THE BOY WITH SOFT EYES || MINSUNG FF ||

Chapter 20

The war was over. 

The bodies had been cleared, the blood washed away, but the tension still lingered in the air like smoke from a dying fire. The mansion was eerily quiet, the aftermath of battle leaving a ghostly stillness behind. 

Jisung sat on the couch in Minho’s office, wrapped in a thick blanket. His wrists were still sore from the ropes, his body exhausted, but his mind was wide awake. 

Minho hadn’t left his side since they returned. 

He stood by the window, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness outside. Even though the enemy was gone, his instincts wouldn’t let him rest. 

Jisung sighed. “Minho.” 

Minho didn’t turn. “You should sleep.” 

Jisung rolled his eyes. “And you should stop brooding.” 

Minho finally looked at him, his gaze unreadable. “I’m not brooding.” 

Jisung raised an eyebrow. “Right. And I’m a professional fighter.” 

Minho let out a breath, shaking his head. “Jisung—” 

Jisung stood, stepping closer. “Minho, it’s over. I’m safe.” 

Minho’s jaw tightened. “That’s not the point.” 

“Then what is?” Jisung pressed, his voice softer now. 

Minho exhaled. “I almost lost you.” 

Jisung’s breath hitched. 

Minho turned fully toward him now, his expression no longer hard, no longer cold—just raw. 

“I was ready to burn the whole city down for you,” Minho admitted. “And I would have. If I’d been even a second too late—” 

Jisung placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath his fingertips. 

“But you weren’t,” he whispered. “You saved me.” 

Minho stared at him, something unspoken swirling in his dark eyes. 

Then— 

He grabbed Jisung by the waist, pulling him in roughly, their bodies colliding. 

Jisung barely had time to gasp before Minho’s lips crashed against his. 

--- 

It was nothing like Jisung expected. 

It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. 

It was desperate. Hungry. Like Minho had been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore. 

Jisung responded immediately, gripping Minho’s shirt tightly as he kissed back just as fiercely. 

Minho’s hands roamed down his back, gripping him like he needed to feel every inch, like he needed to prove to himself that Jisung was real, alive, his.

Jisung let out a soft moan as Minho deepened the kiss, tilting his head to take control. Their tongues clashed, their breaths mingled, and Jisung felt himself melting, drowning in Minho’s touch. 

Minho walked him back until Jisung’s back hit the wall, pinning him there, their bodies flush against each other. 

Jisung could barely think—could barely breathe. 

Minho broke away just enough to press his forehead against Jisung’s. 

His voice was low, wrecked.