After he finished filming Two Kids Room with Seungmin, Jisung shakes the Pringle's crumbs out of his sleeve, navigating his way through the people shuffling around the studio. Everyone is yelling at someone else, or yelling through a cellphone, and one person was carrying a set light like it might burst into flame. He just wants to get out of the busy space. It's already dark out, and his bed and pyjamas at the dorm are calling to him.

Minho was escorted to another set after Two Kids Room wrapped, to shoot with another member. He was being very Minho-ish earlier, threatening to hit Jisung several times. Jisung wonders how many instances will make it into the final cut...

The final cut will probably be something to watch. "Something." Jisung really has to work on controlling himself in front of the camera, especially when Minho is around. Just today he called him his "soulmate" and "baby," like his restraint had disappeared into thin air.

But he's hasn't ever had any restraint around Minho. It's all on impulse; all spur-of-the-moment roughhousing and fits of laughter and cuddling — most often in that order. He thinks it's the same for Minho, but he's not positive. They can talk endlessly about 'I am' or 'I think,' but one of them always shuts down before they can get to the 'I feel.'

At the elevator, Jisung presses the downward arrow. A soft ding, and the doors are opening. He steps into the elevator, and the doors take a moment before they slide closed.

"Wait, wait, wait, hold the elevator!" someone shouts from the hall, and Jisung swats the 'open' button.

Minho, of all people, crams himself through the doors, slumping against the wall and raking a hand through his hair. He looks up at Jisung. "Oh, hey. Thanks," he says.

"No problem," Jisung replies, pressing the 'close' button. "What happened to you?"

"I had to to check my hair. I thought it looked terrible, and I was right," Minho says, and he cringes. The dishonesty in his voice is completely obvious.

Really, Minho was talking to the director, subtly persuading him to not air a part of the feature where Minho asked Jisung a particularly exposing question. The director seemed indifferent, rattling off comforting "of course"s and "for sure"s. As he walked away, Minho swore he heard him mumble something about including it in the 'Undisclosed Clips,' but the director's attention was stolen as a panicked staffer came to him with a set light that was literally on fire.

Jisung glances at Minho's hair. "I didn't notice."

"You're not very observant," Minho deadpans.

Jisung scoffs, shaking out his sleeve again. "Don't make me regret holding the elevator."

Minho gives him a look.

Jisung notices. "What?"

"What are you doing?" He points at Jisung's arm, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Pringle's crumbs got everywhere," Jisung explains. "It feels like cockroaches are crawling up my sleeve."

"Ew." Minho wrinkles his nose. "You could have described it any other way."

Jisung wags his sleeve over Minho, and he flinches. Jisung smirks wickedly.

Minho straightens out his hoodie, narrows his eyes, but he's grinning. "Why are you like this."

It's rhetorical, but Jisung answers anyway: "It's funny."

"You just like disrespecting your elders."

"I didn't realize there was anyone else in this elevator."

Minho shakes his head. "Heathen."

Jisung ignores him. "Where are you going from here?"

"Dorm," says Minho. "I'm tired. You?"

Jisung doesn't feel drowsy anymore, and he knows exactly why: because Minho is here with him in this elevator — nowhere to go — with his black hair and calming hickory eyes — and suddenly restraint is a foreign concept.

"I don't know. Do you wanna go somewhere?"

Minho blinks. "Huh?"

"We could get some food. All I had today was Pringle's. And breakfast and lunch."

Minho snorts. "I can just make some food for myself."

"C'mon," Jisung prompts, catching his eye. "Let me treat you to dinner, hyung."

"You? Treat me? No."

"Okay. Then you buy me dinner."

"Not that either."

"How about we split it?"

"Maybe," Minho muses, caution laced into his voice. "Depends. Where are we going?"

Jisung shrugs, smirking again. "I know a place."

"If it's McDonalds I will flick you in the eye."

"Wow," Jisung says in English, "you're really happy to spend time with me, aren't you."

Minho smiles. He thought it would be another dull evening at the dorm, but now Jisung asks him to dinner. Away from the members, away from cameras. There's a good chance he'll slip up and say something untethered again, but he's willing to take the risk.

"Where is this place?" he asks.

The elevator dings again and the doors glide into the wall. Jisung and Minho stomp out into the hall in step.

