There is mentions of domestic violence, neglect/parental abuse within this chapter. Please avoid reading any further if these topics are sensitive to you.

✧━━ .·:*¨¨* 𓆩♡𓆪 *¨¨*:·. ━━ ✧

❥ 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 •°. *࿐

Time passes in a slow, tantalizing manner. Jisung sat near his front door, leaned against the wall, his phone glued to his hands as he struggled to free himself of the worry that occupied the forefront of his thoughts.

Minho was already on the way to his house, likely walking along the streets hurriedly, trekking away from his home for one reason or another. Jisung wasn't completely sure as to the reason for this, but if Minho had called him out of the blue, he was certain that it had been imperative.

After speaking to Felix and Wooyoung separately, Jisung had a worrying feeling sitting dormantly in the back of his mind, wondering if Minho's home life had been anything but safe. Sure, he has his own suspicions, but he'd never ask, feeling as if it would be incredibly out of place to ask what his parents were like. Afterall, they were barely friends at this point, and Jisung was too afraid to press any further.

Minho had acted like a stray cat; cautious yet curious, keeping his distance until he felt comfortable enough to hang around, coming closer with every passing day. Jisung could tell that his walls were isolating, made of steel and things that had felt nearly impenetrable. Slowly but surely would he peel back each layer, discovering the truth that lay behind Minho's long hair and dark eyes.

Jisung wanted to know everything, to be a space that Minho could confide into at his own pace and chosen time, allowing him to simply just try and heal from whatever things that had an effect on him. Though, now that Jisung thinks about it, Minho had mentioned his father being rather. . . unpleasant.

If that was the case and Minho's home had suddenly become a battlefield rather than a place of safety, Jisung would keep his front door unlocked, allowing Minho inside for whenever the male had needed a safe place to stay.

Before he realizes, a few frantic knocks ring out against his front door, ones that hadn't been overly loud, but just enough to nearly startle him out of his skin. Standing up after composing himself, Jisung moves to swing the door open, spotting Minho standing on the other side. He looked tired, his eyes red with obvious tears, but the most noticeable thing was the bruise stark on his cheek, turning more purple and blue as the seconds ticked past, a fresh cut laid over top, red and slightly irritated.

"Minho–?" Jisung's brows furrow, his heart aching after a moment as he watches Minho's void, expressionless face twist with embarrassment, a hand raising to cover his bruised cheek.

"I'm sorry," Minho murmurs, looking down, actively avoiding Jisung's gaze.

"Here, come inside, let's clean that," Jisung steps aside, opening the door wider as Minho passes through, leaving Jisung to lock the door behind him. Minho turns slightly in the place that he stood, soaking in the decor and appearance of the apartment with a slow turn of his gaze. Jisung walked past him, heading into the kitchen, searching through the cabinets for anything he could use to clean the wound on the male's cheek.

"You seriously don't have to tend to it, Jisung," Minho says quietly, taking a few steps closer into the kitchen, watching as the younger male continues to search through the cabinets.

"I'm not going to just sit and let it get infected or more painful," Jisung frowns, turning over his shoulder. "It's okay to rely on someone, Minho. You can trust me."

Minho watches Jisung for another moment before nodding, choosing to settle for silence rather than protest any further. Jisung continues to search before closing the final cabinet, and with a breath, he turns to face Minho, chewing on his lower lip. "I think everything I need is in the bathroom, uhm, so. . . if you want we can just head to my room."

"Is that okay with you?" Minho asks quietly, observing as Jisung nods.

"Yeah, that's alright," Jisung smiles small, gesturing down the nearby corridor. "It's the open door on the right. I'll follow you."

Minho exchanges a glance with Jisung before tentatively walking down the hall, peering into the open room before taking a few slow steps inside, glancing around with a curious glint before turning back to Jisung wordlessly.

"Let me go grab something. You can sit on my bed if you want, just. . . get, uhm, comfortable." With a breath, Jisung smiles at Minho before turning on his heel, darting into the nearby bathroom in search of whatever medical supplies his home contained. His hands, slightly shakily, opened cabinets and drawers, eventually finding a cloth to use as a compress to soak in cold water. With careful movements, Jisung soaked the compress in cold water, holding it beneath the faucet for a moment before turning on his heel again, walking back towards his bedroom to find Minho settled on the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands.

