Chapter Text
A ship.
A ship caught in a storm, desperately trying to reach the shore but constantly pulled back by relentless waves. A rising tide pushes the ship down further and further into the water until it cannot resurface. It is now stuck there, on the ocean floor, forced to watch the wildlife thrive and surround it. The ship cannot call for help, the ship cannot cry or feel. It can only sit there at rock bottom with no hope of ever returning to the surface. Alone.
Jisung had recently come to realise that he is the ship. Jisung is also on the ocean floor. He also has no hope of ever returning to the surface. Jisung also watches life move around him so fast he cannot keep up. He is also alone.
The first time Jisung had ever tried drugs, though not on purpose, was when he was 16. He had suffered a leg fracture, and after the procedure, was prescribed pharmaceutical fentanyl to soothe the throbbing pain. Jisung would never forget that feeling. When it hits, and your brain shuts down, your lungs stop working, your heartbeat slows, then you feel nothing. Everything just stops. It’s like your whole body and mind have gone on pause and the whole world around you is spinning at a dizzying pace. Nothing could matter anymore. It’s just emptiness. Jisung immediately realised, as soon as the drug hit, that this was the feeling he was searching for his entire life.
Now, at 24 years old, Jisung has still been trying to search for this feeling ever since. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been sober, but if he had to guess it probably would’ve been when his dad first found out about his addiction.
Not that it matters, of course, he hated his dad.
When Jisung was young, he had heard his parents argue loads and at the age he was, he hadn't really heard or understood any of it. Though he loved his mother, she was smart, kind, and was always smiling. Jisung once asked why she would never have a frown on her face and she just kissed his forehead and said ‘So the bad thoughts go away, Jisungie.’. His dad, however, wasn’t a good man, or rather even a man at all. He would sometimes hit his mother, was always drunk and they would barely speak a word to each other if it wasn’t for the arguing. He had only now realised how truly fucked up his parents were.
One afternoon, when Jisung was 9 years old, he heard strange noises from the kitchen, being a curious boy, he quickly rushed to the room to figure out the source of the noise. All he saw was his mother, with her back turned to him.
“Mommy?” He’d said.
She just turned to him, and he noticed red trickling down her arms. A dark, crimson colour. It was horrifying, really, but Jisung just focused on the colours of the blood and how beautiful they were. The cuts were deep and dripping with blood, yet she wasn’t screaming with pain nor was she crying, she only spoke.
“I did something bad, honey.” She said, while also smiling. Smiling so bright and wide that Jisung thought he could see all of her teeth. She was a beautiful woman really, and he wishes he could see her smile just one last time.
His mother passed away that night. And Jisung couldn’t smile anymore, not like her.
Now, at 24 years old he still lives with his piece of shit father. Every morning before college, he has to wake up extra early so he can cover up the bruises with more concealer than a fucking third-degree burn victim. He’s sick of it. It’s not like he has anywhere to go though. He doesn’t have a job, he has no other family, and his only friend, Jeongin, that he’d known since middle school had drifted from him ever since Jisung started using.
He was upset, of course, but he knew it was bound to happen. An argument, a falling out, whatever it was to happen, and it’d be his fault.
College is really hard for Jisung, but he would just pop a pill and pass out till the last period. It’s almost like a routine. It’s not like anyone pays attention to him anyway, he’s basically invisible to his peers.
One beautiful spring day, while riding his bicycle back home—high—, he swears that he saw the most beautiful boy in the world. He only catches a quick glance, but he knows the boy passing by him was gorgeous. Big, wide eyes. A strong nose and black hair that framed his face perfectly. His top lip is bigger than the other as though it formed an automatic pout. His hands are strong and veins are bulging out of his forearms. He wears glasses, too. Thin, silver and round frames that shine so prettily in the sun.
Jisung turns his head as the boy passes him on his own bicycle, making him lose his balance and tumble carelessly into the tarmac. He hits the ground with a grunt and feels sharp pain in his knee. He hisses at the feeling and lookes down to examine the wound, it was bleeding. The boy on the bicycle makes a sudden stop to turn around.
Fuck, this is so embarrassing.
The nameless boy drops his bike on the empty road and hurriedly walks to Jisung, grabbing his rucksack in the process.
“Hey, you okay? You need to be more careful on the road, you know.” He scolds, with no bite in his tone. The boy is so beautiful that Jisung forgets all about the pain in his knee, and decides to just watch him.
His voice is pretty too.
“Ah, you’re bleeding. Just— hold on.” He gasps after looking down. He then reaches into his back and pulls out two packets. One seems to be a disinfectant wipe and the other a plaster.
“I always get into accidents on my bike too, so I carry these around. It's handy, you know.” The boy continues. But jisung cannot stop staring into those beautiful fucking eyes. They sparkle so bright and his lashes frame them so perfectly. Jisung doesn’t think he’s seen a more beautiful person in his life. He’s too high for this right now.
The boy then proceeds to tear open the wipe packet then gently wipe the bright red blood seeping from Jisung’s wound. His lips form a focused pout while doing so, and Jisung thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
Once he finishes with the wipe, he tosses it and opens up the plaster instead. Jisung hisses when it hits his skin, but is relieved that it most likely won’t get infected.
“Not much of a talker, huh?” The boy asks, smiling. His teeth are cute too, the front too are distinct and it makes him look kind of like a bunny rabbit.
“I— I talk.” Jisung squeaks. He can’t even form words right now. For one, he’s extremely high. For two, the boy infront of him is somehow taking his ability to speak.
“I’m sure you do, cutie. You’re all patched up now,” He stands up, still smiling. “Be safe, now!” He walks to his bike, straddling it and rides it away.
Jisung is still stunned and dizzy and it takes him ages to finally stand up. All he can think of is that boy, and how he would love to see him again.
Though, he has to go home. Home is hell for Jisung and he would rather be anywhere else, hence why he likes taking frequent bike rides.
When Jisung arrives home, his father is drunk, again, passed out on their sofa. He walks carefully up the stairs and to his room to crash onto his bed. All Jisung can think about is that boy. He was so cute when he rode past Jisung, he was so cute when he teased Jisung for falling off his bike— though it was embarrassing— and he was so cute when he helped him clean up. He smiles for the first time in a long while and starts to drift off. He’s going to have the best sleep tonight, he thinks.
💊
Jisung wakes up with a pounding headache. He reads the clock by his bed; 6:39am. Well, he’s not late but it wouldn’t hurt to get ready a bit quicker. He needs to get to his college by 8 and to ride there, it takes him about an hour.
