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FEBRUARY 1

    It wasn't like him, to tell people about his worries, emotions, or buried memories.

    He could never take back what he said, and now wouldn't Jisung be expecting him to talk more, now that he'd let him into his mind, just the slightest bit?

    ...Right. He forgot that this was part of his plan. Talking to Jisung. It was so difficult to tell what were things that he needed to share in order to figure this out, and what was a secret that should remain kept; locked away in his mind. And having Jisung there, waiting for him to speak, adding pressure to his frazzled mind... It certainly didn't help him evaluate what was safe to disclose or not.

    After he went inside last night, the events of the past few hours were on his mind continuously as he went about the rest of his evening and fell asleep (thankfully rather quickly), but not in the same way that his other encounters with Jisung had been. They lingered faintly in the back of his mind, adding tension right back to his shoulders.

   And then, he woke up.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

woah.

i feel weird.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

   After spending the night talking to Jisung, Minho felt a weight lifted from his shoulders and his chest. He only partly realized it before he went to sleep the last night (he was more focused on feeling anxious about what he'd said then), after he'd trudged through the inch-thick snow, thrown out his paper cup, and headed to his room, but today he was hit with the stark difference like a slap to the face.

    He woke up feeling like he could breathe. And he'd forgotten what it was like to feel like his chest wasn't being compressed— weighed down with a thousand worries that he carried alone. (Now he carried... maybe 999). Or like the water he was submerged in had lowered to his chin.

    Why was it always that he felt some kind of relief after spending a night with Jisung?

    However, for the small amount of weight that left him, a vague, but powerful sense of guilt and still more disappointment at himself replaced it that gnawed at him from the pit of his stomach. He'd given some— a small fraction— of the weight he carried to Jisung, and because he'd never done that before, it was terrifying.

   Jisung now carried the weight around with him. He knew. From now on he would always know.

    He got out of bed feeling a little irritated (mostly at himself), but all in all, he was no worse than normal. No, actually— after the last few months, he was considerably better than normal.

   In typical weekend cheer, the boys gathered in the cafeteria, and Minho was happy to get his favorite table-end seat, since all of the younger boys (except for Hyunjin) were still getting themselves out of bed when he got there. 

   For once, Minho's mind was pleasantly blank— probably because he was still sleepy enough to have his thoughts slowed but no longer tired enough for his mind to be a continuously droning hellhole. But that ended when Jisung and Felix arrived. 

   "Morning, guys," Jisung yawned, pausing a moment at the end of the table, right beside Minho, who felt his presence and stiffened up a little, nervously, just subconciously. (Of course, he did this every time someone came remotely close to him, especially behind him. He'd learned to recognize the shift in the air when someone was approaching, and it immediately— reflexively at this point— set him to checking his peripheral vision.)

    ...And then he felt Jisung's hand settle on his shoulder, in a way that must've looked casual.

    After a slight jolt as it made contact, he gulped, blinking his wide eyes slowly.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

with his hand on my shoulder, i don't know what to feel.

by that, i mean, i don't know what i should feel. because, instantly, i know i feel two things in particular: warmth and worry. 

what the heck???

it's so strange. when and why exactly did it change, from the feeling of disgust that made my skin crawl to this—?

usually, it's especially bad if someone touches me when i'm not expecting it. and i wasn't expecting this, so why does the weight and warmth of the hand perched on my shoulder feel.. comforting? ...is that the right word?

why on earth do i not hate it?!  where's the feeling i'm used to, when i feel extremely uneasy until i can clean off the 'residue' left by contact? why does the slight weight on my shoulder not feel like impending doom? 

i hate to admit it but... if no one was watching, not even jisung, i'd give in to this new but powerful urge to lean in to his hand. i don't want anyone to know that.

but they're all here— and honestly, i think they're all sneaking glances. there's so much pressure, even though physically, there's hardly any: jisung's palm is only draped over my shoulder after all, resting there lightly as he chats with hyunjin. 

