Fics like '67, cherry red

“My dad died,” Minho says. No sugarcoating it. “An hour ago. He died.” Silence. If Minho didn’t know any better, he’d think Jisung hung up on him. But he does know better. So he tugs on the phone cord, stretching it out until he reaches the window in his bedroom. He pulls up the blinds. As expected, Jisung is already there. “Are you okay?” Jisung asks, his lips moving before the words make it through Minho’s receiver. He always makes it to his window first, because he has one of those new cordless phones. Untethered. If Jisung didn’t know any better, he’d offer his condolences, probably say something appropriate like I’m sorry for your loss. But he does know better. So he only asks once, just to be sure, and then he won’t ask again. He waits for Minho to answer. As expected, he doesn’t. “Well, hey,” Jisung says, “on the bright side, at least you finally get the Mustang.” (or: minho runs from the things that scare him, and he thinks jisung might scare him the most)

Fics like '67, cherry red

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