30: Turmoil.

The spring back home had always been a bit of an inconsistent bastard. One day it was sunny and bright, the air smelling a little something like hope after a long rainy winter. Then the next day that long rainy winter was back with twice the force.

In the cultivation world, the spring felt like a storybook version of the real thing. The snow melted, days got warmer, birds started singing and the sky looked clear like glass. The change in general atmosphere in the Geumgangsan wasn’t quite tangible, but there was something there.

If they were modern people, this would be the time they would start installing dating apps on the phones again. Since it wasn’t the case, it was more likely to see two Lee disciples dancing around each other like the world's most shy teenagers. Which they probably were, upon seeing that in front of him. 

Jisung loved to jump in and ruin the fun for everyone.

“So how long have you two been together?”

The two disciplines before him turned the color of Jisung’s breakfast congee. They were probably in their early twenties, absolutely not in their teens but not quite old enough to warrant any extra bowing and pleasantries.

Old enough to hold hands publicly, probably.

“A-ah! Master Han, you’ve misunderstood,” said one of them, the one with a sharp chin and high nose.

“We are, um, we are friends,” the other explained. This one was so red he was starting to resemble a stop sign. “Close confidants.”

“Oh, I see.” Jisung tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “Only, I thought I saw your faces very close to each other just now.”

The red one squirmed. The sharp-chinned one raised said sharp chin in what was clearly more brave than actual defiance.

“We were speaking of private matters,” he stated.

Jisung nodded in a very understanding manner. “I see, I see. It is more useful to whisper at one’s ears rather than their mouth, though.”

“That’s, um, that’s,” stuttered Red Face. Then he threw a helpless look at the sharp-chinned one.

“Perhaps Master Han saw something wrong,” Sharp-Chin said. “In any case, there’s nothing here to discuss.”

Jisung raised his hand in a pacifying gesture. "Certainly, of course! I would never question the words of an honorable Lee!"

Then he turned to smile at the red one, the weak link. He heard the outraged gasp of Sharp-Chin as he leaned close into the personal space of the blushing guy. “Then it would be fine to ask him out, right?”

“I- I– u-um.”

“Jisung,” came a deep voice behind him, and dammit, what were the chances?

Jisung tensed and grimaced, but when he turned to meet Minho's cool gaze, he was already smiling.

Things between them had been tense ever since they returned from the night-hunt, in which Jisung's hopes had been dashed.

They acted like it was fine, of course. Jisung still chatted a lot about everyone and everything, still poked and teased Minho like nothing was wrong, still invaded his space in his usual shameless manner. And Minho would listen and nod and sigh like always.

But now the little pauses between topics felt loaded, like if the next step landed wrong, the fragile thing between them would shatter into a million sharp pieces and burrow into their skins.

There was this constant prickle behind his ribs, an awareness of the time ticking by. The moments passed so quickly and without care for his wants that it was like trying to hold onto the droplet of water in the ocean.

Jisung had never had his heart broken before. He had thought that nothing could ever compare to the grief of losing his sister, and while this was different, the intensity felt familiar.

How did you miss someone who was standing right next to you? How could you grieve for something you never had?

If there was one thing Jisung was good at, it was pretending. The official line on the matter was that everything was okay and that he could deal with it if it occasionally took him a while to fall asleep with his head resting on a wet pillow. He was… good with dealing with that.

“Minho!” he yelped, and the pitch of his voice was just the tiniest bit too high.

“Master Minho!” greeted the two disciples behind him in haste.

Minho did not even bother to look at them; instead, he simply took Jisung by the arm and began yanking him away. The two Lees behind them were taken aback; Minho, who frequently ordered Jisung to leave when he was caught bullying people, had rarely gotten this physical.

Now his long fingers were digging into Jisung’s bicep.

“Ah Minho! What are you doing, you brute?” He stumbled trying to keep up with the smooth glide of Minho’s swift steps.

“Jisung is leaving in a few months, yet still he has the time to act frivolous.” Minho said, his tone harsh. “How many hearts is he going to break by that time?”

“Minho!” Jisung gasped, offended.

"It is inhumane to cause distress to others through your behavior."

What if his actions earlier were motivated by jealousy and resentment? So what if he’d seen two Lees being happy and in love and wanted to make them squirm a little? Jisung didn’t get to have that. Jisung had not found it ever important enough to want, and when he did, it wasn’t even an option.

“Not everyone takes things as seriously as you do,” he defended.

“Is there anything Jisung takes seriously?” Minho countered and apparently felt that they’d walked far enough  from the couple, as he let go of Jisung abruptly and turned to him, eyes flaming. “You flirt without care for anyone’s feelings.”

“Isn’t it tiring to blame me for everything?” Jisung fired back,“Maybe you should look at your stupid repressed world and point fingers at somewhere else for a change!”

"Prudence and repression are not the same things."

“To me, both seem awfully a lot like making me feel bad about myself,” Jisung hissed.

Minho’s nostrils flared, uncharacteristically angry. “You merely dislike having consequences for your actions.”

“For my actions?” He laughed in disbelief. "My actions regarding what? Expressing human emotion? Acting friendly?”

The glare sharpened. “ Flaunting yourself.”

“Is that right?” Jisung narrowed his eyes. “You know what I think? I think you’re just pent-up and bitter.”

“Jisung,” Minho warned.

“Just fuck someone and let all of that aggression out! It would do you some good!”

Minho’s eyes widened, speechless.

“I have done it, so trust me– it helps!” he snapped.

If there was a way for Minho’s eyes to look more fiery, Jisung didn’t know it. There was a grip on his arm again then, bruising, as Minho yanked him closer.

“Are you volunteering?” He demanded, and the voice was dripping venom and it suddenly hit Jisung like a truck over the line he was. How unfair he was being, how unnecessarily hostile.

He was doing it again, he realized. All of the bad feelings he had been swallowing in for months, if not years, and how they had culminated in the pain of heartbreak, and how he was antagonizing the only person who seemed to be completely in his corner simply because Jisung could not take it that his feelings were not reciprocated.

After Jeongin’s death, he had been like that for months. Provoking people, picking fights. Being mean and sarcastic and hurtful. And when Hyunjin finally had enough and called him out on it, he had lashed out twice as bad.

Suddenly, he felt ashamed. Minho wasn’t unreasonable, not with this. He should not flirt with people who took it more seriously than him, and he should not bother people who were clearly unwilling to admit to something when it was obvious that it could not be casual when said aloud.

And to have Minho, his serious, well-intentioned, restrained Minho, lose temper in a way that was so beneath him – Jisung should feel ashamed.

Jisung's expression changed dramatically, and it seemed as though Minho's rage vanished in an instant. The sudden look of shock on the man’s face mirrored his own; guilt and shame and something that Jisung could not perceive.

Minho let go of him then, like burned. His expression closed off, body language turning non-threatening as he took a few steps back, a hand behind his back and shoulders turned the slightest amount inward. Normal for anyone but for Minho, whose back was always ramrod-straight, it wasn’t.

“Forgive me,” Minho said, face turned away.

“Minho--” Jisung took a step forward, but Minho flinched, stepping further back.

His mouth opened and closed. One fist tightened into a ball by his side like gripping at the air for aid. Jisung was frozen stiff.

“I-- I– I am sorry, forgive me.”

With that, Minho turned around and left, leaving Jisung to stand there to feel the aching edges of the hole in his chest, ripped apart anew.