Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Minho scanned his key card Friday evening, he didn’t expect the door to prematurely click open, and he really didn’t expect to come face-to-face with his roommate.

“Hi,” Jisung greeted, sounding rather strained as he pulled the door fully open for Minho to step inside. An agonized sort of expression was set in his face; it was half grimacing and half apologetic, and Minho was very confused.

The two of them didn’t really talk. It had been seven months since the online roommate system had matched them up, and almost five months since the deal had been sealed and Minho first stepped into the room. After moving in at the start of the year, they’d only really mulled over formal roommate-concerning details, like who was vacuuming the carpet what week or whether or not Minho wanted to go downstairs with Jisung to the cafeteria to eat together.

They’d only eaten together a couple times, too.

So this was just plain weird.

“Hi?” Minho echoed. He couldn’t stop the greeting from sounding like a question, because under the veil it was one.

“Minho.” Jisung said with finality. He still wore that same afflicted expression, but he stood up a little taller, visibly drawing in a deep breath and squaring his shoulders in a way that might have been comical had Minho felt in a laughing mood.

“Yeah…?” Minho prompted, side-eying his roommate as he bent down to slip his shoes off.

Fixing his gaze at a patch of white-painted wall, Jisung sprang the Question of the Year. “Will you be my—,” a short pause, “—fake boyfriend tomorrow?”

Minho blinked. Pushed his shoes somewhat neatly against the base of the wall. “Sorry, what?” He asked, standing back up to glance curiously at his roommate.

What he had just heard—it couldn’t have been right. “I think I might have misheard.”

But Jisung shook his head so jerkily and then he started sniffling, and shit were there tears gathering in his roommate’s eyes? This was foreign territory for both of them, and the sort of foreign territory that was starting to make Minho borderline uncomfortable because he preferred it when they hadn’t talked, not when Jisung was standing here before him like the floodgates were threatening to burst open.

“You’d like me to be your… fake boyfriend tomorrow,” Minho enunciated each syllable slowly as Jisung sniffled again and nodded.

“It’s just… it’s just,” Jisung said, blinking furiously as he evaded Minho’s eyes, “My parents— they’re already upset enough that my GPA didn’t end up great for the first semester and on top of that I just told them I wanted to change majors from something in STEM to something that’s not. So I’m already going to get the Talk tomorrow and I didn’t want to upset them even more when they started nagging me about my relationship status… you know?”

Yikes. That sounded like a boatload of stress. It was also probably the most personal information he’d gleaned from Jisung. Ever. Except—

“Your parents,” Minho began. “I doubt you’d be proposing this if they were, but… they aren’t homophobic, are they?”

“No,” Jisung answered, and then broke into a short laugh that was interrupted midway by a hiccup. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I came out last year and they were far more accepting than I could have imagined, but when I bring up things like careers and majors that I want to do shit breaks loose. What a fucking joke. Can you even believe—”

Okay. Minho felt like he’d really heard too much of Jisung’s personal life considering their barely-existent conversations prior. It felt illegal, almost. A reminder that—hey, they hadn’t done the getting-to-know-each-other process properly. “Alright,” he gently interrupted, putting an effective end to Jisung’s spiel. Besides, there was one more pressing question on his mind.

“You’re asking… me?” Minho asked. Given Jisung’s shaken state, he hadn’t meant it to come out so incredulously, but now he’d already asked and he couldn’t take the words back.

Jisung nodded again. His eyes glimmered; they had only been teary before, but now there was also a despairing spark of hope. He clung to Minho’s question because it hadn’t been an outright refusal. “It’ll just be one lunch out, a couple hours at most.”

Hesitantly, Minho stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Jisung, in an awkward attempt at a hug. Jisung melted into his arms instantaneously, and Minho began to regret that too. They’d gone from the rare exchange of conversation to today’s confrontation and now… physical comfort wasn’t exactly Minho’s forte, but at the same time, it was easier than attempting to conjure words of consolation.

“That doesn’t sound fun,” Minho said, and mentally slapped himself. See? It was hard. He’d tried to convey his sympathy, but his words sounded stilted and almost fake instead, because, again, this was foreign territory. Especially for him and Jisung. “But.. um.. I’m not sure if I’m the best person to ask for this.”

“Well!” Jisung began loudly, burying his head into Minho’s shoulder. At least he felt comfortable enough to do so, Minho thought, because currently Minho felt like a fish out of water.

“You took drama in high school, right? So it can’t be that hard,” Jisung finished, while Minho gaped at him. He felt especially like a blubbering fish now.

“Wait, really?” Minho couldn’t help but ask. “So that’s why you’re asking me?”

Jisung’s proclamation was true, but the last time Minho had set foot into a theater was three years ago, junior year of high school. Also, how in the hell had Jisung obtained this information?

“No—shit! I didn’t mean it like that!” Jisung blurted, a defensive protest muffled by Minho’s shoulder-sleeves. “I just couldn’t ask my close friends because my parents already know them and they know I wouldn’t date them because we’re just friends.”

“I dunno, wouldn’t that still be more believable then…” Minho trailed off, then refocused his thoughts. “So you think they’d believe you were dating me…” he continued, unsurely. “Look, clearly the situation doesn’t sound great, but your lunch is tomorrow and I’m really not sure if we know enough about each other to pull off the… dating act.”

“It can’t be that hard, right?” Jisung pulled away slightly to look Minho in the eyes. They were still slightly watery—which served only to add to his pleading expression—and Minho felt suddenly defenseless, like he’d hit a dead end in his argument. “And it’s really just for one lunch. I’ll owe you a favor, okay?”

Aside from Jisung’s words (and face) being oddly persuasive, this really was so weird. Minho felt like he’d been transported to an alternate universe where (1) his roommate actually acknowledged his presence and (2) he and his roommate were on good enough terms that his roommate had decided to ask him a favor.

Alas, that wasn’t the case. This was still Earth, and the truth was that Minho and Jisung didn’t particularly get along. Minho supposed now was a good time to correct that Jisung didn’t actually dislike him, like he’d originally assumed. But favors, especially of the fake-dating kind, should have been out of the question.

Yet… Minho himself was no stranger to discouraging conversations with family members. Jisung had already spilled his heart out, or at least the general gist of things, and somehow that was enough—because Minho couldn’t bring himself to say no.

He also had a sense that Jisung might have been digging himself into a deeper hole by prolonging the truth about his relationship status to his parents, but… he also couldn’t help but feel that, yeah, Jisung did have enough worries on his plate.

“Okay,” Minho said. “I’ll do it.”

Minho was almost certain he would regret this.

---

He was regretting this.

“Just say we got close together as roommates,” Minho said, turning away from his laptop to fix an anxious Jisung with a pointed stare. “It’s only half a lie, so it’s more believable that way.”

“Right.” Jisung worried his bottom lip with his teeth. He was seriously going to dig a hole through it to his mouth at this point.

“Hey, chill,” Minho said. “It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know,” Jisung told him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, feet kicking the carpet. “My parents can be scary sometimes. Our… relationship,” he paused to mime air quotes with his hands, “might be under deep scrutiny.”

That wasn’t very reassuring. It only reaffirmed the fact that Minho was regretting agreeing to Jisung’s already far-fetched favor, as well as the fact that Minho wasn’t the best person to ask for help with said favor.

“Like you said, though, it’s just one lunch,” Minho told him. “You’re not making me feel much better about this whole thing, to be honest.”

“Sorry.” Jisung shrunk in on himself like a kicked puppy. Minho kind of wished he hadn’t said what he’d said, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret his words either.

Minho sighed. “It’s okay. I am definitely cashing out on your return of favor though.”

On what, he wasn’t sure yet. It’s not like there was much he’d really ask Jisung for, anyway, except maybe for a free dinner. Then again, he’d already be getting a free lunch in two hours.

“Understandable,” Jisung said, laughing a little. “I really am sorry about this whole thing. You must think I’m really weird for springing this on you, especially when we…” he waved his hands lamely. “You know.”

Minho did know. There was always a first time for everything, though, he supposed.

“Yeah,” Minho said. The room fell into silence, and he returned to his laptop with nothing else to say.

He found it somewhat hard to focus on the lab report he’d been working on, though, as Jisung’s nervous energy seemed to be contagious. A thought flew through his head, and, before barely twenty seconds had passed, Minho turned back around and said— “Hey. Maybe this will be an opportunity to catch up and maybe do the whole roommate thing properly now.”

Jisung, who had been fiddling with his fingers, jerked his head up with wide eyes. “Really?” he said. Laughed a little wryly. “It’s not too late?”

Just over halfway through the school year wasn’t exactly early. But at the same time… who got to decide if it was late?

“Nah,” Minho replied. Lab report briefly forgotten, he set out to do what he’d wanted to do since the first week but had never found the right moment to—not when his and Jisung’s schedules didn’t really line up and the air around them had always been awkward. Not when he’d bothered to even find out what the other’s schedules were. “So what classes are you taking this semester?”

Jisung stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Do you actually want to know?” he asked. “Or is this a formality that you feel like you have to go through… Or are you asking because we’re temporarily… dating?”

Minho couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess all those are valid, but mostly the first one.”

“Oh, damn, for real?” Jisung replied. He stared at Minho some more, this time like he was in awe. Minho wasn’t sure what to make of it. “I thought you... nevermind. I was like—no way this guy agrees to this. Thought you’d actually hate me once I asked.”

That… Minho had to admit that… even he himself was surprised he hadn’t formed any new aversions to Jisung when his roommate had asked the question yesterday. Maybe it was because Jisung had also bared a small part of his heart in the process—showed vulnerability—and it wasn’t really that Minho had agreed out of mere pity, but also maybe because a small voice in the back of his mind had asked, Hey, are you gonna live with your roommate like this for the rest of the year? This is your chance to set it right.

So here they were.

“I didn’t—I don’t,” Minho corrected. “You’re right that I’ve never expected anyone to ask me to fake date them for a day, but let’s count this as us being on good terms.” He didn’t mention the irony of how he’d thought Jisung had been the one who disliked him. It seemed to be in the past now.

“Right. Cool,” Jisung said, and if Minho didn’t know better he’d think Jisung’s words sounded bashful. But Jisung barrelled on before Minho had time to dwell on that, rattling off the information, “Anyway, so, I’m taking bio, calc, a writing class, music class, and a general ed, but since we’re only a few weeks into the semester I just dropped calc for a second music class because I’m switching over… which is… something my parents have, quote unquote, strongly urged me to rethink.”

Minho repressed a snort, thinking of how his parents had raised eyebrows last year when he’d mentioned possibly taking a minor or second major in dance. “Yeah, sounds about right. But I’m guessing you’ve already thought about it, right?”

“Yeah,” Jisung nodded, determined. “I think I’ll get through to my parents. Eventually. Either way, I’m glad my parents are only here for the weekend. There’s only so much they can grill me.”

“Hopefully,” Minho tacked on wanly. And just one lunch for me, he thought, before this blows over. He’d get a free meal, maybe a bit of said grilling from Jisung’s parents, but that would be that, and maybe he’d even be on closer terms with Jisung after all this.

“Yeah. Hopefully. So,” Jisung replied, flopping backwards into his bed to stare up at the ceiling. “What classes are you taking?”

---

If someone had told Minho a week ago that he’d be able to hold over an hour of conversation with Jisung, he’d have laughed in their face.

But that’s exactly what happened. For the remaining hour-and-a-half before they had to leave, all they did was talk. Mostly about school, classes, friends, things like that—but Jisung did make the occasionally funny quip in conversation and he talked sort of lively, in a way that kept the conversation running. (Their last conversations, when they’d sat at a table in the cafeteria scrolling their separate phones, hadn’t given Minho the chance to see that Jisung was a genuinely entertaining person to talk to.)