Jisung closes his door, yet leaves it open, barely ajar, allowing Minho the space to not feel confined and able to leave if he so wanted to. As he moved closer, he sat down next to Minho, holding the compress in his palm nervously, turning to gaze at the elder's side profile. His jaw was sharp, eyelashes long and slightly curved, eyes transfixed and dark, likely withholding several emotions that struggled to break free of the hold he had on himself. His hair was slightly tousled, his bangs long and cast over his gaze, yet somehow the longer strands in the back of his head had been curly, almost as if he had taken a shower and let the air around him slowly dry his hair without the use of heat.

"Can I ask what happened?" Jisung asks, afraid to teeter over a boundary, struggling to figure out where he should remain, afraid of Minho pulling away or running off.

"It's. . . a lot, Jisung. It's heavy shit." Minho glances at Jisung, the bruise on his cheek still visible, even in the cast darkness Jisung's bedroom had brought. "I don't want to weigh you down."

"If you need to talk about it, then talk about it," Jisung says softly, studying Minho for a moment before raising the compress near his face, hesitating. "Can I–?"

"You seriously don't have to," Minho says lowly, but as Jisung raises a brow and gives him an unamused glare, Minho sighs and nods, giving in. "Yeah, fine."

Carefully, Jisung presses the compress to Minho's face, watching as he winces just barely.

"Sorry, sorry," Jisung apologies in a murmur, using his free hand to gently brush Minho's hair aside. "I should've warned you."

"It's okay, it feels. . . nice," Minho admits softly, letting his eyes flutter shut briefly before turning to glance at Jisung again. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Jisung responds, smiling softly. "If you want to talk about this, I'm serious. You can tell me anything, no judgment."

Minho searches Jisung's gaze before looking away, cast back down at his hands once more. The silence was palpable, a shift in the dynamic playing between the two males with a kindled flame, on the verge of being snubbed out.

"My dad," Minho starts, closing his eyes, allowing Jisung to gently press the cold compress to his cheek still. "He's not very kind to me."

Jisung remained quiet, offering Minho the space to express whatever he wanted. His gaze was unwavering, his movements gentle and cautious, studying Minho's every expression with the fear of accidentally hurting him.

"Without diving too deep into the details, he resents me. He blames me for things that aren't my fault while also pinning things against me, trying to force me out of his life by any way possible," Minho slightly leans into Jisung's touch, his open palms now curling into gentle fists. "We got into another argument tonight, one that I don't think could've been avoided."

"Do you want to tell me about that?" Jisung murmurs gently, moving the compress around to press a new, colder side to Minho's cheek.

"It's stupid, Jisung. You can see what it resulted in," Minho sighs, avoiding Jisung's concerned gaze.

Jisung chews on his lip, now knowing that Minho's father had directly hit him, the conversation and levity of the moment had drastically changed. There were a million questions plaguing the forefront of Jisung's mind, but seeing the physical pain stark on Minho's skin while feeling the internal dread bestowed within, Jisung knew he shouldn't pry.

"I'm sorry he treats you like this," Jisung murmurs. "You don't deserve it. You deserve to feel safe and loved, free to be yourself and free to be human."

"He just hates me," Minho mumbles beneath his breath, a new cast of vulnerability shining through just barely, tipping over the boundary Jisung had been hopeful he hadn't crossed over by accident. "I'm sorry I'm so closed off, Jisung. I'm trying to trust you and I'm trying to be more open. . . I just can't. It's so hard to let myself rely on someone else."

"I understand, and I can't force you to tell me these things. But, I'll always be here if you want to talk. I mean," Jisung shrugs, smiling more at himself than anything. "I'm no better. I literally spent most of my life without friends, staying by myself, choosing academics over a social life. Only until recently did I realize how much I was truly missing."

"I've noticed that about you," Minho admits, taking a subtle breath inwards. "You've always seemed like the quiet, nerdy type. I never suspected you to talk to the people I used to hang around with."

"I never thought people would like me," Jisung admits, pulling the compress away slightly, tilting his head to inspect the bruise and cut meticulously. "I was always told that my personality was too strong, not to mention, certain people at our school like to remind me of how weak and feeble I am. Being able to befriend people was a thing I never envisioned doing."

"Felix is a good person, though," Minho admits, turning to face Jisung more directly.

