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✧━━ .·:*¨¨* 𓆩♡𓆪 *¨¨*:·. ━━ ✧

❥ 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 •°. *࿐

Rain had always been a constant companion in Jisung's life.

From messy streaks pouring down his window panes, to the quiet mist that rose from the grass in the early mornings after a heavy shower; Jisung always felt at peace. The fresh scent of rain mixed with the rough, earthy tones had always brought Jisung back down from the brink. There was nothing more that Jisung loved than rain, especially when it was accompanied by the soft thrums of thunder and flashes of bright, striking lightning.

Rain was a silent friend, one that brought a promise of momentary darkness, followed by the anticipated return of blue skies and lighter clouds, freeing the sun from its confines with a brush of cooler, calmer air.

Even standing here, looking at Minho in the midst of pouring rain, Jisung sees a fraction of Minho within the storm itself. The rain was a front, a cast of emotions to hide behind like a curtain, a mask to hide the true feelings gone with the flow of rainwater.

Minho was standing there, watching Jisung with a nervous, curious gaze. His eyes widened ever-so-slightly, brimmed with tears he likely hadn't expected to front amidst the pour of rain. Jisung looked right back at him, his arms coming up to hug himself as the rain drenched his clothes and his skin, leaving them standing there, wordless and aching for an answer to soothe the tension between them.

Jisung knows how terrifying it is to trust someone, to let down your walls and to be vulnerable amidst the things that seem too scary to admit to. To be this frail, to allow the downpour of emotions to flood to the forefront was anything but easy, but as Jisung looks at Minho, all he can see is the silent plea for someone to just understand.

"Minho," Jisung says quietly, hugging himself tighter as the cold breeze sinks beneath his clothes. "Please just let me help you."

Minho shakes his head, taking a half-step back, his gaze flicking down to face the puddled pavement. "I-I can't, Jisung. Trust me, you don't want anything to do with me."

"But I'm right here," Jisung pleads, reaching a hand out. "I want to help you and I want to be there. You can't keep running away from help, Minho."

"It's all I've ever done!" Minho defends, his eyes snapping up to look directly at Jisung. "All I know how to do is fucking run! Don't you see that? Don't you understand?"

"I know, Minho! You think I don't get that?"

"Clearly not because you keep chasing me down!"

Jisung can feel his tongue grow heavy with emotions he had been trying to avoid, but the longer Minho hides himself behind his barricade, the more Jisung feels like crumbling into a million pieces.

"Because I care about you Minho," Jisung murmurs, just barely audible over the sound of pouring rain. "More than I should, more than I'd ever be able to admit."

Minho remains quiet, the rain soaking both of them equally, chewing on his lip with his hands finding one another, swallowing tentatively. Jisung studies him, a slight shiver accompanying his stance as they stand there in silence for a moment longer until Minho finally speaks.

"I'm scared, Jisung," Minho speaks out. "I'm scared for you to see me."

Jisung shakes his head slowly, taking a hesitant two steps closer. Minho watches him nervously, the tears held in his eyes more apparent than they ever had been. Jisung holds his hand out again, a simple offering, a means of crossing the distance the two had been dancing around for the last few weeks; hoping that they'd never had to breach across the cavern.

"I've always been able to see the real you," Jisung murmurs, watching the rain frame Minho's face and fall off of his jaw and his chin, streaks of water cascading through his hair with abandon. Minho was so effortlessly pretty, even if his demeanor had been anything but. Seeing him like this, openly vulnerable, teetering on the edge of opening up, slowly giving way to the walls he had so carefully built around his heart, made Jisung's resolve settle even further into the cement. He wasn't sure how many people had given up on Minho, or even how many had tried to reach him like this, but given Minho's tears and his admittance of being scared, Jisung had some sort of gut feeling that he had been the first.

The first to see him, to accept him, to care about him, and worst of all, the first to never leave.

Hesitantly, Minho's hands move upwards, his gaze lingering with tears, yet his actions had been so assured by some new found confidence, settling to gently cup the sides of Jisung's jaw. Jisung raises his brows, his eyes wide, but the softness captured in Minho's gaze had begun to easily settle him.

"You're freezing," Minho murmurs. Jisung's lips parted as he prepared to respond, but before he could say anything, Minho's hands left his face, one of his hands grabbing Jisung's before turning back towards the school, tugging him along with quick steps.

Jisung couldn't quite comprehend the sudden change in Minho's behavior, but he went along with it, following the male back towards the safety and dry climate of the school's interior until the storm had passed.

