db1122
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Jisung moves to sit back, lost and discombobulated, but the hand that unexpectedly settles on the small of his back stops him in his tracks. Fingertips slip underneath the waistband of his sweatpants as the action throws him off-kilter, trapping him against the heat of Minho’s thigh.
When Minho speaks, he doesn’t even lift his gaze from his phone to look back at him. “Go on.”
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or, three times Minho meticulously, lovingly pushes Jisung’s buttons, and one time Jisung gets him back threefold.
Bookmarked by db1122
06 Jul 2026
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The assistant director lays the stack of scripts down gingerly, perhaps almost reverently. Minho folds one hand over the other and hopes it will be enough to hide the slight tremor that he can already feel setting in. His eyes scan the front page, before returning back to the title. There it is, bold black on stark white, all capitalised: RED STRING THEORY.
He blinks. He doesn’t quite know what he had been expecting, but this is not that.
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or, Minho has been Jisung's bandmate, best friend and self-proclaimed soulmate for years now — becoming his acting partner in an uncomfortably BL-adjacent drama won't change anything, surely.
Bookmarked by db1122
06 Jul 2026
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Minho laughs and Jisung hears him typing something on his keyboard. A new chat message appears. “Here you go, a gift to remember me by.” That smile appears in his voice again. “Let’s talk later. Bye, Hannie.”
> leebit has left Group Voice Chat.
> leebit: (XXX-XXX-XXXX)Jisung blinks. Is that… a phone number? Did he just… get a cute boy's phone number playing Overwatch?
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- English
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- 56,144
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- 8/8
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Bookmarked by db1122
06 Jul 2026
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Minsung's journey through the twelve Korean love days.
- Words:
- 53,819
- Works:
- 4
- Bookmarks:
- 61
Bookmarked by db1122
03 Jul 2026
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The ballet dancer’s soft voice breaks through the buzzing black and white static that fills Jisung’s mind.
“Hello.”
“Ahh–” Jisung stumbles over himself for a moment, chewing his lip to get himself in order. “I’m Han Jisung, born in 2000. It's nice to meet you.”
Well. Shit. As if he needed anymore proof of how limited his ‘gift with words’ truly was. He shouldn’t have left the house, he clearly can’t be in society.
The dancer’s face lights up in amusement. “Wow, so formal and polite. I’m Minho.”
Minho’s smirk shifts again like mercury.
No, Jisung corrects himself, Minho feels too assured to be quicksilver.
It’s like the seasons. Like the spring melt. A change that brings relief. A shift so steady it feels stablising
Or: Jisung is a poet experiencing major writer's block. He goes out to find inspiration when he finds the ballet dancer Minho.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 84,549
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- 3/3
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Bookmarked by db1122
03 Jul 2026