Also, it served to help Minho know a bit about Jisung before they went out as. Boyfriends.

Minho had dated exactly one girl in high school prior to this, and it had been for about two weeks before they broke it up and conceded that they were just better off as friends. Regardless, though, it’s not like he particularly needed the experience when this was about to be as unconventional as a date—if he could even call it that—would go.

They’d just left the dorm and Jisung was recounting the last time—a few months ago—that he’d met up with his parents. Because it was a place he hadn’t frequented, apparently Jisung had accidentally ordered a spicy dish and had ended up verbally duking it out with his parents while red-faced and sweating profusely.

In the short span of time since they’d started getting to know each other, Minho noticed that Jisung tended to dramatize his stories, but that certainly made them more fun to listen to. Currently, Jisung was waving his hands as he mimed attempting to get a waiter’s attention for water. Today wasn’t terribly cold for a winter day, but the sweater Jisung had put on—a cool shade of blue fit for the January weather—had sleeves that ran slightly long, only making the image funnier as Jisung’s hands formed dancing sweater paws in the air. The ends of his grey scarf swayed with the movement too, and the sight was… almost… cute.

Minho decidedly drew his attention to a biker passing by as they stepped onto the sidewalk, and pegged the thought as something equally fleeting.

Meanwhile, Jisung continued with his story. The place they were meeting up with his parents today wasn’t as far—a fifteen minute walk from the dorms—and it was a quaint Japanese noodle shop Minho had been to multiple times. Familiarity provided comfort, so Minho figured his afternoon couldn’t go horribly.

But going to a place so close to campus would also have its repercussions, Minho was about to learn.

Because when Jisung pulled the door open, gesturing faux-formally for Minho to enter first, Minho scanned the space for two people who might look like Jisung’s parents only for his eyes to land on a familiar face first.

Seungmin paused with chopsticks halfway to his mouth and raised his eyebrows as if to say fancy seeing you here and then Jisung entered behind Minho and his friend’s eyebrows shot up impossibly higher.

Minho took a step in Seungmin’s direction and was promptly pulled back by a gentle hand on his elbow, Jisung steering him towards the left side of the shop.

“They’re over here,” Jisung said.

Minho shot a glance back at Seungmin and found his friend’s face more inquisitive than ever. But there wasn’t time for answering unspoken questions, not when Jisung was pulling out a seat for Minho and he found himself across from two unfamiliar and expectant faces.

“Hello,” he politely greeted Jisung’s parents.

Shit, was his subsequent knee-jerk reaction. What now? Did he introduce himself here? Or had Jisung already let them know beforehand? He should probably just do it anyway, right? Maybe they really should have talked out a bit more first, or maybe—

“This is Minho,” Jisung said for him. “He’s the boyfriend I mentioned.”

Between the shoulders of Jisung’s parents, Minho caught Seungmin attempting to lip-read Jisung’s words. “Boyfriend?” he mouthed.

It was only the specific situation he was in that had Minho directing as subtle of a nod back at Seungmin as possible; he and Jisung would only be here for a short while and he didn’t want Seungmin to mess it up. They had a silent stare-off for two seconds before Jisung indiscreetly jabbed an elbow into Minho’s side and—

“Nice to meet you,” Minho said cordially, shooting Jisung’s parents a friendly smile and silently thanking his reflexes. “You’ve picked a good place—the food here is delicious!”

Jisung’s father nodded as if mentally noting the information while his mother put on a smile that certainly felt just as fake as his and Jisung’s relationship, saying, “So I’m curious to know how you two met. Jisung rather just sprung the news on us when we brought up meeting up for lunch the other day. We didn’t even know the name of his date, until, well, about five seconds ago.”

Minho was incredibly grateful for the waiter that arrived at their table at that moment, placing two menus in front of them and mentioned he’d be back in a few minutes to take their orders.

“Thanks,” Jisung’s mother directed a nod towards the waiter before returning her attention to Minho.

Jisung cleared his throat. “So, um—”

“Right!” Minho jumped back in. Made the mistake of catching Seungmin’s eyes again. Seungmin seemed to have stopped his lip-reading, but was nonetheless surveying the table with barely-concealed amusement. “Jisung and I, we’re actually roommates,” he told them. “We just ended up getting closer over the months—” The first lie, — “And now we’re dating.” The second lie.

“Yeah,” Jisung piped in. “That’s really about it; nothing dramatic or extravagant but that’s just how it is sometimes, right?”

“Although normally people date before living together,” Minho decided to try and lighten the mood, before promptly diverting attention back to the food at hand. “Anyway, I think the pork ramen here is really good.”

“Okay,” Jisung’s mother nodded absentmindedly, picking up one of the menus and glancing down at it.

Minho was sweating already, and he hadn’t even begun eating anything yet, let alone touched any capsaicin. He scanned the menu even though he already knew many of the items on it, and decided to play safe with the udon soup, one that wasn’t spicy at all.

He had the partial excuse of the restaurant being warm inside, though; they ran the heater fairly high to combat the coldness outside, and Minho had noticed Jisung removing his scarf earlier, probably both for temperature and sanitary reasons.

Minho hoped his and Jisung’s little explanation would have sufficed, but once the four of them had ordered a fresh set of questioning began.

At least Seungmin had returned his attention to a laptop set on the side of his table, typing some report or the other—and Minho hoped it was their chem lab report, because Seungmin hadn’t even started his portion of it.

Minho was asked things like how long have you two been dating? What’s your major? How’s your college experience going so far? How is Jisung as a roommate?

Which, he supposed, all of these were easy enough to answer. One month (a lie they’d agreed on); statistics; fine (not a lie, but an easy response); pretty good (maybe stretching the truth, but while he and Jisung hadn’t exactly talked for much of first semester, Minho knew that Jisung had been dutiful enough with his side of the chores and he hadn’t been annoyingly loud).

But then Jisung was asked, so you really like Minho, right? As if Minho wasn’t also sitting right there, and, well, Minho got the sense that Jisung had started to panic.

“Yeah,” Jisung said, blushing a little like he was flustered as he said it, and—hey, it made the whole thing more believable, Minho thought with a bemused sense of victory. “He’s really organized and clean and pretty nice and—” Jisung floundered for a moment “—is pretty too.”

All that could be technically true, Minho thought, but, “Just pretty nice?” he cut in.

“Just that,” Jisung stuck to his words, laughing a little as if it were an inside joke.

And—maybe that was deserved, considering he hadn’t been the most welcoming of a roommate prior to this weekend. Though Jisung could share the same blame.

Jisung’s father made a sort of humming sound as if approving of the whole thing and his mother decided to drop the topic. Minho finally began to relax. The questioning subsided, dishes were delivered, and a blanket of comfortable silence fell over the table as they ate.

Minho began to believe they’d actually gotten off scot-free, but unfortunately for Jisung, his parents had now chosen to broach the subject of Jisung’s change in major as they were finishing up the meal. Jisung seemed to not hold up as well this time, deflating in a matter of seconds as both his parents seemed intent on pointing out all the negative consequences they could think of for gravitating away from the hard sciences as a career.

Without thinking too much of it, Minho set his chopsticks down—he’d already almost emptied his bowl, anyway—and found Jisung’s hand under the table, slipping his own palm into it. Maybe he could offer some sort of comfort.

Jisung’s palm was sweating a bit, but Minho wasn’t particularly bothered. Not when he received the satisfaction of Jisung sitting up taller in his seat with renewed vigour, and he began to argue back rather than sit there and merely take the verbal heat.

It didn’t go entirely well, but the conversation finished with a half sort of agreement, that Jisung could continue second semester as is if he still took a couple lab classes the next year. Minho almost scoffed—as if Jisung really needed his parent’s permission to take the classes he wanted to. But it was one step closer towards what Jisung wanted, he figured.

When the date finally ended and his parents had paid for the meal, Jisung pushed his chair back first, standing halfway before both he and Minho realized their hands were still joined between them.

Minho dropped his hand first, and he wasn’t sure what sheepish expression was still on his face when he turned back to the table and made eye contact with Jisung’s parents again.

Either way, Jisung’s mother’s lips curled up at the sight—and there it was, a small yet genuine smile for what was probably the first time that afternoon. Maybe that hadn’t been Minho’s original intention, but…he counted it as a success.

---

“Hey, why didn’t you finish the results section on the lab repor—”

“You’re dating Jisung?” Seungmin butted in instead, first thing, as he sat down on the stool neighboring Minho’s.

“You know Jisung?” Minho shot back, just as incredulously, and promptly forgot to deny that no, he in fact was not dating Jisung. He could only blink disbelievingly at his lab partner, because as much as Minho had hoped to let the entire afternoon wash over, Seungmin seemed more keen on investigating their so-called date than the equilibrium point of iron III and thiocyanate ions in water.

“He is your roommate, right?” Seungmin asked him plainly.

“Oh,” Minho acknowledged. “I thought you actually knew him.”

“No, I do,” Seungmin replied, peering seriously at Minho. “Believe me, I do. We share a music class. How do you think I knew he was your roommate?”

“Because… I told you?” Minho guessed.

“No. Jisung told me. Poor guy thought you hated him.”

“Oh,” Minho rather eloquently said again. “Wait, so Jisung didn’t tell you that—” it was a fake date, he never got the chance to finish, because Seungmin interrupted him.

“I’m glad that isn’t the case, though,” Seungmin went on. “I felt like I should bring up the topic with you sometime, but you two seemed to have sorted it out. Somehow?”

“About that—”

“It had to have happened in the last month,” Seungmin mused, as if Minho had suddenly vaporized out the room. “Maybe during winter break? Because before that’s when Jisung stopped talking about you.”

“Talking… what…?” Minho began. First, wasn’t that logic sort of counterintuitive? Second, Jisung had talked about him? Third— “Were you the one who told him I took drama in high school?”

“Maybe it came up in passing,” Seungmin waved off his question flippantly. “Anyway, I can’t say I’m not surprised, but at the same time I’m glad Jisung actually asked you out.”

“He…” Minho was confused, and frankly, sort of flustered as well. Now what was Seungmin’s remark supposed to mean?

“And you met his parents already?” Seungmin added. “Now that moved fast.”

“It’s really not like that,” Minho was quick to insist, but Seungmin must have misinterpreted his reply because he let out an amused snort.

“Sure,” he said. “Tell that to you two holding hands under the lunch table.”

“Yeah, thanks for spying on our whole date!” Minho retorted, rolling his eyes. And then he sunk into his stool, wishing he could retract his words because it wasn’t a date and he wasn’t helping matters.

But before he could clarify the situation or even begin to clear the air, his friend and lab partner jabbed his arm and pointed to the front of the room. “Shh! We’ll talk about it later. They’re going over the procedure for this week’s lab now.”

They did not, in fact, talk about it later.

And Minho never got the chance to explain that he and Jisung really weren’t dating, despite their incriminating restaurant appearance together a mere two days prior.

---

Apparently Jisung had never gotten the chance to tell Seungmin either.

A few days later, sometime Thursday evening, there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Jisung said cheerily, jumping up from his desk. He looked like he was in desperate need of a break from his laptop, and Minho couldn’t fault him.

“Hey,” the person on the other side of the door greeted. They sounded bored. They sounded like Seungmin.

Minho glanced over his shoulder, and it was Seungmin.

“Hi,” Minho drawled, at the same time Jisung gratefully said, “Thank you so much.”

