There is mentions of domestic violence and abuse, as well as mental health related topics within this chapter. Please do not read any further if these topics are sensitive to you.

✧━━ .·:*¨¨* 𓆩♡𓆪 *¨¨*:·. ━━ ✧

❥ 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 •°. *࿐

Jisung watches the second hand move slowly on the clock hung against the wall. Time was his enemy in this circumstance, watching as the minutes ticked away in an irritating manner, moving through the final hour of the school day with hesitance.

Jisung had comforted Minho in the bathroom before parting away, trying to make sure that Minho felt well enough to continue through his day, especially since Jisung hadn't seen him cry like that before. Minho had always seemed like the mentally strong type, which didn't mean that he necessarily was, but to sit and watch as his anger boiled into a sudden surge of panicked sadness, Jisung couldn't help but worry.

Minho was adamant that he didn't want to go home to face his father, as a low merit on one of his homework assignments was waiting to be revealed. Minho was terrified, a truly broken down version of himself expressing that he'd rather sleep in the school's gymnasium than trek home, facing the cruel backlash of what was likely waiting for him. It was only then that Jisung did the most natural thing that came to mind, offering to walk with Minho and rather go to his apartment, keeping him safe from the neglectful hands of his father.

Jisung wanted to do more, truly. He wanted to contact someone and to save Minho from the situation itself, but he truly didn't know the full complexities of what was wrong. He wasn't sure if this was some sort of court-ordered mandate, or even if Minho had any other family to turn to. How he had stayed so long in a place that was so draining was beyond Jisung's knowledge, but with a silent pledge, Jisung vowed to always offer his home as a safe place to reside, giving Minho the chance to relax and recoup, far away from the clutches of someone so cruel.

Jisung didn't wish to pry about Minho's family dynamics, as it seemed like an incredibly sensitive topic, laced with the mystery of his mother's passing and the concurrent neglect at the hands of his father, both of which made the root of the conversation die at the back of Jisung's tongue, unable to find the words to appropriately approach the situation. So, he elected to remain patient, to allow Minho the time to open up about his internal wounds and previous trauma, wanting to be there for him and not rush him into exposing the delicate threads of his past, unlike some other people Jisung could likely guess that had previously dug into his past without care.

After the situation unfolded at lunch, Jisung hadn't spoken to either Felix or Wooyoung, unsure of what to say and incredibly guilty for rushing after Minho without bothering to say a single word to his table of friends. He truly cared for the four of them, but at the sight of Minho so dejected and somehow a fraction of himself, Jisung didn't hesitate. He packed up his things without a word and left, abandoning the table in search of the one person he knew needed him, even if he wouldn't openly admit it.

There was an unspoken electricity sparking between them, a magnetic tether that seemed to pull them closer together when the tides of reality sought to make them drift apart. Jisung couldn't quite place the name to this feeling, or rather, the tie that bound them together, but something was eating away at him internally, gnawing like an incessant bug. He couldn't sit still, mind racing with chaotic thoughts about after classes were over, knowing that Minho would be waiting for him with that soft smile of his.

Jisung felt himself freeze, stuck in a trance just by crossing Minho's gaze, lost at sea in the depths of his brown hues, hoping that he saw exactly what Jisung had this entire time. Maybe, whatever this pull was, wasn't anything filled with platonic, friendly banter. It was deeper, an endless abyss of possibilities that made Jisung want to believe Minho had shared in whatever was brewing between them at an impossible boil.

Part of him believed that it arose out of nowhere, spurred by a deep, collateral worry for one another, but whereas Jisung worried about Minho and his home life, a different kind of worry strung from Minho in terms of Jisung, one that felt incredibly hard to decipher. Maybe he was worried about Jisung's tendency to overwork himself or his selfless behavior in terms of the elder; Jisung wasn't sure. But there was something familiar in his gaze, a look of longing and concern, laced with an irreplaceable mixture of fear and guilt.

It was possible that Minho felt like a burden, or something of the sort, considering that that must've been all his father proclaimed for him to be. However, Jisung could never feel that way about Minho. . . ever. Despite everything that they've witnessed together and been through in the nearly two months they had begun this tutoring agreement, Jisung never pictured himself pulling away from Minho. The anger, the facade, the emotionless numbness; it never scared Jisung away. If anything, it only intrigued him more.

