After Dark 》Minsung

26 》In My Hands

Something was wrong.

Something was, painfully wrong.

If that wasn't obvious from the deleted message in the few minutes he had set his phone down to talk with Chan that day in the Rat Cave, if it wasn't obvious from that voice call filled with the heart wrenching sounds of muted sniffles which asked him not to call him 'Love' anymore (A nickname Jisung frequently said he loved), if those weren't enough of clues to settle warning sirens into Minho's mind, that pattern only continued. Less messages. Less conversations. Less meetups. Less contact. What contact he did have with the camboy, ending in the same cut and dry arrangement they originally started their relationship off with. Go, finish, come home. Go, finish, Jisung leaving the room and locking himself in the bathroom, going silent until the older stood awkwardly from the bedside, come home.

The phrase is: Three steps forward, one step back.

Minho seemed to have taken three steps forward, then fell all the way back to the start of the stairwell. Tumbled down each step with broken limbs and a snapped neck, now laid at the bottom challenging him to get up to climb the insuperable rocky surface again.

Yet he kept going. He kept trying. Every message the camboy sent him followed with a lieu of questions wondering how he was, if he had eaten, if he wants to sit inside a call for a few hours to talk, if he wanted cookies, none of which were ever answered. Every voice call, video call, Minho answered with hopes that he would be willing to talk for more than the brief few minutes he was allotted to hear those words of sunlight, only for them to end after struggled conversation and requests to not meet up that night. Every question, asking for the hacker to come over, running as soon as the messages were sent so they wouldn't be taken back, even if it meant leaving in the middle of a hacking job, even if he left that apartment feeling used and empty again, he had to see Jisung. Even for a few minutes.

Even for a few minutes, he had to check he was alright. He had to see him, face to face. He had to stay a few minutes longer, to offer a bit of aftercare and comfort even if the camboy denied any touches afterward. Leaving him in his own wake of muddy befuddlement while he watched the once bright and bubbly ray of sunshine dim down to nothing more than the mystifying enchanter he personified as 'Cheshire'. Leaving him to stand on his own in that puzzling world, lost without a hand to guide him back to where he was supposed to be traveling, lost without all he had given as pieces to Jisung, who absconded with his heart. Leaving him to trail mindlessly through the apartment, wondering where the beautiful man he came to love had escaped to in the few minutes of shutting his phone off.

But still, when Jisung called for him, Minho answered without a beat of hesitation. If Jisung asked for him to come to the ensnaring trap of the apartment, Minho would be there. Not to sleep with him as he offered, not for blissful pleasure or the gluttony of lust wishing to consume his heart with it's gnawing teeth, not for the demure fingers and featherlight palms to ghost along his body, not to set his own grip on the smooth skin while he learned the patterns of his greed, not to set his lips on sensitive spots, no. No, he didn't want any of that anymore. He didn't want that arrangement anyway. He wanted to be there, for Jisung. For the camboy, to be gentle with him even if he begged to be rougher, to move slowly with him even if he pleaded to be faster, to treat him as  delicate gold leaf even if he insisted to be used as nothing more than a toy. He wanted to hold him.

He just wanted to hold Jisung.

He wanted to embrace him, and keep him safe from what upset him while he cried. He wanted to...

He didn't want this.

Minho didn't want this, while Jisung pulled him into the apartment and tugged him into a rough kiss. Not bothering to wait for the older to stabilize or adjust to the sudden clambering before forcing a tongue into the mix. Not bothering to stop, give either of them time to catch up and process these few moments of Minho trying to find his balance inside the apartment, trying to set a hand on the younger's waist to steady them both in the midst of the tongue erotically tracing his lips, pushing past to swirl over the hacker's own muscle, sinking to taste the slight moans suffocated in their heaving throats, and coming back defeated when Minho quickly took over the kiss and guided them back, thumping the camboy into the wall. The hands tangled in his hoodie, around his neck, clutching him desperately.