Minho glanced towards the door again, and, upon squinting, was able to discern that the item Seungmin was passing his roommate was a USB of some sort. Huh. Maybe they were doing a project together—after all, now Minho knew that the other two shared a music class.

Jisung turned back to Minho and held the USB stick up like a trophy. “Got it,” he declared, grinning, as if Minho really needed to know.

Seungmin looked blankly between the two of them and said nothing. “See you tomorrow,” he directed at Jisung, and then shut the door.

“This stick,” Jisung began, making a beeline for Minho, “is super special.”

Minho raised a curious eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked. Maybe, subconsciously, he’d been looking for a break from assignments as well.

But also—surprisingly, it hadn’t been the first time Jisung had really approached him since they’d arrived back in their dorms Saturday afternoon, thanking Minho profusely for his time and compliance. They’d eaten together Tuesday at lunch, too, with the usual cafeteria food downstairs, though they’d filled the air with casual chatter much more easily than they used to.

Call it strange, but Minho was beginning to think that they could have clicked comfortably at the start of the year if either of them had taken the effort to clear up the misunderstandings that had only grown worse the longer they had stewed.

At least now that was behind them.

The whole fake date thing… a little less so.

“Well,” Jisung said dramatically, pulling Minho out of his thoughts. He arrived at a stop behind Minho and leaned over him to slide the stick into Minho’s laptop—why they couldn’t have been doing this at Jisung’s laptop, Minho didn’t know. “Wait a minute,” he continued, dramatic flair dropping away almost comically as the mouse cursor stalled to detect the inserted device.

“This better not install malware into my laptop,” Minho warned, letting out an amused huff.

“‘Course not!” Jisung indignantly replied, and leaned over Minho’s shoulder once again to point at a folder labelled Recordings when the device’s contents popped up on screen.

Minho clicked on the folder. Inside it were various mp4 files, one named sample, and the remaining named take2, take6, and so on. He wasn’t really understanding it, but the sight displayed before them seemed to satisfy Jisung.

“It’s both of our first attempts at an original composition,” Jisung explained. “It’s way harder than I thought it would be and the song might not sound good in the end but I think it’s special nonetheless!”

Minho glanced up and over his shoulder—where Jisung’s face hovered, awfully close—and took in the sparkling eyes, the grin on his face. Could confirm, Minho noted, that Jisung was a music nerd.

Jisung’s eyes were on the screen, though, as he continued. “The sample recording is the one the teacher provided and we have to work it into our song, here—”

Suddenly, an arm appeared around the side of Minho’s head, a hand extending downward to use the trackpad as Jisung clicked on the recording to open it and play it back.

He was still leaning over Minho’s shoulder, hand resting on the trackpad, when the door to their room opened once more, this time without warning.

“Jisung, actually—”

It was Seungmin, again, barely a minute after he’d left. He’d forgone the convention of knocking this second time, and whatever sentence he’d planned to say fell short. By the time both of them had turned their heads towards the sound they only saw the door pulling back shut.

“Don’t listen to take seven!” Seungmin shouted through the door, loudly. “Goodbye!”

“Oh no,” Jisung said, eyes frozen in the direction of the door and an increasingly mortified expression on his face. “Did he think…”

Minho had arrived at the same conclusion. Currently, they were positioned somewhat closely to each other. Perhaps Seungmin had mistaken it for… something more.

It should have been funny, and it was sort of funny, but Minho felt his ears burning up at Seungmin’s misconstrued assumptions.

“Wait, but you told him, right?” Minho asked. “He knows we’re not actually dating. Right? Right?”

The resulting silence dragged on for a few seconds. Minho looked up and met Jisung’s eyes. Jisung’s face fell, and he squatted down on the carpet by Minho’s chair. “No,” Jisung told him. As if explaining to himself, he muttered, “I saw him twice this week, there was definitely time. But I just… forgot?”

“You forgot?” Minho said, disbelievingly, as Jisung’s gaze scattered and refused to meet his. Surely the subject would have come up; surely Seungmin must have interrogated Jisung at first chance just like he’d done with Minho.

“Well—what about you?” Jisung demanded instead, suddenly turning back to him. “Don’t you and Seungmin have… chem lab together, or something?”

“Yeah,” Minho replied evenly, surprised Jisung actually knew this. “But that was Monday, and I just never got the chance to—”

“Okay, we’re even then,” Jisung declared, as if that was that. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. Or—”

His eyes suddenly lit up with a mischievous glint.

“What if,” he started. “What if we prank Seungmin?”

“Prank Seungmin,” Minho echoed in question.

“Yeah,” Jisung replied, as if that were a normal occurrence.

It took a moment, but then Minho caught on. “Seungmin’s usually so smart… so you think that if he really believes we’re dating he deserves to get pranked?”

Jisung’s expression had become indiscernible. “Not… exactly,” he said. “I mean, that’s… true, but I also just thought it would be fun. I doubt Seungmin ever really falls for much—so now this is finally our opportunity.”

Minho had to admit, the idea seemed sort of humorous. And if it was just under the guise of Seungmin’s watchful eyes, not really a show for anyone else, there was only so long it could last, right?

“Sure,” Minho acquiesced, an amused smile on his lips. “Just for a short while, maybe, and see if he figures he’s been duped.”

---

It lasted a lot longer than it should have.

And by that Minho meant that the third week into his and Jisung’s prank, barely anything of significance had occurred.

That was probably because the three of them as a whole rarely interacted—he and Jisung both shared classes with Seungmin, and then they roomed together, but there hadn’t been any circumstances that put the three of them together.

In a sense, the idea of them as boyfriends, fake or not, didn’t—to a large degree—exist. All Minho did was nod along when Seungmin asked him something about Jisung in chem, and he and Jisung grew closer as friends instead. Minho began to look forward to heading back to his dorm after class rather than wanting to avoid it.

So on that third week, when he and Jisung left their room—they’d planned to go to a popular cafe nearby because apparently they’d found out that both of them enjoyed Iced Americanos— Jisung told him, “I also invited Seungmin.”

Minho wasn’t particularly surprised; Jisung was usually the instigator for these sorts of things. “Sure,” he said, absentmindedly, until he realized that wait a moment Seungmin had certain notions about him and Jisung.

Whatever. Jisung probably hadn’t meant to turn their outing into another fake date, so Minho pushed away any second thoughts.

They met up with Seungmin outside the dorms, and any hope Minho had of the three of them going out as friends was extinguished by his greeting.

“I didn’t want to third wheel…” Seungmin began.

“Don’t worry,” Minho assured him. “I know Jisung loves being all touchy but I actually don’t like PDA that much.”

Minho didn’t really know that about Jisung, actually, but if he and Jisung were going to pretend for Seungmin, he was definitely making sure to have fun with it.

At least Jisung had the courtesy to giggle at Minho’s words.

“I thought you were the one who liked it?” Jisung retorted, delighted grin on his face, as Seungmin made a grimace.

“The answer better be that neither of you do,” he said, trudging ahead of them to the sidewalk. “I wanted a break from studying, but I’m not sure if I have to put up with you two like this.”

“Just for you,” Minho said as Jisung said, “We’ll do it for you, Seungmin.” They high-fived at their moment of synchronicity.

Ahead of them, Seungmin huffed, clearly amused but trying to hide it.

Jisung had been right, Minho realized. It really was sort of fun annoying their mutual friend.

The only thing was— what if Seungmin never figured it out?

Well, Minho surmised, they’d tell him eventually. And Seungmin would feel the blindside of the century.

---

Minho didn’t really like parties. The first few times it had been relatively fun—he’d always only drunk enough for tipsiness to set in, and he’d never felt that bad the morning after. But this place was loud, incredibly so, and there were just too many people here that he didn’t know.

He’d only gone because Jisung had invited him, which was just weird to think about—since when had Minho started doing everything with his roommate?

Probably sometime within the past month after that first fake lunch date.

It wasn’t tricking Seungmin that had really brought them together but rather everything in between—the cafeteria trips, Minho teaching Jisung to cook in the kitchen their floor because the younger ate school food too often, Jisung sharing his and Seungmin’s finished song (it hadn’t been great, but it also hadn’t been half-bad), walking to classes in together on the rare occasions their schedules did sort of line up, and studying together with their books and laptops sprawled across the space between their beds rather than at their desks on opposite sides of the room.

Currently, Minho was outside in the backyard and Jisung-less. He’d spotted his roommate earlier, engaged in some drinking game where there seemed to be no clear criteria to declare a winner. Minho had come outside for fresh air instead, and was contemplating walking back when a voice cut through his thoughts.

“Hey, are you Minho Lee?”

Minho glanced towards the voice to see a guy he didn’t recognize peering back at him. He had a plain white t-shirt and some sweatpants on, curious eyes, and a rectangular sort of smile directed towards Minho. He also didn’t seem like a partygoer, but…

“That’s me,” Minho said. Wasn’t sure what else to say.

“So you’re Jisung’s boyfriend?”

Minho racked his brain for a proper response. Should he say yes? No? For some reason, had Seungmin decided to spread the word?

“Yeah,” Minho eventually settled on saying. He immediately regretted it—it was one thing lying to Seungmin and Jisung’s parents, but it was another to involve people he didn’t know. “Who are you?” he bluntly asked the other guy.

“Jeongin,” he answered, unperturbed. “Freshman. Friends with Jisung—if he also considers us friends—but mostly just a friend of Seungmin.” Here he laughed shortly. “He mentioned you and Jisung a couple times so I had to find out for myself.”

“Oh,” Minho said. Maybe… this Jeongin guy deserved to know the truth. He opened his mouth again to begin clarifying but Jeongin continued on.

“I remember him mentioning Jisung had a small crush on you a while back, and then the next thing I knew you two were dating. That’s cute,” he tacked on, like an afterthought to himself.

Minho felt his heart thump loudly, tripping once, twice in his chest. “Seungmin… Jisung… what?” Nevermind that he was finding out now that Seungmin was actually the type of person to gossip.

Jeongin took a step forward, studied him a little closer this time. “Jisung was the one who asked you out, right?”

“Yes,” Minho said, mouth dry. Or at least that was the little lie they’d fabricated for Seungmin. But it hadn’t been like that at all.

“Anyway,” Jeongin waved it off, like it wasn’t a big deal, and Minho was glad he was no longer under such deep scrutiny. “You must have figured he liked you somehow, right? Because of that.”

“Yeah,” Minho said again. He didn’t know how to break the truth anymore, and he really didn’t know what to do with Jeongin’s information.

Or maybe, Minho wondered, had Seungmin picked up on their little game and decided to get them back? Surely Jisung hadn’t somehow actually liked Minho, not when they had barely spoken during the first semester.

Maybe Seungmin was getting him back and enlisting his own friend in doing so. Seungmin was always too smart for these sorts of things; there was no way he’d really fall for Minho and Jisung dating and never realize for the better part of two months that he had been deceived.

“By the way,” Jeongin told him, now wearing a sympathetic smile, “you might want to find your boyfriend inside before things get, uh, too crazy. Last I saw Jisung was very much not sober.” He made an exaggerated motion of swaying side to side as if to demonstrate.

“Okay,” Minho agreed. Monosyllabic answers seemed like the only replies he was capable of at the moment.

And Jisung was definitely not his boyfriend.

Head spinning less from the minimal alcohol he’d had and more from whatever the fuck he’d just heard out of Jeongin’s mouth, Minho shot him what he hoped could pass as a grateful smile and made his way inside, where some high-energy song was nearly shaking the walls.

