A Problem

The drumming of iron sticks hitting the plates is woven into the monotonous chatter of the dining students. Smells like rice and dumplings broth. Minho looks at the tree outside the window with a lost, thoughtful look, completely out of reality and holding an empty cup in his hand. The other hand supports the cheek, lightly pressing the ring into the skin. He has a problem, the appearance of which he did not expect at all, and it strains him, floating somewhere between his lungs in a twisted lump. But the most stupid thing is that it has firmly eaten into his mind. “Why are you sitting here alone?” Minho crawls out of his somnambulistic state and turns his head. His problem sits down on a nearby chair, dressed in a bright yellow hoodie and munching on a red beans bun. The problem named Han Jisung. “The guys went to get ice cream, the van drove up to the main gate.” “So I’m asking: why are you sitting here alone?” “I don’t wanna move so much.” “Are you sick? You didn’t even eat anything.” Jisung’s hand touches his forehead, he leans down and examines him worriedly with large, round eyes. Minho first freezes in surprise, and then sees his own reflection in Jisung’s eyes, his own dreamy expression, and jerks back, slapping his hand. “I’m fine, fuck off.” “You always walk around brooding and irritable lately. What happened?” “Nothing happened. I’m tired.” “You can tell me. Even if I can’t help, then at least I will listen, it will become easier.” Minho can sense a seriousness that usually does not exist in Jisung’s voice. What will he tell him? That he makes him feel weird and pissed off about feeling weird? Minho is also pissed because he acts like a fool. He does not want to be rude to Jisung, it happens on its own. It is like he just wants to take it out on Jisung, who has not really done anything wrong. Only good, even too much, and that is why Minho tries so hard to drive him away from himself, because the place behind his back gets smaller and there remains only a corner into which he was almost pushed without a possible escape route. This should pass. Everything will surely become as before, when he did not care about him and life seemed easier. “I am fine. Eat it if you want,” Minho pushes a tray of his food which he has literally touched twice toward Jisung. “I’m not hungry.” “You’re sharing your food? With me?” Jisung deliberately exaggerates his emotions, making a theatrically surprised face. “You want me to put this damn tray on your head?” “You’re pretending to be a gangster again, you think I don’t know you?” After finishing his bun, Jisung readily grabs himself a whole spoonful of rice and meat, eats it up with kimchi and still manages to stuff pickled radish into his mouth. His squirrel cheeks stick out funny as usual, the skin stretches like rubber. Minho smiles involuntarily and turns away, tapping a finger on the iron cup. For the first two years, he paid no attention to Jisung at all. Jisung was from the architecture department and he studied world literature. They were only partially connected by their mutual friend Hyunjin. Minho always thought Jisung was too noisy because he heard him laugh almost every single day in the dining room. Sometimes he saw him sitting on a wooden table in the courtyard of the campus and singing yet another popular song from the music channels. Intentionally loud and vociferous to get on the nerves of his friends and at the same time those around him. Minho labeled him a goofy squirrel and ignored. Everything suddenly changed in the third year. Ten students from the top of the rankings of each department were summoned to an inter-faculty meeting at a recreation center an hour from Seoul. The plan included a quiz, games and dinner for team building and visibility of student activity. Another useless nonsense, but at least they were fed for free. “Take some.” While everyone was waiting to board the bus, Jisung, who was fooling around with Hyunjin, suddenly walked up to Minho and handed him a pack of waffles. For the first time they were standing side by side and Minho, looking at his smiling face, thought about how strange his cheeks and teeth were. He was all kind of awkward. “Thanks.” As a matter of courtesy, he had to take the waffles. However, for some reason, Jisung did not move away and pointed a finger at his chest with a laugh. “Cool t-shirt.” Minho had a cartoon sleeping cat with its paws up on his T-shirt. He was going to change into a formal shirt on the spot so that it would not get wrinkled on the bus. “Thanks.” “Do you like cats?” “Kinda yeah.” “Oh, great, then wait.” Jisung, under Minho’s bewildered gaze, reached into his shirt pocket, then into his jeans pocket, and then started rummaging through his backpack. Minho later found out that Jisung always had some pieces of paper, small notebooks, receipts, candy wrappers and stickers in all his pockets. They are in his sweatshirts and jackets, sports shorts, backpacks; stickers pasted over the wall above his dorm desk, the closet door and even the ceiling above the bed. If Jisung had a dog, he would stick some notes on its forehead too. “Here, they gave me this the last time, but I’m not a fan of such things, but it will come in handy for you. See ya.” Minho was holding a flyer for a cat cafe with an 80% discount. Before he could reply, Jisung was already chatting with his fellow student Seungmin. Simple and frivolous, so he thought of him. They did not even know each other properly. Minho was holding waffles in one hand, a flyer in the other, and with a bit of arrogant contempt, he stared at the profile of Jisung, who was actively nodding and gesturing as he spoke with enthusiasm. Minho thought this was the first and last time they had contact. However, he was only right that it was the first time. Among thousands and thousands of others. That evening, after the quiz and games were over, Minho dragged a bag of their group’s empty water bottles to the huge trash bin at the stage entrance. As soon as he straightened his back, the curator ran up to him with crazy eyes and chattered that a representative of their department has abruptly fell down with food poisoning during the break, which means that another student had to read out a thank you and farewell speech. “You always answer beautifully during classes, you’re praised by the professors. Just throw at them something high and enthusiastic, all hope is on you.” It is not only that they did not ask him if he wanted to do it at all, he was not even given a chance to refuse. The curator darted off and flew away in an unknown direction, literally at the same second when he uttered the last syllable. Minho stood in confusion, looking at the stage illuminated by spotlights and literally heard the ribs inside starting to click together. Yes, he can speak beautifully, but he hates performing in front of an audience, especially in front of several streams of strangers. He finds himself funny. In a bad way. Minho was quite belligerent in character, he never let anyone offend himself, but from the very thought of performing in front of a large audience he shrank to a bald chick and began to shake. So he did that time, he literally