There is mentions of abuse/domestic violence in this chapter. Please do not read any further if this topic is sensitive to you.

✧━━ .·:*¨¨* 𓆩♡𓆪 *¨¨*:·. ━━ ✧

❥ 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 •°. *࿐

Jisung was unsure, maybe a bit on edge if anything, but overall, the residual aftermath of his encounter with Minho in the bathroom left him feeling a bit jarred. His head was all over the place, counting the minutes until he could see Minho, but the urge to talk to him well before then was apt. He wasn't sure if confronting the male about his headspace was necessarily the best decision, but he can't help but feel helpless.

Something was eating at Minho, in one way or another, and Jisung feels slightly responsible. Their almost-kiss was an accident, surely, but now they were teetering on an even finer line, one that weighed heavily between feeling something, or feeling nothing. Jisung knew he shouldn't teeter one way rather than the other, but he feels almost as if he's about to be swallowed whole.

The mysterious worry that caters to his every thought spurs his heart into a place that is ultimately unknown simply just because Minho wasn't as cold to him. Then again, why him? Why Jisung at all? Why not Felix, or even better, why not Wooyoung? There were people who had been his friends longer and had known him better, and yet he chose Jisung– for one reason, or another.

Jisung didn't even hear the bell ring as he sat there, lost in a trail of his own thoughts, glued to a frame of mind where he could only think about Minho. The male was alluring in a way he couldn't explain, and beyond all of the scars and the bad boy facade he played into, Jisung saw someone who was simply hiding behind a wall of trauma, refusing to let anyone ever get close. Though, Jisung, being rather persistent and possibly slightly annoying, wouldn't let this weird tension between them define their friendship. Regardless of an almost kiss or not, Jisung would remain concerned, forever stuck in a place of worry, especially after knowing that Minho's father hit him.

He wasn't sure where Minho retired after school ended, nor where he usually frequented besides the usual hang-out with Mingi at the back of the parking lot to smoke a cigarette. But, as it was, Jisung was concerned nonetheless. He didn't want Minho to hang around Mingi like this, especially being as vulnerable as he had been the last few days. Jisung supposes that Minho was simply trying to avoid going home at all costs at this point, but Jisung truly had no idea as to where the male went, not that it was really his business, but he couldn't help but worry.

"Jisung," the teacher asks amongst the empty classroom. "Are you okay? The bell rang a minute ago, don't you have your last class to get to?"

"Sorry," Jisung breathes out, blinking rapidly to break back into a sense of reality away from his thoughts. "Lost in thought. Didn't mean to worry you."

"That's okay," she smiles, setting down the stack of papers she held in her hand. "Just make sure whatever is keeping you so lost like this gets handled soon. I've never seen you so spaced out before, Jisung."

"It's fine, no worry," Jisung waves off his teacher, rising from his seat before gathering the notebook and papers on his desk. "Just. . . friends, and stuff. Overthinking."

"I see," she nods, her gaze moving towards the clock. "You don't have long now, be quick. Don't be late to your next class."

"I'll get going," Jisung breathes out, quickly grabbing all of his stuff and placing it into his bag as neatly as he was able. "Thank you."

With quick steps, Jisung scurries down the hall, turning to the left at his next hallway before heading into his class, sinking into the depths of the quiet room meant for study hall. It was a nice reprieve away from the daily chaos the school usually offered, and considering that Jisung had been ahead on nearly every single assignment, he knew he could truly sit here and relax, and possibly think of a plan to truly get Minho to crack.

Jisung knew he probably sounded obsessed or weird, but he couldn't really find it in himself to care. Minho needed help, and how his friends didn't see that infuriated Jisung beyond means. What was it like to be such close friends with someone who was emotionally drowning? They spent their time laughing and making a mockery out of other people, ignoring the pain settled in the depth of Minho's eyes. How one could be so ignorant, and yet so oblivious was beyond Jisung's knowledge, and realizing that Minho's friends likely didn't care all that much made his heart hurt even worse. There was something serious going on behind the scenes, and given the short amount of time that Jisung had known Minho, all he wanted to do was help. No one should have to fear existing in their own home, nor know how to take a hit from their parents.