But the thing was, Minho would have noticed, right? He’d always thought of himself as being more aware of others’ emotions—it was how he’d managed to make quite a few friends when he first entered college two years ago—so there should have been no way he’d missed any signals coming from the person he lived with.

Granted, Minho hadn’t known Jisung at all last year, but now he liked to think he knew Jisung at least a little. Was in tune with the other enough to pick up on something like this.

The bass thrummed beneath his feet and Minho arrived at the conclusion that no, maybe he just wasn’t in tune enough with Jisung yet.

Besides, it had to be a joke.

Minho scanned the living room and eventually found Jisung draped against the corner of a sofa, humming out-of-tune to whatever repetitive melody the song was playing. While Minho would have assumed Jisung to be an off-the-walls drunk—and Jisung had been quite energetic at the start of the evening—now all he found was that his roommate had grown sleepy.

“Yo, Minho,” Jisung mumbled, blinking blearily at Minho’s approaching form. “Wassup.”

“Do you still want to stay here any longer?” Minho squinted at him.

Jisung gave a barely-there shrug. “The sofa’s cozy.”

The sofa looked to be generously used, if Minho wanted to be euphemistic. He was pretty sure it was about as cozy as the floor.

“Hmm. Let’s go home,” Minho eventually decided. It had been a ten-minute walk here at most, a small house situated across the street from campus. Jisung could… probably… make it back, with some help.

“Okay,” Jisung agreed. He pushed himself off the sofa and promptly tipped forward into Minho’s arms.

Minho’s hands reflexively flew forward, steadying Jisung at the waist. Through Jisung’s thin shirt, he could feel the heat of muscle and skin.

To be fair, the room was just hot in general. Everything was hot, and this wasn’t helping.

“Nice catch,” Jisung mumbled, recollecting his balance. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Minho said, dropping his hands.

They left through the front, Jisung managing to retain most of his sense of direction. He didn’t seem that drunk, actually, maybe just a bit worn out with the drowsiness exacerbated by alcohol. The longer they spent outside, the more alertness Jisung regained, and by the time they’d made it back to their dorm Jisung—with more self-control than Minho would have expected him to muster—dragged himself to the bathroom.

“I’ll brush my teeth,” he said, and the door clicked shut.

Minho flopped backwards into his own bed, sinking into the sheets.

Did you really have a crush on me before? He thought. Or did some guy at a party think it was funny to say?

Well. Both of those felt like weird questions. A bit too blunt, and definitely awkward if they weren’t the case.

Do you think Seungmin has actually one-upped us and is scheming with his own friend behind our backs?

Also a weird question.

Maybe he’d just keep tonight’s events to himself.

---

Or maybe he’d get the truth closer to the horse’s mouth.

“You never finished your part of the lab report,” Seungmin stated the next Monday morning.

The line was beginning to sound quite familiar.

“I had like, a paragraph left at most,” Minho replied. “It wasn’t that much to cover for.”

“Sure,” Seungmin said, and made a tsking sound under his breath. Minho resisted the urge to yell at him. He had only taken this class for the analytics and statistical applications side of it that was required of his major, and Seungmin wasn’t helping make it any easier.

“I have something to ask,” Minho began, fixing his gaze on the front of the room. “It’s about Jisung, actually.”

“Oh, Jisung!” Seungmin gasped, as if having an epic revelation. “Shit, if it’s about spring break then I’m really sorry.”

“Spring break?” The conversation was veering off Minho’s planned trajectory, but he couldn’t save himself from his own curiosity.

“Yeah, he asked me about it last night but I’m already going back to visit my parents,” Seungmin explained. Minho stopped staring at the projector and turned to face Seungmin, because he still did not know what the other was referring to.

“Asked you what?”

“Damn,” Seungmin let out a low whistle. “He didn’t ask you first?”

When Minho could only blink owlishly at him, Seungmin laughed.

“That’s funny,” he said. “Maybe he’s scared you’ll say no. As if.” He paused. “Come to think of it, you two really were the type not to do PDA or anything.”

Then his eyes widened. “You two didn’t break up, did you? Is that why?”

“We- what—” Minho floundered.

“Well, did you?”

“No,” Minho said. They hadn’t broken up because they hadn’t been together to begin with. He was about to say just that, but Seungmin decided to keep talking.

“Okay. Well, Jisung asked me if I wanted to join him for a beach trip this spring break. It was gonna just be a two-day thing but unfortunately I’m already booked with my hometown. Besides, I really didn’t want to third wheel for the entirety of that.”

“Oh,” Minho said. Coherence had escaped him.

Then the clock passed the hour mark, the TA began speaking about the sheet up on the projector, and once again Minho had missed his opportunity.

---

Minho kept silent, and Jisung eventually sprung the question about spring break a few days later. It wasn’t like he had any other plans for their week off, so Minho readily agreed.

He still hadn’t asked Seungmin about the Jeongin conversation; it wasn’t that it had escaped his memory but it was more that he was content with the way things were currently and he figured it was maybe best he didn’t pry into more.

Besides, Jisung was still the same as normal—they’d grown even closer lately and Jisung didn’t seem to like him that way.

Minho was only thrown off by the fact that Seungmin genuinely still believed they were dating. They hadn’t suddenly started holding hands whenever he was around and they certainly never went around kissing each other or anything of the sort, and yet…

At this rate, Seungmin was shaping up to be a damned fool.

---

Spring break rolled in, a gentle and welcome intermission from studies ramping up. Minho and Jisung packed lightly—just another day’s worth of belongings—in separate backpacks and left on long-distance bus—neither of them had cars, and the bus was far cheaper, anyway.

It was a four-hour bus ride, and they left in the morning. They’d slid the window by their seat up slightly, earning a small yet swift breeze that washed refreshingly over their faces.

“I’m gonna go swim in the ocean and never come back,” Jisung said. “Jisung, lost at sea. Just me and the fish.”

“Nibbling at your feet,” Minho finished for him.

“Ew,” Jisung made a face.

The rest of the journey passed similarly. Around lunchtime, halfway in, Jisung began complaining that they should have packed lunch. Minho shared the sentiment.

“We could get off,” he began, hypothetically.

“But the next bus would be at least an hour behind, probably,” Jisung grouched. “I’ll just stay hungry, then.”

“We’ll find something once we arrive,” Minho conceded.

He held true to his words, and once they were finally dumped off the bus at the seaside town they first checked in at the hotel—nothing fancy, just a room for two and that had been it—before heading back downstairs in search of a late lunch.

What Jisung had failed to mention, before, though, was that said room only had one bed.

“It was cheaper,” Jisung shrugged. “Anyway, you don’t hate me so I figured we’d just share.”

That seemed quite logical and Minho could only agree. After all, he’d left Jisung to do most of the planning—or however much planning was needed for a single night, anyway—and he definitely couldn’t blame Jisung for thinking that way. “Sure,” he conceded. They had already lived together for eight months now; sharing a bed didn’t seem horrible given that.

Now they were strolling along the seaside—the distant crash of waves against the shore to their left and the storefront along the right. Eventually they settled on a place that sold fish burgers; the burgers were scarfed down rather quickly and they soon began clearing the plate of fries.

They made enough small talk before Jisung suddenly adopted a sober face and said, “Hey, at least my parents aren’t here.”

Minho snorted. “Really glad. They didn’t want you to come back and check in with them during break or anything?”

Jisung grimaced. “They actually did, but I told them I had already made other plans. Of course, I hadn’t, so that’s when I rushed to think of something and this is what I ended up with. I have wanted to go the beach for a while now, though.”

Minho laughed. “Really?!”

“It was like the whole fake date thing,” Jisung said offhandedly. A goofy smile was starting to make its way back up his face. “My mom mentioned that she knew someone she thought I’d like and inside I was like, nope, not that, so I told her I’d already found a boyfriend.” He gestured dramatically at Minho. “And then I had to find someone who was willing to go along with it.”

And someone who was still willing to go along with it—at least in Seungmin’s eyes.

Come to think of it, he and Jisung hadn’t even mentioned the whole fake-dating thing in the last month. It just went to show how much their pretend relationship barely seemed to exist.

But they had formed a friendship instead, and Minho was glad he’d gotten closer to his roommate.

“Could you imagine if you had roped Seungmin into it?” Minho asked. “Ah yes. Seungmin. Your boyfriend.”

Jisung shut his eyes. Scrunched up his face a little as if he were seriously imagining it. “Yeah. No. You were a way better choice,” he said when his eyes blinked back open.

Momentarily caught off guard by the genuine praise in Jisung’s words, Minho could only splutter and laugh. “I guess I’m just more dateworthy.”

“Definitely,” Jisung agreed without a second thought. He grinned brightly at Minho, and then popped a ketchup-dipped fry into his mouth.

Minho had always been weak to compliments. His heart swooped to his stomach and for a moment he felt the blood rushing to his head, his ears heating up. This was supposed to be a lighthearted conversation, but Jisung’s words were affecting him far too much for the atmosphere.

“Hey, but… why me?” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He’d already asked at the start of the whole endeavor, but Jisung’s original response seemed unsatisfactory now; Minho’s sure that someone like Seungmin would have begrudgingly agreed. And at that time Jisung had definitely been closer to the other, not him, Minho.

“I told you,” Jisung said simply, but it still felt like he was evading the entire truth. “It was just more convenient that way. And easier to believe. My parents actually met Seungmin, once, on accident, somehow. Through a shitty facetime call my mom insisted on making in the middle of us working on our music project.” He ticked off names on his fingers. “Changbin already has a boyfriend, and I would have asked Hyunjin—but he straight-up told me that he ‘wasn’t going to go along with my bullshittery.’”

Minho couldn’t help but feel his eyes widen, a laugh tumbling out. “Damn. Maybe I should have said that.”

“But look where we are now,” Jisung spread his arms out. “On so much better terms. Isn’t that right, boyfriend? Hmm. Babe? Sugar?”

Minho was glad he hadn’t just taken a sip of water, or else he’d have spit it all out. Jisung was obviously just messing with him, but it was the first time they’d really talked about the whole act without anyone else around.

“Okay, honey,” Minho dryly replied once he had gotten over the initial shock.

“On a serious note, though, I need to ask you something,” Jisung told him. The teasing confidence he’d had moments prior had completely faded; now he seemed a little sheepish, and a lot shy.

“What,” Minho said, suddenly on edge.

“So… I didn’t manage to completely avoid my parents. They still wanted me to come by one of the days this week, told me I should make time because they’re only an hour away. And… uh…” Jisung averted his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked, “they invited you.”

“They invited me,” Minho repeated. “Why would they invite… ” he trailed off. “You didn’t tell them, did you?”

“Well… I just never got around to it,” Jisung admitted. Stared intently at the last few fries on the plate. “You can say no! I’ll just figure something out. We could also just say you’re busy, or whatever.”

“I’ll…” Minho sighed. Oddly, he wasn’t as upset about it as he would have thought he’d be. Maybe it was because the whole Seungmin thing was still technically going on, too, even though, in many ways, it really wasn’t.

“How hard would it have been to say, hey, Minho and I actually broke up?” he eventually replied.

Oh, he’d definitely made it awkward, now. But Jisung barrelled through it.

“Not hard,” Jisung agreed. “I guess I was just pushing it off because then they’d try and set me up with someone else again.”

“Aigoo…” Minho said, a joking note of disapproval.

“You sound like my grandma.” Jisung looked like he was stifling a laugh, and—just like that—the mood had brightened considerably again.

“Fine—since it’s only a day,” Minho agreed. “But we really have to figure out something afterward, okay?”

“Got it,” Jisung beamed, and scooped the last fry into his mouth. “I’ll pay, then. It’s only fair.”

