3

As promised, Seungyoon wakes him up to provide him with the prescribed pill that Jinwoo swallow promptly. It is still early and his eyelids feel heavy – he wants to go back to sleep but it is so cold, he asks Seungyoon to stay, to snuggle next to him, hugging him tight so his warmth spreads from his legs to Jinwoo’s chest, where his heart thumbs, numbed, unkempt. Seungyoon is so cuddly, he presses himself against Jinwoo’s limps, legs tangled around his ankles, hands rubbing his waist, the air from his lungs brushing his hair, tangling them with Seungyoon’s blond flocks that cover his forehead. Crammed with Seungyoon, he feels the coldness retreating, feels that it is easier to breathe, to be calm even when everything else is shattered – Seungyoon anchors him to this soft bed and that’s all that matters now (tomorrow will be a new day full of promises, of excitement, of different beginnings).

When morning finally comes, Jinwoo feels well-rested for the first time in months – rested and happier, with Seunghoon sitting on the other side of the bed, shaking Seungyoon awake.

“Morning little princesses,” he greets him, already prepared to face the day. “We gotta go to work, baby,” he mumbles, kissing softly Seungyoon’s spongy flocks that are in total chaos. He smooths and flattens them, making him giggle and the sound is so sweet that Jinwoo can only be dazed at their complicity, the familiarity of their relation, how comfortable they are together, even when they bicker or when Seungyoon clings to Jinwoo to make him jealous – which doesn’t work, Seunghoon is too sure of Seungyoon’s affections. Jinwoo tries to get up, incorporate a little, but Seungyoon is holding like a fanny pack, protesting about having to desert the bed when he is so cosy and settled with Jinwoo. Seunghoon fumes, lets him stay a little longer and Jinwoo has a smug Seungyoon all to himself, falling asleep with his head placed atop his abs, his fingers naturally drawn to mess with the locks of his hair. The next time Seunghoon opens the door, with him comes the smell of breakfast and, with it, Seungyoon is presto to get up, smiling childishly, avoiding with his tenderness to be nagged.

Again, Jinwoo eats in bed, accompanied by Seunghoon, who is done admonishing Seungyoon, hurrying him to get ready. He is dressed in his office attire – the same Jinwoo would wear: a simple, boring suit. He has cooked special soup for Jinwoo and is taking the pleasure to be thanked, appreciated – Jinwoo is eating with gusto and this is all that Seunghoon wants: for people to appreciate his culinary art.

“Minho will be here in a while, I’ve just been with him on the phone,” he explains, getting the dishes. “I told him the password, so don’t be scared. I’ll help you to the bathroom to wash and make yourself even more presentable,” he jokes, “though this fair and weak make you look pretty irresistible. Minho won’t be able to help himself and fall in love with you,” and laughs at his own lame tale. “Pinch your cheeks to give them a bit of blush, it will sit well with the rest of your complexion,” he finishes, his hands busy holding him. Jinwoo manages to take a shower with Seunghoon’s help – and it is a miracle that he doesn’t end soaked in bubbles, - and, with the hot water raining on him, feels drained but pleased, happily scrubbed.

As accorded, an hour and a half after Seunghoon and Seungyoon’s departure, he is greeted by the cheerful voice of Song Minho. He walks around the house as if owning it, opening doors to rooms in his quest to find Jinwoo – but there are only two more rooms in this place and he is in awe that so many people can live in such a small apartment. When he finally finds Jinwoo, beams at him, waves at him, hands carrying a bunch of paper bags.

“Have you eaten?” he says, coming in, “I’ve brought different stuff because I can’t cook,” he adds, apologetic, but quickly smiles, “you look better,” and takes a seat near Jinwoo, on the chair that Seunghoon has left for him.

Jinwoo tries to catch up with Minho’s chit-chatting but his low, tender voice is wavering, makes him feel light, soaked into clouds and dreams and, in no time, his lids bats slowly, resisting to be closed and Minho notices, smiling.

“Just rest, I’ll be here,” he promises even when there is no motive for it – Jinwoo can perfectly stay alone, even incapacitated and prostrated in bed, he still can manage himself, he doesn’t need a nurse, Minho doesn’t need to remain here when he possibly have other places to be, better things to do than watch Jinwoo lazy cadence of his breathing, counting the beats of his heart.

