ONESHOTS | MINSUNG

1

"Somewhere Between Notes and Heartbeats"

College AU • Classmates • Fluff • Slow burn • Soft spice (very lil)

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Lee Minho noticed Han Jisung the way people notice the quiet hum of a refrigerator at night-
not immediately, but once he did, it became impossible to ignore.

It started in their second semester.

They were in the same creative writing class, seated two rows apart. Minho always sat near the window, where the light softened the edges of the room and made it easier to disappear. Jisung, on the other hand, sat wherever his friends dragged him-usually somewhere in the middle, where his laughter could bounce freely off the walls.

Minho told himself he only noticed because Jisung talked a lot.

Too much, sometimes.

He spoke with his hands, with his shoulders, with his whole body leaning forward as if the world might miss something important if he didn't physically push his words into it. When he laughed, he laughed like he meant it-head thrown back, eyes nearly closed, mouth wide open.

Minho pretended it annoyed him.

It didn't.

What annoyed him was how easily Jisung slipped into his awareness. How his eyes followed him without permission. How he could be half-asleep in class, chin resting in his palm, and still register the exact moment Jisung entered the room.

Today was one of those days.

Minho was early. As usual.

He had his notebook open, pen resting idly between his fingers, the page still blank. Outside, the sky was pale and overcast, the kind of gray that made everything feel quieter than it really was.

Then-

"MINHOOO-!"

The sound cut through the room like sunlight.

Minho didn't flinch. He never did. But his lips pressed together just slightly as Jisung slid into the seat beside him, backpack hitting the floor with a dull thud.

"You're early again," Jisung said, breathless, like he'd jogged here. His hair was messier than usual, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. "Do you live here or something?"

Minho glanced at him. "You're late again."

Jisung grinned. "Balance."

Minho huffed, a quiet sound that wasn't quite a laugh. He turned back to his notebook, but he could feel Jisung looking at him-could always feel it, like warmth near his skin.

"What are you writing?" Jisung asked.

"Nothing."

"That's tragic."

Minho shrugged. "It's peaceful."

Jisung leaned closer, peering at the empty page. Minho caught the faint scent of laundry detergent and something sweet-gum, maybe. He didn't move away. Didn't lean in either. Just stayed still, aware of the space between them shrinking to something fragile.

"You know," Jisung said softly, "blank pages stress me out."

"Then don't look at them."

"But they're full of potential," Jisung insisted. "Like-" he gestured vaguely at Minho's notebook. "This could be a love story. Or a tragedy. Or something completely unhinged."

Minho finally looked at him properly.

Jisung's eyes were bright, curious. There was always something restless in them, like his thoughts were racing ahead of his body.