He wanted to open the book of Minho's life, to trace over the words that created the very scripture of his life, page by page, carefully picking apart the intricacies that colored the very life of someone he cherished so much. It was a book he'd never put down, one that didn't have a pictured ending and was still being written, one that Jisung hoped had detailed chapters of their memories bestowed within. Whatever novel this was, romance or fiction or otherwise, Jisung was entrapped within the confined stitches that held the book together, holding on to every page and soaking in every sentence.

But, finally, as Jisung ends up settling into a deep stupor, the class bell finally rings, signifying the end of the school day. Jisung lets a breath roll through his lips, gathering his things before carefully packing them away into his bag, letting the flood of students trickle out before he decides to flee from the confines of the room, turning left and immediately heading towards the doors.

After Minho had decided to walk home with him, he grabbed all of his necessary belongings before study period, packing them away with care so he could avoid the flood of students and head straight outside, where Minho was likely waiting for him, knowing that he was trying to avoid Mingi and Jongho at all costs.

As Jisung turned to the left, he veered through a few small crowds of students before breaking free through the other side, finally grasping the silver handle of the doors as he pushed them outwards, breaking out into the outdoors, welcomed by a cast of warm sunlight. Just as he expected, the familiar figure of Minho stood nearby, hands in his pockets, looking out into the road as nearby cars arrived into the parking lot and others left, his demeanor colder, but not any less comforting.

"Minho'ah," Jisung calls softly, watching as Minho almost instantly turns over his shoulder, his brows piqued in interest before the soft cast of a smile lightens up his expression.

"I've been out here for forever," Minho replies back, turning his body slightly as Jisung walks closer.

"Yeah, yeah," Jisung teases back, rolling his eyes. "Ready to walk to my apartment?"

"More than ready," Minho says with a breath. "I need to get away from here."

"Let's go then," Jisung says softly, smiling back at Minho. "There's no time to waste."

Minho scoffs, following Jisung the moment he begins walking, staying to his right, traveling along the path that would eventually lead to Jisung's apartment.

"So," Jisung begins, adjusting the strap from his bag. "Did it feel somewhat nice to sit at the table again?"

"For the brief five minutes I was there, yes. It did, actually," Minho replies, his hands still in his pockets as he walks. "I've. . . missed it. It felt normal to be there again."

"I can imagine," Jisung says warmly. "Wooyoung might not show it, but I know he was happy to see you back, to see you trying again."

"He's something, that's for sure," Minho jests. "I've missed him the most, I think. I know I hurt him, and I know I fucked up our entire friendship because of what I did."

"Maybe, but you're forgetting that wounds can heal."

"They can heal, but sometimes they leave scars," Minho says, his voice carrying the weight of guilt at the edge of his tone. "Wooyoung, he–. . . he didn't deserve the things I did to him, Jisung."

"I'm all ears if you want to talk about it," Jisung offers softly, watching as Minho's attention turns towards him. It seemed to be a moment of recognition, a lightness in the offer itself, breaching across an unknown barrier that Jisung had only just realized existed. A boundary of burdens, unknowing if the full weight of one's past was allowed to be shared knowledge.

"I'd like to talk about it," Minho says quietly.

"At your pace," Jisung affirms, glancing at Minho.

"Well," he begins. "To start, he and I were close for so long. We practically grew up together, and when everything. . . happened, I decided to distance myself. Life was incredibly hard, and I didn't know how to cope. Between my father and the funeral itself, I just didn't know how to be around him."

Jisung continues to listen, their steps quiet against the pavement, met with a subtle breeze that rolls through, rustling nearby trees as they walk beneath them.

"Wooyoung is so happy all the time, he's like a child," Minho murmurs, earning a scoff from Jisung. "I was afraid for him to be dulled by the darkness that took over me."

"I get that, but I'm sure he'd rather be there for you rather than be pushed away," Jisung says softly, watching as Minho slowly nods in agreement, as if it had been a thought he had entertained before yet refused to admit.