Minho wouldn’t mind contemplate Jinwoo for the rest of his life: he is stunning, even when laying on a bed, only half of his face out to be seen, his pretty, round eyes under the charm of creamy dreams, his nose that is so perfectly well crafted, just as his high cheeks, his comely frame, the curb of his lips, lightly tracing a soft smile. He is more than ordinary beautiful: Jinwoo is precious, makes him swoon in delight at his mere sight, Minho wants to memorise all of his freckles, graze his skin with timid fingertips barely brushing like the touch of a butterfly’s wing, he cares for him instantly, as if second nature, as if bounded to be.

When he wakes up, after uncountable hours, Minho is, indeed, where he was before, his head on his hand, his eyes marvelling at him, shinning appreciatively. He has a laptop precariously reclined on the armchair – Jinwoo hopes that he has busied himself with paperwork or watching Naver instead of staring creepily at him, though it would mean something, it could be the grand opening he needs, his opportunity to get to him, to know that he is enamoured of him already and that he has access to his belongings (and his chest pangs, obstructing his thoughts with a rush of pain that colours him rose).

“You look more lively,” he comments, noticing the blush on his cheeks, smiling at the sign of Jinwoo feeling better. “At what time do you need to take the pill?” he wonders, after a moment of meditation. Jinwoo blinks, recalls earlier, many hours ago, remembers Seungyoon and counts the time missed in between. He, then, checks the time on his phone and ignores the gleam appearing on Minho’s orbs, following his hands, anticipating something Jinwoo can’t read.

“In an hour,” he replies, hiding his device amid the bedsheets, away from the prying eyes. He feels torn between acting up his necessities – to flirt and let him believe whatever he feels as true, - or just be thankful and let him go – let this chance escape, fight his own battle from square one. He peeks at him, trying to decide if it is worth it the risk – if hurting Minho will benefit him in the long run or if it is better to not even bother, let it be a one-side crush as it seems to be the case, with Minho beaming when he catches his stolen glances.

Jinwoo jumps in, there is nothing much to ponder – he will try to be good and let things go smoothly (he will intent Minho’s feelings to not grow bigger, escalating to the point of no return, so he won’t suffer much once he will be done with his money (once he has milked what he requires from him)). He doesn’t know how, he is out of practice, he is out of use but Minho needs little encouragement and, perhaps, just by following his lead would be enough – as Minho is intently watching his little intakes of air, Jinwoo is convinced that he won’t have to push his luck, that it won’t be hard to just pretend: Minho will do the rest.

It is silly to feel so concerned over someone who he barely knows. Jinwoo is only a pretty person and, yet, he is dragged to him, attracted with the force of gravity, his thoughts monopolised by him, by his well-being – since he left yesterday, Minho has been constantly remembering him, tracing his face on the sky behind his lids, stuttering his name in dreams. It is strange to be this attached but, perhaps, the blame is on the way they met. He considers that it might be the fainting that caught him by surprise, what made his heart skip a beat and ran to Jinwoo, bewitched, enthralled, enraptured. It happened as in a movie: in slow-motion, the cherry blossoms swirling, covering the ground with its fragrance of spring, the sky was clear and the sun high and the fall, the running to him, taking him into his arms, cradling him, watching him regaining his senses, it was succeeded in the span of a second that stretched for years in his mind, all the movements detailed, numinous. It took just a moment but felt like a lifetime and he watched his future engraved inside Jinwoo’s eyes and he was sure that he couldn’t let him go.

He has been thinking about him since for, has been imagining and daydreaming, wondering if he is going to accept him, his attentions, his will to be there for him - and as hasten as everything is going on, Minho wants for nothing but to be by his side, shield him from all of his problems, take responsibility for Jinwoo as he has never done for anything in his life (a life of a millionaire, with no worries or issues affecting him, just flowing money on his wallet, ready to be thrown and wasted at his leisure). He has never cared for anything or anyone since Jinwoo and it feels odd to take heed so greatly of someone he only has a name for – a beautiful name for a beautiful face, but that’s all and Minho has been pondering if his chest is all right, beating fast and then slow just by picturing Jinwoo, just by watching him sleeping. And, right now, with his eyes trailing over him, he wonders if he feels it too, the pull, the connection, the link blooming, bounding them two – souls colliding, meshing colours, creating a new synergy, harmonising, shaping songs pulling out the meaning of their hearts.

