prep, you know?” She nods, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck. “I’ve thought about sucking your cock a lot. Shit—wait, I never asked—is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun assures him. “I have a dick and I’m fine with that, I don’t mind you referring to it that way.” Her gaze heats. “Or sucking it.”
“Great,” Jisung hiccups, heat already pooling in his gut. “What else do you like?”
“I like it both ways, too,” Yeonjun says. “I’d love to fuck you, if you want that. I’m sorry I don’t have a harness or I’d happily let you fuck me too.”
Jisung shivers at the image of Yeonjun beneath him, taking his cock. “Next time. I have a whole collection. I’ll bring some for you to choose from.”
Because there is no way they’re having sex at his place any time soon with how nosy his fucking roommates are. Hyunjin finding said lovingly curated collection of dildos and other toys was traumatic for both of them.
“Perfect,” Yeonjun says and bends down to kiss him.
Jisung groans into it, rocking onto his tiptoes so that he can slide his tongue into Yeonjun’s mouth. He reaches for her hair on instinct, then freezes, pulling back. “Wait, should I be careful of the hair?”
Yeonjun gives him a slightly awed, tender look that lodges somewhere in his chest and stays—a blooming ache. “Yeah, just a little? It’s not really going to go anywhere, but I … I want to keep the wig on.”
“Of course,” Jisung peppers kisses along her jaw and runs fingers down her back instead. “And your chest? Can I touch you there?”
Yeonjun nods. “You too?”
“Yeah. My scars get a little weird sometimes but I don’t mind people touching them.”
“I’ll be careful,” Yeonjun says and they go back to kissing, which is an excellent development.
Eventually, they make it to Yeonjun’s bed and start shedding clothes. Jisung’s shirt ends up somewhere on the floor, flung there by Yeonjun. In turn, Jisung starts to pull hers over her head, but she stops him.
“Here I’ve got it.” She drops the shirt off the side of the bed, revealing a padded bra that she reaches back to unclasp with deft fingers.
“Whoa that’s so cool,” Jisung says, pushing himself onto his elbows. “Are those inserts?”
“Yup,” Yeonjun says. “Silicone. There are pockets they go into, see?” She shows Jisung and he whistles.
“Do you have different kinds? Like can you choose what breasts you want?”
Yeonjun laughs. “I just have one set right now but yes, they come in different shapes and stuff.”
“Wow, the modern era,” Jisung says and Yeonjun laughs again.
“I don’t wear them all the time, but they’re nice to have.”
She drops the bra on top of their gathering clothing pile, then settles against Jisung, skin to glorious skin. Jisung grins up at her, brushing long strands of hair out of her face. This has felt so easy so far, when it never has before, and god, he likes her so fucking much.
“So about that dick sucking….” He lets his grin turn lecherous. “I can totally deepthroat you.”
“Oh?” she asks with an arched eyebrow.
“Uh-huh, I think I should probably demonstrate.”
“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind a demonstration,” Yeonjun agrees.
So Jisung ends up on his knees on that plush rug, hands on Yeonjun’s pretty thighs as he slowly takes her pretty cock in his mouth. She’s as magnificent naked as he thought she would be: a flush spreading down her chest, pouty lips parted at the feel of his tongue digging into her slit, blue hair spilling over broad, trembling shoulders. He admires the line of her throat, the sharp cut of her jaw, then closes his eyes and gets to work.
“Holy fuck,” Yeonjun exclaims when he sinks all the way down, letting her cock slip into the tight clench of his throat and breathing carefully through his nose to combat his gag reflex. “Oh my god, your mouth.”
He moans at the praise and swallows around her, so that she can feel it. She shudders, hips twitching and thighs jumping beneath his palms. He’d absolutely let her wreck his throat and come in his mouth, but he wants her to fuck him more. He slides back up for air, hyper aware of the spit and precome all over his chin, smeared up to his cheeks. He must look like a wreck but Yeonjun’s gaze is adoring.
“Pretty,” she breathes.
“No, that’s you,” he croaks, voice already near-ruined. He licks gently at her weeping cockhead, runs his tongue over the sensitive underside to hear her breath hitch. “So pretty, noona.”
“I’d tell you to keep going,” Yeonjun says, petting his hair. “But I’ll come too fast.”
Jisung preens. “I’m that good?”
“Yah,” she flicks his shoulder. “Don’t get cocky. You’re also still too dressed. I wanna see you.”
That request sends a fresh wave of nerves rippling through him. “Ah,” he says, pushing himself to his feet so that he can take off his jeans and underwear. “It’s not much.”
He’s not that self-conscious, even about his cunt, but compared to Yeonjun? God. He probably looks like a too-short dweeb.
Yeonjun actually kicks him in the leg, making him yelp.
“Yah, don’t talk about yourself that way,” She scowls at him, reprimanding. “Like, your arms alone. Fucking look at you.” She leans forward so that she can squeeze his biceps, then his waist, then lower, sliding a hand between his legs where he’s wet from sucking her off. “You’re so handsome, jagi.”
He tells himself that it would be incredibly unsexy to burst into tears right now, but he’s pretty sure no one has ever talked about him this way. At least, no one about to have sex with him. No one who’s also looking at him like Yeonjun is: with reverence, with understanding, like she sees him.
“Ah, noona,” he says helplessly.
“You keep calling me beautiful,” Yeonjun says, pressing kisses to his chest. “I’m just returning the favor.”
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, words trailing off into a whine when she slips two fingers inside of him. “A-ah, fuck.”
“Always so wet,” she murmurs, pumping her fingers in and out of him with a sound so lewd that it makes him flush.
“I just—hah— had your cock down my throat, w-what do you expect?” She curls her fingers, finding that perfect spot inside of him and his legs shake from the resulting stab of pleasure right into his gut. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”
He’s used to having to walk some of his partners through it, showing them the right way to press their fingers up, to rub his cock, to actually get him off. But Yeonjun is unraveling him so easily.