froze, chaotically trying to force himself to collect his thoughts and come up with what could be said as short and adequate as possible and at the same time not disgrace himself. “Everything will be fine.” Jisung, who apparently was standing nearby and heard everything, suddenly appeared next to him. What surprised Minho much more - he took his hand. “Everyone here is just like you and everyone’s tired. Even if you stumble, no one will pay attention.” “I... why did you take my hand?” “Psychological trick,” Jisung, unfazed, smiled, squeezing his palm tighter and ignoring his eyebrows raised in bewilderment. “This way support will be felt physically. It became easier, didn’t it?” “Bullshit,” Minho hesitated for a second, pulled out his hand and turned away. “And by the way I’m not nervous. Why do you think so?” “Read it in the face. And also your hand is cold and sweaty.” Hearing this, Minho froze and then tried to secretly wipe it on his pants, feeling embarrassed. “There is nothing wrong with it. I’m sure you will perform well.” “You don’t even know me.” “I heard you giving a presentation to your group once. The audience door was slightly opened. You’re good at talking.” Minho turned. This he had not expected. “So yeah, I believe in you,” Jisung seemed to be impenetrable, because for a couple of seconds he again took his hand. “You’re gonna nail it.” As suddenly as he appeared, he gave him a hopeful smile and went back to his friends. Minho looked after him and thought about how incomprehensible and how in his own mind he was. Dared to take his hand, as if they were bosom friends. Minho looked down at his palm and moved his fingers. He had not admitted it to himself for another week, but inside it has really let go a bit. Jisung pulled his attention to himself and distracted him from winding up. And when Minho, who had mastered himself and rapped out a hastily invented speech, finished, he was the first to applaud. The idiot really had a gift for drawing attention to himself. He reminded of his existence again in a week. Minho was lying lazily on the bed after classes, when he received a message from an unknown contact with the nickname “oHANa” and the image of Stitch on the icon at KakaoTalk. “Hi cat boy. This is Jisung” “Figured” “How are you? What are you doing?” Minho frowns, pursing his lower lip in displeasure. What does he want from him? Thought that they had become friends? Minho was never a sociable communicator and he was not eager to make a pen pal. “Though it seems to me that you’re not an empty talk type of guy so you can skip the questions” That message which came after was no less surprising. Did Hyunjin tell him? Or did Jisung catch his character somehow? This is not possible, such things do not happen in real life. “In general I have to write an essay on culture. I don’t like to fuck around with writing but you’re from the literature department. You know what I’m saying?” “Maybe” “What are the prices?” “What am I a prostitute to have a price list?” “But you must set a price for the service.” Minho never wrote essays for others, nor did he plan on doing so. Besides, something about this Jisung was incomprehensible. Not repulsive, just... he suddenly burst into Minho’s daily routine as if the door with an invitation was not even opened for him, but he himself took the keys out of his own pocket. And Minho sat in the hallway, looking suspiciously at the new guest, but for some reason not yet sending him back. Something told him it would not work. “This weekend I’m moving from the dorm to the apartment. I need a loader who will drag all the boxes with my shit and lift them up the stairs.” “Great I just happen to be free.” “Not even gonna ask which floor?” “Who cares? I need an essay you need help. I’ll walk as much as I have to” Minho’s eyes stare at the screen, puzzled. Is he serious? Minho said this on purpose, thinking he would refuse. Is this guy really as simple as he seems? “So you agree to work your ass off like a horse in exchange for a couple of pages?” “Work for work I see no problem” As fingers move aimlessly over the screen, a second message comes. “So what cat boy? Meet me this weekend?” In the end, Minho agreed. He really needed practically free help when moving. And a little, literally the very little bit, he got curious. What Han Jisung is. Because at that time he managed to categorically not meet any of his expectations. He seemed to be walking along the border of a fun-loving simpleton, but it was just a border, not his essence. With both feet he stood firmly on some other side, the meaning of which Minho did not know. On Saturday afternoon, Jisung stands at the door of his dorm room, waving stapled papers like a flag. There, under the sweeping words, was an “A” mark and a seal with a magnolia flower from the professor. “Your writing is so cool. I even got lost while rewriting everything, though I’m not a big fan of reading.” “No shit,” Minho chuckles proudly and opens the door wider, letting him in. “I’ll carry the suitcase with the backpack myself, and you’ll have six boxes. You think you can handle it?” “I can, why not?” Jisung shrugs and rolls up his sleeves. “I asked the hyung who works here for a cart, so I don’t have to carry everything all the way. Is your house near the main gate?” Jisung could not manage to fit more than three boxes on the cart, and even if he did it would not be useful, they could easily fall off when going down the slope. The dorm was at the highest point of the campus, literally on a mountain. Minho walked in front, rolling the suitcase behind him, and Jisung followed, pushing the cart and trying to control it so that it did not bump into anyone. By the time they left the campus, he was already out of breath, but he still did not stop chatting, discussing first the essays, and then their faculties. Near the gray five-storey building, the cart has outlived its role. There was no elevator in the house, and Minho’s apartment was on the top floor, which forced him to resort to outside help. Even dragging his suitcase upstairs was difficult, he had no idea how much fun it was for Jisung, but he did not even think about helping him. Jisung had to earn his essay after all. Jisung puffed, but did not complain, though he might have been indignant at how businesslike Minho looked, staring impartially at his face reddened from the effort, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe of his apartment. After lifting up the third box, Jisung crouched down on the steps and shook the hoodie clinging to his body, combing his wet hair back. While Minho was calmly laying out the dishes at home and sorting things, he returned to the dorm, took the last batch of boxes and began to carry them, each time climbing up more slowly. After dragging up the last one, Jisung almost kicked it into the apartment, closed the door and fell to the floor, spreading like a star. “Still think the essay was worth it?” Minho stands at his head, hands on his hips. “Oh, yeah,” he breathes heavily, opening his sweaty eyes, and folds his reddened fingers in an Okay sign. “I got an A mark, I helped you, I also got some physical training for myself. It turned out just