After getting ready; changing into his favourite hoodie and baggy jeans, brushing his teeth and sneaking into the kitchen to grab something to eat, Jisung then reaches under his pillow, sighing deep as he does so, and pulls out a small bag of white pills. Opioids. They're Jisung’s favourite. He opens the baggie, pops one in his mouth and swallows.
Not even five minutes go by until it hits. He can only smile. Jisung can feel his breathing slow and his body starts to buzz in a state of bliss. The whole world goes quiet and his mind empties. He loves this feeling, and nothing could replicate this state of euphoria. His vision gets somewhat blurry when he decides to leave the house.
Reaching to the front door, he can hear a voice, a loud booming voice. His father.
“Are you fucking high again, Jisung?” His father shouts. Jisung’s eyes don’t waver, still looking at his front door, though his hands tremble. He can’t do this right now.
He hears his father continue to shout obscenities at him. Something about being ‘Useless just like your mother’.
He doesn’t respond, but eventually opens the door to let himself out, throwing his hood over his head while trying to fight back tears. He hates his father. Why is he pretending like he cares about Jisung? Why is he mentioning his mother?
Despite the stressful exit, the journey to school is somewhat peaceful, the chilly spring air making him feel more alive. Its sunrise and the sky forms a beautiful orange colour. Jisung could take a photo of this.
As he gets to school, though, his anxiety finally settles in his gut. Such a big place, with so many people. It scares him, it always has. He doesn’t have any friends at his school, no one even bothers to talk to him, or look at him. He might get a snarky remark about his addiction every now and then because again, everyone knew and no one cared. Even some of his teachers never bothered to offer him help, not that he would’ve taken it, but it’s thought that counts.
He recently got moved to another class per request. An art class. Jisung had recently been taking an interest in photography and he loves capturing the world around him. It helps him feel more grounded and relaxed. He loves looking through his photos, too. They would be pictures of nature, the sky, buildings, but never people. He would say that taking pictures of people is creepy, but the real reason is because he has no friends or family he talks to, and no one to take photos of. Jisung’s thoughts come to a halt when he’s already at the classroom door. He takes a deep breath, fiddles with his hoodie a little and pushes the door wide open.
As Jisung lazily walks into his class, he realises that he’s five minutes late and is going to have to find a seat in the full class. This is not what he needed right now.
“Sorry I'm late.” He mumbles to the professor.
She doesn’t say a word, and just continues to the lesson.
Jisung looks around him, class being almost full. Fuck. He notices there's only one empty chair for him to sit in, and makes his way towards it, hearing sinister whispers pass him as he does. Jisung is about to cry. In front of his entire class. He doesn’t pay attention to who is sitting next to him, just sits and tries his best to not let himself drift off. It would be a waste to attend this class and sleep through it.
Halfway through, he hears the teacher mention a partner project. Something about combining your art skills and creating a collage of pictures, paintings, sketches and other things. Fuck that, he thinks. He doesn’t want to work with anybody. They would just get freaked out by him like everyone else does.
It’s the end of class and everybody has already packed up and chosen their partners. The person next to him has also sat, frozen in their seat, almost like they don’t want to have to pick a partner either.
“I assume the two of you are partners. Names?” The teacher interjects.
He looks to the person beside him and notices a familiar face. A sharp nose, perfect round eyes and shiny black hair. It’s the boy that he passed on his bicycle.
“Minho.” The boy replies to the teacher. Well, at-least he’s not nameless anymore.
Jisung speaks up rather quietly to tell her his name, and the boy's ears visibly perk up at his voice. He turns to him, smiling almost immediately.
“It’s you, bike boy.” Minho giggles.
Jisung’s face feels hot in embarrassment, but for the first time doesn’t try to hide from the boy. He actually speaks to him. This is a first for Jisung.
“Ah, yeah. Minho, then?”
He giggles again. “That’s me.”
He doesn’t look scared of Jisung, or disgusted, or anything but fond. Jisung sees this as a once in a lifetime opportunity and decides to actually speak to him. Maybe his first human interaction in weeks— that isn't the barista that he goes to regularly.
”So, Minho.. Just move to town? I don’t think I've seen you before yesterday.” He speaks in a slurry. He’s still very high but this interaction is somehow sobering him up. He feels more than happy right now, he feels excited for the first time in years.
“Yeah, I moved to the suburbs from the city just last week. You’re actually the first person I've talked to here.” He smiles, like that’s something that he should be thanking Jisung for. “Actually, do you think that we could exchange numbers so that we can chat about the project sometime soon?”
Numbers? Texting? Fuck, Jisung never does this. The only person he texts is the delivery driver when he orders food. His mind then flicks to last night, how the boy helped him. How beautiful he was— is— and decides to try something new for once. It must be fate after all, partnering up with a boy who you’ve never seen up until the night before. Also, Jisung wouldn’t mind looking at his pretty face and listening to his pretty voice all semester.
“Here.” He passes Minho his phone and the boy happily types his number in. He names himself; ‘Minho 🐈⬛’. Jisung can’t stop himself from thinking about how cute that is.
“A cat?” Jisung questions, looking at the phone, then at Minho.
“Yeah, I love them. I actually have three! Do you wanna go to lunch together so I can show you how cute they are?” Minho actually looks happy, excited to talk to Jisung.
He doesn’t know how to respond though. What if he fucks uo his only chance at getting a friend? Fuck it, he thinks.
“Yeah, I'd love to.”
Minho then begins to pack his own things and slings his back over his shoulder. Jisung follows right after.
Lunch with Minho is the best thing that’s happened to Jisung in a while. They figured out that they both share a lot of common interests; anime, food and art, obviously. It’s the most alive and happy Jisung has felt since he and Jeongin fell out. They chat about everything, mainly Minho’s cats; he even shows Jisung the most adorable videos of them, Soonie Doongie and Dori. He also finds out Minho is older than him, and asks if he wanted to address him with honorifics, which in response Minho simply said he didn’t mind. By the time lunch ends and the pair have to separate, Jisung feels a little disappointed.
“Remember to text me, cutie!” He winks.
Jisung’s can’t help but groan in embarrassment. But he somehow also feels a sense of relief, the fact that even though it’s his project partner, he still has someone to talk to for the first time in years.
