♡

FEBRUARY  16

   "...I want to tell you, Jisung. Why I'm like this." Minho felt he deserved to know.

   It had been nearly a week since his eye-opening (or, rather, mind-opening) conversation with Chan. Now, he was moments away from another frighteningly vulnerable conversation.

   When Minho showed up at his door, nervously clenching his fists as he delivered that surprising statement, Jisung was stunned, and with big eyes, he waited for Minho's words, immediately listening attentively.

   And... Felix was in the room with him at the time. Minho had seen a glimpse of his faded red hair almost immediately when Jisung opened the door. (And when he glanced over now, Felix also looked surprised, but he seemed more confused than anything.)

   Minho never would have said such a thing to Jisung with anyone else around to hear before that talk with Chan. With everyone but Jisung (and now Chan), he liked to pretend that nothing was obviously wrong with him. He never wanted to acknowledge, despite the fact that everyone could see, that he was a mess... But things were different now. For now. At least. Maybe (hopefully?) indefinitely.

   Of course, that didn't mean he was ready to have any sort of deep, revealing conversation in front of anyone who wasn't Jisung or Chan yet, but... y'know... baby steps.

(Chan did say he should go at his own pace, after all.)

   Jisung stood by the door, so he was close enough to hear when Minho lowered his voice to say, "Can we go somewhere...? I want us to be... alone." A shudder came through in Minho's voice, and it was clearly because he was remembering the last time they'd had an important conversation in one of these dorm rooms, and how it had ended.

   Jisung nodded. "Let's go."

   Minho followed him outside into the dark, not stopping to ask where he intended to go. 

   Jisung brought them to that same bench. The one they'd sat on about two weeks ago, talking to each other as if for the first time, holding hot chocolate with flurries falling down on them. When he sat down, on the end of the bench opposite Jisung, he drew in a shaky breath and got ready to spew out whatever he could— whatever he knew— about the process he'd put himself through that had turned him into the mess he now was. There was still a lot about his childhood that he felt he hadn't quite grasped yet, but he'd attempt to tell Jisung what he'd figured out (assuming his body would let him after being trained to resist such things for so many years). 

   Why? 

   Because now, Minho honestly wanted to try to change— not the same way he had a few weeks ago. Back then, he'd only been concerned with finding a way to go on keeping to himself like he'd always wanted to... and this time, he wanted to know what it was like to... maybe... be close to people (however one did that), as strange and wrong as it sounded to him. Just because... if he didn't try now, he probably never would, and he'd end up dying all alone, which, he felt like (but didn't truly know anymore) was not his original plan when he initially started to distance himself from everyone. It wasn't supposed to be permanent. 

   In short, Minho thought, he was now actually "trying", the  way Jisung had asked him to weeks ago. And he felt like Jisung should know that. 

   "I... I told you, I'm not traumatized. I didn't grow up with abusive drunkards like Hyunjin and I didn't grow up on the streets as an orphan like Jeongin. Literally nothing happened to me..."

   Jisung looked ready to argue, but Minho went on before he could start. 

    "I did this to myself."

   That had Jisung shutting his mouth. 

   "I hated— I hate who I was, Jisung. And everyone else hated me too. ...When I was a kid, I was the complete opposite of who I am now. I was... an attention seeker."

   "How?" Jisung questioned, as if he almost couldn't believe it.

   Minho sighed heavily, fogging up the nippy winter air. This wasn't something he wanted to talk about at all— out of all the things he was ashamed of, this had to make the top five. "It's... disgusting," he chuckled dryly, upper lip curling as he swallowed harshly, fiddling with his cold hands. The lengths I would go to to get attention. I... I used to talk all the time as a little kid. But when they didn't listen, eventually I'd scream and cry, or I'd just go sulk. And when I was older..." Minho stopped. He remembered the lines on his forearms. The dripping blood. 

   ...He couldn't tell Jisung about that. That would be... 

   No, he couldn't. If anything, that was what he was going to keep to himself today. He shook his head, abandoning the thought.  

   Jisung sensed his hesitation and the way it seemed final, and In his silence, he supposed, "So... people ignored you?"

   "...Sometimes. Sometimes they were just busy... and I was lonely. I was clingy." Jisung raised an eyebrow at that. "They hated that."

    "Who?"

   "Well, everyone. My sisters, mostly. Mom and Dad weren't really around enough to notice."

   "...What were your sisters like?"

   Minho stopped to think. "...They were... quiet. They kept to themselves— they tried anyway. I tended to... not let them. They were teenagers when I was little, so there was a pretty big age gap, and they seemed to think everything I did— my whole existence was annoying... can't blame them, though. Like I said... I was constantly seeking attention and I was always clinging to them. Literally. They didn't want me touching them. They were always telling me to stay out of this thing they called their 'bubble'. I dunno. I didn't really get it. They were just really insistent on having personal space. They liked to be alone."

