just text me ; minsung

xv.

His heartbeat felt heavy in his chest, extending its way through his bloodstream as he felt his pulse in every nook and cranny of his body. Nervous, as he expected to be when he arrived home. Typically, his expectations would fall short of reality, but not today.

He slid the key into the lock after missing the first couple of tries before turning it and granting himself access to his home.

From the living room, he heard the light hum of the TV broadcasting the news. Then, from the kitchen, he heard a clang. A pot falling from Minho's grip and down to the tiled floor, he would soon discover as he investigated.

"Oh, hey," Minho smiled sheepishly all of a sudden. Prior to Jisung's arrival, he was reciting what he would do over and over until the outcome consumed his brain. He had built his confidence to the height of a skyscraper. And Jisung's presence knocked it over as if someone had removed the foundation without much concern for what remained above.

"Hi," Jisung found himself smiling as his eyes scanned the kitchen. Small utensils adorned the gray countertop and a pot sat on a burner.

"I made dinner for you, well, us," Minho glanced over his shoulder as if he himself had just figured out what he was doing.

"Take a seat, it's almost ready."

Jisung shrugged his coat off, hanging it on the back of his chair. When he had left this morning, his table was littered with letters and bills. Yet now, they were stacked in a neat pile.

Minho placed a plate before Jisung, along with a fish fork and knife. He didn't even realize he owned those.

As Minho sat across from him, Jisung spoke up, "What is this?"

"It's breaded cod. I learned the dish when I visited Portugal as a kid," Minho grabs the utensils from either side of his plate.

"Now why did you come to my house to cook me dinner on a Monday night?" Jisung asks, pushing a forkful of the foreign food into his mouth.

"I'm curious about something, but we'll talk about it after dinner. I don't wanna ruin this fine cuisine," Minho smiles at his own words.

The rest of dinner was filled with subtle conversation. Simple dinner talk. How was your day? Any drama at work?

As Jisung fell to the couch with a full stomach and little will to move, Minho sighed. "Here goes nothing," he whispered to himself.

Minho lowered himself to sit beside Jisung, with a little bit of room between them in case things went horribly wrong.

"So," Jisung began.

"So," Minho heavily exhaled.

"What's got you curious, Min?" Jisung looked to Minho's side profile. The slope of his nose was beautiful, perfect, it seemed.

"I want to know what we are," Minho finally forces himself to say.

"Well, I'm Han Jisung a-"

"No, like, are we friends or are we a little bit more?"

Jisung's heart fluttered by the thought of him and Minho possibly being more than friends. But they had already kissed. And their first date was a week ago. At least, Jisung thought it was a date. Was this Minho's way of backing out?

"I think we're more than friends, but if you're uncomfortable with that," Jisung trails off.

Minho released the heavy breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Thank God. Han Jisung, I'm insanely in love with you."