"Wooyoung means a lot to me, and I guess I was terrified to lose that, too. I lost my mother, my house, my routine and everything that was familiar to me. This friendship we had, compounded by what semblance of a life I held there at campus. . . losing anything else would've broken me. I don't break, Jisung. I just don't, I can't afford to."

"Sometimes we fear the unknown," Jisung starts, guiding Minho still, his steps slow, trying to savor the rare instance that Minho was willingly opening up to him about something. "The unknowing is a brutal thing to face, but there's no other way to go about life. We can't predict anything, and having control over things, it tends to bring us peace, doesn't it?"

"I like knowing what I'm being led into," Minho replies back, his tone low, laden with thought. "Ever since my life changed so rapidly, I feel like every day brings something unexpected, and I hate that."

"What's a little probability without unpredictability?" Jisung quips, biting his lower lip, glancing at Minho. "Like us, for instance. There was a possibility that we'd get along eventually, but we couldn't predict as to what it'd lead to."

"I suppose you're right," Minho says, the hint of a smile on the edge of his lips. "Still doesn't change the fact that I've been living in a state of fear for almost two years now. Waking up, not knowing what the day will hold, struggling to get out of bed and worrying what catastrophic life lay ahead of me."

"That day, the day of the accident, it started normally?" Jisung asks, trying to steer the conversation deeper ever-so-slightly. Minho's jaw tightens absently, his eyes flicking down towards the pavement before looking ahead of himself, struggling to find the correct words.

"Doesn't every day start the same? Waking up, going about your routine, laughing and preparing to tackle another day. . . until you just don't expect something to happen, and the moment it does, you just feel. . . ruined."

"I can't imagine," Jisung mutters, looking down at Minho's hand, struggling to keep his own well placed at his side. "You don't have to tell me, Minho, but just know that I'm sorry you had to go through all of that. It's a pain I truly don't think I could imagine."

"You don't want to imagine it, let alone live it," Minho responds, wetting his lips. "She was the best mom, honestly. Always caring, always supportive, spending as much time with us as possible. Seeing the space empty without her, void of the light she spread in our home, only now lasting as a memory in picture frames–" Minho sighs, "–it's hard. It won't ever get easier."

"I'm sorry." Jisung looks ahead, guiding Minho to the left at an intersecting path. "Loss is never easy, Minho, but it's never something that you'll have to maneuver through alone. I don't think it's ever meant to be done alone."

"I've never had anyone," Minho says lowly, averting Jisung's gaze for a moment. "I thought I had people, and the people I truly had I pushed further away in fear that they'd run from how fragile I had become. I'm supposed to be this pillar of support and this unyielding friend, and I just turned into such a mess."

Jisung stays quiet, nearly about to interject as the silence envelops them, but Minho chooses to continue speaking.

"I thought I had Mingi, you know? I thought he understood and that he was supportive, but I was wrong. I was so cold and so angry because I truly felt alone. No one ever saw me. They just saw the flaws and the scars, masked by a horrible attitude and cigarette smoke," Minho pauses, contemplating. "That is. . . until I met you."

Jisung stops in his tracks, which in turn causes Minho to stop.

"I've never met anyone like you in my entire life, Minho," Jisung says, searching the male's gaze the moment their eyes meet. "You've challenged me in ways I can't express, but even in those moments, I find myself drawn to you. I've only ever wanted to help you, if you'd let me, and hearing this side of you, now being able to see the light that shines beyond the darkness, I'm grateful. I'm happy that we're here like this, Minho. . . together."

Minho is silent for a few tense seconds before his hand seems to move of its own accord, gently grabbing Jisung's, squeezing in an act of gratitude.

"We can talk more when we get to your apartment," he says quietly, thumb smoothing over Jisung's skin. "I'd like to just enjoy the walk with you for now."

Jisung, if he didn't have proper control over his emotions, would've completely lost his composure at that comment. Minho was insisting on enjoying a walk with Jisung, which in turn was a statement he could hardly believe, let alone ever experience. However, with a gentle tug, Jisung allows himself to be pulled towards Minho, resuming their walk, a mutual understanding passing between them.