💊
When Jisung gets home, he heavily contemplates texting Minho and the anxiety rushes to his head. He’s completely sober now and his mind is racing with thoughts. He hates being sober because he has to think. When he’s high, all thoughts clear and he feels as if he’s floating; physically and mentally. But right now, he has all of these emotions he doesn’t want to feel. Jisung had gotten so used to feeling nothing that emotions are foreign to him now.
He groans and thrashes around in his sheets in a huff, phone in hand. Thinking is so hard.
He brings the bright screen to his face and contemplates for a second. He then taps a few times until Minho’s contact shows up on the screen. He stares. Hard. He doesn’t want to say anything weird, or worse, ruin his only chance at an actual friend. He decides to just send a text, just one. Nothing too serious.
Jisung: 4:56pm
Heya
Its Jisung
from your art class
if u remember haha
Okay, way to be mysterious. Jisung then chucks his phone halfway across his room in panic, shoving his face in his hands just after. This is so embarrassing. He hopes Minho doesn’t someone find him weird immediately, especially since he’s quite literally the most drop dead gorgeous person alive and Jisung would rather die than embarrass himself in front of someone so pretty and kind. Not long after is when he hears a ding come from his phone which is laying on the other side of his room. Fuck.
He stands up and walks over to it, cautiously approaching it like it’s a rabid animal. Another ding rings in his ears when he decides just to pick up his phone. The bright screen flashes two messages from Minho 🐈⬛.
Minho 🐈⬛: 5:02pm
oh ho hello cutie
r u busy rn?
Is he busy? He’s only been sitting on his bed contemplating texting Minho for the past whole hour.
Jisung: 5:03pm
i mean
not really
why?
Jisung’s heart pumps out of his chest in excitement, he’d never really text anyone before apart from Jeongin, of course. It’s fun, it’s like he can talk to people without really having to show his face to anyone. Another few dings bring Jisung out of his thoughts.
Minho 🐈⬛: 5:03pm
well
i was wondering if u wanted to work on the project early
i like being ahead
so we don't have to worry about doing so much work later
Jisung smiles. That sounds nice. He doesn’t mind working with someone like Minho.
Jisung: 5:05pm
sounds good
you paint, right?
what do you usually paint pictures of hyung?
Minho 🐈⬛: 5:05pm
anything really
u wanna come over tmr so we can start on it? or would you prefer ur house
No. Not Jisung’s house. He thinks he’d rather drown than bring another boy home. His father would freak out. He wouldn’t want Minho to see this side of him, the side he leaves at home.
Jisung: 5:06pm
um
your house
please
if you don’t mind
It’s Saturday tomorrow, and Jisung needs the fresh air. He doesn’t go out much, just locks himself in his room and either binges his favourite anime or just sleeps. It would be nice going out for an actual purpose for once.
Minho 🐈⬛: 5:06
of course
u can come over anytime tmr
u can see the cats too!!
they’d love you lol
Jisung’s heart swells. It’s nothing, really, but for someone to take this much of an interest to him is a foreign concept.
It takes hours of texting, giggling and kicking his feet to realise he’s been sober this entire time. When the realisation comes to him, he just smiles. No one has been able to distract him this much into forgetting to take pills. He hates being sober because that’s when he feels, but this feeling right now is a good feeling. He feels happy, he feels free, he feels wanted.
Jisung falls asleep, phone in hand and sober. For the first time in years.
💊
Jisung wakes up to a loud crash.
It seems to come from somewhere downstairs, and the noise puts his mind at worry. It’s most likely his dad again, having a tantrum or something. He’s a violent man, and only gets more violent if he’s drinking.
Jisung’s head spins. He hates when his father gets like this, angry and crashing around. A mess. Usually, he takes it out on Jisung too.
He hears glass crashing, pots banging and his father screaming. Jisung flinches at the noises, scared and unsure what to do. He's frozen in fear.
When he hears loud thumps come from up the stairs, he doesn’t spring into action, or look for ways to protect himself, he just blanks. He always gets like this around his father, survival instincts never acting up. He’s just stuck there. Afraid. His heart thumps as his breathing starts to speed up. Fast, shallow breaths fill his lungs. They burn.
Everything after that happens almost in slow motion, his door opening, his father roughly grabbing his forearm and dragging him downstairs, the noises are silent; only a ringing in his ear. He snaps back into it when he feels his cheeks wet, he’s apparently crying now too.
Jisung likes to disassociate when this kind of thing happens to him. He likes to pretend his life isn’t his, and how he’s just a character in a movie or book. He likes to pretend he’s watching his life through different eyes and that he’s not able to control his thoughts or movements.
He watches as his father angrily screams at him. Watch, not listen. He can’t really hear what’s going on nor does he want to. It’s a defense mechanism of sorts. He stops trying to control his body and just lets it happen.
He watches as his father lands a blow to his face. It hurts, but he’d have to deal with that later. He doesn’t even know what his dad is fucking angry about, but he guesses he doesn’t really need to. It would always be something so minor.
A couple minutes of shouting later and his father is somewhat calm. His fits are still clenched and there’s still veins bulging out of his forehead, but he’s somewhat more relaxed and Jisung takes it as his opportunity to go back to his room and make himself look presentable before he has to go to Minho’s house.
Ah, Minho. He smiles as the name rings in his head aside from all of the dread.
He looks in his mirror to find a mess. His face is bruised and his hair is tousled. His eyes are puffy from crying and there’s wet streams down his cheeks. He can’t let Minho see him like this.
So, he immediately goes to grab his makeup bag. He retrieves a concealer that barely fits his shade and Jisung winces when the applicator hits his skin. It stings. Though, he has no choice but to make himself look more natural, and not fucking beat up.
His father would always hit him, it’s routine by now, but it would never be his face. Maybe a slap, sure, but to land a hard blow to Jisung’s face is something that he’s never done before. What’s scary is, would he do it again? Would he go even further as to even break skin? There’s no limit to what his dad could do to him; Jisung is not skinny, though he is weak but his father is strong, powerful and condescending. It’s not like Jisung could fight back so it’s horrifying to imagine what more his father could inflict upon him.
Jisung’s breath hitches as he gently uses his fingers to pat the makeup into his skin. When it’s blended, it looks nothing more than okay and Jisung makes a mental note that he just won’t let anyone get a good look at his face. It’s not like anyone would want to, anyway. The bags under his eyes are too dark, his hair is too long and covers his face and his teeth are crooked. Ugly.
When he decides that he’s thinking a bit too much, he reaches under his pillow to grab that same baggie, only this time it's empty. Fuck. He can’t do this sober. He might have to call up Felix.