   "...And you grew up to be just like them, didn't you?"

   That line pierced Minho straight through like an arrow, sharp and pointed— and totally unexpected, though it was another thing that should've  been obvious. He even looked straight at Jisung for a split second, because he was so surprised.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

wait...

did i really...?

i mean... thinking back now... all those steps i took... 

yeah, i was trying to be like my sisters, but... it was only because they were so... grown-up. that's what i always felt like i needed to be, somehow.

...but is it really true that that's what caused my shift from bubbly and happy to... i'll be honest— troubled and mellow? the fact that i was trying to fit the mold that i thought was 'being grown-up'? 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

    Minho shrugged, but it was clear as day that Jisung was right. "I just... wanted to stop seeking attention. No one wanted to give it, anyway. No one cared what I had to say. Even if I tried talking, they usually talked over me. I... I chose to shut my mouth and pull away." Another shrug and sigh. "...I guess, there came a point where, as hard as it was to keep it inside, it was more uncomfortable to let it out."

    "...Did you not try going to your parents instead?" Jisung's voice was smaller now.

   "No. They were always working... I hardly saw them, and when I did, they were always tired. My sisters made it clear I shouldn't bother them... especially when Mom came home with stress headaches. They told me to be quiet so I didn't make it worse."

   When there was silence, Minho cautiously glanced up and to the side to check Jisung's reaction. He was feeling wildly insecure about all this— the voice in his head never stopped screaming 'no!', after all. Jisung was looking at him with genuine sadness etched into his gently furrowed eyebrows. 

   "Hyung, can I ask you something?"

   Minho shrugged for the third time (at least). Jisung took it as a yes.

   "Your family made you feel like an inconvenience... a burden, didn't they? ...Just because you were a normal, high-energy kid? Just because you needed someone to take care of you?"

      "I..." Minho swallowed harshly before the lump could form in his throat (which it did, still, shortly after) while his chest clenched. "I don't... know what to say..." 

      Which of course meant: 'Yes. Yes, they absolutely did.'

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

...maybe i got too tired of hearing "maybe when you're older" from them. over and over. every time i ended up left out, they said that, like it made things better. 

'maybe when i'm older' what? you'll finally like me? ...if that's what you meant, it didn't work out that way. 

maybe i thought, "fine. i'll act older then." 

and because the adults i grew up around were distant and cold... maybe that's what i forced myself to be. i saw holding back and keeping to yourself as being mature... and strong. 

...so i envied their self-sufficiency that seemed so effortless.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

      Jisung wasn't done with the hard questions. Carefully, as if he expected Minho to lose it at any second (which was a very real possibility), he asked, "...When was the last time you felt genuinely loved?"

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

   loved?

...

it would sound too pitiful to ask you what that means, wouldn't it. it'd sound like i was looking for sympathy. i'm not. 

honestly. i just don't know.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

"...I don't remember," Minho admitted, hardly above a whisper.

    For once, during one of these tell-all conversations that seemed to be coming weekly at this point, there were tears that weren't coming from Minho's eyes. 

   Jisung didn't hide his tears like Minho did. It just wasn't something to panic over for him, like it was for Minho. His empathetic tears were on full, unashamed display as his eyes glittered and spilled over with sadness for Minho.

   Instead, Minho did the panicking for him, first by urgently averting his eyes.

   For a moment, while racking his brain for something to do about this strange situation, in which he was responsible for making someone cry, Minho considered trying to wipe his tears, because that almost seemed like the right thing to do. But whether it was right or not, he found that his hand couldn't move. Wouldn't move. Whichever it was, it didn't move.

   Instead, after quite some hesitation, shakily, he said, "...Sorry."

   "It's not your fault." Jisung smiled sadly. "You don't need to stop. Keep talking... tell me anything. Minho hyung, I want to hear your voice."

   Perhaps Minho's breath hitched at that.

    "I care what you have to say. Tell me anything. I'll listen. I want to."

   That might have been the single most (for lack of a better word) touching thing anyone had ever said to him. Could anything have meant more to him?

   But, because he was Minho, he had no way of expressing that, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to express it right now. He swallowed down the lump that had stubbornly built in the back of his throat.

    "...It's just— They gave me almost anything I wanted... yet I still turned out like this. I feel like I'm insane half the time. I hate myself. I feel like I'm broken." Even with Jisung crying there next to him, he was embarrassed about the crack in his voice that came just then. "I feel so guilty for not turning out as I should have... someone who can cope. I can't even stand being with my family— the people that sacrificed and provided for me. ...It's like my existence only gave them trouble, because there was another mouth to feed. My parents worked all the time so that my sisters and I could live comfortably, and... still, I don't even want to speak to them. I should be grateful... unlike Jeongin I never had to go hungry or work every day just to keep a roof over my head. I feel like I owe them for that, and yet..." He threw his hands up weakly. What else was there to say?