Jisung knew that Minho was struggling to express what felt inexpressible, and he'd never truly force him to explain the tribulations of his past, but he couldn't help but feel that he was getting closer to truly seeing who Minho was. There was a crack in his armor, a true showing of the person that was hiding away from prying eyes, hoping to escape the cruel realities of life by betraying who he truly was.

Jisung wanted to reach that person; to pull him free and embrace him. He wanted to cherish him, care for him, hug him and protect him from the harm of a terrible home life. All Jisung wanted was him. The exact way he was, previous and present, if not all of him, then just a fraction. Jisung couldn't help how much he just simply wanted Minho, and even just walking here, side by side, fueled an inescapable feeling that Jisung finally named accordingly; infatuation.

In a burst, driven by the warmth of the moment, Jisung placed his hand back into Minho's grasp after briefly letting go, feeling the elder's hand tense before relaxing, settling into the feeling of their hands settling together. With a careful slide and gentle guidance, Minho interlocked their fingers, feeding into the sparked chemistry that had begun to swirl around them, just as the breeze had.

Jisung smiles to himself, or maybe to Minho, he couldn't be completely sure. All he knew was that this feeling was growing stronger, and his will to bury it deep down was growing weak, and all he wanted to do was to be selfish, acting on wishes that he'd never thought possible before. He's only ever seen couples interact in school or in dramatic movies and shows, and never once has he ever felt the desire to act on feelings like this before. But now, hand in hand, walking by the side of someone Jisung knew he wasn't prepared to live without, all Jisung wants to do is kiss him.

Reaching the apartment, Jisung knew that his parents wouldn't be home, so it had felt like a prime opportunity to sneak Minho indoors. His father might not care about Minho's presence within the apartment itself, as for his mother, that was a hurdle Jisung wasn't prepared to tackle just yet. Whatever past lay between his mother and Minho's family was a secret he didn't wish to unfurl, knowing how painful some memories can be. If there was history there, Jisung was sure it couldn't be good, considering the kind of person Minho's father seemed to be.

As Jisung unlocks the door to the apartment, the calm, dark space oozed comfort, engulfing the males into a sense of peace, far away from the trials of the day they had faced only hours ago. Jisung quickly takes off his jacket and his shoes, putting them to the side neatly as he watches Minho follow suit. With slow steps, Jisung leads Minho into the corridor, pushing his bedroom door open, revealing a tidy, well-kept space, tethering Jisung away from the chaos of his mind and into a momentary silence.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Minho says, gently closing Jisung's bedroom door behind him. "I was worried about everything back at home."

"I know," Jisung says, frowning slightly. "You said you got a bad mark? On what?"

"Some stupid pop quiz I wasn't ready for," Minho grumbles, setting his bag down on the floor. "It was stupid, honestly. I hate surprise tests and shit like that, so knowing that that was the reason behind a low mark just makes me even more mad."

"I know, I hate them, too." Jisung sighs, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "You can always come here and pretend the test didn't even happen, you know. We can shred them in my father's paper shredder."

"Funny," Minho scoffs, earning a chuckle from Jisung. "Might have to take you up on that."

"Let's take your mind off of it, though. Movie? Video games? What's your poison?"

Minho slowly walks over, planting himself on the bed next to Jisung. "Movie. That sounds like the best option to relax with."

"Movie it is! Let me grab my laptop," Jisung says, standing up and moving towards his desk, searching the bottom shelf in search of his laptop case.

"Do you like dramas or horrors, Jisung?" Minho asks.

Jisung looks over his shoulder, smiling widely. "You're speaking my language."

"Perfect," Minho hums. "One of those, then. Either way, I'll be happy."

Jisung pulls his laptop case free from the shelf before moving back towards Minho, sitting back down, unzipping the case and pulling his laptop free, tapping the spacebar before it flicks on, the screen brightening with life. Jisung can feel Minho's eyes on him, but he actively chooses to ignore them, knowing that he might lose his composure if he looks his way.

With careful selection, the two males scroll through Netflix before settling on some vampire-like drama, knowing that it'd likely be shitty, but nonetheless entertaining enough to distract them from the heavy burdens of their day.

Settling on his bed, Jisung places his laptop at the end of his bed, and just as they were about to get fully situated, Jisung turns to glance at Minho, his eyes immediately stuck on a few burns and scars on the back of his hand, ones he hadn't noticed before.

