To be afraid of love, or to be afraid of trusting someone so completely?
Or, Minho is afraid to be loved and Jisung is terrified to trust anyone ever again. Somehow, they end up fixing each other in secret, until everything spills over and they can...
This chapter contains non-explicit sexual content and hints of targeted online bullying/mentions of domestic violence. Please do not read any further if these topics are sensitive to you.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
•───•⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇•───•
Subtle taps of rain drops on Minho's bedroom window wake Han in the hours of late morning. Han barely blinks awake, hesitating to move as he feels Minho's arm wrapped around his waist. He could hear the gentle thunder rumbling overhead, only listening for a second before the pitter-pattering of droplets against the window sent him further and further back over the edge towards dreamland.
Minho suddenly hums warmly in his sleep, which in turn causes Han to wake up again. Han felt a sleepy smile curl on his lips, beginning to slightly turn around so he was facing towards Minho. Minho barely moves during this, almost as if he was subconsciously waiting for Han to stop moving before his hands find Han's back, pulling him back into his chest.
Minho tore off his shirt sometime in the middle of the night after claiming Han was some type of radiator, and Han found it suddenly hard to ignore his smooth skin and muscular build. Han's hand slowly creeps up between their bodies to touch Minho's chest, fingers trekking across familiar skin he's seen naked twice before. Though, in this context, while Minho is asleep and can't see the affectionate, sleepy gaze stuck in Han's eyes; this felt different.
"Jisung?" Minho hums softly, eyes still closed with his hand gently moving up and down across Han's back.
"Hm?" Han smiles, gaze stuck on Minho's chest.
"We should get out of bed." Minho's voice was a cent deeper, tinged in sleepy mumbles that made Han smile sheepishly.
"But you're warm and so is the bed," Han sighs, watching Minho finally open his eyes, adjusting his head just barely enough to see Han's expression. "I might die of hypothermia if I leave."
Minho scoffs at him then presses a soft kiss against his forehead. "We can't have that then."
"I can't believe the party last night," Han mutters softly, his other hand reaching up to rest in Minho's hair, fingers tangling gently between his dark auburn locks.
"I can't believe any of that happened." Minho admits, gaze raised towards his window as more thunder quietly roars overhead.
"Does any of what happened bother you?"
"Kind of." Minho's gaze falls back towards Han, jaw suddenly tight as the truth lingers on his tongue. "I feel bad for how I reacted."
"No, don't feel bad." Han assures, leaning his head back slightly as he rests his head into the pillow. "You had a fairly normal reaction to someone as vile as her."
"I don't like to act so crazy." Minho sighs, eyes searching Han's gaze as he sits quietly for a second, wordlessly searching for his own answers to lingering questions. "I'm just sorry you had to see me like that."