Minho does all the chatting and Jinwoo listen, all his attention focused on him, all attentively, with a sweet, little smile travelling to his lips, nodding, making his hair whirl, dark pools of ink, his eyes watching him, kind, gently, hues of autumn on a forest – warm, shining, falling leaves on a pond, floating under the moon and the stars, the flavour of milky-coffee, familiar, comfortable and amiable, like shooting stars. Being with Jinwoo, his elbows on the mattress, back firmly resting on the wall, a stash of pillows propelling him straight, blankets piled on top of his flesh, covering him from toe to his chin it is a religious experience, like talking to God – he is not only stunning, he is so attentive and gracious and self-sacrifice: despite being impeded he has offered him to cook, has rejected his help in order to not bother him, has put colour on his cheeks just to please him. Minho has navigated through the house thanks to Jinwoo’s words, he has given him the best parts although he was the sick person, the one who should be pampered, taken care of – Jinwoo refutes being treated differently, insists that he is good, that he can do it himself.

“After all, Seunghoon won’t be back until very late,” he says with a sad smile breaking through his lips, smashed with kimchi and soy-bean sauce. Minho can’t stop the urge to clean him, weeping the smear with a napkin, touching as an accident his skin – it lacks vitamin but it is still smooth and creamy. Minho looks abash, upset about the implications caught on Jinwoo’s words– that he thinks that he will be left alone; it won’t happen, not on Minho’s watch: he will stay with him for the rest of the day and far more if required (he would carry him to his home where he would be constantly taken care of, where he could supervise him all day long without interruptions, without friends coming over, without having to stay at someone else’s house). But this will have to do until he can convince Jinwoo to move to his villa – Minho is going to be here until his friends come to relieve him.

“I’ll be with you until he comes home,” Minho promises, reaching to hold his skinny hand and his veins protrude under his fingers, feeling the rush of blood, shaking gently under his touch. “You won’t be alone,” he adds, a dreamy smile and Jinwoo knows that he is in trouble, that Minho is more interested than he has suspected – that he can be so easily convinced to bring the moon to him if asked.

“Thank you,” he manages to say, blushing with nerves, unsure of what to say next – in the end, Minho is nothing to him, only a kind person worried about his health.

But he has nothing to be preoccupied about; Minho takes the lead about everything: gets him water for the pill, asks him easy questions, reminds him of his medical appointment in a few days, assuring him that he will get well soon, that this is only a bad streak.

Minho is watching him so intently that Jinwoo’s skin burns, feels warm all over, tickled with waves of hot sensations, poking holes with the force of his stares. It is too much to handle, too much liberty from someone who barely knows him – for someone who has just appeared in his life, Minho is jumping in uninvited, unsolicited but not totally unwanted despite the passion igniting his eyes, the smiles bathing over his flesh.

“What do you do for a living?” he asks, breaking the stillness, a relief from the silence of being observed. It’s an easy answer and Jinwoo doesn’t need to hide – he had a good job back at the company, before getting fired for being sick which, thinking about it now, with his head clear and his mind sharper after resting, it is wrongful termination and he should sue them all. He notes it to himself, to comment it to Seunghoon before taking any possible action.

“I worked at YG’s RH department,” he says, a doleful smile playing across his lips.

“And how did you meet Seunghoon?” he wonders, really curious. He has noticed how close they are but doesn’t want to be invasive – he doesn’t want to ask what lingers in his heart (if he is free to be courted or if he is already taken by Seunghoon). But he wants to know more about Jinwoo, about his whereabouts, about the people he is close to because they can be his friends soon, too.

“I hired him,” he laughs, chuckling softly, filling the room with the reverberation of his voice, clean and gentle, the most beautiful sound. “That’s why he takes care of me because I got him his dream job,” he explains a minute later when the giggles have subdued – when the room is calm and Minho is longing to hear his voice.

“Not the only reason, I guess,” Minho suggests, sneaking into the topic. Jinwoo raises a brow but bites the bait.

“Best friends prerogatives,” he explains, a little smuggling smirk on his face. “We’ve been known each other for years. He was, in fact, the first person I ever hired,” he continues, his voice soft with recollections and Minho doesn’t mind listening to it for the rest of the afternoon – it is a comforting sound. “Since he was new to the city, too, I helped him get a place and we began to hang out together. I even got him a boyfriend,” and his chuckles are so delicious, he can taste them on the tip of his tongue, wishing to embroider the flavour inside his core.