"They're all really nice to me," Jisung slightly smiles before it slowly begins to fade, memories of his friends speaking about Minho filling his mind. "I can tell that your absence has affected them, Minho. Wooyoung especially."

"I hurt him, I know I did," Minho's usual cold, icy gaze softens after a moment, a hidden guilt hovering over him like an unbearable cloud. "I. . . wish things would've played out differently."

"Maybe you can reach out one day," Jisung offers, setting the compress down on his nightstand, moving to face Minho once again. "I know Wooyoung places on a really strong front, at least, that's what I've gathered, but I can tell that he misses you."

"I'm just so closed off and I'm cold, Jisung. I've molded into a different person since he and I have last spoke, I'm sure he doesn't want to talk to me–"

"You think I'm not closed off?" Jisung muses, catching Minho's attention readily. "I try to keep up with everyone at the table but I struggle to really talk to anyone but Felix, and you, obviously. Being friends with people is so new to me, and I'm terrified that my lack of knowledge will result in me losing my friends."

"I don't think that's going to happen," Minho reassures, a slight smile curling on the corners of his lips.

"Why's that?" Jisung tilts his head, raising a brow. He couldn't help the smile that wove on his lips, feeling oddly at peace in the safety of his own room, here with Minho in comfortable, close quarters.

"You're just easy to talk to, Jisung," Minho says without a trace of hesitance, his gaze unwavering behind the locks of his long, auburn hair.

Jisung feels his heart flutter, his breath subtly caught in his throat as Minho looks at him so gently, and for a moment, Jisung feels as if he's melting beneath Minho's gaze.

"You're–" Jisung swallows, words caught on the edge of his tongue. "You're easy to talk to, too."

"You're just saying that," Minho scoffs, an ounce of his familiar, douche-like persona resurfacing if just for a moment, but Jisung isn't phased.

"I wouldn't lie to you," Jisung's brows pinch. "Trust me when I tell you things, Minho. I mean that. I mean everything I say to you."

"I know," Minho shrugs, glancing away, the silence between them stagnant, yet not uncomfortable. It was almost as if there was an understanding happening between them, now realizing that they were both absurdly honest with one another, seemingly growing closer, but somehow still so far apart.

Jisung wanted to bridge across this distance, to slowly reach out, waiting and watching as Minho actively avoided him. But, Jisung would remain adamant. There was no part of him that wanted to turn away and run, to hide away from the things that began to unfurl within his mind. They were hard to describe, hard to decipher, but it all came tumbling back to one final thought; he's infatuated.

Given, Jisung has only ever witnessed feelings like this before in television shows and sometimes in passing within campus grounds, it had all been but a figment of his imagination. He couldn't ever picture himself thinking about someone during isolating nights, warm by just the thought of their touch or the sound of their voice. Being in love, holding hands and smothering your partner in affectionate barrages of kisses had been something he could never see himself doing. Love wasn't on the radar for Jisung, it just never had been.

Yet, since he had met Minho, something new had been twisting from within; a curiosity, and a subtle infatuation. There was no denying how attractive Minho was, but even if Jisung were to admit that, it never meant that he would pursue a relationship with open arms. He had exams to prepare for, colleges to impress, homework to be done; it felt nearly impossible to balance a busy school schedule with a budding relationship, especially when that relationship in question had been his first ever.

Jisung had never sought to be social or stuck within the social light of the school, choosing the safety of shadows and academics rather than worrying himself with the details that comes with having friends and a possible boyfriend. Yet, here he was, months into the school year with a group of friends and a growing interest for a boy he never thought he'd have eyes for.

Little did he realize that Minho had noticed him too, which made this interaction and this budding friendship all that much more confusing.

"Minho?" Jisung starts nervously, wetting his lips as he glances down, trying to find the courage to ask the question he had always sought answers to. "I–I don't want to overstep, but. . . I'm worried about you and now knowing what he did to you, I just–"

"You don't have to worry about me, Jisung. I've survived far worse," Minho says, almost harshly, but Jisung could tell that that wasn't the intention behind it.

"I want to believe that," Jisung murmurs, looking up right, eyes fixated on the trail of scars that led down the side of Minho's neck. "Who did that to you, Minho?"