Study hall passes in a blur, a meaningless hour spent wondering thoughtlessly as he scribbled away in the corner of his notebook, trying to piece together the bits of information that arrived at the front of his mind. There was so much to unpack and unfurl, that the mere idea of tackling this entire situation alone felt a bit daunting. This wasn't even his drama, he didn't necessarily have to be involved hardly at all; yet he chose to stay because he could hear Minho screaming for help, even if all of his words were settled in the depth of his eyes.

Now, Jisung was headed towards the library, sort-of prepared to meet Minho for their session, although he couldn't help but feel a pull of nervousness. Normally, he'd walk right in without a care in the world, but now that a part of him deeply cares about Minho's wellbeing, there was an underlying anxiousness that he couldn't quite place.

The library was empty when Jisung had strode in, vacant tables and askew chairs, cluttered bookshelves and bright, white lighting littering the space, feeling a bit too clinical in some aspects. The library wasn't Jisung's favorite place, but studying in here afterhours felt a bit different than studying somewhere more intimate, like his own apartment. Minho had already seen his apartment at this point, but moving their tutoring sessions there. . . felt like a step too rash to trek towards. So, to be safe, despite his wish to be at home, Jisung would continue to meet Minho here, even if he feared running into Minho's counterparts afterwards.

"Hey," Minho greets as he walks into the space, his bag slung over his left shoulder. Jisung turns, looking at the male with a slight smile, setting down his belongings on the table nearby.

"Hey," Jisung greets back, pulling out his chair. "What are we studying today?"

"Lit," Minho mutters, settling himself down in his chair. "I have an essay due tomorrow and I'm nearly done with it, but I'm not really sure if what I wrote is any good."

"Alright, let me see it," Jisung says, holding his hand out as Minho moves to search through his bag, scavenging through its contents before pulling free his notebook, moving through his pages before stumbling across the essay itself.

Jisung takes the notebook as it's handed to him, scanning over the words in a quick, curious fashion. What Jisung didn't fully understand was that Minho really was smart, and his use of certain words was remarkable. But, he also knew that his friends and the circle he kept close likely had to do with his failing grades, as did his home life, not really giving him much ambition to seek a better path when all he had been surrounded with was negativity.

Even if this was just an essay, Jisung was taken aback by it. Minho clearly did not need his help, and yet here he was, asking for an opinion as if this had been filled with some grammatical errors or a bad topic. The essay itself was written with a demeanor Jisung wouldn't have placed on Minho, but rather someone like San or Jeongin, but definitely not Minho. It was well-written, smooth, and concise. There were no lingering afterthoughts and each statement felt impactful.

Jisung had always known that there was more to Minho than met the eye, like trying to read a book by only assessing the cover. It just wasn't possible to see Minho as who he was on the outside, with a rugged exterior and a brooding, icy personality. There was a depth to him, one full of scars and unknown vulnerabilities that Jisung longed to heal. Maybe he was a bit selfish in thinking that he could help Minho heal, but according to his entire friend-group, Jisung was the only one who has ever gotten close enough.

He can't help but hope that one day Minho would simply just open up, a small fraction of himself at a time, pulling away his walls bit by bit until he was as vulnerable as he was willing to be. Jisung didn't want to overwhelm him, nor did he want to force the truth out of Minho, but he swore himself deep down that if he ever saw Minho again with another bruise on his face, he would seek out the truth in any way possible.

"This is good," Jisung mutters, looking up to glance at Minho. "Why are you worried about it?"

"It was a weird topic," Minho shrugs, chewing on his lip. "She gave us free rein to choose whatever we wanted, kind of like the paper we're doing also. But. . . I don't know, it felt weird to write about strained relationships between kids and their parents."

"No, I understand, but you did really well," Jisung looks back down, taking in more words from the paper. "This displays a lot of emotions for a short essay, Minho. How many words does it have to be?"

