Chasing the unspoken

Chapter 1: Unspoken Tension

Minho and Jisung had just moved into their new dorm together. The whole relocation had been a whirlwind, crammed between their packed schedules and long hours at the studio. Their days had blurred with practice, recording, and quick takeout dinners shared on the living room floor. Yet somehow, in these small moments stolen from their busy lives, they'd found a way to enjoy each other's company. They would grab lunch at nearby cafés, stroll around the neighborhood between shoots, and, on rare, quiet nights, watch anime together on the couch, bickering over which show to pick and who got the last piece of popcorn.

They'd been close since debut, but lately, the easy skinship that had always marked their friendship seemed to have intensified. Where once they'd bump shoulders or pat each other's backs, now Minho's hand would linger a bit too long on Jisung's shoulder. Jisung would lean in closer, sometimes resting his head on Minho's shoulder as they watched their latest anime marathon. Sometimes they felt like chopsticks-inseparable, drawn together in every shared laugh, every late-night snack, every quiet, stolen moment.

It felt almost natural-until it didn't. Minho found himself becoming more aware of every touch, every accidental brush of hands. It was as if his body was suddenly hyper-aware of Jisung's presence, and every moment of closeness brought with it a wave of confusion he wasn't sure how to handle. Yet he dismissed it, brushing it off as nothing more than friendship. That was all it was. That was all it could be.

Jisung felt the same strange pull but, like Minho, refused to acknowledge it. They were friends, brothers, after all. Friends who sometimes leaned a bit too close, whose hands lingered in ways they never used to, who laughed too hard and stared too long. But this... this couldn't be anything more.

The tension between them only grew, and they both ignored it. Until one night, after a long day, Minho found himself alone in the dorm, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone. He came across a fan-captured clip of Jisung performing "Blurred Memories." He replayed it once. Then again. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but his gaze lingered on Jisung's confident expression, the slight smirk, the way he moved on stage with such intensity. Minho's heart skipped, an unfamiliar feeling tightening in his chest.

He couldn't stop himself from teasing Jisung about it. He sent the video with a sarcastic message: "Look at you, Mr. Hotshot. When did you get this good?" But even his teasing had an edge to it now, a flirtatiousness he was too afraid to fully acknowledge.

The days went on. They didn't talk about the video or the tension they felt when they were near each other. They pushed it down, locked it away, and kept going as if everything was the same. But everything wasn't the same. Their touches felt more charged, their jokes more pointed, and both of them knew something was simmering beneath the surface.