   "I don't think that's true. They were the ones that decided to have a child. You didn't decide to be born. As your parents, they owe it to you to take care of you until you're able to take care of yourself. They're meant to meet your needs, because they're responsible for your existence. And they didn't meet all of your needs. They clearly overlooked your emotional needs. Just because you weren't stick-thin doesn't mean you weren't starved." Jisung's voice only got firmer and more passionate as he spoke, despite its subtle tremble. "Your emotional needs are valid, Minho hyung," he insisted, as if he heard Minho's doubtful thoughts on that just then. "You can be thankful that they gave you life and provided for your physical needs while also realizing that they didn't fulfill their responsibility to provide for you completely."

...have i been looking at this wrong my whole life?

   Jisung seemed to be catching his breath after that rant. He wiped the remnants of the tears that hadn't dried yet on his sleeve.

   "Your parents did not give you enough, no matter how many material things they gave you. I don't care if they gave you a million bucks! Maybe you were an attention seeker... But it seems like you had to be. Kids aren't supposed to grow up like you did— they need attention. Your parents didn't give you enough. It's neglect, Minho hyung. And that is trauma."

...is it true that i can't believe that i actually have trauma... because i was always told i was being dramatic and seeking attention when i was upset as a kid? is chan right?

    The most he could do was reply, "...Okay." At least he wasn't yelling and stubbornly insisting he most definitely was not traumatized anymore, even if he couldn't fully believe it yet.

    "But why do you hate to be touched so much now?"

   "...I still don't really know. Not entirely... but I know that my sisters made me feel so... weak... when they would talk about it. How I wanted to be hugged, as if it was something that only applied to me. Because I was different than them somehow. They would never want that."

   "They made you feel like wanting affection was weird? Or childish?"

『 ↳✧･ﾟ

is that... it?

...yeah, i think that's it. i haven't been able to put my finger on exactly what felt so wrong about it most of the time but. overall, yeah. 

i hate looking childish. so. much. to be honest i think it's what i hate the most. it finally makes sense now that i know exactly why i made myself this way.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』

 "...Yeah." Minho didn't mention how he still felt that way now. But how could he not? That voice in his head, it told him clearly, so that there were no doubts about it: it most definitely was childish. And weird.

   Still, he didn't tell Jisung that, because he felt like Jisung would insist it wasn't and make him even more confused. It was another thing he wasn't yet ready to believe. Instead, he just moved the explanation along. "...And I felt like I should stop. I guess... I decided I wouldn't want that anymore. I stopped hugging people... and eventually I started avoiding touching people. I don't know exactly when it started to feel this way— when it started feeling genuinely repulsive, but it was like, at some point, a switch just flipped in my brain and suddenly, I actually hated being touched. And it only got worse."

   Minho expected Jisung to wonder why on earth he'd been acting the way he had recently— coming to him in the middle of the night to be held, asking him to fucking pet him— after saying that. Instead, Jisung shocked him again. 

   "...But your body tells you that you need it, doesn't it?"

   ...what?

  That was not what Minho expected to hear. And definitely not what he wanted to hear. Made him feel weird.

    "You've spent so long convincing yourself you don't like to be touched that your body rejects it— as... as a sort of defense mechanism to keep you from being rejected again. From being hurt. But at the same time... your body knows what it needs."

   A sinking feeling grew in Minho's stomach.

   "Just like you get hungry when you don't eat, or thirsty when you don't drink, or tired when you don't sleep. The longer you ignore these needs, the more miserable you become until you eventually die. ...You can go on longer without taking care of some of them, but in the end, basic needs are still basic needs, and you won't survive if you don't fulfill them."

   That struck a nerve. Obliterated it, rather. 

   ...Of course, Minho knew what Jisung was going to say next, and he preemptively felt like puking, nearly forgetting how humiliating it'd been for him the first time he'd done it in front of Jisung.

    "...Touch is a need, too."

    And there it was, like a sucker punch. Something in Minho wanted to reject that statement, so, so badly. (Maybe he mostly knew what that something was now.) Yet, the smallest part of him was relieved and almost ready to accept it.

   He was left sitting there on his side of the bench, face hot, jaw quivering, shrinking under the overwhelming weight of his clashing feelings, until Jisung slowly reached over, stretching out his hand to Minho. Before it touched him, Minho wondered, what would it feel like today? Ice-melting warmth, or shiver-inducing disgust?