"She said around a thousand? But I think I'm over that," Minho sighs, glancing at the notebook. "I just never write about anything. . . personal."

"Writing about something personal can really help the words hold more weight, almost as if adding more passion to it," Jisung notes, scanning through the words until he finds the paragraph that had felt the most impactful. "This part, right here–"

Jisung turns the notebook slightly, allowing Minho to glance at just what he was pointing to. "The emotional disconnect that varies from parent to child can display a common misunderstanding, something parents refuse to see with their own eyes. A child could be silently suffering, and without a caring eye to see the true pain, the child will remain quiet, and the parents will remain oblivious."

Minho looks up after Jisung finishes reading, their eyes meeting for the impasse of a second, Jisung's eyes flicking away as he leans back into his chair, tapping the notebook with his fingertip.

"It's good," Jisung mutters. "I can tell that this topic means something to you. There's an argumentative point here, and you're writing all of this right. Why are you so worried?"

"I'm sure people are going to do lighter topics, and this is just. . . not that. My mind carries a lot of dark thoughts, and I'm just not sure if this essay is meant for that."

Jisung takes a moment, looking back up at Minho after passing the notebook back, taking a second to study the elder's expression. He genuinely looked concerned, but beyond that, there looked to be a glimmer of relief, or maybe something similar to it.

"That's okay," Jisung murmurs. "I don't necessarily write my essays about happy things either. Life isn't always so black and white, Minho. There doesn't have to be a right thing to write about, nor a wrong thing. There's always a gray area, somewhere to walk in between the rights and the wrongs, and that's what makes writing good. It's expressive, especially for someone like you."

"Like me?" Minho raises his brow, searching Jisung's expression carefully.

"I just mean, for someone who harbors everything and holds it all in, it's good to have an outlet to just express the innermost parts of your thoughts without the fear of being dismissed," Jisung assures, watching as Minho's posture slowly begins to ease away from tense. "Don't try to tell me you don't harbor things, either. You're stubborn."

"Thanks," Minho scoffs, looking down at his notebook. "It does feel nice. . . you know? To just write without the fear of being crucified by my father. He. . . comments about everything that I do. It can be a bit overwhelming at times."

"My parents are overbearing about everything too, sometimes," Jisung comments, trying to approach the conversation lightly. "Is he always like that, though?"

"Every moment I'm awake," Minho says with a sigh, brushing a hand through his hair. "It is like I'm barely living, just. . . existing, sometimes. It's exhausting, but I have nowhere else to go."

"You have Mingi and Hyunjin, right? And Jongho?" Jisung asks, watching as Minho shrugs.

"Yeah, but they just. . . don't get it the way you do. Their families aren't broken like mine. I'm a piece of trash in the eyes of my father, and he's told me before that I'm not his son."

"Minho–"

"I shouldn't have said anything," Minho reclines in his seat, taking a deep breath. "Fuck, I really– Jisung– why did I–?"

Jisung watches as Minho pulls his hands to his face, hiding away for a moment before leaning back down, turning his gaze to look right back at Jisung. His eyes were red, almost as if he was battling away tears and storing the depth of his emotions deep down, swallowing all of the rage and sadness that was pulling at his tongue.

"Why do you make me want to open up?" Minho whispers, almost under his breath. "Why do I feel like this?"

"Maybe your body is tired of fighting it," Jisung says quietly. "Maybe a part of you wants to lean on someone else, to feel relief from the things that burden you."

"It's my shit," Minho says, almost in disbelief. "No one else's. My problems, my trauma, my own father–"

"I know," Jisung tries to calm the male down, keeping his voice low. "You don't have to explain it to me. I really wish you'd open up to me, or to someone, at least. I can't force you to talk to me, Minho, but I feel a bit helpless seeing you like this."

Jisung reaches over brazenly, setting his hand down on Minho's notebook, trying to breach across the distance in the only way that felt right. "Listen, Minho–"

Minho looks up, his eyes shining with the glimmer of fearful tears, holding back everything as his jaw tightens more by the second.