great.” “You’re nuts,” the flat owner huffs and walks away. “Here.” Minho places a bottle of cold water next to him. At the same moment, the intercom rings. “Are you waiting for someone?” “Rather, you are waiting for someone.” “What?” Jisung frowns in confusion, propping himself up on the floor on his elbows and looking at Minho who opens the front door. Literally a quarter of a minute later, a delivery guy shows up, hastily pulling out an order and counting out the change from his pocket. It smells of sweet sauce and fresh kimchi. Two bowls of jjajangmyeon still hot, a can of kimchi, a tuna kimbap and a bottle of cola appeared on the floor table. Minho generously ordered lunch for them, keeping the widespread tradition of eating jjajangmyeon on the moving day. It just seemed to him that without water, food and rest, exhausted Jisung would pass out somewhere along the way and he would be accused guilty, which he did not need in his life. “Why did you suddenly move out the dorm? Got an inheritance?” Jisung asks, stuffing his mouth with noodles. “Received an increased scholarship for excellent studies,” Minho replies, not without barely concealed pride, trying to maintain a carefree air, as if he saw nothing special in this. “Really? Damn you’re smart,” Jisung applauds, banging the lower parts of his palms against each other and splashing drops on the table. “Now we can all party at your place.” “No parties in my house.” “Why not? Your own hut, no curfew – best conditions possible.” “That’s right, this is my hut and I don’t want you guys to shit all over it.” “We are cultured guys.” “I know how cultured you are, I’ve heard Hyunjin’s stories. I won’t let you on the doorstep if you take in even one single shot, pigs.” “And if we’re all not in a condition anymore and the dorm is closed until five in the morning? You’ll leave us to freeze on the street?” “Yes. Your problems don’t concern me.” Minho lifts his chin slightly to show how contemptuous he is for such commoner affairs. Every man for himself and every man deals with the consequences of his fuck ups. Jisung chews on the kimpab thoughtfully for a while, then reaches for the kimchi ready to say something. An abruptly raised hand knocks over the plate of jjajangmyeon and the dark brown thick sauce sloshes over Jisung’s yellow hoodie. “Fuck,” Minho immediately jumps up to fetch the tissues. “What did you mumble about culture?” “Well, shit happens,” Jisung examines the surroundings. “The good news is the sauce didn’t fly farther than my clothes.” In the bathroom, he drains everything that was stuck in the folds of the hoodie into the sink, rinsing it with water, but realizes that there was no point in it. This brown stain would not go anywhere without the detergent. He walks back into the living room, which was also the bedroom and the kitchen of the studio apartment, scratching his head in confusion. Before he even has time to figure it out, something soft flies into his face. “Change your clothes.” Jisung is holding a T-shirt with a cat. “Master has given Dobby a sock?” “Do you wanna walk down the street with such a stain, as if someone threw shit at you?” “No. Thanks.” Jisung smiles broadly, pulling off his hoodie right there without a second thought. He has nothing to be ashamed of, after all. “Leave it. I’ll throw it into the washing machine. What are you laughing at?” Minho gives him a puzzled look as he laughs at his words. Jisung walks up close, looking into suspiciously narrowed eyes with mischief. The shirt was still not on him, but in his hands. “You’re not nearly as bad as you’re trying to look.” It is rare for Minho that he does not know how to answer, but that is exactly what happens. For a couple of seconds, he literally freezes, looking in surprise at the face in front of him, that is softly glowing with a smile. As if Jisung looked into his drawer, where the most important things were hidden from others. “Shut up and get dressed, pig, you wash it yourself.” Minho pushes him away, tosses the hoodie back in his face and leaves to clear the table. He does not know that the smile behind him has not faded. It will later be revealed to be Jisung’s weapon. A deadly one. He always smiles when he looks at Minho, even when the latter yells at him. Because bumping into a smile after each of his attacks, Minho is lost and all the poison disappears. He does not know how to resist it. In this regard, Han Jisung turned out to be invincible. They meet in a day. Between the classes, Minho sits at a table in the green meadow of the campus and reads a collection of stories that needed to be analyzed. Next to him suddenly appears a bag that smells of cheap powder, which was used by almost all students in the dorm. Along with the bag, Jisung himself sits down at the table on the opposite side. “Thank you for not letting me walk like a pig. Here, I washed and even ironed it.” “Okay.” Minho nods, returning to reading, but looks up again hearing a rustle. “And this is my gratitude,” Jisung sets two tall, misted glasses of cold lemonade and two boxes of sandwiches on the table, pushing one of each toward Minho. “Hyunjin said you like pears, so the lemonade is pear-flavored. But you can take my grape one if you want.” It would seem that he returned the favor by washing and returning everything himself. It was not even such a favor - it cost Minho absolutely nothing. However, Jisung looks so ordinarily pleased, not considering what was happening to be too much, that Minho still accepts the “offering” and they dine together. Again. “Look, I sketched a design for an anti-cafe with slides that run across the street around the corner of the building.” When the sandwiches are finished, Jisung enthusiastically pulls out a sketchbook and turns it towards Minho, showing the sketches. “With slides?” “Yes. But this is not for children, it’s for adults, which is why they are so big. I think many adults want to ride on slides, and on swings, and on all sorts of stupid merry-go-rounds, but they are shy, cause it’s considered to be kinda undignified and stuff. I’d like to have such things too.” “But you’re clearly not shy,” Minho gibes. “Bingo, I don’t care at all. If I want to Imma climb into the sandbox. But for this type of serious and proud people like you, I want to create places where doing this is absolutely normal and not judged by anyone.” Minho stares at him with a grumpy look, showing with all his appearance that he was asking to get in trouble. However, Jisung is not at all fazed, he moves forward with peaceful steadfastness, putting his elbows on the table, and slightly bows his head, keeping his gaze. “Come on, you can assert that you’re not interested in this as much as you like, but I know for sure that this is a lie. Wouldn’t it be cool to have a glass of beer and then slide down the swirling slide into small balls and throw them into the air, releasing everything that has accumulated?” “I’m not five years old.” Minho snorts and sips his lemonade when in reality he thinks that it sounds cool. Jisung seems to have sensed this and gives him a satisfied laugh, but he does not pluck the truth out with the tongs. Instead, he begins to talk about the rest