It took a moment for Minho to register the words, but— “Hey, no, we can still split the bill.”

“I’m paying,” Jisung insisted. “You can count this as my return of favor. Because now I owe you again for another day of fun with my parents.”

“Wait—” Minho said, but Jisung stood up and marched over to the counter.

“Jisung!” Minho called, but at that moment a waitress passed by and asked if she could take their empty plates.

By the time Minho had quickly agreed, it was already too late.

---

They hit the water a few hours later after dawdling along the storefront for a while waiting for their food to digest. Minho couldn’t swim in the way that he didn’t know the proper strokes, but he stayed close to shore and only ever got waist-deep, though not without a couple incidents of being splashed by Jisung.

The outside exertion left them both thirsty and hungry—neither of them had really been into sports or physical exercise, and though Minho had had that one phase last year where he’d gone to the gym regularly, he couldn’t say much for himself this year.

So they stopped by a small local supermarket and came out with water and two bags of chips, which they slowly made their way through on a picnic bench facing the shore. There was also a pack of uncooked pasta and a jar of sauce—for dinner, Minho had explained, because he’d remembered seeing a portable stove in their room earlier—in the bag next to them.

The sun was finally beginning to set. Though it was behind them, the view in front was pretty nonetheless, different shades of blue toeing the flat line of the horizon.

They made their way back to their hotel soon after, Minho cooking the pasta as Jisung showered. It wasn’t the finest of meals but it was filling nonetheless, and soon Minho was washing up in the bathroom. He came out to see Jisung flopped into the bed, scrolling his phone.

“I’m tired,” Jisung said.

“Go to sleep?” Minho told him.

“It’s not that late yet.”

And it wasn’t. For both of them, now seasoned college students with unhealthy sleep schedules, nine in the evening was far from late.

“Scoot over,” Minho said instead, as Jisung rolled over to the side to make room for him.

It wasn’t that late, but sinking into the bed did cause drowsiness to tug at the edges of his consciousness. For fun, Minho turned on the television and tuned into some sitcom that he didn’t find particularly humorous, then turned it off. “I’m sleeping,” he declared eventually, after a few minutes of scrolling his own phone.

“Okay,” Jisung reached to turn off the lamp, as it was on his side. The room was set in darkness save for the crack of moonlight through the window curtains.

“You too?” Minho asked.

“Yeah,” Jisung told him. Minho heard him set his phone down on the nightstand. “Maybe we can get up early tomorrow too, walk around on the beach some more before we head back.”

“Sounds good,” Minho stifled a yawn and pulled the covers over himself.

“Yo—hey!” Jisung suddenly said. “Blanket hog.”

There was a tug, and then Minho’s right leg was left cold to the open air again. “Jisung,” he warned, turning towards the center of the bed. Even in the darkness, Minho’s eyes were rapidly adjusting and he could barely make out Jisung blinking innocently at him.

Jisung broke into giggles, and that elicited silly laughter out of Minho’s own mouth. “I’m sure the covers are big enough,” he said.

“Hmm,” was Jisung’s dubious response. But a few aggressive and then gentler tugs later, they’d finally situated themselves without complaints on either side, and Minho was halfway to dreamland.

Then the bed shifted slightly, and Minho felt something warm slide over one of the hands he had loosely fisted close to his chest. It took a moment to register that the warm thing was Jisung’s hand, uncurling the fingers of Minho’s own and then sliding his palm in.

Minho held his breath until Jisung had stopped moving, then held it an extra three beats before quietly exhaling.

Silence enveloped the room once more, so Minho kept quiet too. But it didn’t stop him from slowly opening his eyes, risking a peek at—

Jisung was staring at him.

He hadn’t expected that.

Minho shut his eyes like he was competing for a world record at eye-shutting, but his fleeting act hadn’t gone unnoticed because moments later he heard Jisung attempting to stifle laughter. The bed just barely trembled with Jisung’s shaking form, and Minho reopened his eyes.

“You looked like a deer in the headlights,” Jisung whisper-laughed.

“Whoops,” Minho could only sheepishly say, and then attempted to calm his skyrocketing heartbeat with humor. “Your staring was creepy.”

“Sorry,” Jisung said very seriously. He wiggled his fingers a little, intertwining them further into Minho’s. “I said I was tired, but I couldn’t really fall asleep. Looking at your face was very peaceful. Kinda calmed me down too.”

“Okay…” Minho unsurely replied. It was ironic now, how his heart was racing and he was anything but calm.

“Just go back to sleep!” Jisung declared, and Minho wondered if he was detecting embarrassment in Jisung’s voice. Either way, he closed his eyes once more and tried to return to his previous state of mind.

It was a bit harder this time; his thoughts wandered for a while. So maybe Jisung just wanted to hold hands. That was all. Minho didn’t mind the extra warmth, especially didn’t mind the way Jisung’s fingers fit against his as if they belonged there. The warmth spreading up his arms towards his chest cavity, though?

He’d have to sleep on it.

---

The next day they took a long morning walk along shore, ending up at a lighthouse that had been built along a small cliff.

Somewhere along the way, their shoulders had brushed. A hand had slid into another hand, linking them in between. Minho wasn’t sure if he had gravitated towards Jisung or if it had been the other way around, but the imprints of their bare feet in the sand only trailed closer together, their steps aligning further in tandem.

Jisung used Minho’s arm as leverage as he pulled his shoes back on, one at a time, and then Minho did the same. They scaled up the rockier part of the cliff to the entrance of the lighthouse, only to find a man sitting there and telling them they’d just missed the chance to go up—that it was break time. Whatever that meant for a lighthouse.

“Damn,” Jisung grumbled, disappointed, after they had walked around to the front of the lighthouse’s base instead, out of range of the man’s earshot.

“The view’s still nice,” Minho replied. And the sun wasn’t scorching, half-hidden behind puffy clouds. He felt strangely calm, even as Jisung said, and rightfully so—

“Would’ve been better up there.” He pointed up behind them at the small observation deck.

“Yeah,” Minho pleasantly agreed. The waves hit the rocks neither gently nor forcefully, forming a languid and grounding rhythm. Minho could feel the resulting tiny drops of spray landing on his face. On a whim, he pulled out his phone. “Say cheese.”

Jisung, who had still been gazing longingly at the lighthouse, whipped around and was caught off guard by Minho’s phone camera clicking twice.

“Delete that!” Jisung reached forward for the phone, but it was no use. Minho had already turned it off. He handed it to Jisung.

Jisung had already deflated, lips turned downward in a frown. “I don’t know your password.”

“Exactly,” Minho said lightly, and grinned.

“Hmm– aha!” Jisung said mere seconds later, though, as he waved an unlocked phone in Minho’s face. “What the… why would you make your password so easy to guess?”

The first digit was a zero, and following that the three digits of their dorm’s room number. It used to be a string of all zeroes until Minho had decided to change it to a sequence slightly less decipherable. He hadn’t thought Jisung would actually take a stab at cracking it, though. Worse, Jisung was the only person who would’ve thought to use their room number.

Come to think of it, maybe Minho should have stuck with the zeroes. To save whatever face he had left, he countered, “It’s also easy enough to remember.”

“Well,” Jisung considered that. “True. But… ” He made a dramatic show of swiping his fingers across Minho’s phone before handing it back, eyes lighting up with victory. “Deleted.”

“From the recently deleted folder too?”

“Ah, shit!” Jisung said, too late. Minho cradled his phone to his chest and shot back a victorious grin of his own, but didn’t bother to change the password.

Jisung continued protesting, and grappled for the phone the entire walk back. He was louder than the waves surging towards their feet but just as unsuccessful—reaching for Minho and always coming close, yet never able to steal what he coveted.

By the time they had reached their hotel room, packed up, and checked out, both of them bore contagious smiles on their faces and a matching reluctance to board the return bus.

As they waited at the stop, munching on sandwiches they had bought for lunch, Minho temporarily set his lock screen to one of the recently-taken photos: ocean and sand and rock and half a lighthouse behind an owlish Jisung mid-turn. When he showed it to Jisung, Jisung glared at him and then laughed, looking away. Minho swore his cheeks had turned slightly pinker.

---

It was late afternoon when they finally returned. Minho crashed onto his bed and Jisung did the same on his side of the room.

“I can still hear the waves in my ears if I try really hard,” Jisung lamented. “But now…”

He fell quiet. For a minute, then more, and Minho, blinking up at the ceiling, wondered if Jisung had actually fallen asleep.

“So when do you want to go to my parents’ place?” he finally started up again, voice louder than it had originally been.

Oh. That.

Minho rolled to the side, unlocked his phone, and the passing image of a startled Jisung against the sea made him snort as he did. “I dunno,” Minho told him, checking his calendar that he already knew was vacant the rest of the week. “Any day works.”

“What about tomorrow? Then we’ll have the rest of the week free.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Minho agreed. He heard Jisung rise, but didn’t expect the other to take a seat on his bed.

“Dude, I’m really sorry about this all.” Jisung said and Minho could hear the sincerity in his voice. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine,” Minho attempted to dispel the thickening unsease setting in. He rolled back over to look up at Jisung and found Jisung already staring at him. Déjà vu—except Jisung didn’t burst into laughter this time, just had this somber expression on his face and a flatlining mouth.

“I’m not mad about it. Really,” Minho insisted, and it was the truth.

“Okay,” Jisung said. Though the creases at the corner of his eyes hadn’t entirely disappeared, he sounded reassured. “Wanna get dinner?”

“Why not,” Minho agreed.

“Good,” Jisung beamed. His smile was incredibly bright and enchanting when it wasn’t forced. “Did you hear there’s a new Thai food place that just opened closeby?”

“Nope,” Minho told him, sitting up next to Jisung. “So you want to check that out today, then?”

“I can maybe afford to splurge. Just once,” Jisung conceded, but it sounded like he’d already thought about it.

“You mean the both of us,” Minho corrected him. “You are not paying for me again.”

“Okay,” Jisung smiled again, relieved. “I was hoping you’d say that, anyway. After yesterday, my wallet is looking a bit scrappy.”

Minho shoved him, lightly, and Jisung came springing back up next to him a moment later, shooting finger guns and a greasy wink. “You’re the best.”

“Sure,” Minho laughed this time, bemused. He dug his fingers into the sheets to distract himself from the sudden urge that had struck to take Jisung’s palms in his.

To make matters worse, Jisung remained smiling that winsome smile at him until Minho had to shove him again, hard enough to send him toppling into the bed, where Jisung pulled his knees to his chest before rolling off its side and landing with an oomph noise on the floor.

“Let’s leave in five minutes!” Jisung said, giggling, as he fled the scene rather comically—by rolling across the floor to his desk. “Get ready for your date, boyfriend!”

Minho was sure he was grinning just as stupidly. But his fingers were still tense, and his neck felt telltale hot; something hurt where it shouldn’t have hurt, and his heart was now full-on threatening to beat out of his chest.

He had slept on it, but the feelings were still there.

They were only fake dating, but Minho knew enough to know what he was starting to feel for Jisung wasn’t fake.

It was mostly just unplanned for.

---

The next day, they boarded the bus again.

“My parents offered to pick me up, actually, but I didn’t think I’d particularly enjoy that ride,” Jisung smiled wanly at him as they walked the half mile from the bus stop to his house. “It took me three tries to convince them not to.”

Minho snorted. “Three? It’s more of a hassle for them, though.”

“Yeah. They probably wanted to drive me so they could ask me dumb questions on the way there. Again. How’s school going, Jisung?” Jisung mimed. “Are you going to bring your grades back up this semester?”