Minho likes what he hears: it might sound random but he is getting a glimpse of Jinwoo’s character – and he wants to see more, wants to sink into him like a stone in the ocean, reaching the bottom, discover all that there is about Jinwoo (to know the person he is). And, so far, in a minute he has discerned that he is kind and amiable, always ready to give a hand and single to be wooed by him any time.

“So, when is your best friend coming over?” he wonders, not seriously, just asking to keep the conversation on – Jinwoo seems to be the type who needs encouragement to speak up. Jinwoo tilts his head, checks the time on his phone – he has a text from Seungyoon he replies under Minho’s supervision, his glance never leaving him alone.

“Around nine if the traffic jam isn’t terrible,” he answers, nodding to himself. “But you don’t have to feel obligated to stay!” he rushes to say, embarrassed to have Minho to himself the whole day.

“No, I like being here. Besides, you shouldn’t be by yourself,” he tells, grasping his hand, feeling his long, slender fingers betwixt his. “And I don’t have anything better to do,” he adds to calm any possible qualm.

“I can be alone, I’m not a child,” he protests, pouting adorably. He hasn’t asked to have a sitter, he has just appeared, willing to keep him accompanied.

“How old are you?” he queries, really interested to know – Jinwoo seems young, but Minho can’t guess, his face is ageless, statue-like as if time didn’t affect him (as if he was the embodied of a true angel).

“30…,” Jinwoo isn’t happy with the question, he frowns at Minho and his eyes irradiates some annoyance that claws on Minho’s heart.

“What? No way! You look 20 at most! I thought I would be older than you!” Minho flickers, getting up from the chair, totally get by surprise. He wasn’t expecting Jinwoo to be his hyung.

“Oh…,” Jinwoo’s mouth is half-open and, like this, agape, he looks even more lovely, charming, adorable in a new form. “Thanks,” he mumbles, all coloured in rosy blush. “I guess I’m still looking young,” he manages to add amid the shyness in front of Minho’s fuss.

This is not going well, Jinwoo is not getting what he needs – he is just getting tired and that’s not part of the plan (at most, a consequence of it). He should be flirting back, not blankly rejecting him, objecting at being carried to his home – he should be exhilarated to get out of Seunghoon’s apartment, to return him his bed and his Seungyoon, instead, he is fighting Minho, trying to convince him that this is a terrible idea.

“It is not,” Minho contravenes him, “it is my pleasure to help. And I got your point: we don’t know each other, but that’s why I didn’t ask you to move right now. We can get to know a little bit more and, by tomorrow...”

“That’s stupid! Why do you even want to get into so many troubles for me?” Jinwoo retorts, raising his voice. “It makes no sense, you have already done more than enough. Don’t you have a life, work, something more important?” he queries, bothered – his principles are getting the worse out of him, he doesn’t want to be a nuisance to anyone else, he only wants a bed to crash and food to eat, not a nurse to stay all day with him.

It takes a few minutes for Minho to reply: he needs to think carefully of what to say – he doesn’t want to scare Jinwoo by revealing that no, he has nothing to do with his life, that all he has are piles of cash, that he hasn’t worked a day because he has been born rich. Jinwoo seems to be at the edge of the blade: skinny and troubled, sleeping on a friend's couch with no job to make ends meet for reasons that Minho unknowns but that, one day, when Jinwoo is ready to tell him, he will unveil, lift the mystery surrounding Jinwoo's worries that have taken a toll on his health. 

“I manage a company,” he settles to say, which is partially true – he is the CEO but does nothing but sign papers and stamp his name: his business is doing all-right without him having to be involved, his parents have done the hard work, he just have to maintain it, to keep the reputation and, so far, nothing has happened to damage it so he continues doing nothing, letting life float its own way, leading him to a bright future ahead - to the sunset that is Jinwoo, covered with all the colours of the rainbow, rain dropping on the window, the soft taste of spring days. “I don’t have to do much, so I have plenty of time to myself,” he explains, sounding convincing. Jinwoo sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Are you tired? Maybe you should sleep a bit...” Minho suggests, worriedly, looking at him expectantly, his eyes filled to the brim with pure concerns.

“No, I’m fine,” Jinwoo says, smiling weakly at him, just to stop the creases forming on his mouth. “It’s just a bit too much,” he admits, “but if you are so sure about it… about your house and such,” he begins, Minho already beaming, “I wouldn’t like to be a bother to you...”