of the ideas, running his finger over the necessary drawings. “And what are these lines and marks?” “They show placement of windows, walkways and lighting.” Jisung readily answers all questions and explains the technical nuances. He sounds so enthusiastic and inspired that Minho himself does not notice how he dives into listening, even if he is not interested in such things. There is something in Jisung’s sincere enthusiasm that at some point Minho gets lost in staring at how vividly his facial expressions are changing. He even forgets that this guy was straining him with his easygoingness. Or maybe he just got used to it. After that day, sometimes Jisung also sat down with him during breaks, apparently deciding that they were now friends. He rummaged in his backpack, tossing pieces of paper, and from there he took out waffles, or chocolates, or cookies, or candies, which he shared with Minho. At first, Minho thought he needed something from him. But then he began to forget about it, leafing through Jisung’s sketchbook and listening about either past projects or new ones. Jisung had a rare ability to present even the most boring information in an interesting way. He often joked, but at the same time he managed to intertwine humor with a professional component. Minho used to think he was a fool. Although he still was a fool, he just had knowledge in his field, that is what Minho thought. Jisung especially outdone himself when he called him at half past midnight. And not on the phone, but on the intercom. Minho stands in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, listening to footsteps echoing around the staircase. When Jisung finally climbs up, Minho meets him with narrowed eyes. “What did I say about drunken visits?” “That they are prohibited.” “So?” “I’m not actually drunk.” “You smell of alcohol.” “I literally drank four shots, I’m completely adequate. I can even walk along the line right now if you want me to.” Minho glares at him silently for a moment. “What are you doing here?” “I got late for the doors closure, I literally missed like five minutes.” “And what does it have to do with me?” “Well, I have three options: go back to the bar and get hammered, go sleep in the classroom or stay at your place. Wherever you send me, there I will go.” Minho’s fingers tap on his forearm as he tries to decide how he felt about the situation. It would be more correct to send an uninvited guest away, this was demanded by his principles. He said that he was not going to let the drunken idiots who missed the curfew in. And this dumb squirrel Jisung had the audacity to show up on his doorstep at night. “What’s behind you?” “A blanket,” Jisung pulls off a cloth bag from his shoulder, which contained a swirling navy blue blanket with white stripes. “I went to the Home Plus on the way, it’s a housewarming gift for you.” Jisung has his typical simple smile on the face. Beneath his black slightly disheveled bangs, kind eyes glitter. For some reason, he believed so much in his understanding that he came here knowing perfectly well how stubborn and grumpy Minho can be. Minho’s stubbornness insistently demands to send him off and slam the door so that he knows how running around other people’s houses ends up. Minho hesitates and takes a step to the side, letting him inside. “You’ll sleep on the floor on your blanket. I have no extra bedding.” “And what if friends come to you with an overnight stay?” “Not happening.” “Okay, got it.” Jisung throws his denim jacket over the back of the couch, goes to the toilet, lays down the blanket by the couch, where Minho was going through the phone, and collapses on his minimalistic bed with a tired sigh. He lays still for a minute, eyes closed, and then rises on his elbow. “Cat boy.” “What?” “I’m hungry.” “And?” “I always want to eat when I drink. I’m so hungry it hurts, you know?” Minho sighs heavily, staring at the ceiling. Silence reigns in the apartment for a while, after which he again looks at the screen. “Okay, I’m hungry too. I’ll order pizza.” “And cheese sticks,” Jisung beams with satisfaction. “And some takoyaki would do. And corn cheese.” “And enough of your insolence, Han Jisung.” “And a bottle of Pepsi,” Jisung takes four crumpled 10,000 won bills from the back pocket of his jeans, rises and places them on Minho’s stomach. “My treat.” Quite unexpectedly, at one in the morning, Minho was eating pizza with cheese sticks and other snacks. Jisung was sitting on the floor at Minho’s feet, too lazy to climb onto the sofa, and shoved everything into both cheeks as if he had not eaten for a week. While they were discussing delivery services and franchises, food disappeared and their bellies were full. Minho was on his phone, aimlessly going through the social media when he felt the touch. Jisung, who was still sitting on the floor, put his head on Minho’s knee and, judging by the way it got heavier, was passing out. For some reason, this made Minho freeze for a moment. He really could not understand his own reaction. He just looked at the head on his knee and felt something change. Something, somewhere, has become different. “Go lay down,” he pushes him with his foot, pulling himself back into reality. “You’re already sleeping.” Jisung passed out instantly. Exhausted of the day, having drunk and finally gorged on, he laid down on the blanket, put his denim jacket under his head and started puffing literally a quarter of a minute later, not paying attention to the light nor to Minho’s walking. He, in turn, threw out the garbage, took a shower, prepared his clothes for the next day and made the bed. He laid on the couch trying to fall asleep, but his eyes opened every now and then, looking at Jisung’s back on the floor. Minho realized that something was bothering him, but actively resisted it. It was none of his business. At all. He did not care. Half an hour later, he jumped off the couch with an exasperated sigh. He did not understand himself. Since when did he become like this? Minho took a spare sheet from the closet and covered sleeping Jisung. The window was open. If he closed it, it would be stuffy, but the wind was blowing noticeably even on the sofa. Jisung could get cold and walk around sniffling, getting on his nerves. Minho laid back down, annoyed, and turned away. Only then did he manage to fall asleep. A week later, Jisung proved that he really was an impenetrable, absolutely unshakable dumbass. Because at one o’clock in the morning, he again stood at his door with his stupid innocent smile. “You think it’s a fucking hotel?” “I have nowhere else to go. I brought food.” Jisung shakes the bag in the air, which contained tacos and a bottle of Milkis. Thinking hard, Minho felt his stomach clench demandingly. It even overpowers the desire to deliberately go against and close the door, although he really wants to. Since Jisung brought food, he has to let him in to get it. However, Jisung has a different vision of the situation. Not subjective. “Wow,” he raises his eyebrows as he walks out of the bathroom after dinner. “I thought you didn’t like guests.” On the floor there is not just a blanket that he had brought with him. There is a thin mattress