The moment they breach through the main doors, relief flooded through Jisung's core. His clothes were absolutely soaked, and he was basically freezing, but the warmth of Minho's hand in his spurred more attention than anything else did presently.

"Here, come here," Minho dotes, moving through the halls of the vacant school. Jisung watches as they pass by a blur of lockers and closed classroom doors, briefly glancing down at their hands before focusing on trying to remain composed, even if his heart was nearly stuttering out of his chest.

After a near-minute of walking down the hall, Minho comes to a stop, letting go of Jisung's hand to busy himself with his locker combination, rotating the dial to the right, then to the left, and finally to the right once more. After a second, the lock clicks and Minho swings the locker door open, revealing the interior clutter of his belongings. There were a few binders and books messily scattered within the locker, but the one thing Jisung noticed was the picture of an older woman in Minho's locker door, held up by a few magnets.

There were no other decorations within the locker itself, and Jisung has to only assume that this woman must've been his mother.

"Here," Minho says quietly, pulling free a black hoodie from the depth of his locker.

"Oh, Minho, I'm fine–"

"You're not fine. You're cold. Just please wear it," Minho pleads softly, handing the hoodie over, placing it into Jisung's open hands.

With a subtle nod, Jisung takes it, clutching the fabric in his fists before looking up to glance at Minho, searching his eyes for a sense of something.

"Thank you," Jisung breathes out. "You don't have to do this for me, you know. I could've gone to my own locker."

"I'd feel bad," Minho says, guilt stuck against his tone. "You followed me out into the rain, therefore it's basically my fault you're soaking wet."

"I chased you of my own will, Minho. No one's fault but my own," Jisung scoffs, moving to mess with the hoodie in his grasp.

"Still," Minho shrugs. "Just wear it. I can get it back another time, I'm not worried about it."

"Deal." Jisung offers him a small smile before tugging the hoodie over his head, allowing the warmth of the garment to smooth over his cold, wet skin.

"Do you always walk home, Jisung?" Minho asks, glancing down the hall before focusing back on the younger.

"No, not usually," Jisung sighs, finally settling into the large, oversized hoodie. "Today, well. . . I missed my bus because of tutoring, but I didn't expect it to rain like this."

"I'm sorry," Minho says lowly. "I don't mean to be a burden, Jisung. I didn't realize you missed your bus because of the sessions."

"I chose to do it this way. Besides, the walk isn't that far and I could use the exercise. I barely leave the apartment besides to come to this hell hole, so it's worth the ten minute walk."

"If you're sure," Minho slightly smiles, his hand reaching into his pocket, pulling his phone free. He glances down at the screen before putting his phone away again, his gaze meeting Jisung's almost immediately. "We have nearly forty minutes until the next bus. So, we might as well go sit somewhere."

"Library is too. . . quiet," Jisung grimaces, gesturing to the space behind Minho. "Gymnasium?"

"Sounds better than my idea," Minho says quietly, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Which was?" Jisung asks, watching as Minho rolls his eyes and turns to face the gymnasium doors.

"Smoke spot," Minho scoffs, earning a groan of disgust from Jisung.

"Gross."

Minho walks towards the gymnasium doors, Jisung trailing behind him, their steps lost amongst the vacant corridor, save for the sounds of their shoes against the laminate floor, bouncing off of locker doors and barren walls.

Minho carefully opens the left door, peeking inside, only to find that the space itself was completely empty. Jisung walks in behind him, their path leading them towards the indoor bleachers, settling in on plastic seats that likely had been left in place from a recent basketball game, or something of the sort, Jisung supposes.

Jisung sits next to Minho, a few inches left between them to remain as a platonic, respectable distance as their wait ensued, leaving them in the quiet of the gym, left with the sounds of their rhythmic breathing and the subtle pour of rain against the roof of the building.

"Minho?" Jisung asks, turning to glance at the male.

Minho turns, raising his brow slightly, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and the frame of his face, making Jisung's heart slightly stutter.

"Why do you hang around with Mingi so much?" Jisung asks, watching as Minho's expression melds from curiosity into disinterest, a visible tension lingering in his gaze as he sifts through an appropriate answer, unsure of where to even likely begin.

"He's not a bad friend," Minho starts, clasping his hands together. "He really cares, you know? He has a lot of heart and a lot of love to give, he just goes about it all wrong."

"I get that, but. . . I didn't like what he said to you earlier," Jisung notes, his eyes never leaving Minho's. "Friends are meant to be beacons of support, not someone who would actively seek to tear another down."

"He wasn't tearing me down, Jisung–"

"He was," Jisung interjects, turning in his seat to properly face Minho. "What he said to you was wrong. You don't have to admit it to me right now, or ever, really, but he was being an asshole."