   It was the latter.

   Jisung looked him in the eye, hand over Minho's. He felt the flinch; saw the way Minho's shoulders shot up almost to his ears. "Listen to me. You don't need this." Something about the way Jisung said it— it was so convincing that for a moment, Minho's shivering stopped. Jisung wrapped his fingers around Minho's palm. "What you're feeling— this defense mechanism— it's just hurting you now, not keeping you safe. You only need defense when there's danger." Jisung sighed. "I can see how much you've been hurt, Minho. I know there was a time when you needed to do this to keep yourself safe from that. But there's no danger anymore. Minho, you're safe with us. That time has passed. Let it go."

   Vision blurred over, Minho stared into Jisung's soul-piercing, warm eyes. Brighter and warmer than anything Minho had ever seen. And he felt some of the repulsion slip away. It felt almost good.  

   "...I can try, Jisung. I'll try," Minho promised.

honestly, this time. for real.

   Jisung smiled.  "That's all I can ask for." He let go, and some of the conflicting feelings permeating Minho's mind and body calmed down. "I know it's hard. Clearly your body is in conflict with your mind, and it won't be easy for you to change that. If you're honest, you have to admit that you want closeness— you crave the warmth and safety it's meant to give you— but you've trained your mind to be so against it that it becomes something you're repulsed by, yeah? And... I think that's why you've been needing someone to hold you to be able to sleep."

   Minho looked away, tensing up.

    "I think that... It's love—not just touch— that you really want, but physical affection is sometimes the most obvious and straightforward way to get it."

   It didn't make sense to Minho that Jisung was the one that had been crying, yet he was the one holding his head up high while Minho's head was hanging in shame.

   Everything just seemed like it was so simple to Jisung. He just took things for what they were. He didn't judge everything the way Minho did, whether it was natural or not.

    As if Jisung had read his mind, he suddenly asked, "Remember when you asked me what's so different between us?"

   Eyes still glued to the ground, Minho nodded.

    "Well... to answer your question, I think the difference between you and me is that you were more or less shamed for wanting love, and I was encouraged."  

   Was it that simple?

   "You'd be surprised what a world of difference it can make. What other people's perceptions can do to you if you let them mess with your head," Jisung murmured, voice dipping down solemnly.

     Finally, Minho spoke up. "Jisung... I think I know exactly what they can do."

    Had this really been it all along? Almost as long as he could remember, people touching him always left him feeling confused but definitely abnormally upset, and was this the reason?

    Because once-upon-a-time, in a now-faraway childhood, he was always pushed away?

    Because when he begged, "Hold me," as a little, impressionable child, he'd been met with disgusted or irritated reactions?

    And because it was always seen, strangely, as either childish or sexual to crave physical affection?

    So that was it... the reason he always felt like an alien was because his family treated him as strange, just because he wanted to feel like he mattered?

    "If you let it all go, and pretended that none of it mattered to you, would you like it if I held you?" Jisung asked. Obviously, he knew that part of Minho liked his touch, seeing as he kept coming back for it, but overall? Right here, right now?

    If nothing mattered at all? If Minho only cared about the feeling of warm, comforting arms wrapped around him, and not about the presumptions that people could make, or the condemnations of his own mind (which, apparently came as a byproduct of his troubled, lonely childhood)?

    Probably because it sounded nice to believe in a world where he wouldn't have to worry about such things— that same world Chan had made him wish for where he could have a home, and a family, and he could ask for what he really wanted (when in the real world it was just too unbelievably uncomfortable to do so)—  he was able to blurt out, without hesitation, "Yes." Still, he couldn't look Jisung in the eyes as he said so.

    "Then come over here and put your head in my lap, 'cause you know I won't judge you for it. Even if you don't know that, at least know: ...it's only human to want to be loved."

    Minho's heart was beating a little faster, because yes, the thought of doing that was still so humiliating.

    "But... Sung," He started, mouth dry, like it were trying to keep him from saying these next few words. "To be honest, I've never felt like a human." Before today, he probably never would have said that. He finally got to looking Jisung in the eye as he spoke. "I always felt like an alien."

    "...Put it behind you, hyung. You're different, now, aren't you?"

    His heart felt very, very warm in a way it never had before as he leaned over and laid his head on Jisung's knee, and felt his arms wrap around his chest and shoulders. Almost uncomfortably warm, because it felt like his insides were burning with some unfamiliar sensation. But still, compared to the usual feeling of intense, shame-riddled repulsion, it was... heavenly. Absolute bliss.

   He didn't need to care that it felt wrong. It didn't matter anymore.

...i was supposed to do it all... so that i would fit in. 

so that i could finally be loved.

꘎♥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♥꘎

...yeah