covered with a sheet, the said blanket and a pillow. Full set. “It’s just in case.” Minho immediately turns away, grabs a towel and goes into the shower, stomping loudly on the floor with his bare feet. He was not expecting anyone, he just bought them to be. He would not have let Jisung in at all if he did not have the food he likes with him. Jisung figures this scheme out pretty quickly. He comes a week later. And then a week later. Each time he brings something tasty, something that Minho definitely loves, something that he could mention during conversations at the university. They eat dinner together, go to bed and go to classes in the morning. “Are you gonna keep on coming to me in the middle of the night drunk?” Minho mumbles, slouched on the couch after dinner and drinking his lemonade. “Am I bothering you?” “This is not a hostel.” “Then tell me to leave and I will leave right now, I promise.” Sitting on the floor at his feet, Jisung turns his head, looking really serious. His long earring dangles in his ear, clinging to the collar of his shirt. Minho watches it for a while. “Go to sleep. We’re getting up early tomorrow,” he nudges Jisung on the shoulder with his knee. “I won’t let you in again.” But he lets him in every time. Even if he saw no justification for his own actions. At one of these nights, Jisung lays thoughtfully on his (already his) bed, throwing his hand behind his head. “Come on, let’s go hang out with us at least once. Don’t you wanna have a little fun and forget yourself?” “I don’t like places like that, get off.” “We don’t have to go to a noisy club and we especially don’t have to get drunk if this is what repels you. You and I can just sit by the bar, listen to music and chat in a different setting.” “You and I?" “Well,” Jisung hesitates for the first time since they have met. “I mean you, and me, and Hyunjin, and Changbin, and just everyone who goes, right, you get it.” The idea seems tempting to Minho. In the end, he is not a hermit and also sometimes goes out to have fun, just because of his studies he became too lazy to trudge somewhere instead of laying down. Therefore, after a couple of such invitations from Jisung, he at last agrees. At first, they sat in a small company at a table, drank cocktails, ate perfectly cooked steaks, which Minho had craved for a long time, discussed everything from studies to the new bike park in Seodaemun. Jisung then asked him to play darts and they occupied one of the targets on the far wall. “A little higher,” Jisung grabs his hand. “And try to move your wrist more smoothly.” “Helping the opponent?” Minho smirks. He turns his head and looks defiantly at Jisung, whose face is unexpectedly close since he was supporting his hand. From this distance, he could even feel the remnants of his perfume, not yet completely interrupted by the smell of alcohol. “My opponent hasn’t spent as many hours here as I have. But if you suddenly defeat me, then I will carry you on my back to the very house.” “Well,” Minho throws a dart and it suddenly hits the triple twenty, although before that it constantly went to the lower doubling rings. “Sounds tempting.” “Okay, you don’t need help,” Jisung takes a step back and raises his hands, admitting that he was wrong. “But it’s just a beginner’s luck.” The competitive spirit in Minho has always been strong, but after a couple of throws it becomes clear that the difference between him and the regular darts player Jisung was palpable. Therefore, instead of seriously turning inside out for the sake of victory, he decides to have fun and enjoy the process itself, chatting about something along the way. Jisung makes him laugh, sometimes acting like a serious professional, then playing the absolute dummy. He one-shots a glass of beer under Minho’s encouragement and immediately makes a throw, basically without any aiming. The dart digs into the lower out zone, and Jisung coughs from the fact that the beer almost went out through his nose. Minho laughs so loudly that he gets jerked to the side. Jisung really is a dumbass. After finishing the round, they go to the bar to take another glass and end up staying there. Some light pop music is playing in the background, laughter rushes through the hall and conversations buzz. Cool air conditioner is blowing pleasantly around their necks. “How do you feel about tonight?” “It’s okay,” Minho replies vaguely, shrugging. “It’s hard for you to admit that you like something, isn’t it?” “If you know the answer, then why are you asking?” “Who am I to draw such weighty conclusions?” Jisung lets out a chuckle. “We need to get out more often. I know one cool bar in the downtown, there’s even a cat theme, ninja cats. I think you’re gonna like it, I have long wanted to suggest going there. And there’s one more place...” Jisung describes the establishments that he liked, being especially keen on describing their structure and the fascinating architectural details of the buildings in which they were located. He always gets carried away by this topic, his eyes literally begin to shine. A lilac light from a colored garland above the bar falls on his face. Minho does not understand how his cheeks manage to be plump, but his face still remains thin. All of it seems somehow smooth and soft, at first awkward features suddenly seem harmonious and on their places. Even the mole on his left cheek seems to be exactly where it should be. Jisung smiles and Minho does not notice himself starting to smile a little in response, completely missing what he was talking about. His rational thinking seemed to be turning off for a couple of moments. “Why you look so lost?” Jisung asks, noticing his gaze. “I…” Minho finally comes to his senses and straightens his back. “Just thinking about... about this place you told me about. We definitely should go there.” He gulps down the last of his beer, trying to hide his lostness. Fortunately, Jisung rejoices at the positive reaction and begins to talk again about all the cafeterias that he likes. Minho has a strong urge to slap his own face in order to get his shit together. What was it? Did he really get lost looking at Jisung? How much did he drink? The realization that he is still quite sober does not make things any easier. It does the complete opposite. Minho realizes that things are gradually getting out of control on one of the following evenings when Jisung, again late to the dorm, comes to him. Because Minho is absolutely sober, but still catches himself almost stretching his hand out to ruffle the hair on the head on his knee, after which he again watches Jisung laying on his bed on the floor and does not feel that he is bothering him. Laughing warmly, Jisung seems to be in place and his chatter is soothing after a hard day. As it turns out, Jisung himself is a walking tranquilizer. After class, Minho stands by the small pond behind the building, drumming nervously on the wooden fence with his fingers. He is angry, he got pissed off and it feels like just a little more and his skin, burning, would peel off to the ground. Jisung, who somehow came across him, tries to figure out what is wrong. Minho says nothing happened, not going to whine to the other person, but Jisung keeps up trying to get him to talk. