Falling For The Nerd

broken promises

That night, something in Minho finally went still.
He had stopped running — stopped lying to himself. The fear didn’t vanish, but it no longer ruled him. He knew some people would call this wrong, his father most of all, but lying beside Jisung, nothing had ever felt more right. For the first time in a long while, his heart wasn’t fighting itself. With Jisung, everything that used to hurt seemed to soften. The world wasn’t lighter, but it was bearable. He made it so.

The treehouse glowed in the golden hush of evening, sunset dripping through the wooden cracks like honey. The scent of old wood and pine clung to the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of Jisung’s shampoo. It smelled like safety — like warmth after a storm.

They lay together on the small worn sofa tucked against the wall, the fabric faded and soft beneath them. Jisung’s arms were around him, holding him close from behind, one hand splayed gently across his waist. The other was tangled in Minho’s hair, fingers threading through the strands in slow, careful movements. He played there lazily, fingertips brushing against his scalp, every touch patient and sure. His breath moved softly against Minho’s hair, steady and warm — a rhythm that lulled him deeper into calm.

Minho pressed back into him, fitting perfectly into the curve of Jisung’s body. His own hand rested over Jisung’s arm, tracing small, absent shapes on his skin — slow circles, lines that faded and began again. The skin beneath his touch was warm, alive, grounding.

The space between them disappeared. Their breathing fell in sync, quiet and even, blending into the hum of the evening. The light shifted, painting them in shades of gold and blue. Jisung’s fingers kept moving through his hair, brushing softly at the nape of his neck, until Minho’s shoulders loosened, his chest rising with an easy breath.

He could feel Jisung’s heart against his back, steady and sure. Each beat pressed into him like a small, silent promise

“Minho…” Jisung breathed out softly, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Mmm? Yeah?” Minho murmured back, his voice low and sleepy.

“What does all this mean for us?” Jisung asked, though even as the words left him, he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer.

Minho’s head tilted back slightly, his eyes finding Jisung’s. Their hands never separated. For a long second, they just looked at each other — scared, but understanding. Then Minho blinked hard, eyes falling away as he turned back to face the ceiling.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

The words hung heavy in the air. Jisung’s arms loosened from around Minho’s waist. A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.

“Sungie, are you crying?” Minho whispered, worry lacing his tone as he turned to face him. Their chests brushed, so close now that they could feel each other’s breaths.

“I… I like you, Minho,” Jisung admitted, voice trembling. “I like you a lot. And that scares me like hell.”

Minho reached up instantly, a small, soft smile tugging at his lips. His thumb brushed away the tear, slow and lingering, before it rested against Jisung’s cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere this time, princess. I promise.”

He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Jisung’s warm, flushed cheek. Jisung’s breath caught — his face turning bright red, ears burning. He closed his eyes, melting into the reassurance.

“But you’re not—” Jisung started, but the words tangled in his throat. His eyes darted away, afraid of being too open, too vulnerable.

“I don’t know what I am, Jisung,” Minho said softly. “I don’t even know if I like boys or not… but I know that I like you.”