"Why are you saying this to me?" Minho asks, looking down at his hands.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," Jisung mutters, pulling the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie down over his knuckles, pulling any warmth from the fabric that he could. "No one, and I mean no one, should ever have to deal with company like that."

"They're the only ones who stuck around, you know?" Minho says, lifting his head to gaze out at the empty gym, his voice a soothing tone against the sound of pouring rain thumping against small-paned windows and a curved roof.

"They are?" Jisung curiously pries, watching as Minho slowly nods, taking in a deep breath. Jisung studies Minho for a moment as he speaks, taking in the tiredness of his features, the slight tightness of his jaw and slightly curly hair from air-drying. He was wearing an oversized hoodie too, leaving Jisung to believe that the male had rather enjoyed baggier clothing to keep him warm on days like this, which only made his heart quicken at the thought of currently borrowing Minho's hoodie, of all things.

Jisung could really smack himself, watching the male with a gaze of intrigue and longing, feeling every emotion that he'd shut out time and time again surge to the forefront, demanding to be felt for the first time in a long time. To be fair, Jisung had never felt these things for anyone else, so now feeling them and acknowledging their existence felt like a burden in itself. He didn't know what to do with them, almost as if they were a stalker in every aspect of his daily routine.

Jisung didn't want them, nor did he want to act on them or to properly feel them, so he chose to bury them deep down, digging a hole six feet deep, tossing them inside and covering them with a heap of dirt; but somehow they had clawed their way back, sitting on the edge of his tongue and warming the sill of his cheeks, begging to be spoken for.

Minho wasn't his type, or. . . was he? Jisung can't be completely sure, as he's never really spent the proper time deciding what his type was. But, even as he sits there, listening to Minho talk and expressing his proper feelings, he knows more than anything that this heart-warming, soul-sucking, longing affliction he was having for the male was becoming overly obvious.

He was infatuated, and well, Jisung supposes the proper term was that he was crushing on Minho. Sue him, honestly, but what else was he supposed to do? Minho was a lot more gentle than he led on, and with his long, brunette locks and his deeply embedded hues filled with glimmers of amber and sepia, Jisung knew all too well what well he was about to fall into. He's watched plenty of dramas and movies to know what this feeling meant, but he could only sit and pray that Minho would be waiting for him at the bottom.

"Mingi can be a jackass, Jisung, don't get me wrong. But, in the time that I've known him, he is the only one that has tried to help me through the chaos of living with my father. I've stayed at his house more times than I can count, and he's tried to do everything in his power to keep me from cracking," Minho shrugs, his gaze glued to something ahead of him. "Sure, he convinced me to start smoking and to start skipping out on class, but. . . for a moment, I truly thought that I had gotten over everything that happened."

"I'm glad he was there when you needed someone," Jisung says, trying to offer a lightness to their conversation, though Minho didn't seem overly convinced.

"Yeah, but he. . . he isn't like you, Jisung. He just, I don't know–" Minho sighs, his words trailing off, a hand threading through his hair. He seemed frustrated, yet his voice was so soft, almost as if he was holding back more than he could ever bear to be honest with.

"From how long I've known Mingi, I've always seen him as a pompous, arrogant ass," Jisung jests, earning a slight scoff from Minho. "But if he's there for you, and he gives you some sort of comfort, that means something, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," Minho supposes, turning to glance at Jisung. "I will agree with you, what he said to me earlier really pushed my buttons. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries crawling back to me and begging for me to walk to his house to smoke on his porch or something. He's an idiot."

"Don't do that," Jisung says softly, nearly under his breath, but Minho heard it nonetheless.

"Why?" Minho raises a brow, and almost immediately, Jisung glances away.

"Maybe I'm a bit selfish in asking this, Minho, but I don't want you to do that. I don't want you ruining your health just to feel a bit of relief," Jisung watches as Minho's eyes soften the moment their gazes cross, but he isn't sure why.

"Ruining my health?" Minho's voice was so quiet, so cautious, almost too fragile that Jisung had been afraid to break him.

"Yeah, you know–" Jisung gestures to his lungs, near his chest, trying to convey his words with the only wordless approach he could conjure.

"No, no, I know, but, it's my body, Jisung. Why does it matter so much?"

"Because I care about you," Jisung says tentatively, letting the words flee from his tongue without bothering to stop them. If he had thought Minho's gaze was soft before, the expression he held now was beyond anything he had seen before.

