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FEBRUARY 8

   "Sung— more, please.."

...

    It shocked both of them.

    Minho's head was spinning in just seconds, hit with the realization that just a short time ago, the thought of wanting more of Jisung's hands in his hair would have been entirely bizarre and incomprehensible to him, and he never would have dreamed of saying it aloud. It would have been absolutely mortifying.

   (...Well, it still was.)

   He really just said that. But what was weird was that he didn't totally, completely regret it? He was extremely embarrassed, sure; had blood rushing to warm his cheeks, but he was sort-of slightly glad he'd said it before he had the chance to even think about it? Maybe? Partly?

    He was sure he had to be at least ten-percent glad he said it when Jisung's smile returned, even bigger and happier, and when Jisung's hand returned to fall gently over his temple, brushing a few strands of dark hair away from Minho's eyes. Minho had to fight to keep his eyes from fluttering shut in the single second that it happened— gosh, it just felt so.., strangely, nice... in the worst sort of way that made him feel so guilty and insecure (not that he ever really felt secure).

   Again, like that morning a few days back, he had to keep his head from leaning straight into Jisung's hand. At this point, he didn't trust himself not to, so he held his breath and stiffened his neck and held his muscles rigidly in place so that he wouldn't move as Jisung's fingers fell away from his head, all too quickly. It wasn't enough. It was over too fast.

   It was something Jisung had clearly sensed from the time he had first touched Minho— from that first uncomfortable hug in Chan's front doorway— and seen him react: the fact that Minho was fighting himself, every day. It continued on and on, even to this very moment. Somehow, Jisung always seemed to see the turmoil hiding behind Minho's icy exterior. That must have been why he finally sighed, "Just let go already, hyung... I think we both know by now... you need this, no matter how much you fight it. Let me do this for you."

『 ↳✧･ﾟ   

   i don't like the sound of that, but whatever. just please, please don't stop. as long as no one else knows this side of me— just give it to me, sung. ...i give up, for real. you can do whatever. please take away the ache. i'm so tired of it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

   Minho just let his head fall forward; chin pressing down into his chest, pushing Jisung's hand up further, through locks of soft, dark hair that stuck out between his fingers, all in an effort to let go and fully permit Jisung's touch, for the first time without it being just a last-ditch resort to avoid death by sleep deprivation. This was new.

   That's why he was so disappointed— almost feeling betrayed— when Jisung pulled his hand away. His head snapped up, and his eyes open, just in time to see that Jisung wasn't leaving him but moving to pull him closer, with hands tugging him backwards toward the bed, too fast for Minho to even consider panicking.

    And that's how they ended up with Jisung sitting propped against the wall, pulling Minho down beside him and laying his head in his lap. For the second time, Jisung had to tell Minho to loosen up, because he'd gone completely tense now that he was close to Jisung.

    "Relax," Jisung instructed gently, rubbing Minho's stiff shoulders soothingly.

   And Minho decided, since he had already gone and wrecked his tough image in front of Jisung, and he was giving this— being touched, the thing that always made him feel disgusted (or was it that it made him feel disgusting ?)— a chance, he was going to allow himself to... enjoy it, as repulsive as that sounded. Even if it was just this once.

   It was a little difficult (more like extremely difficult), still, but Minho slowly let himself sink into Jisung's lap, again, letting go of holding himself up. Then, when he finally went limp, Jisung's comforting hand returned to his head, cradling it from the back in his palm with his arm wrapping over and around Minho's chest.

   Minho looked upwards dazedly, and accidentally locked eyes with Jisung, but only for a split second, because it was a reminder that he was actually being like this (whatever the heck 'like this' was) in front of another person, and it was brought to his mind, again, that he ought to be ashamed of himself. It was... super awkward. He stared off at the window instead, up until the moment that he finally allowed himself to close his eyes, coaxed by the relaxation-inducing motion of Jisung's hand, sorting through his hair continuously.

    He knew he'd almost definitely want to die because of this later (especially because of his word choice earlier— 'more, please'? way to sound like a whore — thoughts like that were already circulating in his mind, but at a low volume for now).

    But... ugh, it made him feel so alive, in some way he'd never felt before, and yet, so ready to lose consciousness. Honestly, he felt like he was melting from the inside out, and it was kind of overwhelming.