“The benefits of being bi,” she jokes as she slips her fingers out and runs the pad of her thumb over the slick head of his cock. When she presses back inside of him, it’s with three fingers and Jisung makes a truly undignified noise, clinging to her shoulders so that his legs don’t give out. The stretch is so good and she can reach so deep that he thinks he’s going to be ruined for anyone else.
“Do you want to come before I fuck you?” Her voice is casual but Jisung can see how hard she is—red and leaking and he wants her in him so bad now.
Jisung shakes his head. “N-no. Fuck me first. Wanna come on your cock.”
Yeonjun looks like she wants to devour him. “How do you want it?” She asks, low and heavy.
He wants to ride her, but his limbs are already so shaky that he’s not sure how long he would last, even with his built up muscle. He thinks he wouldn’t mind if she took charge, if she used him a bit. “How do you want me?”
“On your back,” she says immediately. “So I can see you.”
“Missionary,” Jisung babbles. “Can’t go wrong with a classic.”
“You’re ridiculous.” It comes out more tender than teasing, and Yeonjun spins them around so that she can press Jisung down to the mattress, hitching his legs up over her thighs.
He shivers at the rub of her cock through his folds, brushing his hole. He feels empty without her fingers now and he wants her inside, wants her cock to fill him up, wants—
“Oh shit,” She says, pulling back with an apologetic frown. “Condom.”
Oh right. Better safe than sorry.
She leans over him with another murmured apology, rummaging around in her bedside table until she makes a triumphant sound and settles back between his legs with a condom in hand. It’s weirdly hot, watching her unwrap it and roll it on, especially when she slides along Jisung’s slit again to slick herself up—the head of her cock catching on his and making him moan.
“C’mon, noona,” he hiccups. “In me, please.”
“I should make you beg,” Yeonjun says, but her tone is careful, feeling him out.
Fortunately for her, he has no qualms about begging. “You can,” he says, rocking his hips so that he can rub against her better.
That hungry look is back on Yeonjun’s face. “Then beg me for it, jagi.”
The endearment unravels something in Jisung and he chokes on his next breath—a little shocked by the emotion flooding his chest.
“Please,” he says. “Please fuck me, noona. I need it. I’ll be so good for you.”
“I know you will,” she murmurs in his ear and then she’s lining herself up.
Jisung groans at the feeling of her pressing inside. He’s wet enough that it’s easy, but there’s still that hint of an ache that he loves. She fills him up so well, god, her cock is perfect.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh, jagiya, you feel so good.”
“So do you.” Jisung clenches around her, shivering.
“Can I move?” She asks, still so considerate.
“Uh-huh.” He reaches up to push her hair back over her shoulder. “You don’t have to be too gentle.”
“You like it rough?” she asks, accenting the question with a beautiful punch of her hips, fucking into him even deeper.
“Ah, fuck—a little.”
Not too much, just a nice edge. There is a line that some partners have tipped over, becoming too cruel, digging into too many of his vulnerable places, making him feel unsafe. He doesn’t think that’s going to happen with Yeonjun, though.
She braces herself with hands on either side of his head and manages to angle her cock so that she’s hitting his g spot on every thrust. It makes his head spin and drags a steady stream of noise out of his mouth. He can hear how wet she’s making him, and it’s obscene. It’s perfect.
Fuck, he knew she would be some kind of sex goddesss, in spite of her insistence otherwise.
“You’re so tight,” she says. “So—ah—wet. Taking me so well.”
Oh, he likes the praise.
“Your cock feels so good,” he slurs in response. “Please make me come, noona.”
He doesn’t think it’ll actually take much. He might not even need her to touch his cock, considering how close she’s managed to get him just from fucking his cunt.
“Yes,” she says, digging her fingers into his thighs. He hopes she leaves bruises. “You’re gonna come on my cock, aren’t you, jagi? Just from this.”
He nods, cheek scraping one of her fluffy pillows—the same plush fabric as the rug. He blinks up at her flushed face, at the hair sticking to her cheeks from her sweat, and thinks that she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Just from this,” he echoes, a half-sob. “Just from you.”
She hauls his legs up around her waist, managing to get even deeper inside of him, and plants a burning trail of kisses up his neck. She doesn’t pull out this time, just rocks in slow, agonizing thrusts so that he can feel every centimeter of her cock dragging against his walls.
That’s what finally tips him over and he comes with a heaving gasp, clenching hard around her. She lets out a soft groan and stays in deep, crashing into her own orgasm. Jisung laments the necessity of a condom, wishing he could feel her actually come in him—get him messy and even wetter. It’s still so good, though: the way her cock pulses, then twitches as she slowly softens.
She noses at his cheek, both of them panting, and kisses the corner of his mouth. “You’re amazing,” she says.
He hums, shifting to kiss her properly. “Right back at you.”
“Gonna pull out now.”
Jisung nods his assent and sighs when she slips free, missing the fullness. She gets up to dispose of the condom and he expects her to invite him to the bathroom to clean up but instead she kneels on the bed and pushes his legs apart again.
“Do you want to come again?” she asks. “Can I eat you out?”
Jesus Christ, she’s perfect.
“Oh my god,” Jisung says.
Yeonjun giggles. “Is that a yes?”
“Enthusiastic yes.”
It’s sometimes rare that a partner wants to do this for him and he shakes as she guides his hands to her head, as she slides rough palms down the inside of his thighs, as she gets her mouth on him, licking into where he’s still so wet and open from her cock. It’s so good he kind of wants to cry again, especially when she lets him grind on her face, using her nose to rub against his flushed dick and uncaring of the mess he’s making.
“Look at your pretty cock,” she murmurs and hearing her say that sends sparks down his spine. “So hard for me.” She sucks it into her mouth, running her tongue over the head before she slips down to press inside of him again. “You taste so good. Gonna come on my tongue, jagi?”