“But you are not! I take care of you and you keep me company. It’s a good deal!” he offers, grinning in a way that melts Jinwoo’s resistance.

“OK,” Jinwoo agrees, “Thursday I have the appointment with the doctor, right?” and Minho nods, “can you take me there? Afterwards, I can move to your place, what do you think?” Jinwoo thinks it is a good bargain – he still has a few more days to meet Minho.

Minho would like to take Jinwoo to his house straight away but accepts Jinwoo’s suggestion that sounds cautious and sensible, more reasonable than his own idea.

“Sure, but now, take a break. I’ll be on the living-room, watching whatever,” he says, getting up and taking his laptop with him, leaving Jinwoo alone – to contemplate his options, the future ahead.

When Jinwoo wakes up half an hour later, he finds Minho sleeping on the couch, all clustered, cuddled in a ball. The scene feels so familiar, Jinwoo grabs a blanket and covers Minho with it before going to the toilet and prepare some dinner for them all – and his breath comes in shaky puffs and his legs tremble while standing up, but he is determined and, besides, he has been laying for too long.

The light is flickering above him, the room smells different, there are noises and laughter and it feels stuffy in a good way. He opens his eyes in awe just to see Seunghoon sitting next to him, chuckling at his astonished face.

“Good morning Sleeping Beauty,” he jokes, “want to join us for dinner? Jinwoo cooked,” he adds, smirking. “Though I thought that he would have to stay in bed and rest,” but he isn’t angry at him, at the fact that his friend, who is unwell, has given up his time to heal to feed them all - as Jinwoo usually does, he has always been too kind to be a bother, as much as he tries to deny it, it is a fact that Seunghoon knows and Seungyoon shares with him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, yawning, his fingers wiping out the sleep from his eyes. “I should have done that, I brought take-away,” he reveals, pointing at the bags on the counter.

“But I like to cook,” Jinwoo chimes, pouting, “and I’m not that bad, right?” he asks to his right, where a young fellow sits, a bunch of curls topping his head, falling on his round face, covering his forehead. He grins at Jinwoo, his mouth busy eating.

Minho hasn’t time to reply or to say anything else: a plate is conjured and pressed towards him, a smile across Jinwoo’s face, inviting, alongside the sounds of chatting banter among Seunghoon and Seungyoon, who seat together, a head resting on the other’s shoulder. It is borderline adorable to see them trying to feed each other, pouting and laughing, revealing to Minho more about Jinwoo, about themselves, too, making him feel integrated despite the fact that it is their first time meeting properly, that they have just been introduced. And it has been so long since Minho has felt this comfortable, this welcome, he feels like belonging; as if they were already his friends – as if they have always been.

The night falls on them and catches them by surprise. The clock hanging on the wall ticks and Minho realises he has been in this tinny house all his day: he has come to watch Jinwoo and, in the end, Jinwoo has been the one keeping his eyes on him, nourishing him with home-made food he has devoured with a ravishing heart and good company, a blessing presence that is imbuing his life with sense – a sense he has lost years back.

“I should go home,” he mumbles, hiding a yawn. Seungyoon is already half-sleep on top of Jinwoo, softly talking in his dream.

“I’m going to put this babe to bed,” Seunghoon agrees, getting up and taking Seungyoon’s weight away from Jinwoo. He carries him on his arms, drags him to the bed – the same one Jinwoo has been resting and it thorns Minho’s heart, prickles it to see how close they are, how easily they are sharing the space, breathing the same air just inches away.

“Thanks for dinner,” he is at the door, Jinwoo has accompanied him, cheerfully, his eyes full of stardust. He seems much better than this morning, less tired and more content and happy – and happiness fits him so well, makes him gleam under the lamp angelically.

“Thank you for your visit,” he retorts, still smiling. “Shall I expect you here again?” he wonders and Minho prints into his brain the way he says it, the little tilt of his lips, the suggestive tone, a bit of sardonic flavour around the corners. He is beautiful even when he is been sarcastic: when he means the opposite of what his face tells – and Minho thinks that he is welcomed to stay again.

“Certainly, please, expect me,” he says with the last good-bye, a bit of a bow before closing the door, a stupid grin plastered all over.

Minho falls asleep counting the hours to see him again.