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, huh? Why the hell are you getting to me?” Minho waves a hand towards him in annoyance. “Why would you even care about me, who the fuck are you anyway? Fuck off, I’ve got enough problems without you.” Jisung leaves in silence. Minho angrily slams his fists against the fence and winces to the nasty stars in his eyes. Everything enrages him so freaking much. He is enraged by the situation at the university, he is enraged by this day that has gone like shit since the very morning, he is enraged by attentive Jisung, he is enraged by psychotic himself. He wants to crush everything with his feet, because, in addition to everything, he begins to feel like a complete scum. “Drink it, you’ll feel better.” For some reason, Jisung comes back, and even with a bottle of water. And for some reason he does not even look offended of Minho yelling at him. Minho takes a sip, closes the bottle, and remains silent for a moment, staring at the pond below. “I shouldn’t have lashed out on you.” It was difficult to say, but the guilt was eating him from the inside out too hard. Jisung, who was clearly worried about him, certainly did not deserve such treatment. Minho is just overly hot-tempered and does not use his brain at all. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I... I didn’t have this in...” “I know,” Jisung stops him from speaking, as if he is sensing that it is hard for him to admit this out loud. “You don’t have to explain. I understand and do not take offense.” Minho looks at him in surprise. His reaction was strange. It was so... Jisung-like. Only he could react that way. And not because he was a fool, no, now he is as if ten years older and wiser. Minho sees such understanding and acceptance only in Jisung’s gaze and no one else’s. As if in him Jisung always sees something more than that detached image that he always shows. “You can yell at me if it makes you feel better. Speak out, shout out, it doesn’t matter. Better on me than on someone else.” “Better on someone else than on you.” “What?” “Nothing,” Minho drinks water again, taking long sips. “I feel better. It’s just that this professor is fucking my brain so much, he constantly corrects my coursework, highlights mistakes, but never explains what’s wrong, and I’ve already visited him like twenty times in a row and I’m so tired of it all... Okay, fuck it. Let’s get something to eat, I don’t wanna talk about it.” “Sure. There’s a fabulous cafe with mind-blowing muffins nearby.” However, in addition to his enchanting ability to calm him down, Jisung also has an equally enchanting ability to knock him off balance. One that Minho has never encountered before. During one of the breaks, he stood in the shade near the building, tired of sitting on his ass during all the classes. Walking towards the same building, Jisung notices him and approaches, starting to chat from a distance of several meters. “Listen, have you seen Felix? He got so many freckles from the sun, he’s like completely covered in them.” “He’s always like that.” “It’s cool. You have them too?” Minho does not have time to react. Jisung not only walks right up to him, he places one hand on the wall near his head and leans in so close, peering, that every lash could be counted. Not expecting this, Minho freezes, catching a mistake in his rational thinking. He looks at his inky eyes and, feeling the breath on his skin, unconsciously lowers his gaze to his lips. Wet and slightly parted. Jisung always opens his mouth a bit when he studies something, just the way he is studying his face right now. When he seems to be getting closer, Minho’s brain finally turns back on and he pushes him away. “Did you lose your fucking mind?” “What?” “I have no freckles.” Minho looks down and turns away. The blood in his temples beats like a drumbeat. He is ashamed of himself. What the hell was that? How could he get so lost just because... He nervously brushes his hair back with his hands and walks back into the building, followed by a puzzled look. After this incident, Minho began to realize that he really had a problem that was gaining momentum. From a stupid squirrel that never interested him at all, Jisung turned into a simple-minded fool with whom he met every day and next to whom he forgot about everything else, listening to his chatter and getting lost, looking at the mole on his cheek. Minho does not understand himself. Absolutely. He realizes that things get worse when the time goes past one o’clock on the next Saturday and Jisung is still absent. He has never missed a Saturday night before. What annoys Minho the most is that he does not enjoy the peace and quiet, but stands by the window and waits. As if they had some kind of agreement. As if Minho wanted him to flicker in front of his eyes and distract him from business again. “You’re not coming today or what?” finally, he loses it and calls so as not to be in a state of obscurity. “You were waiting, right? Sorry, I’m pulling an all-nighter today. I forgot to text you.” In the dynamics Minho can hear music and, which for some reason causes mixed emotions, female laughter. Not far away, but somewhere nearby. “Are you with someone?” Minho immediately curses himself for the idiotic question. Of course he is with someone, he cannot hang out in the club until the morning alone. “Oh, yes, my sister came to town,” Jisung says happily, fortunately, not noticing the harshness in his tone. “Come to us and meet her, we’re in Hongdae.” “No, I don’t wanna go anywhere, I’m going to bed. Have a good night.” The phone is thrown on the couch, Minho falls wearily on the pillow and clutches his head in his hands. He cannot believe it. Did he really get jealous just now? Because he thought Jisung was having fun with some girl? Why would he care about that anyway? He really has serious problems, with his head in the first place. Minho wants to stay away from him to get things back to normal. So that he no longer gets lost in time and space, looking at him, because it was scary. But Jisung himself finds him everywhere and always. And when he smiles happily, the thought of running away cowardly hides somewhere. Minho has never been dependent on people and company, this did not change, it just became a bit depressing if there was not one particular dumbass around for a long time. Especially on long evenings in an empty, quiet apartment. The more time passes, the more they learn about each other, the more Minho thinks about it. He still refuses to admit the true state of affairs clearly, but admits that the problem is getting bigger, gaining strength. And Jisung’s new habit of jumping out in front of his face or leaning close makes everything only worse, because Minho begins to forget himself and catch the impulse to move forward, for which he then curses himself for a good half hour. Friday night, Minho sits on a bed in a room of an unknown house. Hyunjin was celebrating his birthday in a huge cottage outside the city. There was no way Minho could miss it - they are, after all, good friends. Towards midnight, Minho, using a headache as an excuse, went