She’s reduced him to static, head a broken radio, so all he can offer is a desperate, affirmative whimper as she fucks into him. He’s got his thighs pressed tight to the sides of her head, his trembling fingers tangled in her hair, and all it takes is another flick of her tongue to his cock before he’s coming a second time, practically gushing.
“Sorry,” he whines, embarrassed at how much he just came, how wet he’s gotten her and the sheets.
“I love it,” she says, kissing his knee. Her whole chin is shiny and slick, all the way up to her nose. “I love it, baby, don’t apologize. It’s so hot.”
“I think you’re the best person I’ve ever been with,” Jisung blurts out and that might be too honest, but he means it.
He likes her so fucking much, he’s drowning. SOS. Send a liferaft.
“Right back at you,” Yeonjun whispers.
“Are you good?” Jisung still asks, reaching up to cup her cheek.
She hums, nuzzling into the touch. “Yeah, I can’t come again. At least not for a while. I want a shower now, though.”
Jisung glances down at himself and grimaces. “Definitely.”
“Good news, though, I think we’ll both fit.”
They do, though it’s a tight squeeze. Yeonjun keeps her hair out of the spray, but insists on shampooing Jisung’s for him. He pays her back by washing her body off instead, getting bold enough to slip a hand between her legs and rub gently over her hole—a promise for next time. She shudders. Grins at him, all anticipation.
Once they’re wrapped in big, soft towels and Yeonjun has changed the sheets, she catches his hand as he starts to search for his discarded clothes.
“Stay the night?” She hesitates, frowning. “Sorry, is that too much?”
Jisung shakes his head, heart somewhere in his throat, drumming away. “Nah, I’d love to. Can I just borrow some clothes, noona?”
She lends him a pair of boxers and a baggy t-shirt while she dresses in a matching set of silky shorts and a tank top that shows off her shoulders and her tattoo. She hesitates again before taking a deep breath and carefully unfastening her wig, storing it in the closet while also muttering about cleaning it properly later—self-directed babble that Jisung recognizes as a familiar soothing mechanism. His chest aches and he crosses the room to help her take off the cap underneath, revealing short black hair.
“I don’t know why I’m so self-conscious,” she mumbles, still not quite meeting his eyes.. “Hair is just kind of a big deal for me sometimes.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Jisung says. “I had to have my hair super short for ages in order to feel comfortable.” He gives her a smile that’s probably way too sappy but he doesn’t care. “Gender stuff.”
She huffs a soft laugh. “Gender stuff.”
“Noona still looks beautiful,” Jisung continues and Yeonjun blushes, poking him. He remains undeterred. “Pretty sure any hairstyle suits you. One time, I tried to dye my hair silver but it came out more blue and it was just a disaster. Then another time I tried to bleach it, but it just turned orange. I’ve given up.”
“I like your hair,” Yeonjun says, slicking back his damp bangs.
He’s been letting it get a little longer these days and now it’s down around his ears. It doesn’t freak him out like it used to, when he was desperately chasing the wrong definition of masculinity.
“Thanks,” he says. “Bed?”
He’s entering that sleepy, post-sex haze and cuddling on a soft mattress sounds like heaven.
“Bed,” Yeonjun agrees.
The late summer air is still warm enough that they forgo the duvet and Yeonjun turns a fan on, since the building is too old to have central air. Jisung still curls around her, wanting to be close in spite of the heat. She hums, tucking his arm over her waist.
“Thank you,” she murmurs in the dark. “For tonight.”
Jisung kisses the back of her neck. “You did most of the work,” he jokes, though he knows she isn’t thanking him for that.
She squeezes his wrist. “It was good for you?” She sounds uncharacteristically nervous, and Jisung remembers what she’s said about wearing coolness as armor, about the doubt and anxiety that sometimes lurks underneath—an unsatisfiable hunger, a furious drive to prove herself.
“It was so good,” he says, mouth to her shoulder now, feeling the wiry muscle flex against his lips. “I meant it when I said you were the best.”
“Jisung-ah,” Yeonjun whispers after a moment of heavy silence, “I really like you.”
Jisung presses closer, tucking his leg between hers and holding her tight. “I really like you too,” he whispers back.
I want to keep doing this for a long time, he thinks and means so much more than sex. Means just being around her, having her in his life. I think you’re it for me.
But he knows that’s probably moving too fast. They can take it slowly. They can let it be easy.
He falls asleep to the gentle whirr of the fan and the weight of her in his arms.
***
cat noona
minho noona
what timeframe is considered too fast to fall in love with someone?
like from a socially acceptable standpoint?
CAT NOONA
jisung it’s one am
and yet you are responding
CAT NOONA
i’m stuck doing finances at the studio
i’m being held prisoner
by seonghwa hyung?
impossible
CAT NOONA
you all underestimate him
please he’s probably bringing you coffee
and trying to insist he can handle it himself
but you like him too much to let him do that
so you’ve insisted on staying
CAT NOONA
there is none
what?
CAT NOONA
socially acceptable timeframe to fall in love
ah deflection
i see
though noona you’re literally dating him
you have been dating him for three whole calendar years
i don’t get why you’re still so skittish about ~feelings
CAT NOONA
i answered your question
goodbye
wait!
what’s at least considered too soon?
CAT NOONA
i don’t know jisung-ah
everyone’s different
please
give me something more concrete than that
CAT NOONA
just
ugh
sit with it a bit okay?
does it feel like just infatuation?
or is it deeper than that
can you REALLY picture yourself with them?
beyond just daydreams and fantasies
if so then congratulations
you’re in love
just make sure you talk about it with them
and land on the same page
what if the prospect of having that talk is terrifying?