"Minho?" Jisung asks. Minho turns to look at him, raising his brows slightly. "What happened there?"

Minho looks down, watching as Jisung's finger points down at the back of his hand. Minho sighs, adjusting himself slightly to lean against Jisung's wall.

"Cigarette burns," Minho says, avoiding Jisung's eyes. "From you know who."

"Why?" Jisung's voice is soft, full of concern and empathy, simply just wanting to understand.

"It's a thing between us, Jisung. Every time we do something Mingi doesn't agree with, there's consequences. He didn't like the way I spoke to him today, and this was the consequence of being honest with him."

"Was it about just being honest? Or was it something more than that?"

Minho looks up, his brow piqued. "Something more?"

"Mingi and I don't really see eye to eye," Jisung says softly. "He hates me, I think."

"As I've heard," Minho says, eyeing Jisung curiously. "I could tell by his demeanor that day, last week. You guys aren't friends, and I could tell by the way you shut down. Does he do something to you, Jisung?"

"It's nothing to worry about, Minho, honestly–"

"I want to know."

Jisung pauses, teetering a fine line of expressing the truth behind Mingi's actions versus trying to salvage the peace. However, peace didn't seem to be much of an option. Mingi and Minho's friendship seems damaged and unsalvageable, and beyond that, Jisung really felt no reason to hide the truth any longer.

"He's been picking on me for years," Jisung says quietly. "I can handle him, and the situation itself. He hasn't physically done anything to me, it's just a bunch of stupid comments and stuff that I can handle. Don't worry yourself with it."

"Well, I am worried about it. You're important to me, and I can't fucking stand when his arrogance blinds him enough so that he thinks doing shit like that is okay," Minho says, a slight hint of anger or annoyance laced in his tone. "He's truly a fucking idiot, and I'm sorry. I'll handle him."

"No, seriously, don't," Jisung insists. "There's more to worry about than Mingi's belittling comments. I've got thicker skin than he realizes, and the comments just roll off of my back. I'm not worried about my own stability, I'm. . . worried about you, Minho."

"About me?" Minho questions, earning a nod from Jisung.

"These burns, your scars, your internal wounds. . . I'm worried that your body is taking the brunt of these injuries just so that your heart doesn't."

"Jisung–"

"You're safe here with me," Jisung says, reaching down, gently grabbing Minho's burned and scarred hand. "Don't go back to him. Those things that he does, the smoking, the drinking, the comments and attitude problems; that's how he copes with whatever is going on. Those are his band-aid fixes, Minho, don't let them become yours."

"It numbs it all, you know?" Minho expresses, caressing Jisung's hand with his own. "It's the escape I needed, especially when the thoughts are too loud for me to simply ignore."

"Don't go with him anymore," Jisung pleads softly. "Come back with me when the thoughts are too loud. Let me be your safe place for once."

A moment passes between them, a stillness that seemed to be full of understanding and mutual care, as if the cavernous space between them had just been breached across. It was an impasse of feelings, a rapture that finally sought to pull their ties together rather than apart.

For a long moment, Minho just looks at Jisung, an internal conversation rallying behind the depth of his eyes. The movie continued on beyond this, filling the void space with meaningless background noise that seemed to fall into nothingness. Jisung was entrapped by Minho's gaze, swallowed whole and engulfed into the new emotion that he found settled within. Was it care? Or was it something deeper? Whatever it was, it was something that seemed to transcend all of the harsh iciness that usually wove its way in between the sepia and amber hues of his irises.

But, before Jisung can properly speak to break the tension or tear himself away, Minho leans closer, brushing his lips against Jisung's. The kiss was short and chaste, an experimental gesture that seemed to cause Minho a great deal of anxiety. As Minho leaned away, Jisung could see the male's hesitation hiding beneath, almost as if he regretted it after immediately acting upon whatever impulse screamed for him to finally breach across the distance.

Jisung, however, remained undeterred. He knew what he wanted, and he was truly tired of dancing around this feeling that made his heart burn and ache all at once. In an act of bravery, and slight longing, Jisung wraps his hand around the back of Minho's neck and pulls him back, kissing him without a trace of hesitation.