Minho felt his own expression sour. “You’d think they’d have gotten the memo by now.”

“They have,” Jisung insisted. “It’s just a matter of them being able to let go.” He kicked a pebble off the pavement. “It’ll happen. Eventually.”

He dropped the topic and the remainder of the walk was filled with thoughtful silence instead.

“This might be a weird question, actually,” Jisung started up again when they had paused on the sidewalk in front of a pewter-colored house, “but you don’t mind me suddenly initiating hand-holding, do you?” He paused, then, as if his question needed the accompaniment of an explanation, said, “It kinda helps me feel less like breaking down or suddenly raising my voice too much and starting a fight.”

“I don’t mind.” Minho laughed. “I could see why it might come in… uh, handy.”

“Minho!” Jisung turned on him. “Not funny.”

It really wasn’t, but Minho found bad humor to be a good distraction for the way his heart had dropped—even if just for a fraction of a second—at Jisung’s question. He hadn’t requested permission before, not when he’d intertwined their fingers together under the blankets and the night, nor when they had trekked across a mile and back of beachy sand hand-in-hand. Besides, Jisung need not have been so cautious in asking only now; not when Minho had more than warmed up to the idea.

It was mid-afternoon when Minho and Jisung rang the doorbell. Jisung had dawdled on the driveway for a few minutes before determinedly taking Minho’s hand in his and dragging the other forward and up the front steps with him.

His parents let them in after a couple stilted greetings—nothing overly formal but the doorstep hadn’t exactly been brimming with affection, either—and Jisung immediately pulled Minho past them, citing a house tour as the reason.

It was a family home quite similar to the one Minho had grown up in; a small patio and backyard, a living room with a worn sofa sitting in front of a much less-worn television, family portraits and younger Jisungs dotting the walls. Jisung’s mother told them she’d make dinner so they ended up in his room.

Here there were more photos but of a different sort—the formality of frames forgone, these pictures were cut from printer paper, tacked onto the walls with tape. Multiple featured Jisung and a gangly, taller kid; holding middle school graduation diplomas, grinning together under the shade of some willow tree. A couple of just the taller boy—one with him holding up a large painting of a dog—and a couple of just Jisung—one with Jisung shouldering a backpack, throwing up a peace sign with his fingers, and grinning a metallic braces-filled grin in front of a high school parking lot.

Minho pointed out the last one, laughing, and Jisung scrambled to cover it up. “That’s Hyunjin, by the way,” Jisung told him, pointing at the graduation photo with one hand while his other refused to budge from where it was masking himself. “The one who basically told me to fuck off with my fake dating ideas.”

“A wise friend,” Minho remarked. Jisung pushed him, dropping his hands from the wall, and glared as if he were annoyed when they both knew he wasn’t.

“You don’t look that different now,” Minho said then, and received another shove.

“I can’t tell if that was meant as a compliment or an insult.”

“Definitely an insult,” Minho replied. Made a show of glancing between the photos and Jisung. Reached forward to poke his cheek. “Ah, the baby fat’s still there.” And then, before he could get a hold of himself, added, “Kinda cute.”

Jisung huffed. Deliberately puffed reddening cheeks out as if to say no way, but Minho was pretty sure that only proved his point further. Deflating, Jisung met his eyes before his gaze scattered across the room and landed on closet doors. “Just you wait until I have leverage over you. I’m sure you’re hiding a stash of old photos somewhere.”

“Nah,” Minho told him. It was a lie, though; but it’s not like Jisung would be visiting his old room anytime soon, even if he’d said it like the trip was inevitable.

“Sure. Let’s play something,” Jisung said instead, pushing the closet doors open. The rack was empty save for a couple unused clothes hangers, but a sparse selection of dusty games sat on the top shelf.

Minho scanned the sides of the game boxes. In a calculated act, said, “I am not playing snakes and ladders.”

“That’s old!” Jisung indignantly protested, rising to the bait. “We just never got rid of it.”

On the flip side of the coin were chess and Monopoly.

“Too long,” they looked at each other and said.

That only left the Game of Life, which neither had played in years but decided to give a go. Jisung was on his way to retirement in-game when his father peered inside the room and informed them that dinner was ready.

Dinner went both better and worse than Minho could have expected.

The first half of it, was, surprisingly enough, about as normal of a dinner as family dinners went. Jisung’s mother had made mouthwatering rice cake and Minho talked the recipe out of her, hoping he could find the ingredients and cook the dish back at their dorms sometime. This segued into more cooking conversation and Jisung seemed grateful that the spotlight had been pulled off him—talking about food over dinner made today’s meal feel a lot more relaxed than whatever fake date the noodle place had been.

However, inevitably, conversation arrived back at school. His parents brought up that they’d given second thought to Jisung’s major and that they believed he should explore more before deciding on music.

“I’ve already made up my mind,” Jisung said, tiredly, and shit hit the fan.

Jisung had pulled Minho’s hand into his lap a few minutes ago when the conversation had first circled back to their studies, and while he didn’t seem particularly bothered by the change in topic he just looked wary. On edge.

But after that, voices rose in volume as parents tried to convince their son otherwise. Jisung just sat there resolutely, spoke back in equally rising volume. Minho silently racked his brain for something placating to say but came up empty-handed. Because the truth was that masquerading as Jisung’s boyfriend and gleaning a couple of rice cake recipes didn’t make him any closer to Jisung’s family. And, to begin with, he had never been close. At all.

Eventually Jisung lowered his voice again. Stood up, calmly, and said, “I’ll be in my room.”

There was a tug and Minho felt Jisung’s hand pull away from his. Jisung pushed his chair back in with a quiet yet grating screech and took his empty bowl to the kitchen. The sink turned on.

An atmosphere that Minho could only call awkward and uncomfortable spread pervasively throughout the room.

“Um,” Minho shot Jisung’s parents a nervous smile, rapidly pushed the last bit of rice cake in his bowl into his mouth, chewed, swallowed. “Thanks for the delicious meal.” This was genuine appreciation, at least, before he fled the table and followed Jisung to the kitchen.

“I’m not really upset,” was the first thing Jisung said when he heard Minho enter. The sink had just turned off—Jisung was drying his hands on a towel hanging below the counter.

“Okay,” Minho said, rinsing out his own bowl. When he looked up Jisung was staring at him and his hands were curled at his sides. The expression on his face was indecipherable, and Minho could only guess what the mixture of emotions were—worry, anxiousness, frustration, but also a sort of peace.

Minho dried his own hands. He didn’t say anything, figured that if he waited—

“I’m not upset,” Jisung repeated. Then he sighed. “I just…”

“Just?” Minho gently prodded him.

In the neighboring room, they heard two chairs pushing back. Jisung frowned at the sound. “Let’s go back to my room.”

“Okay,” Minho agreed.

“Jisung?” Jisung’s father said, shuffling under the kitchen doorway into view. “Your mother and I… we’re—”

Jisung stepped forward and the rest of his father’s words were drowned out by the blood rushing to Minho’s ears. Distantly, Minho could register a we’re sorry. But all else fell away, became fuzzy static noise, because, inexplicably, Jisung had decided to kiss him.

He hadn’t expected it at all, mouth frozen at first in sheer surprise but Jisung kept pushing, kept moving his lips against Minho’s. His lips were hotter and more insistent than Minho had ever imagined—not that he’d ever really allowed himself to entertain the thoughts.

So against his better judgement, Minho reciprocated it. Pushed back just as hard and felt Jisung’s hands reaching up for purchase on his waist, then his fingers sinking in a little in a way that had Minho gasping into his mouth, and—

It was over.

Jisung made meaningful eye contact with Minho, and then, without another word, stepped past him, stepped past his father in the kitchen doorway, and made a beeline straight for his room.

Minho had no idea what was going on but he figured it was his cue to follow.

“I’m sorry.” Jisung sat down on his bed, staring down at the carpet. “I just didn’t want to talk to my parents again.”

“Ah,” Minho could only say, as he gingerly sat down next to Jisung. “That’s understandable.”

It made sense, though. Jisung wouldn’t just suddenly surge forward and kiss him like that without a good reason. He wouldn’t do it voluntarily. He’d do it to get his parents off his ass.

Minho understood, really. After all, he had agreed to help Jisung get his parents off his ass.

Except his heart was still racing, his lips were fucking burning, he could still taste Jisung and sweet ricecake, and all Minho could think about was that the kiss had just been fake. Worse, now probably wasn’t the time to discuss reasons for kissing and pretending to be dating when Jisung was still stewing over the dinnertime conversation.

“Ugh,” Jisung muttered. “It’s tempting to just take the bus back right now but it’s getting late anyway, and my parents would definitely throw a fit if I just left the house right now.”

Minho kept silent. His parents had been protective, sometimes too worried for him, but never really overbearing in that way—and they’d relaxed more the older Minho grew.

“My parents usually aren’t like this, actually,” Jisung told him. “They’re generally more like… the way we were when you were discussing rice cake recipes with my mom.” He paused, then let out a loud exhale. “I think it’s their last attempt, or whatever. My mom especially, never likes to go out without a bang, you know?”

Jisung sunk backwards into his bed, spreading his arms out behind Minho. “My dad was saying sorry. I think.”

“Yeah.”

“I just didn’t want to hear it,” Jisung told him. “Like, it’s an apology, but it doesn’t really make me feel any better. I just wanted to move on.”

“Right.”

“On the note of apologies, I am so sorry for dragging you into this shit,” Jisung said. “This was… probably not how you wanted to spend part of your spring break.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Minho told him. His lips tingled, and he determinedly ignored the feeling to continue speaking: “What about our beach trip? That was spring break too. And I agreed to this, anyway. I could have said no. I had some idea of what to expect. And I’m…”

In a rare act of bravery, Minho turned around to face a sprawling Jisung and took Jisung’s hand in his.

It was warm. Minho ran his thumb across the back of Jisung’s hand, feeling the bump of his knuckles and the dips between his fingers. “I’d hope I could help, even if it’s just a little bit,” he said, feeling too honest.

Jisung looked up at him, his eyes shining almost magically even under the yellow-tinted lamplight of his room. His reply was just as sincere. “You do help.” And then he said, “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

---

They didn’t talk about much of significance on the way back the next morning, but that was okay. The atmosphere had been somewhat tense when Jisung’s parents had seen them back out the house, and Minho could tell they were making an effort to be kind, but it would probably take quite a bit more time and understanding before things could heal between both parties.

Also, Minho was rapidly beginning to lose track of the blurring lines that separated reality from pretend.

“Sorry,” Jisung had said earlier, on the front sidewalk, before he’d leaned forward to kiss Minho again.

“Why are you sorry?” Minho had mumbled against Jisung’s mouth. He hadn’t even wanted to mumble anything at all—just wanted the experience, to feel each of the ridges of Jisung’s lips and kiss back harder because Jisung’s lips were dry yet impossibly soft. But his curiosity had to ruin it.

“My parents were watching us out the front window,” Jisung had pulled away, slightly, and Minho had leaned forward, chasing the contact. He regretted it—he’d looked like a fool, and he was a fool. A fool who had just trapped his heart in a constricting chest. He hadn’t been thinking much before, stupidly assumed Jisung had just felt like kissing him or something.

But that hadn’t been the case at all.

“Okay,” Minho had replied, then greedily pressed his lips back against Jisung’s, memorizing the feeling before he stepped back. It was probably the most selfish thing he’d done that week. That month, maybe, but even now he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Even now, when they weren’t addressing it.