CAT NOONA
most important conversations involving ~feelings are
but jisung-ah you can sit with it as long as you like
if you’re afraid of going too fast
some things are worth taking your time
tortoise wins the race and all that
like you taking two whole years to confess to seonghwa hyung?
CAT NOONA
i am never giving you advice again
but yes
it worked out for us didn’t it?
i guess it did
i will refrain from making a joke about how disgustingly cute you two are
and say thank you
CAT NOONA
wow
how magnanimous
guess i won’t have to stop cooking for you after all
nooonaaa noooo that’s too mean
i said thank you!
CAT NOONA
you’re welcome
just be happy jisung-ah
that’s all any of us want for you
i know
i think i’m really going to be
good luck with the finances!
CAT NOONA
ㅠㅠ
***
4.
The weather is turning colder as they head into Fall. Jisung feels like he blinked and suddenly Yeonjun has been a feature of his life for over two months. He’s started rehearsing ways to ask her to be his girlfriend, vacillating between over-the-top because he knows she’ll find that hilarious or way too sincere because he’s genuinely worried that his heart is going to just spill everywhere no matter what he tries to do.
He’s in the middle of scrapping his thirty-seventh speech draft when his phone buzzes near his knee. Yeonjun calling. Weird. Yeonjun almost never calls—they both hate it—but maybe this is about their plans to meet up for lunch later?
“Hey, noona.” He cradles his phone with his shoulder as he rips pages out of his already decimated notebook. “Everything okay?”
A long, worrying silence. “I don’t think I can come today.”
Jisung drops the notebook, alarmed by the flat quality of Yeonjun’s voice. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt?”
Another pause. Even more excruciating. “No, none of those things. It’s just—it’s … it’s complicated.”
She sounds frustrated, angry at herself, and Jisung takes a steadying breath, rubbing his chest to soothe his suddenly frantic heart. She’s not going to ditch us, he assures his rising anxiety. Things have been going well.
“Whatever it is, I promise you can trust me with it.”
He hopes that he’s proved to her that he’s never going to judge her for anything. Literally. He’s pretty sure at this point she could confess to murder and he’d just help her hide the body and then go to prison in her place. It would be embarrassing, but he refuses to be ashamed of liking her this much. She’s more than worth it.
Her sigh crackles down the line. “Remember how I said that gender stuff is really complicated for me sometimes?”
“Yeah?”
Yeonjun sighs again. “Fuck, I can’t explain this over the phone. Can you meet me a little early?”
“Of course,” Jisung says, already scrambling up to locate pants.
“And you … you have to promise not to get upset.”
“I swear. You can’t see it but I’m crossing my heart. I am a walking judgment-free zone. I’ll share any embarrassing story you want if that helps. I have tons. Or we can talk about gender stuff. I have a whole trove of that too.”
That at least gets a weak laugh out of her. “Thanks. See you soon?”
“I am literally about to walk out the door. We’re still meeting at the cafe, right?”
It’s out in Yeonnam-dong. Yeonjun saw it on Instagram and told him she wanted to go and of course he said yes immediately. Plus it does look cool—the interior decorated to look like 2D drawings. He passed it along to Hyunjin, too, knowing that a) he’ll love it and b) drag Seungmin there, which will be hilarious.
“Yeah,” Yeonjun says, still a little stiff. “I’ll see you there.”
Jisung lives closer to Yeonnam by a small margin and arrives first. He orders them both Americanos, forgoing the pastries for now, and nabs a table in the corner. The decor is as trippy as it was online, making Jisung’s head spin a little as he carefully sinks into one of the chairs. A server brings the Americanos just as someone else approaches the table and Jisung looks up to see Yeonjun standing awkwardly across from him. No makeup or wig today, just natural black hair, and jeans, sneakers, and a comfortable-looking red sweater.
Jisung suddenly thinks he might understand.
“Yeonjun,” he says, forgoing honorifics until he’s certain. “Hi.”
Yeonjun sits down looking prepared to face a firing squad. “Hi.”
Jisung fights the urge to take Yeonjun’s hand, unsure if Yeonjun wants to be touched right now. Where the boundaries currently have been drawn.
“Judgment free zone,” he says instead, gesturing to himself.
Yeonjun curls trembling hands around the other Americano—brow furrowed, as if internally searching for a starting point. “So, um. Like ninety-five, ninety-eight percent of the time, I’m a woman. I want to present as a woman, be more traditionally feminine, you know? But—” A grimace.
“There’s that two to five perfect,” Jisung murmurs, trying to be gentle without coming across as condescending.
“Yeah,” Yeonjun says. “And I … you’re used to me a certain way. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about this. Sometimes it just … happens. I just wake up feeling different. I can’t always predict it and that’s the part that’s complicated. It’s been difficult for people in the past so I thought I could just wait for it to go away.” A slightly hysterical laugh. “Like … like I’m fucking Cinderalla going to turn back into my ‘normal’ form at midnight.”
Right. Okay. Time to unpack this one step at a time.
Thank god he’s been friends with Changbin for so long that he’s actually gotten good at these kinds of conversations, just from Changbin carefully and lovingly dissecting him when he’s gotten too stuck in his own messed up head.
“First of all,” he starts. “Bottom line? You’re Yeonjun. You’re always going to be Yeonjun to me, whether that’s as my hyung or my noona—no matter how you want to present yourself.” Yeonjun looks teary-eyed, blinking at him in surprise. Jisung shifts a little closer. “But do you want to be hyung today? Should I call you that?”
“Oh,” Yeonjun breathes. “Yes.”