"It can be terrifying to open up to someone, especially to me, who you haven't known long. But harboring all of this, holding all of this inside; it has to be killing you."

"Who cares?" Minho shrugs, his voice low, almost softer than Jisung had ever heard it before. He was slowly climbing down from this mountain of self-hate and icy disdain, showing a part of himself that Jisung never thought he'd ever see.

"I care," Jisung pleads softly, tilting his head slightly to try and find Minho's gaze. "Even if you don't want me to, even if you feel I don't have to; I still do. I care."

Minho turns, looking at Jisung once more with his hair strung across his sightline. He looked physically and mentally drained, and for a moment, a lapse in time, does Jisung finally see a glimmer of the true Lee Minho, hidden amongst the scars and leather jacket. He was scared, terrified of his own shadow and the afflictions of home, lost without a single direction of where to go. He was lost at sea, capsized and without any hope, glued to the surface of waves that kept pulling him beneath the dark surface, and for some reason unknown to him, he kept resurfacing, taking another breath to live another day.

Hesitantly, Minho looks down at Jisung's hand, still splayed over his open notebook as an offering of solace, a tether towards peace. With a breath, Minho's arm reaches upwards, his hand landing over Jisung's, almost as a silent affirmation or an extension of his gratitude.

"Well, well, well–" a voice, one Jisung knew all too well, broke through the calm atmosphere of the session, spurring Minho into a tense posture, his hand darting away, tucked back beneath the safety of the table. "Minho'ah? What're you doing? We're supposed to smoke today, aren't we?"

"Not now, Mingi," Minho brushes him off, waving his hand nonchalantly. "I've got a paper to finish, I've told you this."

"Fuck doing a paper, who even are you?" Mingi laughs, settling down in the chair opposite Jisung, a smirk glued to his lips. Jisung raises a brow, taking a moment to study Mingi for all he was.

He was arrogant, and an ass, smiling and laughing without a care in the world. His hair was brunette, cut short to give light to his piercings as his baggy, dark clothes hid the multitude of tattoos he adorned against his skin. Mingi could get away with everything and anything, and he always had. Hyunjin had gotten him out of trouble time and time again, being the principal's son surely played a role in Mingi's suddenly clean record thanks to the likes of Hyunjin.

Jisung hated Mingi, probably more than he'd ever admit. Mingi was this tall, brooding guy that sought to make his life a living hell for one reason or another, and he was sure that Mingi came here on a whim to mess with him, and now stumbling across Minho, his entire attitude changed. Jisung knew Mingi wouldn't let Minho know about his behaviors, nor about the past encounters he had had with Jisung, which left this encounter all that more terrifying. Minho knew nothing about the verbal assault Jisung has had to endure time and time again from Mingi, and Jisung also knew that if he dared to say anything, Mingi would be sure to retaliate.

"Unless you'd like for me to beat your ass, I'd suggest that you go bother Jongho or Hyunjin. Leave me out of it," Minho tries to suggest, placing his stake in the conversation with little interest. Mingi raised a brow, his smirk slowly drifting away.

"Oh, so you can hang out with this idiot?" Mingi laughs, pointing at Jisung. "Is he your new plaything? Is that what it is?"

"Mingi, just shut the fuck up, would you?" Minho turns, glaring at Mingi. "I don't have time for your bullshit today."

"Yet you have time for him?" Mingi rolls his eyes, leaning against the table, clasping his hands together. Jisung watches him, staying quiet to try and let Minho deal with the situation, but Mingi seemed to be eyeing him down as if he were a lion, and Jisung was a wounded antelope.

"Don't–" Minho interjects, kicking Mingi under the table.

"Aw, what? I'm harmless, I'm just curious. What about Jisung is it that you like? His hair? How quiet he is?"

"Mingi–" Minho warns, but Mingi pays no mind.

"Han Jisung– so smart with his perfect grades and his quiet composure. His perfect family in his little apartment–" Mingi teases, his eyes glaring into Jisung in a dare, a mere threat to look right back, but Jisung sinks in on himself, looking away, biting his tongue.