"It's a subway away, really," Jisung says. "It's great."

At the front of the building, Jisung opens the glass door, and Minho walks through it — though he hates when Jisung holds doors for him.

Minho stalks toward the subway station. Jisung catches up to him — trying not to run.

"So that's a 'yes, Jisung, there's nothing I'd rather be doing'?"

"It's a 'fine, Jisung, better than hanging out at the dorm and ignoring Felix until I pass out at ten o'clock.'"

"Good enough." Jisung chews on his lip. He wonders if Minho is just that neutral about their impromptu outing, or if he's applying some kind of reverse psychology. Reversing what, though? Thinking about it makes Jisung blush, so he asks the first question to pop into his head.

"What did you mean when you asked about my feelings for you?"

Minho swallows discreetly, weaving to miss a buisness-person who was barreling toward him like a bulldozer. He'd hoped Jisung had forgotten about that, or only remembered how they sang 2PM lyrics until the director told them to stop.

"Dumb question," Minho says dismissively.

"What was dumb about it?" Jisung asks. "I don't get it." He laughs.

"Eh, it doesn't matter," Minho says, and walks a little faster. Literally running away from the question. He sighs to himself as he hops down the steps, onto the subway platform.

The station is crowded; lots of people trying to get home, trying to make their dinner reservations. The two stand just out of the current, on the edge of the man-made hollow where the subway should be.

"Is the subway here yet?" Jisung asks. Minho's refusal to give a satisfying answer is only making Jisung more curious, but he figures he can bring it up again later.

"No," answers Minho, looking down the ominous tunnel. When he turns to look the other way, Jisung's eyes meets with his.

Then Jisung's eyes flash upward, a tentative yet mischievous spark dancing just inside his iris. He reaches up and fiddles with Minho's hair, and then adjusts his bangs. Minho stares at Jisung's nose — which Minho thinks is beyond compare — while he does this.

When a playful smile appears on Jisung's face, Minho bats his hands away. Jisung laughs and swats back at Minho, reversing his hard work on his hair. Minho catches Jisung's hands and holds them between his. (Jisung is warm, like always, and his round cheeks go flushed with pink.) Minho lets go a second later, losing his nerve, and stares back down the tunnel.

And Minho can feel the awkwardness — as irrefutable as the oxygen he breathes. He hates when things get uncomfortable between them. Like the time Jisung and Chan were singing to each other and Minho was jealous... Or when Jisung kissed Felix's arm and Minho was jealous... Or earlier in the day when Jisung mentioned sleeping over at Hyunjin's house and Minho was jealous.

Jisung just prays Minho didn't notice him blush.

Luckily, the subway races down the tunnel and to a halt, the doors opening a few yards from them.

Minho turns to Jisung. "Shall we?"

"Yup," he answers.

They push through the gridlocked platform. A murder of teenagers cut in front of Jisung, and by the time they pass, he worries he lost Minho in the crowd. But Minho is waiting for him by the doors, looking back at Jisung like he's completely pathetic and adorable. Jisung jogs to Minho and they board the blindingly-fluorescent subway.

"I thought I lost you," Jisung says once they steadied themselves on a vertical pole inside the car.

"I was keeping an eye on you," Minho replies. Jisung tries not to be flattered.

"What's that look?" Minho asks.

"Hmm? Oh. I'm just wondering how many people have sneezed on their hands and then held these poles."

"Eww," Minho groans, peering at his palm with contempt. Jisung snickers at him. "Haven't people heard of sneezing into their elbow?"

"What, are they just supposed to expect the sneeze coming and instinctively dab?"

"Catching your sneeze isn't dabbing."

"Felix and I disagree."

Minho laughs, and Jisung laughs because Minho is laughing.

The subway lurches to a start, and Jisung loses his balance — his shoulder bumping into Minho's. He regains his balance, and spots Minho smiling shyly out of the corner of his eye.

"Sorry," Jisung says.

"It's fine," Minho says, clearing his throat.

"Are you wearing perfume?" Jisung asks. He thinks he caught a whiff of strawberries.

Minho tilts his head. "No." He tilts his head again, but this time it looks like it's on purpose.

