MAY 16

.

   Minho was nervous, nervous, nervous. Anxious even. He'd readily agreed when Jisung asked if he wanted to "hang out" today; without much trouble he'd let Jisung know that he'd be off work just after noon. But as he thought about it, this thing he'd agreed to, while scrubbing tables once he got in this morning, well, doubts arose. Despite the fact that they'd apparently "hung out" before, this wasn't going to be like anything they'd done before.

    They'd just made plans to meet up and... presumably, do something.  The only occasion that in some way compared to this was the other day, when Minho had come over to Jisung's house and met his mother— but that was different, too, because there was a clear objective that time, not to mention, after he'd met Jisung's mother, that evening ended up feeling very similar to nights they'd spent at college, where Minho came to Jisung to find comfort and clear his congested mind.

   But this? Supposedly, Jisung had asked him out to do something fun. ...To do normal friend things, not just to talk through Minho's issues, or to give him a dose of medicine for his ailment of touch starvation. At first, Minho had thought it sounded almost amazing. His younger self would've absolutely jumped at the chance without a single worry— there would have been no room for that when he would've been completely overcome with joy. But his new self was... afraid.

   His first worry had been that Jisung might've felt obligated to spend time with him individually as a result of the question that Minho had asked on their last day at college. He seemed quite happy about suggesting it though, and knowing full well that Jisung wasn't one to pretend or fake his feelings, Minho mostly discredited that worry. Instead, he went on to worry that, being genuine about wanting to hang out with Minho, Jisung would immediately be disappointed when he realized what it was like to do that.

   At college, during most 'hang out' times, Minho had had the luxury of being able to fade into the background, because everyone else was there to provide the entertainment. He'd never need to say a word if he didn't want to, when anyone else was around. (And most of the time, he didn't want to.)

   Alone, though? With no one to hide behind? No one to fill the awkward pauses left by an absence of his weak, unsteady voice? What on earth was he going to do? Having never really 'hung out' with Minho in this context before, one-on-one, Jisung must have been expecting him to be fun to go out and do things with.

    Minho, of course, wouldn't know for sure as he'd never tried it before— not with this new mindset that was slowly taking shape, at least— but he was about 90% sure that that would not be the case. He would be quiet. Awkward. Boring.

   He would have no clue what to do, where to go, or what to say if Jisung asked: "What should we do?" And it's not like he was one of those people with the covetable mystic power of making doing absolutely nothing still enjoyable and fun. The only saving grace he could think of was that Jisung probably already had a plan, or at least an idea of what to do while they 'hung out', because he had to have been a thousand times more experienced at it.

   During the last few minutes of his shift it finally dawned on him that he should probably try racking his brain to come up with a few ideas, just in case, now, before the pressure was on (although, the pressure was definitely on already). 

   He thought for a moment that maybe they could go to a park. But what on earth would they do at a park? Walk around? Silently? Maybe that was a bad idea. 

   Maybe they could go somewhere to eat; after all he hadn't eaten yet— oh yeah, there was a reason for that: anxiety had eaten away at his appetite all morning. Okay, not that.

   Before he knew it, though, Minho, for a moment lost, frozen in thought, looked up to a serve a customer as the bell for the door rang, and found that it was Jisung making his way to the counter.

   "Hey, Minho hyung," Jisung smiled, warm and sunny. Sometimes his warmth was still a little blinding, and at times like this Minho found himself squinting in his presence.

   Minho cleared his throat. "Hi."

   Minho hadn't been expecting him to come to the diner— he'd been expecting to head home, change, then text Jisung and see if he was ready to... do whatever. And what was he doing here so early, anyway? Oh, scratch that, Minho's shift had actually been officially over for the past five minutes.

   Once Minho hung his apron and joined Jisung on the other side of the counter, he was expected to answer the question: "How was work?"

   Complicated. Anxiety-riddled. "Um... it was okay," he simplified (actually: half-lied. He'd bitten bloody slits into his lips while thinking about everything through the hours of waiting tables). 