Felix is Jisung’s dealer, and as much as he is involved in all these dangerous crimes, he is the sweetest person ever. He has long, blonde hair with a little blue streak; he looks like an angel. He treats Jisung like a little brother, though he’s younger than him, and he always lets Jisung off the hook when he doesn’t have the money because he knows what Jisung has to go through. Jisung has never understood how such a kind and caring soul ended up in a business as dangerous as drug dealing, but he’s almost selfishly grateful he has. Without him, Jisung would probably struggle more than ever.
So, he reaches for his phone to call up Felix. It rings a few times before Felix picks up.
“Hey, Sung! What’s up?”
“Hey, Lix. Can I come round in ten? I need a couple.” He asks, almost desperate.
There was a short pause. Jisung could almost hear him thinking on the other side of the phone.
“Mmh. Okay. Thing is, Sung, we’re in short supply. Times are tough, you know? I might be able to get you a pack of three, maybe.”
Three? That would barely last him two fucking days. But honestly, it’s better than nothing, and he doesn’t really want to bother Felix too much. He is always so nice to him.
“Ah, okay. That’s fine. Thank you, Lix. I’ll be there in ten.”
“See you, Ji!”
The phone beeps, indicating the call has ended.
One thing is, Jisung can’t leave his house without his father noticing, and having a huge outburst. So, Jisung eyes his window. Hard. He lives on the second story, yes, but it’s not like he’d— fuck it.
Jisung opens his window wide, so he can slowly climb through it. It’s a tight fit, but he manages. Below is a fair distance between him and the ground, and he first prays to whatever higher power out there that he doesn’t break his legs trying to jump down.
He slowly lowers himself off the ledge and hops off, hitting the floor with a grunt. He stands up, not totally injured but his jeans are a little ripped from hitting the concrete.
Jisung locates his bike to then hops onto it, stepping on the pedals to ride away.
He knows exactly where Felix’s place is, and how to get there. The ride is fast, it only takes him roughly 7 minutes on his bike and he’s already at the apartment.
Felix lives on the 3rd floor in flat 15. It almost looks like a motel, but not as shady. He makes good money doing what he’s doing and could probably buy a really nice house but he says he likes to ‘stay under the radar’.
Jisung knocks. Once, twice, until Felix opens the door with a toothy grin. The room inside has a haze of smoke that makes everything hard to see. Felix doesn’t do hard drugs but he does smoke a little bit of weed that makes his eyes constantly narrow and red.
“Hey, Ji. You here for the oxy, right?” Felix coughs and before Jisung could even respond, the baggie of pills are in his hands.
“Ah, thanks Lix. How much do I owe you?” He reaches into his pocket for his wallet only to be stopped by a skinny hand.
“Dude, whatever happened to your face tells me you need that more than me.” He gestures to Jisung’s cheek and the elder recoils at the sudden attention to the bruise.
“You can see it? Fuck.”
When Jisung can feel his eyes start to fill with tears, Felix says nothing more, only pulls Jisung into a hug. He brushes his hair with his fingers and presses soothing circles into his back. Jisung feels defeated in his arms. He's the closest thing Jisung could have to a family member and it’s soothing whenever he gets one of Felix's rare hugs. He can do nothing more but sob.
“You wanna tell me what happened, Sung?” Felix asks, not really expecting an answer.
Jisung just shakes his head. He honestly doesn’t want to bother Felix with his shit. He keeps silently crying and sniffling into Felix's shoulder as he holds him tight.
After a few moments, Jisung speaks. “I have to go, Lix. I’m meeting a friend.” He says, pulling back from the younger’s shoulder and sniffling.
“Ooh? Who’s this friend?” Felix raises an eyebrow, curious.
“Just a project partner. He’s new to town and he’s actually really nice to me.” Jisung smiles at the thought of Minho.
Felix beams. He knows how much of a big deal this is for Jisung, even if he won’t show it.
He ruffles Jisung’s hair playfully. “Go on and have fun. Text me and get home safe, okay?”
Jisung can just nod, closing the front door behind him. He looks at the bag of pills in his hand and stares for a second as everything starts to settle in. He can’t see Minho like this, and at this point he would much rather be high and out of it than having to be anxious and hyper-aware of everything the boy does. Also, his face still stings—badly— and this would hopefully numb the pain. He thinks for a second, thumbing gently at the see-through bag. It’s not like he could get caught or anything, Jisung has mastered the art of ‘Having to act sober because you would get looks otherwise.’. Not even a moment later, he pops one into his mouth and swallows, putting the baggie in his jean pocket.
The bike ride to Minho’s house is somewhat a blur. Jisung is high and feels only bliss, he even forgot to text Minho he was on his way, hopefully that’s not much of a problem.
Minho had texted him the address prior and when Jisung arrives into the neighbourhood, he slowly realises he’d never passed this part of town before. It’s a nice, quiet area filled with bungalows and cherry blossom trees.
He looks for ‘No.28’ on a door, Minho’s number, and when he passes it, he can see a cute house. It has baby blue walls and a brown roof. It’s a small house, so he assumes Minho lives alone, huh, how responsible. He thinks for a brief second before his head clears again.
Jisung then drops off his bike at the front lawn, almost stumbling over in the process. He’s dizzy from the pills and he can’t get himself to think straight but decides to walk up to the door anyway.
He pauses before knocking, taking a moment to look somewhat presentable. He pulls his hood over his head and straightens his baggy trousers messily. At Least he’s trying.
Jisung knocks, and it takes but a few seconds for the door to open.
On the other side is Minho, looking genuinely stunning. He has those silver rimmed glasses on, paired with a blue sweater that almost matches the colour of his house, and some really short shorts. His hair is unstyled and so pretty. Jisung can only stare, again. It’s not his fault Minho is so unbelievably gorgeous.
“Hi, Jisung! You wanna come in?” His smile is warm and inviting. It’s not condescending or sarcastic, it’s genuine. Minho is actually happy to see him.
Jisung nods his head, too shy to say anything, and helps himself inside. He quickly makes sure to take off his shoes and a quick glance at the place tells him that it’s very neat, unlike his own room.
“Do you want some coffee, tea or anything else?” Minho politely offers. Tea sounds amazing. Jisung doesn’t own a kettle so has trouble making hot drinks for himself.
“Ah, a tea would be great, thanks.” He says with a smile. He sits on Minho’s couch and notices something next to him. A small ball of fur. It’s one of Minho’s cats and Jisung coos at the animal. It has mostly orange fur, but some white across the lower half of its body. He pets the cat and it immediately starts to purr. Jisung can’t help but make heart eyes.