Deeming it safe at last, Jisung puts his hand over Yeonjun’s. “Okay, hyung.” Yeonjun smiles at him, watery. “Second thing: besides being an annoying social construct, gender is totally a spectrum, remember? It’s not either/or, no matter what anyone tries to insist. Like, I ran a whole fucking gambit before I settled into myself and what makes me comfortable—how I want to present. Which honestly might change in the future, who knows! And, for example, one of my friends is cis but prefers to dress more quote-unquote feminine. Like there’s no right or wrong way to be. There’s no set ‘normal’. I mean—again according to society there is but that’s bullshit and we all know it. So it’s okay if you’re still settling. Or if this is a permanent part of your identity. That doesn’t make you less, yeah? All the facets of you are valid.’”
That’s something Changbin also told him—fierce, so certain that it made Jisung cry. He rested on Changbin’s belief until he started believing it himself. Maybe he can do the same for Yeonjun now.
“Sorry if that sounds too cheesy,” he says, a little self-conscious about his tendency to ramble. “But it’s true. Also I’ll fight anyone who tells you otherwise. I know I’m short but I bite. Just ask my roommate, Hyunjin. Or don’t, actually, because our teenage selves and their stupid fued should definitley stay buried for the sake of everyone.”
Yeonjun hiccups out a laugh and flips his hand so that he can lace his fingers with Jisung’s, squeezing tightly. “Thank you. All the facets of me are valid—I … I think I really needed to hear that. I mean, I’ve heard it before—I really do have great friends—but it feels sort of different coming from you.” He winces. “Sorry, now it’s my turn to be too cheesy, I guess.”
“It’s okay,” Jisung says, grateful it doesn’t come out a mortifying squeak because of the sudden tango his stomach is doing at Yeonjun hinting that he might be special. “All of it’s okay, Yeonjun hyung. Thanks for trusting me with it.”
With all of you, he means and hopes that Yeonjun hears that implication.
He suspects that Yeonjun does because Yeonjun kisses his hand and looks more relaxed now, like a huge weight’s been lifted from him. “You didn’t witness the amount of times I drafted a text on the subway ride over here to cancel on you.”
“You still came, in the end,” Jisung insists. “And I’m glad. And going forward, just tell me if it’s a hyung day, yeah? I will always adjust accordingly.” He draws an X over his heart again for emphasis.
“A hyung day,” Yeonjun echoes with a laugh. “I like that. Okay.”
“Good,” Jisung says with a firm nod. “Now come on, I want to try at least one adventurous drink and they have cake , hyung. We have to get cake.” Particularly the one that looked like it might contain enough chocolate to send him into a coma.
“Okay, honey,” Yeonjun says with an indulgent smile. “Cake it is.”
Ten minutes later, Jisung is trying not to groan too obscenely about how rich the cake is and Yeonjun is giggling at him, icing that he hasn’t noticed yet smeared near the corner of his mouth.
I’m gonna fall in love, Jisung realizes with sudden, alarming clarity.
He’s honestly most of the way there already, but for once it isn’t scary. He’s always been a hopeless romantic at heart and he thinks that really, he’s just been waiting for Yeonjun to arrive.
Now it’s finally spring.
“What?” Yeonjun asks him and it’s then that Jisung notices he’s stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth like an idiot.
“Nothing,” he says because this still isn’t quite the right time. “I’ll tell you later.”
For now, there is music in his head, waiting to shape itself into a song. Maybe he’ll play it for Yeonjun one day and it will be everything he needs to stay. Yeonjun will cry and hit him at the same time. They’ll be happy.
“You do have frosting on your face, though,” he teases, pointing.
Yeonjun squawks and rushes to wipe it off. Jisung finishes his bite of cake and groans again, loud enough for one of the other patrons to shoot them a dirty look and Yeonjun to kick his shin in admonishment.
“Sorry,” he says, not apologetic at all. “It’s just really good.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Yeonjun says—once again with far too much tenderness.
After they’ve finished eating (without getting kicked out—Jisung does know not to push things too far, thank you), Yeonjun takes pictures for Instagram (though no selcas, Jisung notices).
“Uh, why didn’t you tell me you have like a million Instagram followers?” Jisung asks as he watches Yeonjun make a post.
He barely uses Instagram himself, always forgetting to keep up with it, and even the studio he works for only has about 100K.
“It’s because I model,” Yeonjun says, dismissive in spite of the pleased flush spreading across his cheeks.
Jisung notices that there are plenty of pictures showing off clothes Yeonjun has made or is in the process of making and thinks that Yeonjun is probably selling himself short.
“Right,” he says, instead of arguing.
“Here,” Yeonjun says, positioning him in front of the cafe. “Pose for a picture?”
Jisung is wearing one of his nicer jackets and a cool pair of earrings, not wanting to seem out of place in such a trendy cafe. “Sure, I look cute. Are you gonna post it?”
“Would you be okay with that?” Yeonjun asks. “I don’t have to tag you.”
“I don’t mind,” Jisung decides. “Do you wanna pose with me?” Yeonjun hesitates and Jisung pokes him gently. “It’s okay to say no, hyung.”
“I don’t normally take pictures on hyung days,” Yeonjun says, chewing his lip. “But I think I want to. Today.”
“Then get in here,” Jisung says instead of making a big deal about it, offering his arm. “Everyone is just gonna say ‘wow who’s that tiny guy with you,’ anyway.”
Yeonjun looks down at him. “You are really tiny.”
“It’s part of my charm.” He started telling himself that so he could stop feeling so self-conscious about his lack of height (platform shoes get expensive too) and he mostly means it as a joke now, but Yeonjun just nods.
“It is,” he agrees, looping his arm through Jisung’s.
He bends down a little so he can put his face near Jisung’s and raises one long arm to position his phone for the selca. Jisung thinks they look cute together, look like a proper couple like this—their cheeks almost pressed together, their unintentionally near-matching silver earrings, all the burgeoning love Jisung can’t keep out of his eyes.
Yeonjun takes a picture. Then, uncaring who might see, he presses a kiss to Jisung’s cheek right before he takes another.
“Are you gonna post that?” Jisung asks, aware of how red his ears probably are.