upstairs, leaving the main party. In reality, he just could not stop staring at fucking Han Jisung with his partially unbuttoned black shirt and his hair tousled. Jisung danced with a glass in his hand, laughed with his head thrown back, and then dragged Minho to dance together. At first, it was really fun, especially it was fun to sometimes feel hot palms on his waist. It was only then that the shirt twisted slightly and Minho got lost on the mole above Jisung’s right collarbone. Minho got covered with such a tide of something new and incomprehensible that he instantly sobered up and almost ran away. Is this where he has come to? He wants to touch what does not belong to him. Minho sits in the light of the lamp on the bedside table, staring lostly in front of him. At this moment, the door suddenly opens and the one he now wanted to see least of all (or most of all?) enters. “How are you?” “Fine.” “Your head still hurts?” “Not so much anymore.” “Will you come back?” “No, I’ve had enough today. I want to rest.” He thought it would satisfy Jisung and he would go back down to the party, but instead he closes the door and sits on the bed next to Minho. Their shoulders are touching, although there was more than enough free space. Minho starts to catch the growing warmth again and tenses up. “You don’t have to babysit me, I’m fine. Just tired.” “So am I.” Jisung kneads his neck and makes himself comfortable, clearly not going anywhere. They can hear people laughing below, the floor vibrating slightly with the music. “I think you’ve been avoiding me lately,” Jisung breaks the silence a few minutes later. “Did I do something wrong?” “Why you think so? Everything’s as usual.” “No. You’re very brooding. I want to understand what’s going on.” “Nothing is going on.” Minho cannot hold back and lets out an exasperated sigh. He has nothing to say. Rather, there is too much of what he would like to say and this “too much” has too much consequences. He makes every effort to block these thoughts as much as possible. “You sure? I’m worried about you.” “Don’t worry about me. And why all of a sudden?” “Because I do give a damn about you. I mean... I really do care. Therefore, if there’s a problem or something’s bothering you, then I’m here, I’m always ready to listen and help. Not because I have to for the sake of politeness, but because I myself want it. I want you to be fine.” Why is he like that? Minho feels gratitude and frank fascination over this dumbass. No matter how hard he tries to push him away, Jisung still finds a way to get around the obstacles and catch him. For some reason. It is even too comfortable being next to him. He is reliable. In his own way, in a dumbass way, as others could not be. “I appreciate it. I really am fine. Go and have fun, don’t hang around with me all night just because you’re worried, it pisses me off.” “Maybe I want to be here with you?” Minho turns, looks him over and turns away again, grinning. “You’re drunk, Han. Go get some air.” “I like it when you call me Han.” Throwing his head back a little and resting it against the wall, Minho closes his eyes. He must ignore him. This is the safest option. So he will not think up too much and will not do stupid things. But Jisung seems to have his own point of view. Because Minho can feel himself being gently taken by the hand. “Why?” “Just because,” Jisung squeezes his fingers. “If you don’t like it, then tell me and I will put it away.” Jisung’s palm is soft and warm. A ring is felt on the index finger. Minho’s answer is silence. He cannot bring himself to say no, even though that is exactly what he should do. He was going to keep his distance so that all this mess inside would calm down and disappear, returning the old indifferent Minho to his place. In addition to the warmth of the palm, the warmth of his pressed shoulder is felt through the shirt. They are both silent, echoes of music can be heard from below, breathing evens out. Minho does not notice how his consciousness crumbles and flies away, lulled, apparently, by a dose of alcohol and warmth from the side. When he opens his eyes again, it is already quiet on the first floor, and his numb back tingles. The room is seen slightly at an angle. It takes a few seconds to realize that his head is resting on someone else’s shoulder. And the weight is felt on the top of the head - it means that Jisung also fell asleep and rested his head on him. Minho’s skin feels how he is breathing measuredly, how his chest moves. A long breath in, a long breath out. He turns his head slightly and now sees Jisung’s face out of the corner of his eye. The right hand is blocked, their fingers are still intertwined, so the left hand reaches out instead and hesitantly freezes over Jisung’s cheek. Fingers go down to it out of banal curiosity. Is it really as soft as it seems? Minho scolds himself. He is not some kind of a pervert or a maniac. Why would he touch Jisung while he is sleeping? Minho exhales heavily through the nose and lowers his hand. Instead, he pushes Jisung with his shoulder, and the latter flinches as he wakes up. “You should’ve woken me up, why did you fall asleep yourself?” “You looked so peaceful. Didn’t want to get in the way,” Jisung yawns. “The guys got quiet? Perfect.” He leans over to the side, turns off the bedside lamp, pulls the blanket out from under himself, and begins to pull it out from under Minho watching him. “Raise your ass, what are we going to cover ourselves with?” “Are you going to sleep here?” “Listen, I’m not gonna sleep on the floor and I highly don’t recommend you to do so either. Well?” After biting his cheek from the inside, Minho at last lifts himself up, showing with all his appearance that he does not approve of this. He covers himself with the blanket and turns away. Jisung swarms behind him, seeming to take off his long earrings, and then becomes quiet. Minho realizes that there is nothing wrong with this. This is not the first time they sleep in the same room, just before it was on different levels. And now he literally feels him with his back. Hears his breathing closer. And what is most idiotic, in his opinion, is the thought that Jisung could hug him if he wanted to. Or rather, Minho would have liked it, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. He closes his eyes tighter and forces himself to pass out. Recalling these thoughts in the morning with a fresh mind, Minho really wants to clean up his brain, and at the same time give himself a knuckle sandwich. Where does he allow himself to fall down? He has to tie it all up before it is too late. He does not need these problems in life, they scare him. Han Jisung scares him by how far he has managed to invade his life and almost take root there. This time, Minho is really trying to cut their communication and keep his distance. He does not go out into the courtyard with tables during breaks, he eats lunch sitting between his friends, he immediately goes home after class, he texts that he is busy on Saturday and his home is not available, and generally answers all messages rarely and briefly. He hopes that Jisung will take the hint and get off or get offended and start bypassing him. But