Minho

The club was still loud behind him, heavy bass vibrating right through the brick walls, but out here on the sidewalk, it was just Jisung and the empty, damp street. He had walked out without really thinking, leaving his coat inside, unable to shake the scene he couldn't get out of his head – Minho laughing with someone else, his hand resting easily on their arm, eyes bright in a way that made Jisung’s chest physically ache.

He stood there under the dim streetlight, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at nothing. The night air was biting, and he knew he should probably go back inside, but his feet wouldn't move. Hearing slow, deliberate footsteps behind him, Jisung’s shoulders tensed.

— What are you doing here?

His voice came out rougher than he intended, but he still didn't turn around. There was a brief pause, and then Minho’s voice cut through the empty street, sounding calm and altogether too close.

— Looking at you.

Jisung’s jaw tightened.

— You walked out, Minho stepped closer, and Jisung could feel the sudden warmth of him at his back. — Didn't say anything. Just left.

— I didn't think you'd notice.

— I always notice.

Jisung finally turned around. Minho was standing right there, close enough to touch, his face hard to read in the flickering light, though his eyes remained steady. Waiting.

— You jealous? Minho’s voice was low, completely stripped of any teasing. He was just asking.

Jisung’s throat went tight. He knew he could lie, that he definitely should lie, but the cold and the exhaustion took over.

— Yeah, the word came out small, almost swallowed by the distant city noise. — I'm jealous. Happy now?

Minho didn't smile, nor did he react for a long, heavy second. Then he simply reached out, his fingers closing firmly around Jisung’s wrist, his thumb pressing right against the racing pulse.

— Then stop running away, he said, his tone dropping to a steady, serious murmur. — Talk to me. Tell me what you want.