“No,” Yeonjun says softly. “That one’s just for me.”
***
innie (baby bread)
INNIE
so what exactly do you need help with?
oh thank god
you answered
INNIE
you’re lucky i don’t have class right now
and i don’t feel like studying
so you have my undivided attention for the next…
27 minutes
i need you to tell me what you think of something
INNIE
a new song?
no…
sort of a speech?
INNIE
a speech???
did you win an award or something?
hahaha definitely not
no this is more personal
INNIE
what does that mean?
iwantoasksoemoneout
INNIE
and you wrote a speech?
yes?
well technically multiple speeches
though they might all count as different drafts of the same speech
i’m not sure anymore
but i need your honest opinion
INNIE
why are you coming to me with this?
and not felix hyung?
or hyungjinnie hyung?
or literally anyone else?
because you’re not romantic!
you won’t pull your punches
and give me a grounded perspective
INNIE
so would minho noona
there is a limit to how much i can embarrass myself in front of noona
this definitely surpasses it
INNIE
but you can embarrass yourself in front of me?
look i know the ammunition i’m about to hand you
i’m just trusting you won’t be as ruthless with it as minho noona would be
INNIE
is this for the woman you’ve been seeing?
that seungmin said you met in a club?
wow he really is a traitor
INNIE
i take it things are going well?
really well
she’s so pretty
and tall
and cool
and nice
INNIE
wow
disgusting
i’m already embarrassed for you
just wait until you read this speech
[send link]
INNIE
hyung
this is 3 PAGES LONG
yeah
that was me trimming it down
INNIE
oh my god
i’m not sure i can read this
it’s too horrifying
i’ll buy you meals for a whole week
please iyen-ah
INNIE
ugh
fine
you owe me so much
thank you thank you thank you
my favorite dongsaeng
(>^_^)> <(^_^<)
INNIE
i’m your only dongsaeng
and you’re taking me out to dinner tonight
yes sure you got it
INNIE
i’ll leave notes in the doc
i hate you
love you!
^3^
INNIE
요TL
***
5.
“Jisung-ah, will you please hold still?” Yeonjun glares up at him from where she’s crouched on the floor in the middle of her living room, mumbling through the pins she’s holding precariously in her mouth.
“I’m sorry, noona, but I am physically incapable of that,” Jisung says. “And I totally warned you about that before I agreed to model these pants.”
The pants are super cool and something he would totally buy on his own. If everything goes well, they’re going to be part of a collection from a handful of queer designers, meant to promote genderfluid fashion. Preparations have consumed Yeonjun’s life for the last month and a half, meaning they meet up less, but it’s been worth it to see Yeonjun on fire—so excited about something and so determined to give it her all.
She’s like the sun sometimes, Jisung thinks. So brilliant it hurts if you look too long.
Yeonjun sighs, nearly dislodging the pins, and Jisung glues his arms to his sides, fighting the overwhelming urge to keep rocking. “Okay, I think I can stay like this for thirty seconds. Maybe.”
“Thank you, jagi,” Yeonjun mutters, going back to her work. She moves with purpose, efficiency, adjusting the sit of both pant legs, pinning what will soon be the final seams. Or that’s his assumption anyway—he doesn’t know the first thing about sewing.
It’s fun to watch Yeonjun work, though. She’s in one of her shorter wigs today and she’s tied her hair back in an adorable little ponytail on the top of her head. She greeted him with a quick kiss about an hour ago, looking frazzled, and immediately asked him if he’d be willing to try on some clothes for her.
Three shirts and two pairs of pants later and here they are.
“Okay,” Yeonjun declares and Jisung breathes a sigh of relief at being allowed to move again. “I have one more, but you can totally say no to this one if it’s too much?”
Jisung squints at her in suspicion. “Why?”
“It’s a dress,” she explains. “I have a couple I’ve used myself as a reference for but I need a smaller frame for this one. And your shoulders.”
“My shoulders?’
“I want to make sure this will look good with broader shoulders. I want to tailor it for that.”
Jisung chews his lip in thought. Three to four years ago, he probably couldn’t have done this without a panic attack. But that was wonderful, fragile Jisung—so painfully insecure as he tried to figure himself out. He loves that Jisung dearly, knows how fucking brave that Jisung was, looking back. At the same time, he’s also so glad he’s not that Jisung anymore.
Present Jisung will be fine, he decides.
“Sure, give me the dress, noona.”
Yeonjun drops a grateful kiss on the back of his shoulder and goes to retrieve it from her little workstation. It’s black and it comes down to his midcalf when he puts it on. The fabric is soft, the skirt portion a little flared, and he likes how it sits on him, especially the way it accents his waist and shows off his arms.
“Okay,” he says, staring at himself in Yeonjun’s floor length mirror. “I look hot.”
“You totally do,” Yeonjun agrees, smug and affectionate. “I … might have had your body type in mind when I made it.”
“Really? Why?”
“Well the theme is gender fluidity, right? So I wanted to make something traditionally feminine that will flatter a masculine body.”
“Wow,” Jisung says, smoothing his hands down the front of the dress. “That’s really cool. And doing wonders for my ego, noona.”
Yeonjun laughs. “Hold still again, I just need to make a few small adjustments.”
She hums along to the Girls Generation song trickling faintly from her laptop speakers as she works and Jisung joins in, harmonizing. They have dinner plans later and after those, Jisung was going to take her to the river and finally give a speech about how they should date. But suddenly he wants to do it here, in this little domestic cocoon.
“Yeonjun noona,” he says, “do you want to go out? Like officially?”
Yeonjun pauses in the middle of pinning a section of the dress’s back, meeting his eyes in the mirror with a confused expression on her face. “Aren’t we already?”
What?
“What?”
“Aren’t we already dating?” Yeonjun asks. “Haven’t we been?”
Well that’s news to him. “Since when?”