  A nervous, dry answer. Boring already. Minho let a fraction of a sigh slip.

   Whereas before Minho had been hopeful, feeling himself sprout, fancying himself a spring seed, germinating— now he was reminded of the fact that he was only barren, just-thawed winter ground. Mud.

honestly... what's left of me? i'm afraid that i died before my personality even got a chance to sprout. that i'm really, thoroughly gone, and i won't grow back. like it was my roots that were cut off, not my leaves, not my flowers. 

he may have helped me pull off all the thorns; now i'm able to be held, but i'm just a hollow, rotten stem.

and no one's going to want to hang out with a rotten stem twice.

   Promptly, upon exiting the diner beside Minho a moment later, as they both stood on the sidewalk and glanced around at midday traffic, Jisung, of course, asked the question Minho had been dreading: "So... What do you wanna do?"

   Minho's mouth went dry; the taste of mud seemed to settle on his tongue. He didn't have a single idea to offer. Boring. He shrugged, helplessly.

   "Hm... Well, we could go to my house. Or your house— er— I guess you probably wouldn't want to do that, right?

   Jisung seemed to have given no thought to it beforehand, while Minho had been worrying about it nonstop. And still, he was the one coming up with the ideas, not Minho.

   Mostly to himself, Jisung mumbled,  "Let's see, what do you like?" Then, he perked up with: "Ooh, do you wanna go look around the pet store and pet the cats?"

   Minho chuckled a little bit— somewhat forced, as he was just trying not to let his eyes bulge, since that would've seemed an overreaction. It shouldn't have been surprising at all by now that Jisung, of all people, took an active interest in Minho, enough to know what he liked (in this instance, that being cats). Still, somehow it remained a shock, a baffling jolt of surprise, each time Jisung found a new way to make it seem like he might just care about Minho for real. 

   All Minho could manage to say was, "Sure, sounds good."

.

   Giggling softly, Jisung called, "Hyung, look at this one!"

   The twitch of a smile that flashed across his cheeks as he crouched down beside Jisung to take a look at the stretching kitten on lowest rung of the cat tower was only half-real.

   hyung.

   It just felt so wrong. The whole time Minho had known him, Jisung had stood with a hand outstretched toward him— someone who had never known where to go, hopelessly lost and stuck in place— offering to pull him to his feet; to guide him to the light. Minho hadn't accepted it for quite a while, but the invitation to rely on Jisung had been there nearly from the start. 

   And when had Minho ever been someone Jisung could rely on? Not once. He couldn't even come up with an activity to suggest. Even now, he was leaving it to Jisung to choose a path through the store, shuffling along behind him, half-zoned out. 

   He hadn't earned the title, the respect implied. Not when he'd shown himself to be nothing more than a nearly mute, boringly blank slate at best; crybaby at worst.

   That's why, despite the cultural strangeness of it, he coughed up: "Um, Jisung... You can drop the 'hyung', if— if you want." To convince him, he added, "I never really liked it, honestly."

   And that was true: when he was younger, it'd weirded him out. The term implied that he was an older sibling figure, but he had no idea how to be that. As he got older, the affectionate sound of it made him feel a bit queasy. He didn't think he was close enough to anyone for that, and that was how he wanted it, so as a teenager he often glared at anyone who'd use the honorific.

not like i was ever a hyung to anyone anyway. especially not to you.

   Moments later, after a bit of wandering, Minho was surveying lines of colorful fish in tanks when Jisung perked up to the sound of a text and pulled out his phone. 

   "Hey, Mom asked if I could pick up some groceries while I'm out. Wanna head to the store down the block after this?"

   "Sure," Minho hummed, turning away from the tanks, shrugging. "We can go whenever."

    Apparently there was one last thing on Jisung's pet-store-agenda, so they weaved through the aisles of parakeets and parrots, Jisung desperately trying to get each bird to repeat some stupid phrase after him, Minho laughing quietly beside him. Watching carefully and seeing how he could just have fun; be a silly idiot, and yet seem so much more put-together than Minho was. Wondering, all of a sudden, if that was how he wanted to be, too.