They talked instead about things like funny mailboxes along the side of the road, things like cats landing perfectly on their feet after bolting off multistory buildings or what flavors of yogurt shouldn’t have existed. They didn’t talk about parents, or school, or fake-dating.

Here was the thing about the kisses, though. Jisung had his own reasons for initiating them, and that was all fine and dandy, but in the end a kiss was still a kiss. Minho hadn’t thought about it much before, despite the entire idea of fake-dating, but now that he’d felt Jisung’s lips on his, and more than once…

Minho told himself it was fine. There would be more than enough time to do so once they got back, more than enough time to sort out what was rapidly becoming a problem in his own heart.

---

But then they didn’t immediately sort it out.

And Minho needed to stop running into people who believed he and Jisung were truly dating.

Since only a small pool of people fell into that category, it was highly probable that his pool of luck was about the size of his fingernail and only dwindling further.

“Hi,” a vaguely familiar voice wafted his way one afternoon in the library. It was the second week after break, and school had resumed full-force.

Minho looked up. Great. It was the guy who had introduced himself as Jeongin back at the party. This time he was wearing glasses and bearing two textbooks. “Hi,” Minho replied.

Without any hesitation, Jeongin set his books on the table across from Minho. “You have it lucky,” he sighed, a note of dreamlike longing pressed into the words, and Minho resisted the urge to make a sardonic comment about how he had felt rather unlucky when Jeongin had showed up.

“Why?” he asked instead.

“Your relationship,” Jeongin answered. Minho resisted the urge to snort, because Jeongin was coveting a relationship like his and Jisung’s. But the younger’s next words had his throat running dry and his heartbeat picking up. “Jisung talked about you for a whole half-hour yesterday. I wished he’d shut up but I couldn’t even be mad.”

Minho desperately attempted to call on those three-year-old drama class tips right now. Not for the likes of fake-dating but instead for keeping an impassive, flush-free, face.

“He did?” Minho asked.

“Seungmin started the whole thing,” Jeongin explained, and Minho felt… disappointed? Of course Seungmin had been there—that had to have been the reason.

“Seungmin was asking about how spring break went. And it turns out you went to his parent’s house too? Anyway, Jisung ranted about his parents, but mostly just rambled about you, for ages.”

“Ah,” Minho nodded sagely. He hoped Jeongin didn’t look too closely at him, because although he had managed to keep his face fairly neutral he was sure his ears were burning up. “It was fun,” he added, just to fill the resulting silence.

“I’m sure.” Jeongin’s tone of voice was blatantly suggestive. Minho tried to ignore it.

“Anyway,” Jeongin went on, adopting a contemplative stance as he slouched back into his chair and stared up at the library’s white ceiling. “Do you think I should just tell Seungmin I like him?”

Now that wasn’t what Minho had been expecting to hear next.

“He’s so oblivious when it comes to things like this,” Jeongin told him. After another moment of thought he leaned back forward and opened his textbook with a dramatic sigh.

Minho almost laughed out loud. Yeah—Seungmin sure was oblivious. The guy could ace all his classes but he couldn’t figure out that he and Jisung weren’t dating? Jeongin too—Minho had been convinced that the two of them were out to prank Minho and Jisung for their fake relationship, but no, Minho was convinced that both of them genuinely believed their guise.

Wait a minute.

So when Jeongin had said that Seungmin had said that Jisung had said he had liked Minho prior to their first fake date, that had been a real thing? The truth?

That was still dubious.

Minho squinted analytically at Jeongin only to discern nothing of substance. The other student was caught up in his own apparent troubles; he had his eyes fixed on some mathematical diagram in the textbook but Minho figured his thoughts were still elsewhere.

“I think it’s best to just confess,” Minho ended up advising instead.

It was ironic. He should have just told Jeongin that he and Jisung weren’t dating. Should have just let Seungmin know too, prank be damned. And yet neither him nor Jisung had done so, despite how they’d planned to.

By now it had kind of just become a running joke—both waiting for the moment Seungmin would figure out that hey, something he was interpreting was wrong. Had been wrong for a while.

But it was possible there wouldn’t be a when; following spring break, Jisung had started reaching for him more often, slipping his palm into Minho’s as if the inclination to hold hands came naturally. He’d lean his head towards Minho’s shoulder when he laughed and crowd closer when they walked, like Minho’s space was meant to be trespassed by Jisung.

No more kisses, but the newfound physical closeness… one side of the coin, they were now two friends who held hands sometimes. On the other side, they could genuinely pass as a couple.

That wasn’t really the problem. The problem was that Minho liked this idea of how he and Jisung could be, how it might feel to be together—how it had felt to be pressed together—and he was beginning to fear that second side of the coin.

“I guess,” Jeongin finally replied, lost in his own musings. Minho was slightly jealous—at least Jeongin hadn’t gotten himself stuck into a tangled mess of not knowing what was real and what was fake. “If I get rejected it’s not the end of the world.”

“You should—whatever the outcome, at least it won’t be another missed opportunity to regret,” Minho pressed, though not unkindly, and wished he could follow through with his own suggestions. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Hmm.” Jeongin pondered it. Let out a despairing exhale. “Maybe.”

The table fell into relative silence, each under the guise of resuming studying for their respective classes yet minds wandering with thoughts of certain someones.

Truth be told, Minho didn’t particularly care how Jeongin’s love life went. He was partially invested, maybe in the same way Seungmin and Jeongin had invested themselves in his and Jisung’s lives, but he was mostly preoccupied with the whole fake relationship thing.

He was glad he and Jisung had become close friends, glad Jisung they’d become comfortable with each other on multiple levels.

But there really was only so long it could go on, Minho realized. He could end it now, and he was sure they’d still be on good terms—because fake dating had been the start to their relationship but it had never been at the forefront of it. Mostly.

Besides, poor Seungmin and Jeongin probably deserved the truth before they became complete laughingstock for him and Jisung.

Yet the idea of ending it all made him inexplicably sad. He shouldn’t have felt conflicted over ending a show that had lasted two meals and a couple trips out with Seungmin, but he was.

Deep down he knew there was a little more than that, though.

Out of a bad habit cultivated over the years, Minho checked his phone. Jisung’s face, caught in action, was still displayed on the lockscreen. The time read four-thirty; he’d been here for about an hour, and leaving right after Jeongin had arrived would surely be interpreted as rude.

He’d try to study a bit more, then… talk to Jisung about it, and maybe finally clear up those ambiguities.

---

“Oh! I just got back from class,” Jisung told him, meeting him at the door as Minho slipped inside their room. “Do you want to grab dinner?”

“Sure,” Minho readily agreed. “I ran into Jeongin in the library.”

“Really? Wait—you know him? And talk to him?”

“Yeah,” Minho said. “Shouldn’t we…”

From his chair, Jisung directed him a look of confusion. “What?”

Minho ripped the metaphorical band-aid off. “Shouldn’t we just tell Jeongin and Seungmin that we aren’t really dating?”

He watched Jisung’s face go through a myriad of emotions; first surprise, then amusement, then regret and finally a masking sort of acceptance. “Probably,” Jisung said. “Yeah, I guess it’s been a long time coming.”

“It’s…” Minho felt like he had to explain himself, even when Jisung already knew the reasons he was about to list off. “We’re ultimately just lying to them.”

Jisung frowned. “It wasn’t meant to be anything serious, though. I thought it was funny.”

Now that’s exactly the catch, Minho wanted to say. At first it was just a joke. Now it’s no longer funny. Because it wasn’t meant to be like this at all, and because now I want to date you for real.

“It’s been months,” Minho hesitantly replied as he forced his other thoughts down. “And what about your parents? I can’t pretend to date you forever, that’s not…” It was unrealistic. Minho would do it. But he just… couldn’t.

“Oh shit, yeah, my parents,” Jisung muttered, as if it were an afterthought. “Damnit. You’re right.”

“Right,” Minho echoed, relieved that they now seemed to be on the same page. “I’m sorry, I just think we can only keep this up for so long.”

Jisung’s face fell. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I”ll… plan on telling my parents that we…” he laughed dryly, miming the snap of a pair of scissors with his fingers, “ended up cutting it off, okay?”

“Okay,” Minho agreed. “I’ll free Thing One and Thing Two from the spell we’ve put them under for so long?”

At this, Jisung laughed, genuinely. They had been steeping in an ugly concoction of graceless stumbling and nervous unease until this sound—it felt like the refreshing indication Minho needed to hear that they’d rebuild the wreckage of three months of on and off fake-dating just fine. That ending the act didn’t change the way they could make each other laugh and smile.

Or not.

“Um, I have to pee,” Jisung grimaced once his laugh had died down. He blinked rapidly. Minho had seen that tear-hiding blink before—it had been ingrained into his mind from that time Jisung had originally approached him with the proposition that had set everything in motion. Today’s question was less daring. “But dinner at fifteen?”

Minho nodded. He took a step forward but Jisung stepped around him and took three back.

“Oh, and by the way,” Jisung told him, opening the door and slipping out to the main hall, “I still owe you a favor, so… think about it!”

Minho had nearly forgotten about the IOU. He didn’t even know what he’d ask. Instead, he thought more instead about how Jisung’s voice had been shaking—a tremble so barely there it had been almost indiscernible—as he had left the room.

---

Dinner in the cafeteria felt like one of those fake dates. Stilted, awkward, and just wrong. When it was just the two of them, Minho should have found it easy to get along with Jisung, but now it seemed like both of them had run dry of conversation topics. He’d almost slipped his hand into Jisung’s to make the both of them feel better before realizing that he probably shouldn’t be doing so anymore.

So they ate in silence. Like they’d gone back to the time before these past few months had happened. It could have been the start of the school year, when he hadn’t really known Jisung yet, and Minho wouldn’t have been able to tell.

The next morning, Minho rose with his alarm and was halfway across the room—Jisung had adopted the lazy habit of having Minho wake him up weekday mornings—when he realized the opposite bed was already empty.

Minho wondered what business Jisung had to take care of at nine in the morning, felt mildly hurt he hadn’t been told about it, but then figured it wasn’t a big deal.

Until Jisung ghosted him the entirety of that day.

And then it happened the next day, too. He’d wake up early and come back late, or at times when he knew Minho wouldn’t be around.

Minho could only pinpoint the root cause as the end of their fake relationship. But where had it gone wrong? Minho had assumed that Jisung would brush it off far easier than he had, and that life would continue as usual. But yesterday’s dinner, then after that… Jisung was most definitely avoiding him.

He didn’t understand… was Jisung upset at him? But it had been Jisung’s idea in the first place, and, over fish burgers and fries, he’d even told Minho that he could break it off. Fake dating had never been a true burden, and after all, they should have still been roommates and friends.

Jisung, Minho texted him. is everything ok on your end?

The next day, to no reply, he’d followed it up with, can we talk..? And then i wish we’d talk again :’(

After another day of silence, Minho supposed he was better off trying to resolve unfinished business.

Seungmin, Minho texted him, let’s meet up. cafe?

And then, drag Jeongin along too if you can, thanks!

“Minho,” Jeongin beamed cheerily, as if they were close friends, “Seungmin and I are dating now!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Minho could only break into stupid laughter, chuckling in miserable disbelief at the ground.

“I’m glad,” Minho finally told them. Frankly, he didn’t feel much, but he also knew he’d feel like a horrible person if he said nothing.

Besides, he needed somewhat of a cushion before he delivered his own news: “And I wanted to tell you that Jisung and I aren’t anymore.”

In front of the coffee shop, two pairs of wide eyes stared unblinkingly back at him. The owners of the eyes were holding hands. Minho wanted to cry.

“You and Jisung what,” Seungmin said flatly.