“I see you’ve found Soonie.” Minho giggles. He really likes doing that. It seems as though it’s a habit the way his teeth show and his top lip curls up when he laughs softly. Honestly, Jisung loves when Minho giggles, too.
Soonie then meows quietly and moves to crawl onto Jisung’s lap, earning an ‘aw’ from the boy. The cat is adorable and as little as he knows Minho, he can see the resemblance.
“He’s adorable. He reminds me a little of you, hyung.” Jisung admits.
Minho smiles as he comes into view, two hot cups of tea in hand. “That’s the best thing anyone’s ever told me.” Even the mugs have cats on them, so fucking cute. He places the cups on the coffee table, paired with paintbrushes, oil paints, a few sketchbooks and some plain paper.
“I thought of a really good idea; since our professor wants us to mix themes and skills, what if you take loads of photos and I paint them?” Minho chimes.
It’s a good idea, Jisung thinks. He then notices Minho’s sketchbooks. They’re all filled with colour, shapes and.. people. Jisung doesn’t take photos of people, ever. Minho is extremely talented and his work is nice to set your eyes on, though Jisung doesn’t know how they’re supposed to mix themes like this. It's going to be difficult.
“Ah, your work is beautiful. Genuinely. You’re very talented, Minho-hyung.” Jisung beams.
He notices the tips of Minho’s ears, they’re red. He must be embarrassed, shy, or both. Which from what Jisung has already seen from him, is not common. It’s honestly cute, Jisung thinks for the hundredth time today. He wants to see Minho red all of the time.
“It’s nothing, really.” He smiles shyly. Minho then walks to sit next to Jisung on the couch, knees to his chest. His shorts ride up his thigh in response and Jisung catches a glance at something. Red marks, seeming to be little dots, loads of them, all surrounded by a pink and irritated patch of skin. Jisung didn’t mean to stare, but judging Minho’s reaction, he probably was.
The elder scrambles to pull his shorts further down his leg, eyes wide. Whoops. It looks like he did not want Jisung to see that. Jisung wonders, is Minho self-harming? With only a glance he didn’t really get a good look but that thought is the first to come to mind and it worries him. Deeply.
“I’m sorry. I— I didn’t mean to stare.” Jisung stiffens up, eyes only forward now. He taps his hands on his knees, trying to ease himself as well as the situation. “I really—“ He cuts himself off. Jisung can’t think straight, he can’t put his finger on why this worries him so much. He wants to ask, he really does, he wants to make sure it’s not what he thinks. “—are you hurting yourself, hyung?” He asks, now turning to Minho with wide eyes. He’s only known the boy for two days, fuck, this is weird.
“Ah— no! That’s really not what it is, Jisung.” He waves his hands in the air dismissively. “Listen, I don't really tell a lot of people this—” Minho nibbles on his lip, visibly nervous.
“You don’t have to, Minho-hyung. Genuinely.” Jisung tells him with soft eyes. He really does not want Minho to feel uncomfortable with him already.
“No it's— I wanna try to get closer with you, Sung. Moving to a totally new place was, well, terrifying. But you helped me get settled already and It’s only been two days.” He chuckles. “I wanna be totally honest with you because you’re so kind to me, Jisung.”
Jisung is taken aback at the words. Someone— no, Minho wants to be closer with him. His heart bursts at the seams, he actually has a real friend for the first time since—
He doesn’t really want to think about Jeongin right now.
“Shut up.. dont make me get emotional, hyung.” Jisung slaps his arm playfully. “If you wanna tell me then, what’s up with the dots?”
Minho huffs. “It’s HRT. Hormone replacement therapy. I have to inject a bunch of testosterone into my leg so I'm more— how do you say this.. masculine i guess.” Minho giggles, seemingly trying to play off something so sudden.
Jisung is a little surprised, but his curiosity takes over. “Ah, so you were born a girl?” He asks, it’s a bit forward—and maybe a little insensitive—but genuinely curious. He wants to be respectful, doesn’t want to get anything wrong—since Jisung has never met a transgender person before—and wants to get closer with Minho too, even if he didn’t say it back. This is his own way of trying to find out more about the boy.
Minho nods his head at the question shyly. “Shocker, right? I usually don’t tell people because they don’t believe me most of the time.” He’s playing with his thumbs now, a nervous habit.
“To be honest, hyung, I never would’ve guessed.” Jisung chuckles, then Minho joins. They both start laughing together playfully and it’s bliss. Two friends enjoying each other’s company. Jisung’s head still spins from the pills, but he’s slowly coming down from them and for the second time ever in his life, he doesn’t feel the need to take another right away. Minho is almost a remedy, a cure.
“Thanks for taking it so well and not making it a super big deal.” Minho places his hand on Jisung’s thigh. The warmth is comforting.
“Why would I, hyung? If anything, I'm honestly just curious.”
Minho smiles warmly. “You can ask away, I'm fine with questions.”
They discuss Minho’s struggles and endeavours that he faces as a transgender man, and Jisung genuinely learns a lot. Not only about being transgender, but also more about Minho himself.
He learns that Minho’s father left him at a very young age and was brought up by his mother as an only child, to which he also mentioned how his mother would ‘absolutely adore’ Jisung. Minho also talked about his struggles transitioning and how he’d been bullied a lot as a teenager, it makes Jisung feel horrible for him. He also finds out that Minho doesn’t often cry, but when he does, it’s always for a really deep reason.
Before they both know it, hours go by and it’s turned dark. They’d been talking for so long without even starting to study. Jisung is sober by now but doesn’t care, he just wants to keep talking with Minho. They’ve ended up closer than they were before, naturally being brought together. Jisung was sitting against the couch as Minho rested his calves on Jisung’s thighs. The younger was subconsciously massaging his bare calves. They were smooth.
“Fuck, what time is it?” Jisung yawns.
“It’s like.. hm. 7PM?”
Shit. His father is going to literally fucking kill him. He hates when Jisung comes home late, and tells him he’d rather Jisung sleep outside than come home at night. It sounds harsh, but it’s a thing that’s happened too many times; after Jisung has come back from Felix’s, if he stayed too long at the library studying or when he takes bike rides at night to clear his mind.
The worry in Jisung’s eyes seems to be visible as Minho drops a hand on his own. He smiles and says, “You can stay the night, you know. I live alone so there’s pretty much endless space for you.”
