There is mentions of domestic violence/abuse within this chapter, along with descriptions of confrontation/arguments, abusive situations, and one minor mention of homophobia. Please be advised and do not read any further if these topics are sensitive to you.

✧━━ .·:*¨¨* 𓆩♡𓆪 *¨¨*:·. ━━ ✧

❥ 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 •°. *࿐

A week passes.

Waking up was a grueling task. The idea of getting out of bed was a fruitful one, one that Minho commonly argued with himself about nearly every time his alarm went off. He never wanted to exit the safety of his room, though some days his bedroom door did little to protect him from the brunt force of his father's anger. He chose to be absent during the day, only coming home at nearly midnight to sink into his room, well past the time his father had drank a bottle of whiskey and gone to bed. Part of him could care less about his father's well-being and his alcoholic lifestyle, but the other part of him, the dutiful son that just wished to be a part of his father's life, craved for his father to stop trying to kill himself with the grueling poison of alcohol.

He knew his father missed his mother, and he could understand a majority of his father's disdain for the world itself, but as for why Minho had been a doormat and punching bag over the last year, he truly couldn't envision why.

It started with little things, enveloping him with hateful comments that would eventually grow into full on arguments, filled to the brim with yelling and spiteful remarks, claiming that Minho was the reason himself for his mother being deceased. Though it couldn't be further from the truth, but Minho wouldn't argue otherwise, lest he take another hit from the one who was supposed to protect him.

This day in particular, he woke with a new found confidence to further his friendship with Jisung. He had burned some bridges in the past with friends he truly cared for, but that was for their own safety. Minho knew he was wrapping himself in some particularly rough crowds, and as his behavior began to deteriorate, he found himself frequenting the comfort of his usual table and choosing to smoke cigarettes with Mingi outside of the school.

It wasn't that he didn't care about Wooyoung, San, Felix and Jeongin; he just wanted them to be away from the chaotic spiral he was descending down. They didn't deserve to be around someone so vile, someone so caught up in the whirlwind of their own demise.

"You're going to be late!" His father calls up the stairs. "I'm not fucking driving you, so get moving!"

With a roll of his eyes, Minho slides out of bed, his steps heavy as he treks to his wardrobe, fetching his clothes with a gaze of disinterest. He snags his usual hoodie, the same one he had let Jisung borrow, the same one that he nearly wished Jisung wouldn't have given back the day after he had borrowed it. It was ripped at the edges, obviously over-worn and stretched slightly, but comfortable nonetheless. Minho doesn't much like the way it clings to him, hiding all of his torso and swallowing him whole, but the way it fit on Jisung was something else. It clung to him, the sleeves a bit too long for him, draping over the knuckles on his hands while hanging lower on his waist, nearly covering his entire backside; it was oversized in all the ways that mattered.

All Minho knew was that he hadn't let anyone else wear this hoodie, as it was one that held too much meaning to him anymore, and a part of him couldn't help but admit how much he liked seeing Jisung wearing something of his.

With a breath, Minho snags his bag and slings it over his shoulder, heading out of his room without another thought. He moves through the corridor before strolling down the steps, carefully listening as his father rustles about in the kitchen. He really needed to grab something for his lunch, but to further avoid his father, Minho decided against it, putting on his shoes in a hurry, heading out the front door as quietly as he could.

It was slightly warm outside, but nothing too invasively warm, leaving him to enjoy the subtle breeze that rolled through as he walked, his steps light against the pavement. His mind varies in thoughts, ranging from classwork to tests, then venturing towards a subject even heavier than the stresses of school; love.

He's had partners in the past, but there was something about Jisung that made him feel different. He couldn't quite name it, but the only feeling he could ever articulate from their meetings was that he felt the epitome of safety when he was around Jisung. It was almost as if all of his worries melted away in their small little bubble, drawing them closer, letting the rest of the world melt away as they rested in close proximity, but not close enough to trek across unknown boundaries.

There was an electric pull between them, sparking rapidly, trying to draw them closer before the inevitable realities of the world drew them back apart, forcing their gazes to linger and words to remain unsaid. Neither of them would dare to admit to whatever emotion was spiraling between them, but whatever it was, Minho never wanted to feel anything less than that.