Minho stares at Jisung, eyes widening by the second, leaning backwards as if he had been caught off-guard abruptly by the words falling from Jisung's lips.

"That. . . came out wrong." Jisung shakes his head, raising his hand to rub at his temples. "Your neck, your scars– they tell a story, Minho. I can see it in your eyes and in everything you do and how you talk–"

"You can't see shit, Jisung." Minho abruptly rises from the bed, taking a few steps away, folding his arms against his chest. "You don't know me, so don't pretend as if you can see me."

"But I do see you," Jisung pleads, his fingers moving to curl into the comforter that lay neatly on his bed. "I've always seen you for how you are."

"I'm not a charity case, Jisung. I can handle myself just fine. You've seen me! I get into fights all the time, I know how to take a punch."

"That's not the point," Jisung remains calm, keeping his voice firm, careful not to push Minho any further away than he already had. "You shouldn't be used to that, and I know that you want to be free of it."

"What? Free of what? Since you know me so fucking well, tell me. What do I want?"

Jisung swallows, watching as Minho turns to face him, the cold, dark eyes he had grown to know bore right into his own, sending a shiver right down his spine. In the dark of his room, not even the shadows that occupied the corners of his space compared to the sudden abyss that had been captured in Minho's gaze. He was defensive, defiant, trying to isolate himself because he was too afraid of becoming vulnerable.

Vulnerability had been an easy target for most, and it was only then that Jisung realized why Minho had grown so cold in the first place. To protect himself from more harassment, dealing with his own demons well within the no-longer safe walls of his home, choosing to make campus the only safe grounds he could remain by becoming the thing he feared the most. He was turning into the image of his father, or well, that's what Jisung had thought he had been attempting to do. Acting cold and brooding, remaining scarce away from relationships and friendships that would be good for him, relying on people that would only think to cater to encouraging his bad behavior.

It only made sense as to why Minho would befriend people like Mingi and Jongho, especially given their records within campus, and knowing that he was trying to make himself seem tough to hide just how fragile he might be, made Jisung's resolve settle like a mound of concrete.

"I can see the pain in your eyes, Minho. You look like you want to scream for help but your mind won't let you," Jisung breathes out carefully, watching Minho's gaze suddenly soften, his words settling into the elder's skin in something similar to a reality check.

The silence is painfully suffocating as Minho stands there, absorbing Jisung's honest words, glancing down at the floor for a chance of semblance. Jisung sits and waits patiently, gripping the edge of the bed tighter.

"I didn't want to seem as if I wasn't able to understand what you've been through, Minho. Our upbringings, our lives, they may be incredibly different, but that doesn't prevent me from wanting to listen."

"I don't–" Minho shakes his head, threading a hand through his hair before shutting his eyes, allowing the weight of his words to finally bleed through. "I don't think there's any hope of fixing me."

"I don't believe in fixing people," Jisung murmurs. "I'm not good with friendships, and this is all new to me, but I don't think you need to be fixed, Minho. I think you need to be understood, to be protected and loved. . . but most importantly, you need time to heal from everything that has happened. You don't ever have to tell me if you don't want to, but I want to help you in any way that you'll let me."

"But why?" Minho's brows pinch, searching Jisung's eyes for anything he could grab a hold of, pleading for answers wordlessly.

"We're polar opposites, and we come from far different groups within the school, but I just feel. . . connected to you. I want to understand you and I want to help you, but you have to let me in." Jisung stands up, taking a few, slow steps towards Minho, keeping enough space between them to offer Minho the space if he had wanted it.

"Jisung–" Minho's jaw tightens, words seemingly failing every attempt he tries to express, feeling at a loss for not only words, but of actions.

"You're not alone," Jisung murmurs. "I know you like to isolate and try to handle everything on your own. I know you're going to insist that you don't need help, and I know that you're going to be stubborn anyway, but I don't care. Lean on me. Let me provide a safe space for you to retreat to instead of whatever cigarettes and whatever other dumb shit Mingi convinces you into doing."

"I can't ask that of you," Minho murmurs back just as softly, his voice laden with heavy emotions.

"You don't have to ask me anything. I'm telling you that I'm going to do this for you, but I can only hope that you take me seriously and take me up on my offer."