   Listening to the steady prattle of Jisung's voice against the scuffing noises of their shoes on the pavement, a fresh wave of uncertainty hit Minho hard. 

what kind of person do i even want to be? 

someone who can be silly like that and just have fun? half a year ago, the answer would've been an immediate no. 

trying to fit a mold sucked. it was misery. but i can't help wanting to search for a new image to adhere to and measure my character against, because now that i'm not trying to uphold that image like my life depends on it... i don't know what to do with myself, honestly. i sit on the sidelines because i'm not sure how to... not, at this point. and it had been working out alright, i guess, when i could just sit with the guys and enjoy being next to jisung and watching him be himself, his own sunny, bright image, but now i'm finding that it's much harder to be with someone just one-on-one— it seems to require you to have a personality... and that's something i'm afraid i don't have. 

should i try to be like jisung? or chan? should i match their energy, follow along? what do i do? all the other guys, they always have funny things to say, or entertaining things to do, or at least... interesting vibes. i don't know how to explain it but they all have something i lack, they're all vivid colorful pictures while i'm just a blank sheet of paper. why, then does jisung choose to be with me??

please don't tell me it's pity. but what else could it be?

   "—so that's why Mom never let me get another goldfish. But I made a fake one out of rice and an old orange sock, and it's been in the tank ever since," Jisung rambled, turning to Minho, prompting him to look up and realize that he'd zoned out this entire time.  "Did you even get any of that or were you too busy staring at the cracks in the sidewalk?"

   "Oh— Sorry... I got a little distracted," Minho understated, sheepish and apologetic as he hung his head.

 fuck! now i'm not even listening to him! 

idiot, that was the one thing you should've been able to do. he's so never hanging out with me again.

   By then, to his surprise, they were already to the convenience store and Jisung was walking in, holding the door open behind him as he laughed, "Okay, I admit my pet fish horror story might not be the best thing to listen to. Let's hurry and get those groceries and then maybe you can tell me what's so interesting about that sidewalk." 

   Minho chuckled a little, but he wasn't loving the implication that Jisung actually intended to ask what he was thinking of just then. He didn't have the words to say it, and he didn't want to (further) ruin the mood of what was supposed to be their first actual hangout, doing normal friend things that would've come easily to anyone but Minho.

  Jisung immediately headed for the produce, explaining, "Mom wants to make some jam for the bread she just made, but her berries aren't ripe enough yet." Looking over all the fresh, brightly colored berries, big and healthy from the sudden onset of summer weather, Jisung's mouth watered.  "Hm... if we get an extra pint of raspberries we can gobble them all up straight," he schemed. Glancing to Minho, he asked, "You like raspberries, right? I don't know how someone couldn't but... y'know." 

   So that's how they both ended up with two containers of various types of berries in each hand, heading for the checkout line.

   As they approached the counter, a catchy, upbeat tune playing through the store's speakers grew louder, intermingling with the gentle breeze sweeping in through the door, filling the air with some kind of lighthearted sense of freedom. It was the summer break feeling— no rules, no deadlines, no one's in a rush, do what you want (especially when you're just standing around in a line, waiting to get to the register). Clearly Minho was not alone in feeling this; he knew it when he looked at Jisung, who was nodding his head in time with the music, but for Minho it was something surface level. Something he observed. Jisung took it to heart.

   Jisung's body seemed to naturally soak in the beat. As if without realizing it, he swayed loosely next to Minho, his foot tapping.

   Now, there weren't that many people in this little convenience store at just past noon, but Minho it felt like a crowd was assembled there— all there to stare at Jisung as he broke out in dance. All there to judge; to think that he was weird. And, somehow it felt like they'd be staring at Minho, too, because he was obviously with Jisung. So Minho got second-and-first-hand-embarrassment, and he ended up fixing his gaze dead ahead on the register while scratching at his neck, pleading with the crowd, the world, not to stare at him.

