#jihoon thinkers where are you

your second kiss is your first real kiss. [or: five times you kissed Jihoon, and the one time he kissed you].

He sits still, feels it first. Let’s it linger.

On the corner of his mouth, resting there on his pale skin and the sliver of pink. Soft and sweet, and fleeting, a breath of warmth stuttering over skin, flesh, past bones, through him. Then gone, setting his nerves to tip over, prickling all over inside of him.

And then he stares, watching as your face sets ablaze, makes his throat dry.

“I… — I like you so much, Jihoon!”

Chest heaving, cheeks tinged pink – and in a heartbeat, your face twitches, eyes glossen, then you’re gone. Steps brisk, almost dashing. There is only Jihoon, and a loneliness once you leave.

Burning, “… Me too.”

He sits still, feels it first. Let’s it linger.

It burns.

—

Your second kiss is your first real kiss.

His palms sweat, together between his knees. Thumb tracing the joints in his fingers, stretched, open-palmed.

“– Color?”

His face twists, frowns. A crease between his brows. “Sorry?”

You smile, knees folding beneath you on your bed, the bed creaks – your head tilting just a bit, “What color?”

Four tubes held up to his face, they all look the same to Jihoon, – he chooses the glittery one, the one you wear, that gets hair stuck to your lips. Light pink, full of sparkles – glossy. And smells of strawberry, or something sweet.

“This one,” You smile at him. Cheeks reddening, eyes brightening. “That one’s my favorite!”

He knows, you’ve told him before. More times than he could count.

You hold it between your faces, twisting the lid off.

Then you’re holding his jaw between gentle fingers, pressing against bone. Brows coming together, face coming close, a warm breath, “Stay still, okay?”

He sucks in a breath, holds still. Stares at the crease between your brows, shifting to the slope of your nose, the pink tinge of your cheeks – then at your lips.

It drags across his bottom lip, and you pull away just a bit. “Go like this,” You rub your lips together, and he does too.

You run a finger at the corner of his mouth, beneath the line of his lips. Hands coming to his cheeks, holding him in place.

Then you see Jihoon.

Face burns, just like his chest.

Then you bring your mouths together, slow. Then fleeting.

Hands coming to your mouth, stammering, “I’m… — I’m sorry!”

Gone again, dashing out of your own room. Into the hall, and into the bathroom, where the door slams shut.

He doesn’t catch his breath, instead sinks into your bed, into the softness of your room – and burning, “… I’m sorry too.”

Jihoon wonders if you know how much he likes you. And the lipgloss sticks to the corners of his mouth, it must be everywhere.

—

In summer, Jihoon licks the side of your face.

“Ew, Jihoon!” You’re grabbing napkins, shoving your ice cream cone into his hands. Your nose is wrinkling, hands rubbing your cheek hard, and a discoloration comes after, red and rubbed raw – “You had ice cream on your face,” He smiles, making you frown.

You scoff, holding out your hand for your ice cream. Fingers brushing when he hands it back. He says, “It didn’t even taste like strawberry anyway.”

And you elbow his side. “Never do that again,”

Jihoon watches as your face reddens, and smiles. Notices just how beautiful you are, wishes he’d noticed before.

You smile again, lean closer into him. Eyes twinkling, “Can I have some of yours? You can have some of mine!”

Jihoon holds his ice cream out, a hand held out at the bottom of your chin, ready to catch any if it leaks out.

“Mint ice cream is just toothpaste,”

“You’re dumb for saying that,”

You sputter, mouth opening and closing – you whine, “But I’m right! It does!”

And the sun sets, sinks lower into the horizon. Jihoon watches, and you watch him.

He looks to you, and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft and sweet. You redden, standing and holding out your hand.

“Walk me home.”

He does, he always does – Jihoon wonders when the burning will stop, that fades, or etches itself somewhere else in his mind when you squeeze his hand.

—

Jihoon stares at your eyebrows, the crease between your brows.

Your hands rub sunscreen on his neck, tilting his head up, neck stretching. Then onto his ears, thumbs gently tracing the shell of his ear, his shoulder comes up, head presses close to it. “It’ll come off,” You say and he’s looking up again, this time at the blue sky. Feet digging into the sand.

“There,” You smile, patting him on the head. And pressing a peck to his mouth. “Go play!”

Jihoon burns, and not from the sun.

Smiles at you, and watches you tinge red.

(You take a bus home after, sitting close together. Hands in his lap, you trace the ridges on his knuckles, his head on your shoulder. You tell him you love him, and he can’t breathe).

—

You’re overthinking, face downcast.

“Jihoon,” It’s a breath, you breathe his name out. Eyes glossed over, looking at his mouth.

“… Jihoon,” He’s staring at you, hand touching your wrist. “Are you –”

It’s just a press of lips, mouth together. Gentle, but it sets ablaze in his chest. Spreading all over his body from the inside.

You pull away, mouth twitching.

You leave again, slower. Face down, eyes glossened. And Jihoon is afraid of the loneliness that comes once you’re out of his room, the door slamming.

Kissing you burns, and it makes him wonder.

—

+ 1.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your brows furrow, “I mean, that’s why we’re together, right?”

His hands come to his hair, tugging, and he paces, “No, like I want to be with you all the time, and… — I don’t know how to be without you,”

You’re sitting still on his bed, listening. Always focused on him, always aware of him – “I can’t be without you. You’re always with me, you’re like a… — A leech.”

“Jihoon, that’s not very nice…” Your hands rubbed your upper arms. Grounding into them like pulp, digging into flesh.

“CanI kiss you?” He’s staring at you. Watching you redden. You say too softly, “But you said you don’t like kissing…”

“When?” His head is tilting, eyebrows knitting deep together. A crease between his brows. You sigh, “Before we started dating… I thought that kissing made you uncomfortable –”

“But that was before. I don’t like kissing, but I like kissing you! There’s a difference…”

You stare at him, nodding soft. Gentle, eyes tender. And face red.

When you barely stand, and Jihoon takes your face into his hands, kissing you.

Your hand takes hold of his wrist, grounding into his pulse. The thrum of his heart in his veins, throughout his body. Heartbeat at his wrist, and the other hand grounds onto his chest, fingers unfurl, spreading open. Pressing into his breastbone, into the soft flesh of his chest – it beats just as fast as yours.

Then the kiss is different, more certain. Different than yours – his tongue drifts across your bottom lip, making you melt into him. Your knees together, sinking.

Jihoon pulls away, and you smile so beautifully at him. Cheeks darkened, flushed.

“I like you so much, Jihoon!”

His chest heaves, burning, searing. He nods.