Jisung was the first person to make him feel something other than loathing disdain and unkempt pain in a long time. Maybe he's naive, or maybe he's just hopeful, but Minho can't help but wonder if Jisung was feeling the same pull as he was. They had nearly kissed twice, and Minho didn't want to overstep, and in turn, he almost felt as if he was pushing Jisung away by accident in doing so.

Minho tried to plead with Jisung, telling him that there was no fixing these behaviors, and there certainly wasn't a point in bothering trying to befriend him. Minho considered himself to be incredibly difficult in the sense of everything. He was hard to be around, hard to like, hard to converse with; and yet Jisung stayed. Jisung kept trying, over and over again, even if met with no progress. Minho doesn't wish to be so reserved and closed off, but the innermost part of himself, the part that wishes to hide away from the world to avoid more pain, screams for solitude. He liked Jisung and he cared about him, but the last thing he'd ever want to do is wrap Jisung up in his tornadic whirl of a chaotic life.

But, after their interactions turned a little more. . . warm, per se, Minho finds himself wanting to open up more. Jisung felt like the only one who could understand, or who could ever be capable of understanding, and because of that, Minho wants to try again. He wants to try to invite better people into his life, and he wants to try to get closer to Jisung by whatever means possible, but he felt as if he had some other obstacles to conquer before even attempting to bring romance into his life.

He needed to make amends with Wooyoung and that entire friend group, but more importantly, to explain to Wooyoung what happened. Their distance had nothing to do with Wooyoung's sudden and very close relationship with San, and it had nothing to do with Wooyoung himself. It was purely Minho, all constructed of his own wish to keep everyone safe from the damage he was likely to cause just because of how he was behaving. He didn't like this rash, cold and brooding version of himself; he wanted to be open, to be kind, and more importantly, he wanted to be better not only for himself, but for those around him. Making amends with Wooyoung felt like the first step to doing that.

As his steps lead him closer to the depths of campus, Minho finds that his mind nearly comes to an automatic halt. He usually let himself get stuck in thought on the way to the school, and the moment he saw Mingi, he forced himself to shut down, to hide everything he wished to be and what he longed to have, bringing back his emotionless facade just to please Mingi and those he thought would be the only ones capable of tolerating him.

"There he is," Mingi smirks, opening his arm the moment Minho approaches closer. Mingi's hand moves to clasp Minho's shoulder, embracing him in the only arrogant way he knew how. "Thought you weren't coming."

"I slept over," Minho says, shrugging dismissively. "I didn't set an alarm, that's all."

"Hard night?" Hyunjin asks, standing to Mingi's right.

"When don't I have a hard night?" Minho asks, raising a brow.

Mingi laughs, smiling as his eyes trail towards Jongho. "You and Jongho with your parental issues–"

Minho rolls his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek, keeping his words at bay.

"Weird how you two used to hate each other, and now you share something in common. Your parents are terrible." Mingi looks at Hyunjin, smiling again. "His dad is the fucking principal, and my parents just don't give a shit."

"Not giving a shit is far different from being swung at by your own father, Mingi. Don't be a dick," Minho shrugs Mingi's hand off of his shoulder, narrowing his gaze. "Get moving inside, would you? I don't want to be late."

"Since when do you care?" Mingi muses, eyeing Minho warily. "Is it because of that nerd you've been hanging out with?"

"No–"

"Yeah it is," Mingi laughs again, raising a brow inquisitively. "What? You have feelings for him or something?"

"I don't, stop insinuating," Minho speaks lowly, nearly glaring at Mingi, but Mingi seemed rather unphased, chuckling the threat away.

"I know he hasn't been with anyone before, so if you're after someone. . . untouched–"

"Can you shut the fuck up?" Hyunjin interjects, smacking Mingi on the back of his neck. "I'm tired of listening to you."

"Ow–! What? I'm just asking Minho questions! Is that so wrong of me?" Mingi jests, a playful smile curled on his lips.

"You're being an asshole. Smoke by yourself today," Minho says angrily, barging past Mingi, their shoulders colliding as he moves past with force.

"Minho–! Come on!" Mingi calls after him, but Minho doesn't acknowledge him. He continues walking, ignoring every plea from Mingi that came attuned with laughter that made his attempts at reaching Minho all that less sincere.