Jisung looks just past him to see a lady with short hair, cat-eye glasses, and sparkly lipstick. The eccentric type you see on transportation or maybe outside a pet shop. The unbearable sweetness of fruit substitute possess the air around her. The lady grins and waves at Jisung, and he bows politely.

"Ah," Jisung mutters. "Makes more sense."

"You're saying I don't smell like strawberries?" Minho feigns offence.

"Yes, you smell like Minho," Jisung says, and Minho smacks his arm. "I mean, you smell agreeable — for the most part. 'Strawberries' is pushing it."

"You're pushing it," Minho says. Jisung smiles like he's loving it but also a little frightened. "Speaking of food, what is this place again?"

"It's a Malaysian restaurant. You're going to love it."

"If you say so," Minho says. "Is Malaysian food like comfort food to you?"

"Some dishes," Jisung answers. "Roti canai, bak kut teh, nasi goreng..."

"I recognize bak kut teh."

"Yeah, we were talking about it earlier," Jisung says. Then he steps closer to Minho. "Speaking of things we were talking about earlier..."

"There's nothing to speak of," Minho sighs.

"I think there is," Jisung claims.

"Jisung," Minho says, even though saying his name while looking into his eyes sends a shiver up his spine. "You're thinking there's more to a stupid question I asked when I was drunk on Pringle's. There's not. Sorry."

Jisung narrows his eyes, suspicious. "You're shivering."

"It's cold," Minho says defensively.

"It's not that cold." Jisung cocks his head to the side. "Do I make you that nervous, hyung?"

Minho ponders the question, looking anywhere but Jisung. Maybe Jisung makes him nervous sometimes — awkward, on-edge, even — but he stirs up a lot of emotions in Minho. Most of them just make him want to be around Jisung more often.

The subway halts at their stop, and they both lose their footing for a second. The harsh tide of commuters usher them toward the sliding doors.

Jisung startles when Minho takes his hand. Minho doesn't want to be separated in the rush of people, but he doesn't mind getting the opportunity to feel Jisung's supernaturally warm skin again. He's like a human-electric blanket. On cold nights out in the city, all Minho wants to do is corner Jisung at the studio and smooth talk himself into the other boy's freakishly cozy arms.

Minho shows Jisung out onto the platform and into an empty corner near the stairs.

"Where are we going from here?" Minho asks, letting go of Jisung's hand.

Jisung pouts. "I'll lead," he replies, grabbing Minho's hand again.

Once Jisung turns away, Minho smiles. Sometimes he thinks Jisung might like him. Like him in the way Minho likes Jisung. But Jisung also likes skinship; he's been touchy and friendly with all the members. What makes Minho any different?

Jisung and Minho walk up the steps into the night.

"It's beautiful," Minho says. He's trying to steer the conversation toward something that doesn't make him completely hysterical. "The night sky."

"It's okay," Jisung replies.

"How can you say the sky is just 'okay'?"

"It's better when you can see the stars," Jisung says thoughtfully. "I'll take you somewhere there aren't as many city lights sometime."

Minho blushes. Jisung has to like him. Why else would he say things like that, wear that little, knowing smirk after he says them?

Jisung speaks again suddenly. "But don't think I've forgotten what we were talking about."

Minho almost groans. "I can't believe you're interrogating me on my feelings when you're literally clinging to my hand."

"What are your feelings? What feelings are we talking about? Why are we even talking about feelings?"

"Because you won't let it go."

"I won't let it go because I'm curious and you're stubborn."

"You won't let it go because you're obsessed with me."

"What if I am?"

Minho pinches Jisung's bicep for no reason. Jisung laughs — "Ow, fine, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop, stop, ow, ow" — and lets go of Minho's hand, only to wrap his arm around Minho's shoulders. Minho doesn't understand why the hitting and poking and general chaos of their moments together make Jisung want to get closer to him, but he's not looking a gift squirrel in the mouth, either.

"Ah," Jisung says a moment later, taking his arm back. "This is it."

Under a sign that reads "Good Malaysian Food" in fancy print, golden light shines out of the glass storefront. Jisung opens the door for Minho, who enters begrudgingly.

"Do you not like it when I open doors for you?" Jisung asks from behind Minho, amused once again.

Minho turns his head halfway. "I can open doors just fine."

"With all the doors I've opened for you tonight, I'm not sure you can."