"Why the fuck are you being so weird?" Minho shoves Mingi lightly by his shoulder, furrowing his brow. "You're acting like a child."

"Because we're friends," Mingi muses. "Aren't we, Jisungie?"

Jisung remains silent, his eyes glued to the floor to his right, feeling his hands tremble. Mingi wouldn't ever touch a hair on his head, at least, Jisung had hoped not. The teasing and the tantalizing was enough as it was, and though it had been fairly minor and somewhat vacant in recent days, Jisung knew that if he didn't answer, it would turn worse.

"We are," Jisung weakly admits, looking up just enough to catch Minho's gaze.

"You don't have to answer him, Jisung," Minho tries to interrupt, but Mingi smacks his hands down on the table, glaring at Minho sternly.

"Quit sticking up for him. You're acting like such a pussy, you know that?" Mingi sneers, his tone low and mocking, almost as if he was half-serious and possibly half-jestful. Minho remains silent, his jaw tensing, watching Mingi with an emotionless stupor that seemed to align with Minho's unwillingness to escalate the situation as a whole.

"Your father this, your father that–" Mingi expresses with a wave of his hand. "Quit fucking around in here and come smoke with me. You know Hyunjin won't because he's trying to better himself for his shitty ex."

"Enough," Jisung turns his head, looking straight towards Mingi. "Leave him alone, Mingi. He clearly doesn't want to go smoke with you. Go bother someone else."

"Oh? Little pup has a voice now, huh? Cute," Mingi laughs, raising a brow. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Jisung feels his body tense up, but he remains planted in his spot, looking directly back at Mingi as the male stares him down with a smirk.

"Someone's gotten tough in recent days, hm?" Mingi's gaze wanders over Jisung, likely studying his clothes and his hair, looking at his essence before meeting his eyes again, unamused and completely unafraid. "At least someone is tough, unlike Minho, here."

Before Jisung could even think to speak, Minho rises from his seat and hastily grabs his notebook, shoving it into his bag as he walks out of the library with a torrent of emotions following his every step.

Mingi laughs, calling after him, "aw, Minho! Don't be so upset! It was a joke!"

Jisung grabs his bag, pocketing his phone as he pushes his chair in, glaring down at Mingi as the male casually leans back in his seat, unaffected by anything that had just happened.

"What a fucking friend you are," Jisung scowls, storming out to chase after Minho, only to see that the male had practically ran down the hall, disappearing towards the illuminated front doors.

Jisung runs after him, holding his bag with a study grasp as he watches Minho exit the building without bothering to look back, heading out into the grounds of the school, cast over by a downpour of rain.

Jisung's steps finally lead him to the doors, pushing them open, running out into the unrelenting rain as Minho strolls on the sidewalk, his hood pulled over his head with his shoulders slouched, bag tossed over his shoulder without care as he walks without direction.

"Minho!" Jisung calls after him, but the male doesn't turn around. "Minho! Please! Stop walking and just talk to me!"

"There's no point in talking anymore, Jisung," Minho says flatly, his steps continuing along the path without any motion to stop.

"Minho–" Jisung grabs Minho's bag, pulling him gently into a stop, holding him there, the rain pouring over them and soaking their clothes as the seconds draw long. "Stop walking away from me, would you?"

"Why?" Minho asks, his voice slightly harsh. "Why should I stop, Jisung? You're temporary. You'll fucking leave, just give it a few weeks. You'll get tired of me and who I am eventually."

"I want to understand you. I want to help you, but you have to let me in and quit being so fucking stubborn," Jisung pleads, watching as Minho's posture slightly eases.

"There's no point, Jisung. You can't fix me. I'm stuck as the way I am, and there's no part of you that could hardly ever want me around," Minho admits defeatedly, barely turning over his shoulder to look at Jisung. "Just admit it. You just feel bad for me, you don't actually like me as I am."

"You're wrong," Jisung says softly, his hand carefully turning Minho around to face him, looking into his eyes as the rain continues to fall. "I like you, just the way you are. I want to help you, Minho, but you have to stop running away and just let me in."