...honestly i wish he was pressing a little harder, so i would be able to feel it a little more... ugh! ew! that's nothing like me though, what is this?? 

and then hyunjin stares, unmistakably, up at jisung, then drags his eyes down to rest on his hand, and by then i've had it. he's watching. he sees. i can practically hear him making comments about it already... 

i can't take it anymore and shift in my seat, smoothly (i hope) removing jisung's hand while i lean away and press my back to the chair. 

he takes his seat, so thankfully i don't have the weight of his presence looming over me from behind,  and time, which had seemed to slow as i was sucked up into my thoughts to the point where i didn't even hear the conversation, resumes. it was only a couple seconds. no one but hyunjin really saw, right?  if i leaned in at first without knowing, no one noticed, right?

but even after the moment ends, im nervous— just now realizing i'm sweating a little. i bite my lip and my leg starts to bounce as conflicting thoughts fill my head.

i never want to experience that again. 

but at the exact same time i do— i want that and more and just that thought, mixed with the fact that my imagination is conjuring up a picture of jisung wrapping his arm around me instead of leaving my side to sit down, has me terrified and extremely uncomfortable. my thoughts are so loud to me that i feel like everyone can hear them. im terrified that everyone can hear them. 

it doesn't help that i keep meeting eyes with them, making me feel like they're all secretly staring at me.

...i hate myself. why can't i at least be consistent?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

    Minho sighed. As soon as he had a peacefully clear head, he was right back to violently, loudly conflicting thoughts and emotions filling up all of his brain space and stressing him out.

   ...Why couldn't he have just one good day?

   ♡

    If it were up to him, Minho would've gone back to another bout of distancing himself from Jisung for a while until the sting of humiliation from the previous night had calmed down enough to seem slightly more bearable. Though, this time, he didn't do anything quite as embarrassing as the other times. This time, the only two things that kept making him wince as they popped up repeatedly in his mind were the fact that he had cried (a little) in front of Jisung (again), and that he had accepted a hug from him. Though, when he really thought about it, the fact that those were now things he considered less embarrassing was freaky, and he had a newfound sense of disappointment in himself.

    Anyway, the point is that Jisung approached him after breakfast (speaking of which, he was actually back to eating regularly, thankfully).

    Minho finished first at the table, half because he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible so as to no longer feel stared at, and half because he was still getting back to eating the amount he used to and had less to get through. There were still a good fifteen minutes until first period, so he headed off to his room to do... whatever. Studying, maybe? Staring out the window?

    However, he'd only gotten to the bottom of the stairwell when some quick footsteps thudded behind him and caught up. He turned around, but he already knew who it had to be. Who else would it be but Jisung?

what is it this time?

    "Hey, hyung. Can we talk real quick, before class? I have something for you." Jisung paused. "Are you going to your room?"

    Minho shrugged. "Yeah."

     "Well, it's in my room. I'll go get it." Jisung suddenly sped ahead of him and ran up the stairway, two or three steps at a time.

    Minho almost managed an amused smile as the footsteps thudded overhead while Jisung dashed up multiple flights, and here he was, just walking. (But really, he was too grumpy to smile, even on a day like today, where he wasn't feeling quite so bad.)

    He got to his hallway when Jisung was shutting the sticky-note-littered door of his room behind him.

    And in his hand was... a book.

   Minho stopped walking, staring blankly at Jisung. Quietly, and motionlessly.

  Just as Jisung opened his mouth, a door opened somewhere else in the hallway. Students were milling about. They couldn't talk here.

   Sighing, Minho gestured to his room and led the way for Jisung to follow behind him, despite the fact that he was feeling anxious about a closed-door conversation with Jisung, especially in his room. But, there were only a few minutes before class, so it'd be okay, right?

   Thankfully, before there was a chance for it to get too awkward in the quiet of an isolated dorm room, door shut behind them and curtains closed, Jisung held the book out to Minho. Brown leather binding, thick pages, a strap to keep it closed, and a bookmark. It looked almost like...

    "It's a journal," Jisung quietly announced. "For you. I know talking's hard for you and you're too nervous to say what you think, right? So write it."

    Again, Minho was just staring blankly.

a... journal?

you're asking me to... write down these horrible things that pop into my head?

no... you're out of your mind. i can't. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

      But he had to do something, since Jisung's outstretched arm was hanging in the air like that, with the book... the journal... pointed at him. It was either take it, or tell him 'no'.

   "You don't have to show anyone. It's just for you."

    Minho took it. Only because that was the fastest, easiest thing to do. He wouldn't have to talk. All he would have to do was stash that thing way in his dresser or something. And Jisung would be appeased.

   "Yeah... well... thanks," he grumbled.

    With that, Jisung nodded promptly and ran back downstairs with less than ten minutes to finish his breakfast and sprint to class.

    Why did he always do this kind of stuff?

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