"The next time we come across a door...," Minho murmurs gravely.

Jisung back-hugs him quickly.

It's spacious inside, only three other parties in the establishment. The smell is strong, not bad to any extent, but Minho feels like he's stepped into a soup pot.

"In the back?" Jisung asks, and, for whatever reason, his puppy-dog eyes are in full effect. Minho nods.

They walk to the back of the restaurant to a small, two-seat table with a floral tablecloth. Jisung pulls out a chair.

"If you pull my chair out for me," Minho says, "you will die."

"Hyung, please, I'm not that suave," Jisung replies, showing Minho his palm.

Minho just scoffs.

"Now that we're seated," Jisung says, resting his elbows on the table, "we can discus what 'feelings' are."

"Or what to order. Or the weather. Or anything else," says Minho.

"All the food is delicious and the weather is cold," says Jisung, his tone mildly frustrated. "I'm confused, Minho. I am not leaving this table until you explain that question to me."

"Then I guess you're never leaving this table."

"Minho, can you just—"

"No, I can't just," Minho says, rather sharply. "You're not the only one who doesn't understand why I said what I said. When I come up with an answer, I'll update you."

It's awkward again, but not like the usual fluttery loss for words. This silence is weighted with something more. Minho doesn't think a couple of crow noises could solve it.

"I'm sorry." Jisung's voice is attentive. "But..."

When Minho looks up, Jisung isn't smiling. He looks small, and Minho regrets snapping. "'But'?"

"I... think I like you more than I'm supposed to."

And the clocks stop ticking. The scraping of spoons and forks on porcelain and the yelling coming from the kitchen fade into the background, and all Minho can hear is his own heart stuttering to a standstill.

Jisung runs his fingers through his hair. It looks like he's searching for what to say. He speaks slowly, pausing every few words, staring at his hands: "See, I think there's a line, and — as an Idol — I'm not allowed to cross it. But I did. And I can't go back." Jisung isn't in control of what he says anymore. He hasn't quite grasped that he has these feelings, let alone that he's now admitting all this to Minho. "I don't think I like you the way a friend likes a friend. It just feels... different."

They stare at each other from across the table.

A moment later, a waiter appears with two menus and a little plate of lime wedges and basil. The two are startled by his presence. "I'll give you a moment."

Jisung notices Minho peering at his menu, eyes narrow and seemingly at a loss.

"Excuse me," Jisung stops the waiter. "I think we'll both have the nasi goreng. Thanks."

The two hand their menus back to the waiter, who nods his head and disappears into the kitchen.

"I hope it's okay I ordered for us," says Jisung. "You looked a little lost."

Minho brushes his bangs out of his eyes. "I've never been to a Malaysian place before."

Jisung smiles quickly.

"What?" says Minho.

"A lot of firsts today." Jisung shifts uncomfortably. "I... feel like I've made tonight about something it's not."

Minho opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "What did you make it about?"

"That I like you." Jisung is admitting this to himself just as much as he is to Minho. He'd been clinging to some last shred of hope that he didn't have the most massive, tragic crush on his bandmate. His friend. But, at the same time, he was clinging to Minho's question from earlier. He curses his brain and heart for contradicting each other.

"What was it originally about?" Minho asks slowly.

"Just spending time with you. Food. Freedom," Jisung says, then he laughs grimly. It sounds unnatural, coming from him. "I bet you wish you turned me down now, don't you."

Minho locks eyes with Jisung. "What would make you think that?"

Jisung looks taken aback for a second, then he rolls his head back. "I don't know if you understand what I'm talking about, hyung. I like you in the way I like girls — the way I should like girls. Get it?"

Despite the angry flare in Jisung's eyes, he seems breakable as the porcelain china on the table. Minho's words get stuck at the back of his throat.

Jisung continues when Minho is silent. "I haven't liked a girl like I like you. As strongly. I'm... that — or at least partly. And I didn't plan on saying all this, just so you know. Whatever you're feeling, trust me, I feel worse."