   "How's this?" Jisung suddenly murmured, causing Minho to open his eyes again. He looked up at him, eyes half-lidded this time, and that lasted about... one nervous second.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

you want me to tell you how i... feel. 

huh. 

that's...

i... can try.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

  Minho found it so incredibly awkward (in a heart-stopping, breath-shaking kind of way that made it feel like his life was about to end) to admit his feelings (of any sort) in words; he could feel his hands getting sweaty with the effort, and he had to avert his eyes to be able to make a sound, because Jisung's soft, caring eyes put so much pressure on him.

   "...Good," Minho mumbled, quietly, quickly and almost unintelligibly. It was incredibly over-simplified, but he just didn't have to words to describe all the hundreds of feelings clashing within him at the moment.

   "You feel good?" That phrase made him feel weird. It sounded dirty, especially when Jisung was nearly whispering it to him, softly and gently.

  ...But he did feel good. Somehow. Somehow he didn't feel like squirming or flinching or any of the usual stuff. Somehow he didn't feel the same kind of sick-to-his-stomach that he was used to— but he did feel as if his stomach was weaving itself into knots, not entirely in a bad way.

    And somehow he was able to reply, "Yeah..."

   Jisung smiled again, relieved. "You're doing really well."

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

really? 'cause i'm pretty sure that this isn't what i was supposed to be doing. i keep getting confused.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

   "Just let me know if you want more than this, okay?" Jisung stopped the movements of his hand to encourage Minho to give an answer.

'Just let me know if you want more than this',  he said.  ...As if it would be that easy. Or possible, for that matter.

   Minho nodded slightly, but he didn't intend to do it. It was just a little too much for now. He only leaned into Jisung's hand and tried to enjoy it while it lasted, or until his mess of conflicting thoughts succeeded at completely getting in the way and making it impossible to enjoy.

   It was all just so entirely new. He never had anyone do this for him, as far back as he could remember (aside from the two nights Jisung came to help him sleep before, which didn't really count because he couldn't much remember them, anyway).

   He couldn't help himself. He was turning in towards Jisung's body little by little, clutching at the hem of his shirt, shoving himself closer. He was almost pressing his face to Jisung's stomach, inhaling the scent of his skin, finding that it somehow smelled like heaven.

   ...If this was what letting Jisung help got him, maybe it wasn't a bad choice to regret after all.

   "Hyung," Jisung giggled, softly. "I said you should tell me if you need more." 

   Minho was blushing again. Red-hot, majorly flushed face. Gosh, this was embarrassing. He was being such a baby. And not in a cute way. This was downright irritating. And he should've been used to this feeling by now, but he just felt so enormously ashamed.

   "It's... it's difficult." 

   "I know." Jisung's soft hand left Minho's hair and instead held his cheek firmly. Did he really know, though? How incredibly difficult it was? Harder than all those algebra tests, chemistry labs, and five-page essays that he'd completed back in high school, nearly without faltering. Did Jisung— who pulled his friends close like it was nothing— really get it??  "...But I know you can do it."

『 ↳✧･ﾟ   

ugh! i can't just say a couple of words! why am i such a baby? why can't i just get over it and tell him what i want?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

    "I..." Minho's mouth was going dry, while his pupils darted back and forth. He'd suddenly lost the ability to stay limp in Jisung's hold. He would've looked away, but that hand on his cheek wasn't going to let him go anywhere. "...P-...please, Jisung," he begged, with a quivering voice. He hated the way it sounded, coming off his lips.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

great, i sound like a whore again.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

   "That's good enough, I guess." Jisung brought his knees up as he wrapped his arms around Minho, curling around him, while Minho latched onto him, fingers closing into fists around bunches of Jisung's shirt behind his neck. Pulling himself in closer, closer, until they pressed against each other just about everywhere possible.

   Again, Minho's mind was becoming an absolute mess; feelings of shame and anxiousness and happiness and this-is-truly-what-I-wanted-most clashing violently within him. It was all he could do to keep himself from whimpering pitifully into Jisung's neck (which he never would have recovered from).

   Jisung's hand began to slowly rub his back, and Minho began to go limp again, with Jisung murmuring another reminder to relax into his ear. It was like Jisung slowed down time when he took hold of Minho's body. And once again, he managed to put a halt to the clashing thoughts in Minho's mind, just with that simple touch. He could wait until later to feel guilty about it. There was only space in his mind for Jisung— the way his hand felt like heaven, wherever it went.

    Everything was rhythmic and slow, from the heartbeat Minho felt beating, muffled, against his own chest, to the hand running up and down his back comfortingly. It made his eyelids droop.

