Castle in the Sky

Even on his sleep, tangled between layers of sheets, curled up and messy hair after tossing around for a bit, he is still beautiful. Even more so, because he can take the view fully without being exposed, without fearing that he will notice his eyes trailing him. Carefully he draws his face on tiny air, traces his love on his flesh. He doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t need to be aware of all the times he has stared at him sleeping, all the sneaking, stealing glances over his bed, looking for him, for a glance of his figure, his head against the pillow, hair scattered, chest swirling, up and down: the cadence of his dreams.

On his twisting, eyes closed to the world, its light of thousands of stars contained behind the lids, Jinwoo has crawled to him, clinging halfway on his chest. Minho can't help it but throws his arm all around him, pushing him even closer, skin again skin, his chin resting atop of his shoulder, his forehead a breath away from a kiss. It smells like falling leaves, creeping fire and apple and cider, like autumn’s night, full moon and clouds covering the stars. Gently, Minho brushes it, the locks falling on his side. Still wed after the shower, it tangles around his fingers, spreading the perfume to his skin and Minho kisses to top of his fingertips just to get a taste of it – a taste that is forbidden because Jinwoo will never know how much he is in love (irremediable, irrevocable, his name is embroidered deep inside his core).

He has tried but every attempt was met by Jinwoo’s blank stare, his laugh blowing it away. He has flirted with him a little bit, between wine and tears and broken hearts. Jinwoo, so innocent, so naive, so easy to love and so hard to get to known, always so composed, always hiding, complicated to read his mind, even after all the years, after all the secrets shared. Watching him is always new, a surprise and he isn’t tired of contemplating him, everything he does is always endearing, charming, lovely.

Living with him it's a daily torture of shame and sunshine – he can see him, to touch him but never in the way that he aches for, never as he longs and craves for, always concealed as friendship and bromance and nothing more. But living without him would be even worse – on the occasional days that Jinwoo leaves, Minho is so restless, eyes caught on the places where Jinwoo used to stay, listening to the modulation of his voice from his speaker, drawing him on the canvas of his room.

But he is accustomed to it, to be prickled and blessed just the same, simultaneously. Today, though, it’s different. Today, half his dream is becoming true and Jinwoo is, after so long, sharing a bed with him. He doesn’t remember how they ended like this, but little he cares. He stares into Jinwoo and sighs the depth of his love, entranced, his head placidly on top of his chest, covering with a sleepy smile the ink of his flesh, lips gracing the tattoos that are meant for him alone. And even if it is happening by accident, because Jinwoo is asleep, he will study his contour, he will learn him by heart – because a chance like this is rare.

It is so warm, so comfortable. He stirs around and opens his eyes to the soft light of the incipient morning. Minho is completely tangled with him, arms and legs all together in a mess on top of the mattress. He is lying on his chest and he instantly flushes rose, springing back, retreating to the far end, the corner of his agreed side of the bed. His heart beats fast, drumming against his ribs at the pace of a song. He shouldn’t have relaxed to the point to forget the barriers, the limits he puts on himself to control the flowers blooming on his blood – and that blotch his mind with images of soft kisses and laced hands, late nights on the couch, watching TV together. But it’s all a dream, beautiful and unreal. He knows well enough that Minho doesn’t fancy him this way, that they are, at most, roommate. And he is contented with that, he won’t push Minho into something that he clearly doesn’t want.

With golden dust covering him, Minho is a beautiful mess of limps and blankets intertwined, his skin warm like chocolate against the pure white of the sheets, tempting, enthralling. Jinwoo stares at it, biting his lips, thinking about it taste on his tongue, the mild sensation drowning his spine.

There are eyes on him. Jinwoo blinks, sheepishly, confused, observed.

Minho looks at him, cloudy head missing his other half – the half that is now far from his reach, far from his heart-beats. And he is tired. He wants to go back to sleep, he wants Jinwoo to be next to him.

“Come here, hyung,” he says, pointing at his chest. Jinwoo moves, tentatively, scared of doing something wrong, but goes willingly because this is what Minho wants and he would give him the world and the stars. “Now,” Minho smiles, pushing his head against his ribs, like a cushion, petting gently Jinwoo’s curls. “Don’t go again because I really can’t sleep without you.” And then a kiss rains on top of him.

Jinwoo hums, setting on his new space, hands holding Minho, pulling him closer to his heart, his dear boy.

“Sleep well then,” he smirks through the words and Minho kisses his lips to mute him.

“Though I love your voice, I need to sleep or I won’t be able to see you tomorrow under the sun,” he is so smooth, so cheeky, Jinwoo can’t help but fill the room with laugh and earning a soft punch from Minho. “Are you doing that so I’ll kiss you again? You don’t need to, I would kiss you all day long, lazy afternoons in our room. But we have work to do,” he says and he is right and Jinwoo really wants to relish into watching his dream – his dream that has come to live, his castle on the sky that is Minho resting next to him, hands clutching on the hem of his shirt, clinging into him, taking away all the space.

“I love you,” Jinwoo murmurs, later on, the sun caressing them with its light, golden over golden and Minho’s eyelashes cast shadows over his bones that Jinwoo slowly traces – under his fingers, they are light as butterflies. Minho grins and beams and holds him, kissing him fully, lips and teeth and everything in between, blended with laughs and tears and adoration.

“I love you, too, fool”, he says, parting an inch, just to let him know, just to voice it, finally. And it tastes so sweet, it feels so great. He says it again, and again until it loses its meaning – but it will never lose its meaning to Minho. And Jinwoo smiles like an angel under him, his fingers holding his frame, his lips brushing the freckle on his nose.