minsung one shots

close to you

ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ bighuglvr
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angst. fluff/ 18587
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ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵒʰ ᵐʸ ᵍᵒᵈ
ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ⁱᵗ ^^

(tw: death, just mentioned)

in the soft haze of a suburban summer morning, the world was made of sunlight and laughter. the kind that trickled lazily through the branches of the old maple trees, casting shifting shadows on the sidewalk.

it scattered like gold dust on pavement chalk drawings - flowers and rockets and half-finished hopscotch lines - and settled on the tangled limbs of two boys lying on the lawn, blades of grass sticking to their knees, the scent of earth and sunshine clinging to their skin. the air was thick with warmth and the distant hum of lawnmowers, but here, in their little corner of the world, time didn't matter.

lee minho was seven years old and already very good at pretending not to care about things. he had perfected the art of nonchalance: crossed arms, a well-practiced scoff, a roll of his eyes timed just right. but han jisung was six, loud and messy and impossible to ignore - good at climbing fences, even better at climbing past the walls minho tried to build.

they had been inseparable since the sandbox summer - the one where minho's dinosaurs had ruled the sand kingdom until jisung appeared, face full of dirt and questions, and toppled every one of them with a single wide smile.

their mothers had laughed, watching the collision of two tiny universes from the park bench, passing around tangerine slices and juice boxes like offerings to the sun. they didn't know it then, but that moment stitched two lives together with something stronger than thread.

from that day forward, minho and jisung were a pair. not twins, not brothers, not even always friends in the way that made sense to other people - but something else. something quieter and deeper. like roots growing beneath the same patch of soil, tangled and unseen but impossible to separate.

"minnie," jisung called one day, his voice sticky-sweet with strawberry popsicle and mischief. he was sitting on the porch step of minho's house, legs swinging in the heavy summer air, lips stained red and chin dripping.

"don't call me that," minho grumbled, flopping down beside him with a groan like he was older than seven.

"you like it," jisung sang, leaning back until he could see the sky upside down. his fingers stuck to the wood with sugar. "you only say that because you're embarrassed."

minho didn't answer at first. he watched a trail of ants crawl across the porch, watched jisung's hair catch the light like a halo even though he definitely wasn't an angel. "you're annoying," he muttered.

"you love me," jisung replied instantly, giggling, with the kind of certainty only kids had - the kind that didn't need to be proven because it had never been doubted.

and minho didn't answer. he didn't have to.

that summer was made of small, infinite things. bicycle races down the hill until their legs ached and their shouts echoed off garage doors. muddy knees and band-aids with cartoon characters. crumpled popsicle wrappers stuck in pockets and comic books traded like secrets.

they made forts out of couch cushions and slept side by side in sleeping bags on minho's living room floor, whispering until their voices disappeared into dreams. in the kitchen, their moms laughed and cooked like they were still girls, always making too much food and never minding when the boys came running in with dirty feet and wild eyes.