Latibule.

"Good morning!" Jisung signed happily, when he saw Minho taking a seat near the table which was filled with breakfast that smelled delicious. "Slept well?"

Minho flinched almost imperceptibly at Jisung's cheerful greeting, the bright smile and easy movements made the storm brewing inside Minho's chest even more stronger. He sank into his chair, the soft cushion offering no comfort against the rigid tension in his shoulders. The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon, usually so inviting, now seemed to mock him, a sensory reminder of the life he was living—a life that felt like a cruel illusion built on deceit.

He glanced at Jisung, forcing his gaze to meet the other's earnest eyes for just a split second before dropping it to the meticulously arranged plate of pancakes and fruit in front of him. "Fine." Minho mumbled, the word barely audible. He didn't sign it. He couldn't. His hands felt heavy, alien, as if they already remembered the weight of the slap yet to come. A sharp, internal pang echoed in his gut, a mix of the bitter betrayal he felt and the chilling resolve he had to maintain.

Jisung's bright expression faltered, just for a moment. He tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in a familiar, gentle gesture of concern. He signed slowly, his movements clear and deliberate, "Are you sure? You seem... quiet today. Did something happen?"

Minho picked up his fork, pushing a piece of pancake around his plate. He avoided Jisung's gaze, focusing intensely on the syrup pooling on the ceramic. "Just... a lot on my mind." he finally managed, his voice flat. He didn't elaborate, didn't offer a sign of explanation, just continued to toy with his food. Every instinct screamed at him to expose Jisung, to lash out at the pain of the future he knew was coming. He had to push him away. He had to build the wall, to protect himself from falling for the lie again.

The breakfast table conversation remained strained. Jisung, usually a bubbly presence even in the mornings, grew quiet, his eyes occasionally flickering to Minho's averted face. He knew Minho well enough to sense when something was truly off, and "a lot on my mind" wasn't cutting it. He finished his meal quickly, gathering their plates.

"Ready to go?" Jisung signed, moving towards the sink. "I can meet you by the door in a minute."

Minho's stomach twisted. Their usual routine was for Minho to drop Jisung off at his department first. Jisung was a final-year Music Production student, a creative whirlwind who often spent his days holed up in soundproofed studios, while Minho, an Architecture major, navigated the precise world of blueprints and structural designs. Their paths rarely overlapped once on campus, making the morning commute their most cherished shared time.

"Actually, I'm going to head out a bit later today," Minho said, his voice flat, not looking up from his phone, which he'd suddenly found very interesting. "Just feeling really tired. Think I'll catch a few more minutes here." He heard the faint splash of water as Jisung started washing the dishes.

The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the gentle clinking of porcelain. Jisung paused his movements, his back to Minho, before slowly turning around. Minho could practically feel the question in Jisung's still form.

Jisung signed, his hands moving a little slower than before. "Okay. Well, I'll see you for lunch then?" His face was a hopeful inflection at the end.

Minho finally looked up, offering a tight, almost painful smile. "Yeah. Lunch." He watched Jisung dry his hands, grab his backpack, and with a final, hesitant glance, leave the apartment. The click of the lock echoed in the sudden emptiness, and Minho sagged, running a hand through his hair. The first cut had been made. It hurt more than he'd anticipated, but it was necessary. This time, he wouldn't be the one blindsided.

★

The university cafeteria was filled chatter and clattering trays. Minho sat hunched over a plate of lukewarm pasta, picking at it listlessly. He'd arrived late, intentionally missing Jisung's usual early lunch slot, hoping to avoid him. But destiny, or perhaps just their usual routines, had other plans.

"Minho! There you are!" a booming voice cut through the noise. Changbin, a sturdy figure with an intense gaze and a surprisingly soft heart, clapped him on the shoulder, nearly sending his fork flying. Beside him, Hyunjin, all graceful lines and sharp features, arched an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of concern and mild annoyance.

"Dude, Jisung's been looking for you," Changbin continued, pulling up a chair and gesturing for Hyunjin to do the same. "He seemed pretty worried this morning when you blew him off."

Minho shrugged, stabbing a piece of pasta. "I told him I was tired."

"Tired?" Hyunjin's voice was a silky murmur, but there was an edge to it. "You always drop him off. And he looks like some puppy. What's going on with you two?"

Minho's jaw tightened. "Nothing's going on. We're fine."

"Don't give us that," Changbin scoffed, leaning forward. "You've been acting weird all morning. We heard about you just letting him walk to campus by himself. Jisung barely knows what day it is half the time, let alone how to get there without you pointing the way."

"He's a grown man, he can walk," Minho snapped, the words coming out sharper than he intended. The accusation in their eyes, the protective glint they held for Jisung, grated on his already frayed nerves. They didn't know the betrayal. They couldn't know the pain.

"Minho--" Hyunjin began, his tone now serious, "you know how much Jisung relies on you. He doesn't have many people he truly connects with. He trusts you implicitly."

The word "trust" was a punch to Minho's gut. Trust. The very thing he felt had been shattered into a million pieces. A wave of bitterness washed over him, momentarily eclipsing the guilt. "Maybe he shouldn't be so trusting," he muttered, pushing his plate away with a loud scrape.

Changbin slammed his hand on the table. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Minho shoved his chair back, the legs screeching against the linoleum. "It means I'm not in the mood for this interrogation. I'm leaving." He stood abruptly, his gaze sweeping past his friends, landing for a fraction of a second on the table where Jisung usually sat with Felix. He saw Jisung's back, shoulders slightly slumped, talking to Felix. He couldn't make out the signs, but he knew Jisung was probably asking where he was, or perhaps already confiding his hurt. The sight fueled his anger and his resolve to push him away further.

Without another word, Minho turned and strode out of the cafeteria, ignoring the stunned silence he left behind. A few minutes later, Jisung's head turned, his eyes searching the doorway of the cafeteria. He'd seen Minho enter earlier, but then he'd been swept into a conversation with Felix about a new beat. Now, Minho was gone, and Changbin and Hyunjin were staring after him with bewildered expressions.

"What was that about?" Jisung signed to Felix, who had been quietly listening to Jisung's earlier concerns about Minho. Felix, with his kind eyes and warm demeanor, understood Jisung's nuances better than almost anyone.

Felix sighed, running a hand through his sun-kissed hair. "He just... left. Said he wasn't in the mood. Seems like he's going through something, Sungie. Changbin and Hyunjin tried to talk to him, but he just shut down."

Jisung's shoulders slumped further. He looked down at his half-eaten sandwich. "But... he's never acted like this before," he signed, his movements small, almost hesitant. "He's usually so protective. And he just... left me to walk this morning."

Felix reached across the table, gently covering Jisung's hand. "Hey. Sometimes people withdraw when they're hurting, even if they don't mean to hurt others. Minho loves you, you know that, right? He's probably just under a lot of stress. Final year architecture is no joke." He gave Jisung a reassuring squeeze. "Give him some space, but let him know you're there. He'll come around."

Jisung looked at Felix, a silent moment passing between them. Then, slowly, a small, sad smile touched his lips. He nodded, trying to believe Felix's words, even as a cold tendril of worry tightened in his heart.