Jisung exhales. His emotions are all out, yet he doesn't feel better — like Chan once told him he would. ("What feelings?" he'd asked Chan. "Your feelings, for Minho," Chan had answered. "Minho is my friend," Jisung said. Chan had just sighed and patted him on the back.) Instead of free, Jisung feels raw and dirty — regretful. Did he just ruin his friendship with Minho for no reason? He could have kept his mouth shut and they would have parted on good terms later that night. They would have seen each other again the next day — nothing between them changed. Maybe Jisung would have pretended he hated it when Minho sweet talked himself into his arms, and then relished the contact. Maybe Minho would have tried to kiss him for the thousandth time, and maybe — just maybe — nothing but a colossal, crushing 'maybe' — Jisung wouldn't have cowered away...

Jisung can't believe he ever daydreamed about that. Jisung can't believe himself in general. But — for all the stupid things he's thought, he's done, he's said — he is still determined to ask one more stupid question.

Jisung leans forward, meaning to look serious, but Minho is staring back at him like Jisung is a puppy he's afraid to disappoint. "I thought you were asking me something very important, earlier today," Jisung begins. "I could be wrong; I probably heard what I wanted to hear. But I need to know what's happening in your head. Explain it to me. Don't worry about hurting me."

"Jisung," Minho says. His train of thought immediately vanishes when he looks up and Jisung's doe-eyes come into play. "I..."

"Minho." Jisung reaches across the table and takes Minho's hands, lacing them with his. "Tell me what you feel for me."

Minho closes his eyes, speaking as the words come.

"You have always been there, by me. When I had to rap for JYP, you held my hand. When I got eliminated, you were the first to touch my shoulder. When my fear of heights was getting to me, you told me it'd be okay. You've never let me be alone. Even if you were annoying me and I wanted you to go away." Minho laughs slightly, then sighs. "Even if I'm a weird, complicated person, and I say things that might lead you to think I've ever wanted you to go away."

Minho opens his eyes, holding Jisung's hands tighter. "Earlier, I was asking if you liked me. In that way. I was hoping."

The waiter materializes out of nowhere with two glasses of water in his hands and and two plates of food balanced on his forearms. Jisung untwines his hands from Minho's and helps the waiter distribute the dishes.

"Enjoy," says the waiter.

"Thanks," the two say in unison.

The waiter departs toward the kitchen again, leaving Jisung and Minho at a loss for words — trading glances between each other and the food. How do you pick up the conversation from revealing your devastating crush for your male bandmate and not sound completely awkward?

Jisung speaks first. "That waiter has great timing," he says — only slightly awkward — and, believe it or not, Minho laughs.

"I know. Just after we exclaimed our love for each other."

"Did I ever say 'love'?"

"It was heavily implied."

"Hmm."

"Well, you know I love you," Minho says. "But I also like you."

Jisung knows what he means.

As soon as they're finished eating, Minho and Jisung exit the restaurant and walk for the subway. They can see their breath in the cold night air, and Minho can feel his fingers go blue.

"What did you think? Of the food?" Jisung asks.

"It was great," Minho replies. "I expected I wouldn't like it and I'd have to lie about liking it, but I actually liked it." Minho is babbling, and his teeth chatter. He's not sure if it's because of the cold or his nerves.

"Good." Jisung smiles. "Maybe we could do that again sometime."

Minho can't help himself. "Like a date."

"Well, yes. People like us go on dates."

Minho raises his eyebrows. "'People like us'?"

"Yeah," Jisung says, "you know."

"Not really," Minho says when Jisung doesn't elaborate.

Jisung sighs. "You're gonna make me say it?"

"Say what?"

"What we are."

"What are we?"

"C'mon."

"Suffer."

"Fine," Jisung says unwillingly, though it's hardly a second before he's grinning, thrilled. He doesn't even try to escape the clichés or mushiness. He asks a question he's desperately wanted to ask — but barely dared to think — for months.

"Do you want to go on a date? And then maybe be people who go on dates often?"

"Like boyfriends?"

Just the word makes Jisung flinch, but an excited feeling blossoms in his stomach. "I guess."

"I don't know. I'll think about it."

Jisung shakes his head, eyes wide, peering at Minho.

"I'm kidding," says Minho, and Jisung hits him gently on the arm. Minho feigns an injury.

"You're mean, hyung." Jisung pouts.

Minho laces his fingers with Jisung's, instantly feeling warmer. "But you like me," he says.

Jisung blushes, smiling, and squeezes Minho's hand.