this is Han Jisung after all. Minho is surprised to hear the doorbell ring. If it were a courier or friends, they would first call the intercom or even the phone to warn in advance. Because in the near future he planned not to respond to any calls to the intercom. The thought that something happened at the neighbors’ jumps over. However, when he opens the door, Jisung is standing in front of him in person. “Hi.” “How did you get in?” “I waited for someone to come out. Something told me that it was useless to call the intercom.” To the primary surprise a secondary one is added: he very well caught his behavior, since he made such an accurate assumption. “Why wouldn’t I answer?” Minho shrugs, pretending not to understand what he is about. “You tell me,” Jisung looks as soft as ever, only there was seriousness in his eyes. “What happened? Why are you avoiding me?” “Nobody’s avoiding you. I’m busy with my studies.” “Minho, I understand that you think I’m an idiot, but not to that extent.” Jisung raises his eyebrows and resolutely walks into the apartment, forcing him to back away. “If I screwed up somewhere, tell me. I will apologize and fix it.” “You didn’t do anything.” “Then why? Why you don’t wanna see me? Are you sick of me?" Minho notices sadness in his eyes that he has never seen in him before, and feels like a strap hit his forehead with a loud clap. Because of him, Jisung considered himself to be guilty of something. “No, that’s not the case.” “Then what? Minho, I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re okay.” Jisung almost never calls him by the name and, in conjunction with the meaning of what he said, it seems to break something inside. Minho takes a few lost steps back and finds himself against the wall. There is nowhere else to retreat anymore. Jisung walks up to him, determined to pursue the truth. “What’s wrong?” “Why are you like this? Why are you…” Minho stops short, trying to process the flow of thoughts in his mind. “Why are you making me feel this way?” “What way?” “Strange.” “Strange in what sense?” Instead of answering, Minho’s head drops and he is silent. He is afraid that he will regret if he opens his mouth again. He has already said more than he should have. “Look at me,” Jisung’s voice is not demanding, rather begging. “Minho, look at me.” After hesitating, he lifts his face with a sigh and looks Jisung in the eye. Round and warm, watching him closely. “Do I disgust you?” “No.” Unable to control himself, Minho lets out a desperate laugh. If only. If only that was the case, and not exactly the opposite. Then life would have been much easier and he would not have felt as if his whole soul was thrown into the mixer. “So you like me then?” Minho feels like he has been cornered not only physically, but psychologically, and all escape routes were blocked off. He is tired of kicking and trying to break free, so just giving up seems like the best option. Give up, see what comes of it, and then rebuild everything that remains. “Yes.” “But that’s good,” Jisung’s tone seems to become clearer and brighter. “I like you too.” “This is not good.” “Why?” “It’s just that I… it’s weird,” Minho wearily and nervously brushes back his hair, not knowing what to do with himself. “I’ve never... it scares me that I am no longer in the first place for myself. Well, I mean... I don’t think about myself at first. I see honey waffles in the store and immediately think you would like them. Or I see a squirrel or a beautiful building and think of...” Minho pauses, pursing his lips. He said too much after all. He realizes that he is talking like an idiot, but his overworked brain is now working with significant interruptions. It is a miracle that he was able to snatch at least something relatively coherent from the unrestrained stream. “And I like that,” Jisung laughs softly, seemingly relieved. “I think it’s so great that there is a person who I get reminded of by so many things. I can just think about this person, imagine his face or remember his voice and even the worst day becomes better. Because this person who makes me smile is there. Even if not near.” Jisung’s fingers suddenly slide over his palm. He takes Minho’s hand and squeezes it lightly. “Do you know what else I like?” he leans in abruptly, almost touching Minho’s nose who immediately tenses up. “You’re always so calm and belligerent, but when I do that, you get lost and look so confused. Am I making you nervous? Formidable Lee Minho gets lost because of a dumbass like me?” “Go to hell.” Minho frowns, but still cannot bring himself to turn away. The light in his head went out as usual as soon as Jisung got this close. He forgets himself the mere second Jisung gets near him. “Go to hell or kiss you?” The provocation in his voice brings Minho back to his usual belligerence. Yes, he gave up, but that does not mean that he will play by someone else’s rules. Therefore, instead of following the lead and answering, he himself suddenly leans forward and kisses him, rejoicing at the surprise that flashed in Jisung’s eyes. He won. Jisung responds with a smile and hugs him, gently placing his hands on his lower back. His lips, like his cheeks, turn out to be soft. Minho touches them with his fingers and allows himself to truly get lost. He no longer has to pull himself up, he admits defeat, but does not regret it. “You know what, cat boy?” Jisung says when after a minute they pull away from each other and Minho puts his hands on his shoulders. “What?” “I've wanted this since the first year.” “What?” Minho’s eyes widen and he squints in disbelief. “What nonsense is that? We didn’t even know each other.” “I’m surprised Hyunjin didn’t sell you everything. Cause I’ve been watching you since the entrance ceremony. And he gave me your number way back then, I just didn’t want to intrude. I hoped that we would cross our paths somehow.” For a while, Minho processes what he heard. So it means that when Jisung approached him before the trip and in all their subsequent meetings, he deliberately was hitting on him. Or rather, courted him. Because he already liked him from back then. “Wow, you’re such a pervert,” he chuckles with a grin. “What? Why?” “You came to spend the night with the guy you like, although back then we didn’t even really communicate. Such a determination.” “I swear I had nothing like that on my mind. I really had nowhere else to go,” Jisung laughs. “But nevertheless, I achieved my goal. You like me.” “Dumbass.” Minho rolls his eyes to hide awkwardness, pushes him away and walks over to the couch. “So we figured it out? We’re fine? I can stay?” “Stay if you want. You have your place on the floor.” “But this is just for now, right?” “Don’t hold your breath, Han Jisung. You’ve been waiting for three years, you will wait for however long it takes,” Minho snorts proudly, falling onto the couch and pulling his legs under him. “Agreed,” Jisung walks up to him and hugs him from behind, placing his chin on top of his head. “Are we ordering food today?” “Hell yeah we are.” Minho has a problem. This problem comes to his house almost every day and laughs softly, hugging him tight. And honestly, Minho hopes he never gets rid of it.