   ...But from out of the corner of his eye, Jisung looked so good. Happy. Free. Unbothered. (Everything Minho wanted to be.)

   A quick glance around assured Minho that one or two of all these blank-faced, motionless, waiting people (like him) were indeed staring (the rest were either oblivious or didn't find it interesting enough to stare at) But Jisung either didn't care or didn't notice.

   The movements of his body were smooth and unpronounced, subtle, but still very conspicuous in the middle of this convenience store. Minho chewed his lip— bloodying it again. Minho felt it himself, the fear of being observed, the fear of standing out, though in reality, holding himself firmly in place, he was blending in with the rest of the line who stood motionless; listless and bored.

   Walking out of the store, Minho half-regretted it. The fact that he'd stood stiff as a mannequin next to Jisung. Jisung didn't seem to be bothered by it per se, he was rather more focused on feeling the music and just doing his thing— no one in their right mind would've thought as much of the situation as Minho did, no one would've analyzed and considered it so carefully. No one but him would've been so uncomfortable, thoughts racing. He couldn't regret it fully because even if he attempted to ignore the crippling fear of being stared at, he'd hardly be able to move at all. Any 'dancing' would've come out clunky and awkward; he'd be such an eyesore that Jisung would probably trade places with him— shrinking away and blending into the line just to not be associated with him.

if felix were here, he would've just danced with jisung. in the middle of that store. jisung would've smiled. he would've had fun.

instead, he's stuck with me.

   Then they were going somewhere else— Jisung told him it'd be a great spot for berry-eating— moving on already, but Minho was still stuck on that scene in the convenience store. And the pet store. And everywhere they'd been today, when Jisung had just been radiating his incredible energy and Minho had been doing nothing but sun-bathing. 

i'm happy just to sit here and watch you be you. it's enough for me. but it can't be enough for you. if i'm not fun too, if i'm just this hollow stem blank paper ghost, you'll definitely find someone more entertaining to spend your time with, and i wouldn't blame you for that one bit.

   Jisung led him to a stretch of road with a creek running underneath it, hemmed in for a few feet by an old, wobbly, wooden fence on each side. A concrete tunnel for the creek to flow into jutted out at each side, the lip of it more than big enough to stand on. Pleasantly lush greenery blanketed the steeply-sloped yet short hills that hugged the tunnel's sides but eventually gave way to thorns and trees hidden by stalks of grass so long they climbed nearly halfway up the trunks— point being that the tended roadside quickly gave way to what appeared to be a vast, secluded wilderness beyond, when it was really just a few minutes out of town.

   So the pressure was on (really, it already had been, but now Minho was especially aware of it). No other people talking, walking to and fro; no other stimuli besides the running creek and the darting fish within to hide behind; nothing to distract from Minho's overwhelming boringness. Minho following Jisung's lead, the two of them swung their legs over the fence and sat beside each other on the concrete, feet dangling above the water. Before the shuffling sounds of them gathering their limbs into comfortable positions, and then the crinkling sounds of the grocery bag and the container of raspberries Jisung was popping open receded, Minho determined that he absolutely had to provide something of worth to this hang out. He couldn't continue being so lame. 

   He'd fend off a boring silence that would make Jisung wish all the more to be with someone else by finding something to talk about. But what would qualify as a decent conversation topic?

   Time ran out and quiet nearly got the chance to settle, so he cleared his throat for a very mundane question. "So... um, what were you doing earlier today?" He tried not to make it sound like an interrogation. But it did all the same. 

   Still, Jisung seemed characteristically unbothered by it as all he did was clarify: "Before I came to see you?" 

   Minho nodded. 

   "Nothing much, I was just reading for a while and then Chan hyung randomly showed up at my house, so I introduced him to my mom and then they immediately started making bread together," he laughed— a sunny, beautiful sound, better even than the relaxing gurgle of stream— but only slightly. Only a hint of a sun ray. 

