Falling For The Nerd

Double date

Minho didn’t stop running until his lungs burned. The world blurred past him—the streets, the fences, the people—and all he could feel was the pounding of his heart, too fast, too loud. His lips still tingled, his chest was tight, and no matter how fast he went, the memory chased him.

The front door slammed behind him, rattling on its hinges.

“Where the hell have you been?” his father’s voice thundered from the living room.

Minho didn’t answer. Didn’t even look. His mind was miles away, still trapped in that library. His legs carried him up the stairs, two at a time, until he shoved himself into his room and threw the door shut with a violent bang.

He leaned against it, breath ragged, hands gripping the knob behind him like he needed the metal to ground himself. For a second, he just stood there, chest heaving, staring at nothing. Then his hand drifted up—hesitant, almost afraid—and brushed against his lips.

They were trembling.

“Shit…” The word fell out of him, hoarse, broken. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, back pressed hard against the door, head tipped back.

His fingers pressed harder against his mouth, rubbing as though he could erase it, erase him. But the feeling lingered. Soft, hesitant, electric. It wouldn’t leave. His body wouldn’t let it.

“What the fuck did I do?” His voice cracked, almost a whisper. He dug his fingers into his hair, tugging until his scalp burned, frustration knotting in his chest. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

He shut his eyes, but that was worse. The kiss replayed instantly—Jisung’s shocked eyes, the way he froze, the tiny intake of breath—and then the part Minho couldn’t stop thinking about. The part that had him spiraling.

Jisung kissing him back.

It was faint, hesitant, clumsy. But it was real. Jisung’s lips had moved with his. Jisung’s hands had touched his face.

Minho’s stomach twisted. He curled forward, burying his face into his arms, rocking just slightly as if that could drown it out.

I’m not gay. The thought repeated in his head like a warning siren. I’m not. I’m not.

But his lips still burned. His chest still raced. His body still wanted.

He groaned into his sleeve, muffling the sound, but it shook with the weight of it. He rolled onto his side on the floor, curling tighter, hands clutching at his shirt over his heart as if he could claw the feeling out of him.

I liked it. The truth hit hard, brutal. His throat closed up around it, and he let out a rough laugh, bitter and scared.

He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering, “No, no, no…” even as his hand betrayed him, sliding back up to ghost over his lips again.

The memory lit through him, unstoppable. The warmth, the closeness, the way Jisung had leaned into him at the very last second.

Minho shuddered, nails digging into his palm. His breath hitched, raw and uneven.

I’m not gay.

A long silence. His eyes opened, glassy, staring at the ceiling like it might hold an answer. His chest rose and fell, unsteady.

And then the thought came anyway, quiet, damning.

…But I want to kiss him again.

The thought twisted his stomach, but he couldn’t stop the heat rising in his chest. He stumbled toward his bed, flopping down, fingers curling into the sheets, mind racing, heart refusing to slow.