“Honestly, I thought since the first night I asked you to stay over.”
“That was three months ago.”
“Yeah?”
“We never talked about it!”
Yeonjun shifts from confusion to realization to uncertainty. “Oh. You’re right. I’m sorry … I just assumed. It just felt like we were on the same page.”
They very much were, it turns out, but Jisung would have liked to be informed.
“Oh my god, noona,” he groans. “I’ve been agonizing on how I was gonna ask you out and we were dating this whole time?”
“Agonizing?” Yeonjun asks, arching an eyebrow.
“I wrote like fifty drafts of a speech.”
“You wrote a speech? ”
“I wanted it to be special! And then I just realized that probably doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t,” Yeonjun agrees. “I never needed a speech, jagiya.” She bends down so she can rest her chin on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry I just assumed, though. You’re right, we should have talked about it. It’s just … this has felt too good to be true sometimes, you know? I guess I was afraid that if I actually acknowledged it, it would disappear.”
“Yeah,” Jisung says. “It’s been great. You’ve been great.” He grins at her in the mirror. “So, noona, am I your boyfriend?”
Yeonjun rolls her eyes but she’s fighting a grin of her own. “Yes, Jisung-ah, you’re my boyfriend.”
Jisung does a happy shimmy, just to keep his chest from exploding, and gets a reprimanding smack on the arm for nearly messing up Yeonjun’s work.
“I’m your boyfriend,” he repeats, giddy. “You’re my girlfriend.”
“Yes, honey,” Yeonjun says. “Now hold still.”
“Right, right, sorry.” He glues his restless hands to his sides again. “Noona? Can I, like, put a claim on one of these? Once they come out?”
“The dress?” Yeonjun asks with an arched eyebrow and Jisung nods.
Maybe it’s time to try something new.
“I’ll custom make you one. Perk of dating me," Yeonjun says, smiling at him in spite of the pins still in her mouth.
“Yes!” Jisung shakes his fists in victory.
He sort of feels like he’s somewhere on the ceiling—the same kind of elation he experienced the first time he looked at himself in a mirror after top surgery. A specific, glorious type of euphoria. Judging from the glow practically radiating off Yeonjun, she’s feeling the same thing.
Spring, Jisung thinks nonsensically.
“Jagi,” he says and Yeonjun lights up even more at the endearment. “I think we’re gonna be great together.”
Yeonjun finishes her work and vanishes to set the remaining pins on the table. When she returns, she wraps her arms around Jisung’s waist, pulling him against her chest.
“Baby,” she says, a sly smile tugging up one corner of her mouth. “We already are.”
And, well, Jisung really can’t argue with that.
***
the brats
BRAT 1
noona you know you are technically included in this group name right?
i keep telling you
ULTIMATE BRAT
please yeonjun noona knows that she’s one of us
BRAT 2
pretty sure she has us saved in her phone this way too
ULTIMATE BRAT
i know
i have achieved the highest honor
you both are just my minions in the yeonjun noona brat pecking order
BRAT 1
and all of us are beneath huening
BABY
i think tonight went well unnie
i like him
oh wait were we talking about something else?
nothing important
you like him?
BABY
yeah he seemed super nervous
but really funny
and nice
when beomgyu wasn’t torturing him
ULTIMATE BRAT
it wasn’t torture!
i was gathering important information
BRAT 1
you kept glaring at him
and making threatening hand motions
ULTIMATE BRAT
okay i had to threaten him a little
but soobin hyung that’s part of our role
as members of the yeonjun noona protection squad
for the last time
i don’t need a protection squad
BRAT 2
we know you don’t
but we want to feel useful
as your friends
and stop you from getting hurt if we can
yah taehyungie don’t get SINCERE on me
just tell me if you liked jisung
BRAT 2
i did
he seems good for you
you think we match well?
BRAT 1
yes noona
he doesn’t seem like your type
but you match well
he normally isn’t
but i really like him
ULTIMATE BRAT
that was very obvious, yes
BRAT 1
incredibly obvious
BABY
painfully obvious
BRAT 2
for anyone with eyes
okay okay i get it
but it was important for you all to like him
he had to pass the final test
ULTIMATE BRAT
that’s why i was threatening him a little!
it’s not a test if it isn’t hard
BRAT 1
i think he was more intimidated by taehyun
he could have definitely taken you in a fight
ULTIMATE BRAT
you are probably right
but it’s the principle that counts
BRAT 1
principle doesn’t protect your teeth from getting kicked in
enough!
do your bickering mating ritual in a separate chat
did he pass the test?
i need the final verdict
BRAT 1
…bickering mating ritual?
BABY
he passed for me!
you two are really cute together
thank you, honey
BRAT 2
he passed for me
he’s cute
and he clearly adores you
BRAT 1
yeah i’d say he passed
he paid for the meal
and was really interested in hearing all about us
and he cooed over odi when i showed him pictures
oh and he likes anime
so he’s fine
you can’t have him choi soobin
he’s mine
BRAT 2
don’t worry noona
soobin and beomgyu will ask each other out eventually
BABY
ㅋㅋㅋ
you mean like a decade from now when they finally talk about it?
BRAT 1
…what?
ULTIMATE BRAT
anyway yeah moving on shut up taehyun
i liked him
he got all pale when i tried to give him the shovel talk
and i actually think it was more at the prospect of hurting you
than being intimidated by me
so he seems like a good one
keep him around
good
thank you everyone
BRAT 2
you’ve been so happy lately noona
we’re glad
ULTIMATE BRAT
even if it’s kind of disturbing to witness
i was going to say i love you all
but i might take it back now
BRAT 1
it’s okay noona
we know you do
BABY
^.~
<3 <3 <3
ugh
<3 <3 <3 <3
***
+1.