Jisung almost tears up. “Yeah, I'd love to, if you don’t mind, obviously. I think my dad would— yeah.” He stops himself before he says anymore, and Minho just looks at him with understanding eyes.
“Let’s get that makeup off you, yeah? Then we can settle and watch a movie. I have spare clothes.” The elder jumps up from the couch to grab something while Jisung has to try his hardest not to whine at the loss of contact. Though while he’s alone, he takes a moment to bask in the warmth he feels inside of him.
Not a moment later and Minho comes back with white cotton pads and a bottle of clear liquid, presumably makeup remover. Jisung expects him to sit back into his original position, though Minho moves a bit further to settle himself right into jisung’s lap. Holy shit.
Their faces are so close, Jisung is struggling to breathe. Minho acts clueless and asks, “This okay?”
Jisung just wordlessly nods, not trusting himself to speak.
It’s sweet, the way Minho drags the wet cotton across Jisung’s face. So cautiously, so carefully, so perfectly. Minho is even more beautiful up close, his features are more prominent from this position and lighting. The dim light in the living room casts pretty shadows across his face and Jisung cannot help but stare. Wet, glossy eyes locked onto Jisung’s face. His lips formed a focused pout just like he did while tending to Jisung’s knee a few days ago, it’s the cutest thing he’s seen.
After a moment, he presses the cotton on a certain part of Jisung’s face and his breath hitches. Fuck. The fucking bruise. The memories from this morning come flooding back instantly and it’s frustrating. It’s silly, Jisung can’t help but tear up. How humiliating. He’d been numbed by drugs— and minho— for several hours, and now it has come back to him all at once.
He can’t stop the tears as they well up in his eyes and fall down his cheeks, the sudden change in emotion makes Minho’s eyes widen in surprise. But he doesn’t make a big deal, he doesn’t recoil or try to leave. He sits there on Jisung’s lap, with fond eyes, wiping the tears from his cheeks as gently as someone could.
“You okay, Sung?” He whispers softly, a soft tone that makes Jisung feel more at ease. He’s trying to avoid it, go around it. The realisation of Minho being able to see this mark evidently affects him, and so the elder tries not to pry.
Jisung shakes his head. He’s not going to feed Minho a cheap lie that he's ‘fine’ or anything.
“Baby.” He coos, “You need me to do anything for you?” Minho smiles and delicately brushes Jisung’s bangs out of his face. He takes care of Jisung so well.
A hug would be nice, too. He doesn’t get much hugs, only the rare moments where Felix would want to.
“Do you— hiccup— think you could just hold me for a second, hyung?”
Minho silently places a hand on Jisung's nape, then another on the back of his head and holds him tightly. Jisung sobs into his chest, wetting the blue fabric with tears and other fluids. He then whispers a barely-audible ‘thank you’ to which Minho responds by stroking his hair. As Jisung pressed closer, he realized how strange this probably was. He'd only met Minho two days ago, but honestly, Jisung doesn’t care. He isn’t complaining. He loves this, loves Minho. He loves having a friend he can hold when all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and cry.
Some time later, Jisung finally stops crying with the help of Minho. The elder offers him some spare clothes so they can get comfortable and watch a movie. With the talk that they had at lunch the other day, they both found out that they share a common interest with anime, and especially Studio Ghibli movies. So, it was not hard choosing what movie to play, Jisung immediately requested Howl’s Moving Castle to no rejection.
Jisung lays his head on Minho's shoulder, the elder playing with his hair in response. Jisung wishes this would never end. He feels safe around Minho, he feels happy around Minho, he feels euphoric around Minho. Before he knows it, Jisung’s eyelids feel heavy and his breathing begins to slow as he drifts off to sleep on Minho’s shoulder.
💊
Jisung wakes up, sun peeking through the blinds into a room he’s unfamiliar with. He tries to recall last night, remembering falling asleep on the couch in Minho’s living room, but evidently, this is a completely different room. He sits up and looks around to see that he’s sat in a bed. White sheets fill his vision. Did Minho carry him to his bedroom? Fuck, he must be strong.
During their conversation last night, Minho had mentioned that he worked out regularly, Jisung could definitely tell. Minho was toned, had thighs like a horse and his arms— His arms. He wanted to—
Jisung has to rub his eyes thoroughly before his thoughts get way too explicit.
A creak from the door brings him out of his thoughts, and out comes Minho.
“Hm? You awake, Sung?” He chimes.
Jisung yawns dramatically, he’s sure that was the best sleep he’d gotten in his life.
“Mmh, yeah. How’d I end up here?”
“Well, you fell asleep on the couch while we were watching that movie and I couldn’t just leave you there, so I carried you to my bedroom.” Minho shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
Jisung just blinks at him. He kinda predicted that, but the thought of Minho carrying him in any way makes his face grow hot.
“Wh—“ His words die in his throat. “What time is it?” Yes, Jisung. Change the subject.
Minho giggles before pulling out his phone, the bright screen illuminating his face. “Like.. 12?”
Twelve?! Fuck. He slept in so late, but damn what a good sleep it was. He needs to find out how or what caused him to sleep like a baby. Was it the bed? Was it the feeling of relief that his father wasn’t in the same house? Was it— Minho?
After a long silence, Minho asks, “I made coffee, you want some?”
“Mmh. Which kind?”
“Iced americano.”
Jisung almost cries. “You get me.”
Minho giggles and leaves the room, Jisung following close behind him. The younger sits on the island in the kitchen, patient until Minho slides him the cold glass of coffee. Jisung sips through the glass straw with absolutely no hesitation, chugging the bitter liquid.
“s’ good, hyung.” Jisung smiles, still gulping down the coffee.
Minho sits down in front of him, and gives him a look that’s too simple to read, though he can tell that there’s a lot of thought behind it.
Jisung finishes his coffee almost immediately, while the other still has most of his left. As Minho sits to finish it, they sit in a comfortable silence, paired with shared glances and small smiles. It’s sweet.
When Minho feels like he’s drunk enough, he jumps up. “Oh! You’re clothes, I almost forgot,” and he rushes away, to his bedroom, most likely.
Jisung chuckles at how cute Minho's realisation was, and even harder at how much more cute Minho looks carrying Jisung’s clothes to the kitchen hurriedly. He has his jeans slung across his forearms with his shirt and hoodie bundled up on top. Minho looks almost offended at how Jisung takes humor in this.
“What’s so funny?” He pouts, a facade of annoyance across his face.
“Just so cute.” His stomach hurts. He’s laughing so hard he might as well have abs.