"I care about you," Jisung says again, his voice small and quiet, just barely audible over the pouring rain. "I don't want you destroying yourself because you believe that you'd be better off dead."

"Who said–?"

"No one said it," Jisung interrupts, his eyes locked onto Minho's, finally feeling a fraction of the male's walls come tumbling down. "I see it. In everything you do, Minho, I can see it."

Minho glances away forcibly, swallowing tentatively, his jaw tight with laden emotions that must've been too difficult to express properly. Jisung sits and waits, as he always had, watching as the male in front of him struggles to express the inexpressible.

"You can always just see me, can't you?" Minho asks, looking away, unable to turn towards Jisung, or at least it seemed to be that way.

"What do you mean?"

"You just. . . see me. I don't know, you haven't fallen for the intimidation–" Minho clasps his hands together tighter, his knuckles slightly whitening before he lets go, the words caught on the edge of his tongue. "You've seen beyond all of my bullshit without even having to try, and that scares me, Jisung."

"I can't help but see you," Jisung admits, looking ahead of him, tracing the outlines of windows and opposing school banners, trying to keep himself calm as his words leave in a flurry of concern and genuine care. "I might've thought that you were scary before, but doing all of this, I guess I was just able to pull back the layers that some others might be too terrified to peek beneath, but I see you as you are. You're a lot softer than I thought you'd be."

"I'm soft?" Minho asks with a smile, turning to glance at Jisung.

"More than you'd probably admit," Jisung smiles too, just barely able to see Minho out of the corner of his eye. "You gave me your hoodie, Minho. How many people have you done that for?"

"Well–"

"Don't lie to me," Jisung smirks, looking at Minho with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Tell me the truth. The answer is no one, am I right? Do I get a prize?"

"Okay, fine, I definitely haven't done that for anyone before," Minho admits, his head slightly tilted as he looks at Jisung. "You're just an exception, I guess."

"Because I tutor you?"

"No." Minho leans closer subtly, "because I care about you, too."

Jisung isn't quite sure if he can suffer from a heart attack at his age, but with the way Minho was looking at him, combined with the softness of his tone and the tenderness of his words, he isn't sure if he'd survive another compliment from the elder any time soon.

"I'm glad you're better now," Jisung manages to speak out, his words nearly catching on the tip of his tongue. "Or, at least, you seem better."

"I feel a bit better, lighter even." Minho looks away again, his eyes trailing towards the windows, studying the rain sliding down the glass panes without direction, following the flow of gravity and pouring water. "But, I don't want you worrying about me. I can handle myself, I promise. Mingi isn't a threat to me, and my dad–"

Minho pauses, looking down at his hands before taking a breath, shrugging his shoulders. "It is what it is, anymore. He hates me, I hate him; we just coexist. I have places to run to when he drinks, so it's nothing to worry about."

Jisung inches closer, planting his hands on the plastic seats as he leans back slightly, taking a breath, listening to the overhead rain divulge their conversation into momentary silence. He knew he couldn't convince Minho to just accept that he cared enough to worry about him, but this was the farthest Jisung had ever truly reached Minho. He seemed receptive and slightly open, feeding into the conversation and wanting to keep it ongoing. So, in turn, Jisung responds, keeping his voice low.

"I always worry," Jisung mutters. "Being friends and caring about one another comes with worrying. So, I'd get over it. I'm going to worry about you, and there's not much you can do about it."

"I'll accept it, for now," Minho warns teasingly, earning a smile from Jisung in return. They fall into silence again, sitting comfortably next to one another, soaking in the calm that accompanies their presence with each other until Minho speaks again, almost cautiously. "Uhm, Jisung?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you," Minho murmurs, looking away, leaning down against his arms as his elbows rest against his thighs. "I don't deserve this kindness and this understanding, but you've been so patient. . . you're tutoring me and there didn't have to be more than that, and yet here you are, chasing after me in the pouring rain–"

"Like a true k-drama, huh?" Jisung laughs quietly, watching a smile curl on Minho's lips.

"Does that make you the main character, or the witty best friend?" Minho asks, raising a brow.

"Depends," Jisung shrugs, his smile never leaving. "Are we in a romance or in a comedy? Or even worse, a zombie apocalypse?"

"I'm not cut out for romance, no one would ever want something like that with me," Minho says, almost sure of himself, waving off the suggestion. "Probably a comedy, if anything. Or a really shitty coming-of-age flick."

"I think you'd be cut out for anything, especially a romance," Jisung quips, his fingertips tapping against the plastic bench. "You've got the whole mysterious, bad boy persona going on. Anyone would watch that k-drama just for the pure look of it."