Minho looks up, catching Jisung's gaze, standing in the center of Jisung's room with shared, quiet breaths dancing between them. The moonlight fading in from Jisung's nearby window provided a sense of calamity within the storms that seemed to brew from within, offering a visible light within the darkness that Jisung relished in.

Carefully, Jisung stepped closer, reaching his hand out, pressing a finger against Minho's wrist before looking back up at him, gauging his reaction before pressing further. Minho doesn't pull away, nor does he hardly move at all, curiously watching Jisung with a cast of confusion with laced curiosity.

Jisung gently smooths his hand around Minho's wrist, holding it within his grasp gently, feeling the male's warm skin smooth beneath his tentative fingertips. Jisung's eyes trail down, looking at their hands, watching as Minho's hand gently turns within Jisung's grasp, sliding backwards. In a rush of fear that Minho was uncomfortable, Jisung quickly lets go, but Minho captures his hand almost immediately.

Minho's palm presses against Jisung's, the difference in their hands stark in this moment, one visibly smaller than the other, one with softer skin and the other with subtle scars and protruding veins. Jisung watches curiously as Minho tilts his hand to the side, their fingers an inch from slotting together.

Jisung's heart is racing out of his chest, yet he feels so incredibly calm, looking at Minho and feeling his hand pressed against his. Admittedly, he had been scared to accept feeling like this, but with Minho here and looking at him so fondly, so softly, Jisung finds himself hurtling towards acceptance, wondering what it would be like to feel Minho's hand in his.

Gently, Jisung tilts his hand in the opposite direction, watching as Minho's hand presses forward, leaving Jisung no choice but to slowly curl his fingers around Minho's hand, slotting their grasps together in a soft embrace. Jisung flicks his gaze towards Minho, feeling as the elder moves their hands down to their sides comfortably, their eyes locked in a firm affirmation of what had been slowly building yet remained dormant within their minds.

Instinctually, Jisung feels himself tilting his head backwards as Minho leans closer, their eyes fluttering into a lull, breaths hitching and mingling in the decreasing distance between them, fanning over one another's lips and chin, diminishing until their lips were nearly hovering over one another.

"Jisung–" Minho breathes out quietly, his voice slightly shaky, hand squeezing Jisung's own.

"Minho," Jisung replies in a soft echo, swallowing nervously as their closeness singes with the flame that had been slowly kindling between them.

Closer and closer they linger, lips nearly brushing up against one another before Minho takes a step back, their hands fleeing from one another, a shaky breath escaping Minho's lips a second later.

"I'm sorry–" Minho rushes out, brushing a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Jisung, I can't do this–"

"It's okay, it was my fault. You did nothing wrong, Minho," Jisung tries to reassure, but he can tell that his words withheld no weight.

"No, it's not fine, I'm a fucking mess," Minho takes in another breath before rapidly reaching for his phone left discarded on Jisung's bed, shoving it into his pocket a moment later.

"Minho, hey, relax, please–" Jisung tries to reach for him, but Minho shrugs him off, fleeing for his door.

"I'll go stay with Mingi," he blurts out, his jaw tight, eyes brimmed with tears. "I'll see you for study tomorrow."

"Minho–"

"I'll be fine, Jisung. Let it go," Minho pleads over his shoulder, hand reaching for Jisung's door handle before carefully swinging it open.

Jisung stares at the male, and for a moment he wishes he withheld the courage to beg for him to stay, but what right did he have? They were barely friends. Their almost-kiss seemed to be a mistake, and Minho was obviously running for a reason.

"Please just. . . text me when you get somewhere safe," Jisung breathes out. "Just so I know you're okay."

Minho nods, turning away. "I will."

Jisung watches him leave, feeling as his heart begins to ache in his chest. This was a new feeling settled into his stomach, one that felt emotionally painful and kept his heart trapped in a box, wondering why it felt as if a part of him had disappeared out of his front door the moment Minho had left.

It was weirdly ironic how Jisung had no friends months ago, and now had become reliant on the class bad boy, wanting to kiss his seemingly perfect lips and to feel his veiny, yet delicate hands within his. He wanted more; he longed for more. This feeling was different, but it wasn't unwelcome.

Yet, as he stood there in the quiet of his room, his fingers reaching up to gently touch his bottom lip, he found himself wondering what Minho was truly afraid of.

Was he afraid of hurting himself? Or was he just terrified of hurting someone else?