𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥. [minsung]

chapter five

☆°°^-*

I know what you tell your friends
It's casual, if it's casual now
Then, baby, get me off again,
If it's casual, it's casual now.

☆°°^-*

Jisung was excited. It had been a month since the elder had asked Jisung to come along with him to his mom's house; a place where the elder would spend the majority of his summer holidays every year.

Summer had arrived and with it, so had the short months of vacations. The boys had excitedly parted, on the last day of school, muttering an infinite number of plans they'd like to perform and meetups they'd beg to hold.

Now, a week into the vacations, all those theories of enjoyment had stifled down, the boys mostly spending their time catching up on the hefty amounts of sleep they'd missed finishing their senior year projects.

However, Jisung had plans with Minho, so he was elated.

They were in the elder's car, Jisung's thoughts filled with the hazy memories of the last time he was in said car, the recollection causing a small blush to creep up his cheeks.

The pair hadn't been able to meet as often as they'd have liked, curtsey of the enternal, never-ending saga of handing in assignments before their holidays (ones which the entire group of boys had clearly procrastinated over), so the occasion was even more momentous than usual.

Minho had his palm flattened over Jisung's thigh, atop of the slim black fabric that guarded it. He'd dressed up today, jittery to meet Minho's mother after so long of not visiting her, especially when he had a new type of...relationship with her son.

The brown-haired wore a embroidered white shirt, a few sunflowers sewn into the cloth, tucked into a pair of black slacks, one mirroring the sunflowers on his shirt on them aswell. His hair was parted in the middle, fixed with a small amount of gel, though unnoticible unless looked at in the gleam of the sun. He'd applied minimal makeup, endeavouring to look most presentable before Minho's mom.

To say Minho had been awe-struck when he'd originally caught a glimpse of Jisung that morning-- standing at his door, waiting to pick him up with a bouquet of tulips in his hands-- would be an understatement. He was bewildered. His already shaky hands, due to the bunch of white flowers in his palms, had convulsed.

"These are for you..." Minho had trailed along, letting his eyes roam over Jisung's face, down to his body, and upwards again. Realising then, that the elder was still clutching onto the bouquet, gaping at how ethereal the younger boy before him looked, Minho had cleared his throat and extended his arm out.