“Actually, we weren’t even dating to begin with,” Minho laughed derisively. “Surprise.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows furrowed downward and his mouth flattened into a grim line. “You weren’t…?” his voice sounded small, disbelieving, and just all-around upset.

“We were… um, fake dating,” Minho told them.

Jeongin’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “I thought something felt off but, wow, that’s kind of funny.”

“Not the time,” Seungmin said.

“Yeah. Anyway, That’s all.”

“No, that is not all,” Seungmin told him. “Are you…? For real?”

“For fake,” Minho corrected him, snorting.

“So it was all a show, then? The whole time? God damn, you two, what the fuck?”

Seungmin didn’t sound upset that he’d been tricked. He sounded mad at Minho.

“Jisung asked me,” Minho lamely clarified. “At first. For his parents.”

While Jeongin was on the verge of breaking out into delighted and entertained cackling, Seungmin continued staring at Minho with a shocked expression on his face. It seemed like he was processing the information and slowly placing the puzzle pieces together. “Jisung… is an idiot.” he said eventually. “Oh, Jisung, you…”

Now Seungmin sounded especially mad at Jisung.

“And I don’t care what you think about Jisung because now I want to date him for real,” Minho finished, ears burning red. It was somehow easier confessing to others now that he’d already spilled everything else. Suddenly—this simple statement didn’t seem as ridiculous as the concept of prolonged fake-dating in comparison.

“Oh my god,” Jeongin said, bringing a hand up to his mouth to muffle laughter. “This fucking made my day, thanks.”

“No, no,” Seungmin loudly cut in. “Minho, you… just tell him then?”

“But he only ever asked me to help… pretend?” Minho unsurely replied. He sounded pitiful to his own ears. “Besides, we were never on good terms but now we’re actually friends. Well—” It had seemed that way until a couple days ago, at least.

“You are not drinking coffee right now,” Seungmin declared. Reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone, fingers tapping rapidly on the screen. Barely two seconds later, the phone was being shoved into Minho’s hands.

“Hello? Seungmin?” Jisung’s voice sizzled through the phone speakers.

Minho knitted his brows together, shook his head with wide doe eyes as if to convey a Please, no, Seungmin.

Seungmin merely jabbed an insistent finger at his phone. Jeongin’s eyes were slanted up into mirthful crescents.

Minho shot both of them the bird, then brought the phone to his ear. “Hi,” he meekly greeted.

There was a loud ruckus on the other end, a muffled curse, and then Jisung’s voice returned. “Minho,” he said, quietly. “Sorry. I didn’t expect that.”

Belatedly, Minho realized Jisung was still on speakerphone. He turned it off and shot an enraptured Jeongin a glare. Started briskly walking down the sidewalk away from the two of them.

“I’ll find you later,” he mouthed at Seungmin, then to Jisung, said, “Yeah. Uh. Hi. I.. uh, just told Seungmin and Jeongin, about… anyway, I think Seungmin wants me to… ”

He couldn’t say it. His jaw felt stapled shut; he couldn’t—

“I’ll be back at our dorm in five minutes,” Jisung told him. “Sorry. I saw your texts. We should talk, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Minho would have thought the phone line had broken—that he was hearing his own voice ricocheting back at him—had he not been familiar with the intricacies of how Jisung’s voice sounded by now.

“See you, then.”

“You too.”

The line hung up.

Minho slowly walked back to where the other two were standing and deposited Seungmin’s phone back in his outstretched hand. “You two can get drinks without me. I’m just gonna...” he jabbed a thumb back in the general direction of the school dorms.

“Damn,” Jeongin said Minho was out of earshot, turning to Seungmin. “They were cute, though. Fuck!” He sounded mildly pissed. “I even envied their relationship while I thought it was real.”

“It is real,” Seungmin corrected. He seemed adamant on the idea. “But they just messed it up. And—you didn’t even see them interact together once!”

“Yeah, but Jisung talking about Minho on and on? And when I relayed that information to him in the library the other day? Minho’s ears were fire-hydrant red, it was hilarious.”

“The least you could do is pretend to be slightly sympathetic for the situation they’ve dug themselves into,” Seungmin reprimanded him.

“Pretend. Now that’s a good one.” Laughter tumbled endlessly out of Jeongin’s mouth.

“They weren’t pretending, though. Whatever pretend there was… it was by virtue of name only,” Seungmin insisted. Then shook his head. “They better get back together after all of this, for real.”

---

The door swung open before Minho could finish scanning his key card.

“I thought about it, and I messed up, Minho, I—”

“Sorry,” Minho told him.

“Sorry?” Jisung laughed incredulously. “You’re sorry? For what? Ending something that should have ended ages ago? That I kind of forced you into?”

“You didn’t force me into anything,” Minho reminded him. He shut the door behind him before the entire hall could overhear their conversation.

“Then what are you really sorry for?” Jisung asked. “No, Minho, I’m sorry, because part of the reason I asked you to be my fake date in the first place was because you seemed to be unfairly responsible as a roommate, and because I didn’t think you’d be the type of person to say no. I shouldn’t have done that.”

They stood there silently, for a moment, before Jisung muttered, “And, TMI, but I didn’t even particularly like you before this. Okay, actually, I thought you were kinda pretty and hot, but now I really really—”

His voice cracked, and then Jisung looked away and Minho realized his roommate was crying. Minho could guess what Jisung had been trying to get at, though, and attempted to process this.

“You really...?” Minho coaxed, gently, as he wrapped his arms around Jisung. Jisung had hunched in on himself, but then Minho felt Jisung’s arms land on his waist, Jisung pulling himself back up.

When there was no reply, Minho pushed on. “I agreed to this,” he emphasized, again. “Regardless of how you felt I wouldn’t have done any of this if I truly hadn’t wanted to. The first time was a bit weird and I agreed partly out of sympathy, yeah, but everything that came afterward? I wanted to be there.”

Sniffling. Minho’s shoulder would probably come out of this snotty and wet but he didn’t really mind. “For real?” Jisung asked.

“Yeah,” Minho told him. “Besides… Seungmin dialed your number earlier because he wanted me to tell you that I like you, I think.”

Jisung pulled away. His eyes were wet, but he furrowed his eyebrows at Minho. “You… think… you like me?”

“No,” Minho said firmly. “I meant this: I like you. And I think that’s what Seungmin wanted me to clear up earlier.”

“But you mean as a roommate, right? As a friend, all that sort of stuff.”

Minho wanted to shake Jisung’s head until he understood. “No… as in, I want you to go on a real date with me.”

“Oh,” Jisung said, after the longest three seconds Minho had ever stood through. He wiped his eyes, a dazed expression on his face. Then his mouth was curling up at the edges. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Minho told him. “I can’t say I’d particularly like to visit your parents’ place again anytime soon, but I want to go on a proper date. With you.”

Jisung had clamped his bottom lip inside his mouth as if it would stop him from smiling. It didn’t, not when his eyes gave him away.

“I like you a lot, too, and I’m sorry for avoiding you lately,” Jisung said. He stifled a laugh as if the idea seemed silly now. “I thought I needed time to get over you, actually.”

Minho spluttered.

“You don’t have to say anything to that. You’re probably thinking what the hell, Jisung? But let me remind you that it was me, the dumbass, who started this whole mess in the first place, so I don’t think I was being very logical about much of this at all.”

“I mean—”

“But now you’re telling me you like me back, so...!” Jisung cut him off first with his reply, and then, quite literally, with a brief yet enthusiastic press of his lips.

“Nobody’s watching,” Jisung told him, “So can I do this now?”

“You didn’t answer my question yet,” Minho reminded him.

“Yes. Let’s go on a date,” Jisung blurted, and then stepped impossibly closer, crowding into Minho’s space. “Actually, would you be my real boyfriend? Once and for all?”

“I dunno,” Minho surmised. It was hard to tease when Jisung’s imploring eyes and broad smile were inches away, but he continued, “Being a boyfriend is a lot of pressure, especially when the time comes and I have to meet your parents and all.”

Jisung scoffed, glancing away, then that lopsided smile returned to his face. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” he said, and reached down to take both of Minho’s palms into his own, bringing their entwined fingers between their chests. “Besides, hand-holding helps, right?”

“I guess,” Minho tried not to shy away from Jisung’s radiant gaze. “If it’s with you.”

“Stop,” Jisung’s eyes softened, and his fingers tightened around Minho’s. “I don’t deserve this.”

Despite his words, he leaned further forward. Paused a breath away from Minho’s mouth to ask the silent question. This time, Minho was the one who closed the gap, lips finally landing on Jisung’s without the fear of having to pull back. It was just the two of them, and kissing was harder when they were both smiling sweetly into each other, but both of them meant it. For real.

Hands wedged between their chests, Minho felt the brush of Jisung’s pulse leaping against his knuckles, and the heat of skin seeping through his shirt. That was real too.

“I would gladly be your boyfriend,” Minho finally said.

“I won’t mess it up this time,” Jisung told him. “Okay, I might still have my dumb moments, but—”

“It’s a package deal,” Minho interrupted, laughing. “Besides, I want all of you.”

Jisung grinned bashfully. Bent down to press a gentle kiss to the back of Minho’s hand. “Me too.”

---

Whoever was knocking wouldn’t leave them alone.

“What the fuck,” Jisung miserably said, remaining sprawled across the bed while Minho got up to check the door. Jisung had ended up on Minho’s side of the room last night after complaining that he had felt lonely, and then they’d cuddled until falling asleep. It felt surreal, and Minho had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t just a dream.

It definitely wasn’t, because the knocking at the door was incredibly real and obnoxious. “It’s your favorite duo,” Minho unceremoniously announced before opening the door to Seungmin and Jeongin. “Eight in the morning,” Minho said flatly. “Really.”

“You two sorted it out, right?” Seungmin asked, peering past Minho in the doorway to where Jisung was splayed out. “Please say yes.”

Jisung offered a thumbs-up.

“Cool,” Jeongin beamed, then shoved a freezing-cold cup into Minho’s hands. “This is the coffee you missed yesterday after you ran off to confess to Jisung.”

“I… is this a whole day old?”

“No. We bought it this morning, just for you. Congratulations,” Jeongin replied.

“Yeah,” Seungmin nodded. “We took a guess, and assumed the chances were higher that you’d end up back together than not, so—”

Grinning near-deviously, Jeongin pulled the door shut. “See you!” he called. Through the peephole Minho watched the two of them walk away.

“I’m confused,” he said. He took a sip of the coffee, then nearly choked and coughed it out. “Fuck!” he hissed. “Be right back.”

It had only been a minute, but the two perpetrators had already vacated the outside hallway. Minho spit out the mouthful of drink in the nearest bathroom sink. It was saltier than any ocean water.

A note had fluttered from the bottom of the cup onto the floor in his wake. He picked it up on the way back.

if you thought i wasnt upset that you and jisung were able to pull something like that on me, youre wrong. i am. anyway hope u enjoy the coffee ;) -seungmin

HEY ME TOO. it was funny tho -jeongin

“What happened?” Jisung called, concerned, as Minho stepped back into the room.

“Nothing,” Minho told him. “Here, try this. It’s pretty good.” He handed Jisung the cup.

“Thanks,” Jisung obliviously said, sitting up and taking a sip. Once his eyes bugged out of his head, Minho passed him the note.

Jisung miraculously managed to swallow his sip, grimacing. He stared at the note in his hands. “You know what else is fake? Our friends,” he divulged, grinning through the disgust salted into his tongue.

Minho laughed. Some of the faking had resolved itself less-than-horribly, after all.

---