"No one would even see me like you do, and besides–" Minho sighs, his voice dropping a cent quieter. "Who would ever look at me and want me?"

Jisung turns to Minho, sitting upright slowly, removing his hands from the edge of the plastic seating. Minho glanced his way, turning barely towards him, his hands moving to press against the seat in the space that Jisung had left.

Jisung shakes his head slowly, his eyes searching Minho's, unsure if the words he had been about to express would ever hold enough weight to convey just how true they were. He knew that Minho had self-doubts and was always at war with himself, but the truth behind Jisung's every word was paramount, especially in this moment.

"Maybe you're not looking hard enough," Jisung murmurs.

Minho raises a brow, his eyes widening slightly, but barely enough to be noticeable. Jisung watches him intently, curious and ever perceptive, knowing that his words had likely breached over an impasse Minho hadn't expected.

"W-What?"

"Maybe if you looked a little harder, that k-drama romance isn't too far away," Jisung says, his voice tentative and hesitant, but audible nonetheless.

Minho leans closer, almost accidentally, studying Jisung's expression for any sign of dishonesty, yet was only met with a glimmer of genuine truth, causing him to linger in their closeness, rather relishing in it. Jisung swallows nervously, his eyes watching Minho carefully, wondering why he had moved closer all of the sudden and. . . why he didn't want him to move away.

"Where should I look?" Minho asks, his eyes flicking down, looking at something for a moment before blinking back up, catching Jisung's gaze with his own. "Since you know everything, tell me. Where should I start looking?"

Jisung takes a breath, feeling Minho encroach on his space slowly as seconds tick past. In a rush, Jisung lets his words flee in a mantra of a breathless whisper, hopeful that his response would cater to the tense moment spurring into something warmer between them.

"In front of you," Jisung manages to breathe out, his lips parting in anticipation, yet more words string themselves along the sill of his tongue. "Stop looking behind you, Minho. Your past is the past, and the future could hold something else for you, and all you have to do is just look ahead."

"Well," Minho's eyes lull, his tone alluring and low all the same. "I'm looking now."

Jisung swallows, allowing his eyes to flicker down to catch a glimpse at Minho's lips, feeling that whatever walls had been built between them finally crumbled into nothing, the cavern that once kept them apart now abridged, connected by a path made of wood and steel.

Closer and closer does Minho inch, their lips an antagonizing space away, lingering with an electric pulse surging through Jisung's veins. A breath leaves Jisung's parting lips, warming the space between them, and for a split second does Jisung feel himself simultaneously leaning closer.

The abrupt crack of thunder brings them to a pause, causing Jisung to back away with his eyes wide, his hand landing on the plastic bench between himself and Minho. Startled, he looks to the windows, then to the doors, smiling to himself when he realizes how foolish he must've looked.

"Scared?" Minho asks, unphased by the sudden distance.

"A little."

"That's okay," Minho assures, brushing his fingers against Jisung's on the bench between them. "Use my hoodie to shield you."

"Oh, of course," Jisung smiles, feeling as Minho's finger curls over his own, but he doesn't even bother to fight the contact.

"Thank you," Minho mutters again. "Even if it is raining outside, you made my day immensely brighter."

"It's what I'm here for," Jisung smiles. "That, and bettering your grades."

"Right," Minho smirks, nodding teasingly, moving his hand slowly to rest over Jisung's.

Jisung laughs at him, and for a moment, he finds himself lost in the trail of thoughts believing that whatever was brewing here, was meant to unfurl like this. It was slow, tentative, cautious and burning ever so slightly. Jisung wanted to kindle this fire, to encourage it to set aflame, building to an intense heat, leaving him to embrace the warmth that desire and love cured. He wasn't sure if he was ever met for something as deep as love and affection, but Minho made him feel so brave.

Minho made him feel a lot of things, to be perfectly honest, but if Jisung could take away anything from today's encounter and experience, it would be resilience. Minho was fighting his battles alone and with a quiet strength that seemed to be unrivaled. But that is exactly what Jisung found so alluring about the male.

He was strong, emotionally and physically so, powering through trial after trial, coming out as unscathed as he could, even despite the wear and tear on his body through the years. Jisung just wanted to hold him; to cure his internal wounds, to kiss his scars and his delicate lips, to brush a hand through his hair and to protect him from the world that sought to outcast him for who he was.

And that was just it, Jisung then realizes; Jisung liked him. Jisung cared about Minho for who he was, and for all that he was, not for the facade or fake attitude that came with his intimidating appearance. He likes him for him; not for anything else.

Just as he was.

Jisung wanted him as he was.