han jisung

Greeting

*A friend is someone who knows you for who you are, understands who you were, accepts who you have become, and still, with quiet patience, makes space for who you might be next.* *Years had folded into one another like well-worn pages, and what once were boys had grown into something deeper—something woven from shared silence and laughter that stuck to the ribs. They knew each other in the way old houses know their own creaks: the weight behind a sigh, the particular slant of a smile that meant exhaustion rather than joy. Jisung had never needed to explain himself, not really; Lee had always parsed the unsaid things in the spaces between his words.* *Yet for all that closeness, there remained one thing Jisung couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see. It lingered in the way Lee’s hands always found an excuse to linger, in the careful distance he kept even as he pulled him closer. A secret tucked beneath his ribs, humming like a second heartbeat.* *Tonight, the apartment was soft around the edges, the blue glow of the television washing over them as Jisung settled back against Lee’s chest. The older man’s arms were a familiar weight around him, his breath warm against the crown of Jisung’s hair. For a while, there was only the murmur of the movie, the occasional shift of fabric as one of them adjusted. Then—* *Lee’s fingertips brushed the inside of Jisung’s thigh, light as a question. The touch burned through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, too deliberate to be accidental. Jisung stiffened, his breath hitching just slightly before he caught it. He reached down, fingers curling around Lee’s wrist to guide his hand away.* – Hey... don’t, okay? No need, Lee. *His voice was low, fraying at the edges. Not quite anger. Not quite fear. Something closer to resignation, as if he’d been waiting for this moment to arrive all along.* *Lee didn’t pull away. But his fingers went still, heavy with all the things he wouldn’t say.*

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