Explosion.

The funeral for Sister Agnes was a quiet, cold affair.

Minho stood stiffly beside Jisung, the low murmurs of the attendees blending into a dull hum. Jisung, though, was a shadow, his face pale and drawn, his movements slow and heavy, as if gravity itself had doubled its pull on him.

He leaned against Minho often, a dead weight, seeking an anchor in the crushing storm of his grief. Minho let him, a strange, uncomfortable mix of reluctant comfort and simmering anger churning beneath his own skin.

He knew Jisung hadn't eaten since the news of Sister Agnes's passing. For a fleeting moment, Minho's own sorrow for the beloved nun almost overshadowed his deep-seated paranoia.

Back at the apartment, the silence was suffocating, heavier than usual. Minho, driven by an instinct he couldn't quite reconcile with his anger, found himself in the kitchen. He moved slowly, deliberately, preparing a simple, warm soup. It felt like a task in the midst of the chaotic storm of his thoughts.

He carried the steaming bowl to their room, his knuckles rapping softly on the doorframe before he stepped inside. Jisung lay on their bed, facing the wall, a still, lifeless form under the covers.

Minho placed the bowl on the bedside table. "Eat," he said, his voice rough, betraying a crack in his hardened resolve.

Jisung didn't move, only shook his head, a small, weary refusal.

A flicker of something Minho almost recognized as old affection, quickly stifled, made him pick up the bowl. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently, but firmly, spoon-fed Jisung.

Jisung swallowed each spoonful, his eyes wide, fixed on Minho's face, unblinking, as if trying to decipher a puzzle.

When the soup was finished, Minho tried to pull away, to put distance between them once more. But Jisung's hand shot out, surprisingly quick, grasping his wrist, holding him captive.

Jisung looked at him, his gaze piercing through Minho's carefully constructed walls. His hands, though still a little weak, began to sign, slow at first, then gaining a desperate urgency as a torrent of raw emotions spilled forth.

"What happened to us? To you?" He signed, his confusion evident, his hurt palpable in every trembling gesture. "It feels like... my chest is tightening from the pain. Why are you like this? Please, Minho, come back." His trembling hands paused, then signed again, with a heartbreaking vulnerability.

"Are you tired of me? Is it because I'm... like this? Did you get tired of this mute person?" Tears, fresh and hot, streamed down Jisung's face, blurring his vision.

He leaned in, his trembling lips meeting Minho's, a desperate, silent plea for connection. Minho's eyes squeezed shut. He did not return the kiss.

I'm not tired of you, Jisung. Minho's mind screamed back, a furious, unheard retort. You made me like this. You broke me first. The soft pressure against his mouth was a torture, a ghost of what they once were.

Before his own tears could fall, before his carefully built defenses could crumble, he gently pushed Jisung back, trying to stand, needing space, needing to escape.

But Jisung whimpered, a small, broken sound, and grabbed Minho's shirt, pulling him back, wrapping his arms around him in a desperate, clinging hug. Minho stood rigid, locked in the embrace, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, fighting the overwhelming urge to break, to let his own tears fall.

Finally, a harsh, guttural sound tore from Minho's throat. "Sleep!" he shouted, the single word echoing far too loudly in the quiet room.

Jisung flinched, startled by the sudden violence in his voice, slowly loosening his grip. Minho then gently eased him back onto the bed.

"Just sleep, Jisung," he repeated, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, as if the previous shout had drained him.

He watched the utterly exhausted boy succumb to sleep, his breathing evening out into soft, even sighs.

Minho lingered for a moment, then turned and left the room. He placed the empty bowl in the sink with a quiet clink that sounded deafening in the silence.

His breath hitched, a ragged sob escaping his lips. He sank to the cool, polished stone floor of the kitchen, the hardness a stark contrast to the burning ache that consumed his chest.

His shoulders began to shake uncontrollably, a physical manifestation of the storm raging within.

Tears finally fell, hot and bitter, tracing wet paths down his pale cheeks. His lips trembled, forming silent, broken words. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers clenching tightly against his temples as if to contain the unbearable pain.

His entire body was wracked with sobs, each one tearing through him, leaving him feeling more hollow and shattered than before. The same agonizing question, sharp and relentless, echoed in the desolate landscape of his mind, over and over.

Why, Jisung? Why did you cheat on me?

Later that evening, a heavy quiet had fallen over the apartment. Minho, his eyes red-rimmed and his body stiff from emotional strain, found himself walking towards Jisung's bedroom again.

He hadn't seen Jisung since leaving him after the soup, assuming the younger boy had finally succumbed to exhaustion. He debated whether to check on him, to offer dinner, a flicker of that persistent, unwanted concern.

He pushed the door open just a crack, peering into the dim light. Jisung was indeed on his bed, blankets tangled, already sleeping soundly, his face softened by slumber and the lingering weariness of grief.

A pang of something Minho refused to name stirred within him. He thought of letting him sleep, of preparing a tray for him to find later, but then a faint vibration and a soft glow erupted from Jisung's bedside table.

His phone. A notification flashed across the screen. Minho’s breath hitched. He knew that vibration. He knew that glow. It was the same as before. The same chilling frequency.

Slowly, as if in a trance, Minho reached out. His fingers, trembling ever so slightly, wrapped around the device. The screen lit up fully, and all Minho saw was red. The contact name blared,

HYUNG ❤️

And the message, short and precise, carved itself into Minho’s raw nerves,

Take rest, baby. I will meet you tomorrow.

The air left Minho's lungs in a silent gasp. Baby. The endearment was a cruel twist of the knife. His world, which had been teetering on the edge of 'what if,' now crashed definitively into 'it's happening again.'

The tender moment he'd almost allowed himself moments before curdled into pure acid.

He looked at Jisung, sleeping so peacefully, so innocently, and his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. He hated himself for almost believing, for almost falling for it again.

With a suffocated grunt of rage, Minho put the phone back down, turned, and silently exited the room, leaving the door ajar just as he'd found it.

He stumbled to the small balcony, the cool night air of Mumbai doing little to quell the inferno inside him.

His hands fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in years, and had quit for Jisung.

But now, the sharp, acrid smell of burning tobacco felt like the only appropriate companion to his bitter soul. He lit it, drawing a deep, shuddering drag that burned his lungs but momentarily dulled the searing pain in his heart.

A soft click behind him. The balcony door.

It was Jisung, he coughed almost immediately, waving a hand in front of his face as the smoke from Minho’s cigarette drifted towards him.

Minho watched, a cold, hard knot in his stomach. Jisung, still half-asleep, signed with a small, confused frown, "Why are you smoking? You stopped a long time ago."

The question, so innocent, yet so laced with the caring that Minho now perceived as a lie, snapped something inside him.

How dare Jisung act concerned? How dare he pretend nothing was wrong?

Minho whirled around, his face a mask of furious pain.

"Why?" he snarled, his voice raw and loud in the quiet night. "Because I feel like it, Jisung! Don't you dare stand there and try to control me! Don't you dare act like you care! Just leave me alone!"

He took another vicious drag from the cigarette, exhaling the smoke directly into the air between them, watching Jisung recoil. The harsh words hung heavy, shattering the fragile peace of the night.

"Won't even let me smoke in peace."

He leaves the balcony, leaving Jisung behind.