As Minho hands Jisung his clothing, something drops from the back pocket of his jeans. It dropped too quickly for Jisung to see exactly what it was, but as Minho bends down to pick up the mysterious object, his face completely gives it away. Fuck.
Minho comes up slowly, a baggie full of pills in his hand.
He frowns. “Sung-ah, what exactly is this?”
Jisung doesn’t answer, he can’t answer. He tries to, but the words just die in his throat. He can’t do this, not again. He lost his best friend due to his drug use, he can’t lose the only friend he’s made in years because of it too. He expects an argument, abandonment or a phone call to a rehab centre. Instead, Minho brings him in a crushing hug that Jisung can’t help but sob into.
“I’m— I'm sorry. You’re not gonna leave, right?” He can’t even get his words out properly, sobbing and gasping for breath.
“Shh. No, baby. Nobody’s leaving.“ He plays with Jisung’s hair, as he seems to always do now. It works, Jisung will admit, it really calms him down. “I’m gonna help, okay? It’s gonna be hard. It’s going to be so, so hard, but I promise you I’m going to help you, Jisung.”
Jisung can’t find the words. No one has ever offered to help him before. No one has cared so much that they didn’t blame him for his drug use. No one has ever reassured him that they’re not going anywhere. This is all so new and bizarre that all he can do is sob into Minho’s chest and try to find his breath. It’s all such an odd feeling; being cared for. Being deprived of it for so long and then having so much of it at once can be so overwhelming but also so comforting.
Jisung doesn’t have the strength to even hug him back, as much as he wants to.
After a moment, when Jisung’s breathing has calmed, Minho steps back and takes a look at Jisung.
“I don’t deserve this.” Jisung whispers.
Minho strokes his hair. “Deserve what, Sung?” He’s speaking in that soft tone that Jisung is sure is only reserved for him.
“You. This. You’re so sweet to me, hyung. I— I don't deserve it.” He sniffles, looking down at his feet.
“Anyone who isn’t sweet to a sweet boy like you deserves hell.” He says almost playfully, giving Jisung a wink—well, tries—to try to cheer him up. He won’t lie, it sort of works. The younger giggles a little between sniffles. “Since you're awake, wanna do the work we didn’t end up doing yesterday? If you feel up for it, of course.”
Being productive might clear Jisung’s mind, it’s not a bad idea.
“Yeah, of course.”
The pair spend the afternoon cycling through the suburbs and the greenery that surrounds it, snapping photos of wildlife and pretty flowers or trees that catch Jisung’s eye. He agrees to send Minho the photos so he can paint them in his own time, and the elder would not stop complimenting Jisung’s photography skills. They stop where they can see one lone tree in a field of grass, and sit by it with juice boxes that they bought earlier.
Minho’s head perks up, something noticeably catching his attention. A squirrel. It runs up the trunk and into the tree with its erratic moments.
“Hm, has anyone told you that you look like a squirrel, Jisungie?” Minho asks, now facing Jisung.
Jisung sputters. “No? Why would— do i?”
“Yeah, you really do. I think it’s your cheeks and your eyes, honestly.” He giggles, a fond look in his eye.
“Ah.” Jisung’s face grows hot. He’s never been compared to anything before. Minho is giving him a lot of firsts these past few days.
“You’re red, Sung-ah. Aw, are you embarrassed?” Minho coos playfully and pinches Jisung’s cheek. Quite frankly, yes. Jisung is embarrassed.
“I mean, is that a good or bad thing?” He squeaks.
“Squirrels are cute! You don’t think so?”
Cute. Jisung’s face grows even hotter. He groans and shoves his face in his hands. Minho just laughs at him, like he finds humour in how ‘cute’ Jisung is. For some reason, this gives him deja vu.
After a few hours of chatting, laughing and snapping photos, they finally depart and go their own ways. Jisung can’t help but feel empty, like he’s been ripped from his life support. Minho gives him happiness, a sense of peace that he can only ever find in his drugs. Being without him makes the world seem suddenly dull. It’s tiring, having to rely on someone constantly, but at least he actually has someone to rely on.
💊
A few weeks pass and Jisung is the happiest he’s been in years. Him and Minho hang out whenever they can and most of the time it’s not just for class. They cycle around the area and Jisung takes many photos, more than he’s ever taken. Recently, Minho asked why he would never take photos of them both and Jisung, he didn’t really have an answer, and so snapped a few. Sometimes when he’s alone in his room, high and missing Minho a lot more than usual, he looks through the photos and sits there, smiling.
No single day has been imperfect since he met Minho until one evening that almost cost Jisung his life.
Jisung was, well, simply out of drugs. He forgot to buy some the day before as he was too indulged in the work he and Minho were up to and was in a blissful mood the entire day, even too blissful to remember one of the only things that keep him stable in his life. It should be a good thing, and it is. It’s a great thing, even, until Jisung wakes the next morning up in a cold sweat, nauseous and anxiety-ridden. He’s been without drugs for so long that he’s actually going through withdrawal.
It’s not his first time, of course. A year ago he had been throwing up non-stop and crying because Felix had been out of town for a week.
But this time is different, and the only common denominator is Minho. Minho, who makes Jisung forget to take drugs in the first place. Minho, who makes Jisung feel happy and safe enough so he doesn’t have to turn to other coping mechanisms.
Only problem is, Minho isn’t exactly with him at the moment, and even he couldn’t save Jisung from this hell.
He immediately decides to make his way to Felix’s apartment, not even bothering to call him in advance because admittedly, he doesn’t necessarily need to. He’s so much of a regular that they have ended up becoming friends, technically. God, how much of an addict do you have to be to make friends with your dealer? Jisung really needs to get a grip. He’s trying, really.
As he knocks on the door, it opens almost immediately with a very wide-eyed Felix on the other side. Jisung doesn’t even let him get a word in, barging into his apartment like he owns the place. To be fair, he is in a lot of pain and needs drugs immediately.
“Fuck, Jisung you cannot be here right now.” Felix warns.
It’s the first time Jisung has seen him this serious.
“Lix. I’m not even fucking kidding, Lix. I need you to hook me up like now.” Jisung slurs, almost panting.
“Nononono. Jisung.” Felix grabs his shoulders. “You genuinely need to leave right fucking now i’m not playing with you.”
He’s not angry, but desperate. His deep voice booms in Jisung’s ears but the elder refuses to listen, he's in too much agony to even think to leave. He really, really needs something.