Yeonjun blinks and suddenly the city is trapped in the grip of winter—snow turning the streets to messy slush, rooftop bars shuttered, everyone bundled in long coats, scurrying from one destination to another trying to outrun the cold. Yeonjun blinks and suddenly Han Jisung has been in her life for half a year and counting. Sometimes, she can’t believe that she met him in a club, that she got him off in a seedy back alley right after he asked her on a date.
Sometimes, she can’t imagine life without Jisung in it anymore and that’s less scary than she was expecting it to be.
They’re currently sprawled in her bed, bundled up in too many layers in spite of the sex they just had. Yeonjun’s pleasantly sore from Jisung fucking her into the mattress and she keeps wanting to press on the bruises blooming under her sweatpants from Jisung’s fingers digging into her thighs, holding her open for him. Instead, she scrolls through the music files on Jisung’s laptop that he’s finally allowed her to see.
They span years, she realizes—high school Jisung to a draft from only a couple weeks ago that he told her might be for a mixtape if he can work up the courage to actually release one. He’s always been guarded about his music and she’s never pushed, but tonight he dug his laptop out of his bag and passed it over with a “okay, okay, you can look” like they were in the middle of a conversation.
For Jisung, this might be the equivalent to cracking open his chest cavity and letting her inside. She’s honored, even though she has no idea why Jisung decided tonight was the right time—what pushed him into a decision. (Maybe the sex was just that good, ha.)
“There’s so much here,” she says.
“I write a lot,” Jisung replies with a shrug that he’s trying to make casual and definitely isn’t—too much tension in his shoulders. “It’s, uh, kind of an outlet.”
He’s told her about the anxiety, a whispered confession in the dark, and the pills that live in his bag, the bottle that he sets carefully on the sink whenever he stays over. She held him close, murmured “judgment free zone,” and he laughed into her hair, sounding like he was doing it so he didn’t cry.
Now, Yeonjun moves back in time on Jisung’s computer, stopping at a file titled Wow. “What’s this?”
“Oh god, noona, not that one,” Jisung says, which means that she has to click on it.
She manages to press play before Jisung can stop her. He groans, burying his head in his hands, as his own voice, a little younger, a little higher, filters out of the speakers.
“Excuse me, noona, but do you have a boyfriend?”
Yeonjun’s mouth drops open. “Oh my god.”
“A-ah sorry, that must have been too direct.”
Jisung practically screams into his hands this time, shuddering like he’s being tortured as the song continues to play.
“I’m still an 18-year-old high schooler—”
“You were eighteen when you wrote this?”
"—the last thing noona wants is stubbornness.”
“Yes! Please turn it off,” Jisung begs. “It gets so much worse and I want you to still like me.”
Yeonjun finally obliges, putting Jisung out of his misery. Jisung breathes a heavy sigh of relief, flopping dramatically onto his side. Yeonjun nudges him with a socked foot. “Worse how?”
“Greasier,” Jisung mutters, ears red. “But, look, in defense of my eighteen-year-old self, he had just started fully transitioning back then and he was so insecure and he desperately wanted to seem cool and masculine like his hyungs. And he—wrongly!—thought a song about hitting on an older woman was the way to do it.”
“And you used a line from the song to pick me up?” Yeonjun says, nudging him again.
“It wasn’t meant to be!” Jisung whines. “I totally forgot I put it in this garbage song from five years ago, it was just what came out of my mouth.” He cracks open an eye to peer up at her. “And it was probably just as uncool in real life as it was in the aforementioned garbage song.”
“It was super uncool,” Yeonjun agrees. “But endearing.”
Jisung huffs. He’s so cute with his hair flopping into his eyes, drowning in one of her sweaters. She kind of wants to squish his cheeks—it’s becoming a common urge.
“Okay, I’m picking for you this time.”
“Wait, who was the noona?”
“Nope,” Jisung says, crawling up to sit beside her. “Let’s leave poor eighteen-year-old Jisung alone, okay? He was going through a lot. Listen to this instead.”
He clicks on a file from about a year ago, six months before she met him. The vibe is instantly different: slower, sadder.
“Eighteen-year-old Jisung is here too,” present Jisung murmurs. “So many Jisungs are. I think I’m still learning to love all of them.”
Yeonjun takes Jisung’s hand as the Jisung from a year ago begins to sing, heavy with emotion. Sadness, anger—an outlet, Jisung said. Turning your blood into music.
“ Falling down, I'm an alien on this earth/I don't seem to belong anywhere by myself/No matter how much I smile, I feel so lonely/Like aliens trying to blend in with Earthlings/No one can hear me when I try and say something.”
It’s aching, it’s beautiful—it twines around Yeonjun’s lungs: familiar, sympathetic pain. Jisung hums along to the song, eyes closed as the music rises, flooding all the corners of Yeonjun’s little one room.
Oh, Yeonjun thinks, staring at the flutter of Jisung’s lashes against his cheeks, the concentrated furrow along his forehead, the way his body sways along to the notes. I’m in love with him.
The realization runs through her chest like a gentle sigh, like a building settling into its foundations—a new piece of her life slotting into place. The song fades out and Jisung comes back to himself, turning to catch her looking. She’s not sure what sappy expression is on her face, but it’s enough for Jisung’s eyebrows to go up, disappearing into his bangs.
“Noona?” he asks, self-conscious. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Yeonjun says. It isn’t time yet. She wants to do this properly—they’re both romantics, after all. She presses a lingering kiss to Jisung’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Okay,” Jisung relents easily. “But did you like the song?”
“It was beautiful,” Yeonjun says, and wishes she had more words to describe how moving it was. Maybe she’ll work it into her grand love confession. “You should release that mixtape.”
“Ah.” Jisung flushes, quietly preening at the praise. “Someday. Maybe in the Spring.”
Yeonjun hums, peppering more kisses up Jisung’s neck. “Whenever you’re ready, jagi.”
They’re going to have time, she’s certain of that.
So much time to be happy.