   Minho gave a bit of an amused smile in return, then reached for a raspberry wistfully as he considered how much he'd like to fill the empty, pressuring silence with peals of the stuff— full sun rays; loud, musical laughter. Gosh, all he wanted was to make Jisung laugh like everyone else seemed to be fully capable of. Instead, here he was being awkward; voice wavering and cracking and tongue stumbling over itself when he tried to speak. 

   Eventually the raspberries were gone and they were both quiet (for Minho, that was because after his first attempt, his brain would not stop repeating something along the lines of inadequate! when he tried to think of something else to say), so they headed back to give the rest of the berries to Jisung's mother (though not without a bit of splashing around in ankle-high water on Jisung's part) . The walk back, only a few minutes long, was quiet, too. At least Jisung seemed happy enough just watching the scenery for entertainment.

    The yellow-door house came into view slowly, and before Minho knew it, Jisung was kicking driveway gravel, asking, "Well, it'll be a little while before the jam is ready, but do you wanna come in and wait to try it with me?" 

   "Um..." Minho swallowed hard. As much as Minho wanted to spend more time with Jisung, he felt so unsteady. He knew that he'd probably continue to be spacey and even less entertaining, so it'd be better not to mess this up any further. Besides, he wanted to isolate himself to think things through as soon as possible. It was hard to refuse the offer, but he ended up replying, "That sounds good, but, I'm a little tired... Maybe next time."

   Jisung made a quick little show of pouting at him, but he concluded it all with, "Thanks for hanging out with me, Minho." There was an abrupt pause at the end, during which, Minho figured, Jisung had nearly called him 'hyung'. Instead, Jisung just flashed one of those squint-inducing smiles; struck Minho's chest with astounding warmth as he said, "It was really fun."

   Minho smiled back. It was a smile that felt strange, foreign on his face. But he couldn't hold it back. It was real and unbridled; hot fire on his face, wildfire, spreading, uncontrollable. His cheeks burned, still unaccustomed to being stretched in that way, the muscles weak. He felt feverish; he had to get out of the sun.

   "Yeah," he agreed. It was. 

...If only he could've gotten out of his head for a moment, it would've been a lot more fun. (But we all know that was pretty impossible.) 

    "See ya, Jisung."

   Inside, Minho had rushed upstairs, sloshing through the thick blue air, shut himself into his bedroom, said a brief hello to his cats, and then he was sitting at his desk, pulling out the journal that was getting frayed and full. The one Jisung gave him in February.

   With a prepatory sigh, he thought back for a moment, let his mind carry him in flashes and snapshotted feelings throughout his day. And then he wrote, words flowing out of his pen so much easier than they did the first time he wrote in this journal.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ➴ .⋅} ────── ⊰

✎

in some ways, it's harder to be with jisung than with my family. i never enjoy spending time with them, but with my family at least i know how to act. at least i'm not constantly questioning. yes, i'm uncomfortable when i'm with my family, but my discomfort doesn't come from the fact that i don't know what to do, that i've lost my sense of self.

i don't know who i am now, or even who i want to be.

do i want to talk? do i want to share myself with the world? ...i know it's an attitude that was baked into me and i know exactly why it's there, but i can't help genuinely feeling a desire, a need to be private and closed-off. still, somehow i look at those who share themselves openly and freely and i see beauty. for a split second i wish i could be that way... but then i'm unsure again. reality sets in again.

for nearly my whole life, i trapped myself inside a mask of silence, independence, indifference; desperately fighting to keep up all appearances of strength. that was the mold that my family had created.

all i want now is to find out who i— not my family, not the ghosts of their judgement that turned into the voices in my mind— truly want to be. but it's a question to which i have no answer. is there even a difference anymore, between my true self and its desires, and the desires that were molded by my upbringing (or lack thereof) and injected, deeply embedded within my mind and body?

well, if there isn't a difference...

i think i want to make one.

.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ➴ .⋅} ────── ⊰

.

the temptation to completely stop talking again..... :D it's comin back baby!!

...anyway

i'm real frustrated at this chapter for not being Better. but it is what it issss and it's time to just post the silly guy.