“Please, man. I’m fucking dying here.” Jisung is almost begging now. He doesn’t understand why Felix is trying to kick him out so badly, or why he looks so worried, all he knows is that he needs this pain to stop.
A ping. Seemingly coming from Felix’s phone. The boy stares at the message, eyes widening even further— if that was possible— and reaching to grab Jisung’s arm. Though this time, he’s not leading him out of the door, but to his couch. He sits Jisung down and grabs the boy by the shoulders.
“Listen to me, Jisung. You sit here and don’t say a fucking thing. You don’t move, don’t speak, don’t even breathe too loud.” He rasps to then make his way towards the front door, opening it with shaky hands.
What the fuck is going on?
Jisung realises where the stress is coming from when two men walk into the apartment—and they look honestly terrifying. One is bald with tattoos littered across his face, the other holding a duffel bag—seemingly the first guy’s sidekick or something. There’s murmuring and as they finally make their way towards the common area, the man with the tattoos takes a seat right next to Jisung. The other puts the massive bag on the table and proceeds to empty its contents. It’s just a bunch of drugs. Jisung almost drools.
Jisung takes Felix’s advice and averts his eyes, he even tries to hold his breath as much as he can. The man next to him is admittedly very fucking scary and Jisung— as much as these are very extreme thoughts—doesn’t want to be cut, shot or killed.
“About six million Won for all of this. I need them gone in the next four months.” The man next to him announces.
Felix actually looks nervous, an expression that Jisung has never seen from him before. He nods at the man, then brings out a bag of his own. This time, it’s just chock full of money. Bills, fuck-loads of them. The sidekick collects and starts to count the bills, sounds of paper filling the awkward—almost terrifying— silence.
Then suddenly, the man next to him sets his attention on Jisung and he can feel his eyes bore holes in his head.
“Who’s this pretty one?” He asks, most likely to Felix. He leans closer as Jisung stiffens.
“Yo, man. That’s, like, my brother. Back off.” Felix warns, but from the looks of it he doesn’t have power over this situation right now.
“Why are you here, pretty? You like his drugs, hm?” He says condescendingly, completely ignoring Felix. “You know they all come from us, right?”
Jisung keeps his eyes forward and doesn’t respond. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t know how to answer. It’s a pretty dumb question, to be fair.
“How’s this?” The man grabs something from his pocket, a vile, and empties a drop onto a pocket knife. Not even Jisung can guess what it was as the man brings the substance closer to Jisung’s face.
“You ever like the feeling from when you cum so hard you can’t feel a fucking thing?” He asks, more aggressively now.
Jisung feels he needs to respond, and if he doesn’t the man would make a scene of it, so he nods. The knife is up to his face now, the bead of clear liquid glistening in the not-so-well lit room.
“Yo—“
“—Man, shut the fuck up.” And Felix snaps his mouth shut immediately, locking eyes with Jisung. “Cmon, pretty. This’ll make you feel so good.”
He is in a lot of pain, and— fuck it.
Please god, don’t let me die.
The last thing he sees before he takes the droplet off is Felix shaking his head at him, but it’s too late.
It hits almost immediately, and it’s nothing like he’s ever taken before. His mind, limbs and hands go numb and it honestly feels like fucking heaven. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t move. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt. The world around him is a blur and he can’t see or hear anything. This is what he’s been chasing his whole life.
The last thing he remembers is Felix arguing about god knows what and after a long while, the men leave.
He hears ringing in his ears as Felix tries to call for him, tries to keep him awake. It's hard to, though. It feels too good.
“.. there anyone you can call, Jisung?! Anyone? Please answer me, Ji. Fuck.”
Minho. No matter how high he is he can always remember that name. It rings in his head and a pang of guilt slams in his chest.
He must’ve said it out loud because Felix is frantically reaching for Jisung’s phone and dialing a number. There’s shouting, there’s yelling and there’s worried voices. Jisung blacks out finally, slumping on the couch will drool dripping down his chin.
💊
Jisung wakes up with a gasp, rubbing his eyes to adjust to his surroundings. When he can finally see, he notices that he’s not in an unfamiliar room, rather in a bed. Minho’s bed. His head hurts and he can’t remember what happened, only that the sun is peeking out of the blinds and he can hear birds chirping, signifying the early morning.
A shuffle next to him catches Jisung’s attention, and he turns to see Minho looking at him with wide eyes. He looks like he’s about to.. cry?
He pounces on Jisung from behind and falls to the bed, dragging the younger with him. “Thank god.” Minho whispers, hugging Jisung for dear life.
The noises of sniffling and quiet sobs that come from the elder make Jisung tear up too. He feels so fucking guilty. Did Minho really come and get him? Did he really bring him home? Change his clothes? Tuck him into bed with him? Fuck.
“I’m— sniffle— ‘m sorry, hyung. I’m so, so sorry.” He’s sobbing in Minho’s arms and the boy nuzzles further into the back of Jisung’s neck, almost like an ‘it’s okay.’
They sit there for a while, embracing each other's warmth and company. It’s almost bittersweet how they melt into each other, and Jisung starts to feel floaty from the way Minho holds him. It’s, again, a feeling he’s never quite felt before, being in mind-numbing bliss from a person holding you in just the right way. Jisung still feels a little nauseous and light-headed from the drugs—whatever they were—but he doesn’t have to care right now. Right now, all he can think about is Minho.
When they both have calmed down from crying, Jisung turns to face Minho, the elder cradling his face. “Hyung’s here, baby. I thought i’d lost you, fuck.” Minho speaks softly, with that voice that is pretty much only for Jisung and hugs Jisung even tighter—if that was possible. That makes Jisung almost whine. He cares. He really does. The gentle touches on his face make weird flips happen in his stomach, whatever that means.
Jisung knows it’s not the time to be thinking this, but Minho looks so fucking gorgeous. His eyes sparkle and his nose is still red from crying. Jisung combs his fingers through the soft, dark hair and Minho almost fucking purrs. Adorable.
“Jisungie…” He says, looking like he wants to say something. Minho then softly takes Jisung’s wrist in his hand, caressing it with his thumb so carefully that Jisung might as well have been made of glass. “.. I really.. I don’t want to be ‘best friends’ with someone who’s gonna kill themselves.” He whispers, fingers grazing Jisung’s tear-wet cheek with a mellow, sweet but almost sad expression. He cares. He wants him to be here. He was worried when Jisung almost OD’d. He’s fucking crying about it, too.
Jisung realised two things that morning.
One, he needs to get sober immediately.
And two, he is in love with Minho.