    Surely Jisung wouldn't mind if he just gave in and let himself slip away into sleep for a couple minutes, draped over his chest like this? ...Then again, Minho would've minded if he let himself fall asleep like that, though.

    Time continued to be slow until the moment the door opened.

   Hyunjin set time back to its normal, alarming pace when he walked through the doorway obliviously, looking at the phone in his hand, until he heard Minho's panicked movement.

    Minho had torn his head away from Jisung, and most of his chest, too, before Hyunjin was staring at them, but there was only so much he could do. Hyunjin was seeing Minho— the very same Minho who he'd always known to be overly insistent on keeping his distance from everyone in every possible way— tensed up now like a startled cat, but still all wrapped up in Jisung's arms, and more or less laying across his lap.

   Poor Hyunjin could hardly tear his shocked eyes away, but he did. "Sorry to... interrupt.. I'm just.. gonna get my stuff, and go.." He grabbed a pair of headphones from his bed that had sat there, untouched, for weeks. It seemed like some excuse he came up with to get out of the tense room, but that was fine because Minho wanted him out, immediately.

   Minho melted away from Jisung when the door shut, falling out of his arms, and slumping over with regretful hands pressed against his face. He felt the dread collect in his stomach, venomous and heavy. And there went his mind, going in the usual old circles.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

what have i done?

...how could i be so stupid? why did i ever think it was a good idea to do this?

i was better before. when i just ignored these stupid feelings and kept going. they'd have gone away eventually right?

but now hyunjin knows what me and jisung do! no one was supposed to know...

i didn't want anyone to know.

is everyone going to know now? hyunjin isn't the type to gossip like that anymore, is he? still, all i can see in my mind is him rushing to tell everyone he knows that i'm... well.. a pathetic weakling.

everyone's going to know i'm such a fucking baby!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

 He was starting to pull harshly on his hair when Jisung's voice cut through his thoughts. "Hyung, please, calm down. It's okay," He comforted, voice calm and revealing that he was totally unaware of the trouble that was coming; of the storm quickly brewing within Minho's mind.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

no!!! it's not!

you don't get it! i can't deal with it this time— i can't! i'm going to burst. i can't take it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

 Minho felt a hand come softly down on his shoulder, and he immediately shrunk away, feeling sick to his stomach. Jisung sighed, but didn't try touching Minho again, waiting for him to be ready. "Please... talk to me."

『 ↳✧･ﾟ  

but, jisung... i hate what i'm feeling, so why would i say it?

how do i stop feeling like i want to be in your arms?  why can't i just fix myself?

...whatever, i already know i'm pathetic. we both know that. i guess i better just accept it.

...on second thought, no! my life is actually over this time. i feel so sick i think i'm going to die.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

    The strange thing was, he could still feel the sensation of Jisung's hand on his shoulder.

   Not in a good way.

....It felt like it'd left a residue that he needed to clean off with his own hands. Like it used to.

  But there was suddenly something else to focus on, so he pushed that to the back of his mind. He was almost grateful for his body providing an ample distraction from his torturous thoughts, but then again, the distraction it gave was very disconcerting: Minho suddenly became very aware of his own breathing, and he found that he had to will his lungs into continuing to respirate.

    "Hey, hyung, don't worry, okay? It's alright," Jisung soothed (or, at least, he tried), sounding a bit more worried as he heard the erratic, forced breaths Minho was huffing in and out at a gradually increasing speed, and as he saw Minho's pupils rolling back and darting around with his eyelids hanging low like he'd suddenly become a zombie.

   Ew, what the heck— was that saliva he felt on his hand? Dripping out of his watering mouth?

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

no... not alright.....

not good....

 throat's burning—

gonna.... i'm gonna... 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

   Thankfully, his body reacted before his mind and he shot up, albeit, not without crashing to the floor straight after, then reached out for the trashcan and— just in time to save the scratchy carpet— buried his face in it to throw up the popcorn he ate during the movie while Jisung knelt next to him quietly, not daring to touch him, not even to help him prop himself up so his shaky arms wouldn't give way and leave him face-planting into his own stomach acid.

   Minho didn't even have time to worry about anything more than breathing through the waves of gagging and coughing and spurting out bile.

    As soon as he caught his breath and the acid stopped dripping from his lips, he fell back against the side of his bed. He was still panting when Jisung said, with a voice dripping pure, shocked concern, "Um... maybe you need to try talking to Chan hyung about this."

   He vomited again.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

this was originally going to end on a happy note. and then i was like,, wait, that's dumb let me fix it :')

also yay for 6k :]