In all the time that Minho has known Mingi, he can't say that he's grown fond of his inability to ever be serious, but Mingi does show that he cares. . . in his own asshole-centered way. Minho knows that Mingi's upbringing wasn't great, but now that his mother remarried, he's been living the life. He lives in a very nice home and basically gets whatever he asks for, along with having a nice car and his own allowance, which Minho could only assume that covers the cost of gas and food on a weekly basis, with some extra to please Mingi's inability to go without buying new clothes or expensive jewelry.

Mingi was a ton of things, but the one thing that Minho appreciated about Mingi was the fact that beneath all of his jests and unseriousness, was someone who deeply cared. Whenever Minho needed somewhere to stay, Mingi always opened his door to him, allowing him to stay at his house for nights on end without asking when Minho thought he was going to go home. There was no time limit, just a quiet understanding of that when Minho was ready, he'd go back to the home he couldn't stand to be in.

Despite this, Mingi still pushed Minho's buttons. It was a classic game of give and pull, but where Minho gave, Mingi pulled way too hard, sometimes opting to push more often than not, smiling and laughing as if his words held little to no weight at all. Minho wasn't sensitive, really, but because Mingi knew of the things going on at home, more than Hyunjin and Jongho ever did, that made his comments all that more hurtful.

The echoes of the school brought Minho's focus back to the forefront, placing himself in the studios halls of campus, strolling through meandering bodies in search of his locker. As he moved towards the familiar space of his locker, it was there he spotted Jisung, waiting patiently, clutching a few notebooks against his chest with his bag strung over his shoulder. Minho approaches, a smile gracing his lips as he flicks the back of the notebooks, catching Jisung's attention rapidly, spurring him away from whatever trail of thoughts he was in.

"Thinking?" Minho asks, turning towards his locker, moving to begin messing with the lock.

"A bit," Jisung says softly. "You forgot your notebook after our session yesterday, so. . . here–"

Minho turns, taking the notebook from Jisung, smiling slightly. "Thank you. Sometimes I think I'd lose my head without you."

Minho watches as Jisung's face slightly warms with a faint trace of red, indicating a blush that swept over his features. He avoids acknowledging it, choosing to rather savor the image of it instead of ruining the moment.

"It's no problem," Jisung basically forces out, clearing his throat. "I'm just glad I caught you before first period."

"I was late and then I got caught up with Mingi," Minho sighs, finally prying open his locker after messing about with the locker's combination. "He's being a douche today, so I'm just. . . not mentally prepared to handle him later."

"You don't have to," Jisung says softly. "Sit with me instead."

Minho raises a brow, turning to look at Jisung, swallowing tentatively. "With you? Like. . . with Wooyoung and–?"

"Yeah, I know. No pressure, seriously. I know there's some complicated history there, Minho, so if it makes you uncomfortable–"

"No, that's. . . that's okay. I appreciate it. I'll think about it, if that's okay?"

"Sure," Jisung says warmly, his smile adorably lighting up his features. "I hope to see you at lunch then."

"Yeah," Minho nods, watching as Jisung turns on his heel, striding away with a new found bounce to his every step.

There was an allure to Jisung, something that followed his every step. Minho has known Jisung for years, or well, known about him, rather. He never particularly paid attention before, knowing that he was the studious type and kept to himself, choosing to study long hours and to do his coursework ahead of schedule, saving his time at home for whatever it was that he felt suited the moment. He wasn't a social butterfly, rather a lone wolf, harboring his inner self to small shreds of time with teachers and presentations, hiding away everything that there was to know about Jisung himself.

Though, in the last month that Minho has gotten to know Jisung, he's learned a few things, or well, noticed a few things. Jisung was always thinking; his mind was an endless whirlwind of thoughts, parading through the rights and wrongs of his daily tasks before acting upon anything, swearing himself to his studies just as his parents had asked of him. He tried to remain perfect and untouched on the outside, though Minho could sense something stirring within the younger, something that seemed restless and maybe a bit unkempt. It almost seemed like Jisung wanted to be free of something, aching to break free of the chains binding him to whatever commitment he no longer wished to keep. It was a familiar ache Minho knew all too well, and in that aspect, he finds himself even more drawn into Jisung's orbit.

Jisung was also completely attentive, despite his previous wish to be alone. He was empathetic, inquisitive and he paid good attention, which at first overly frustrated Minho, but the longer Jisung had pried and attempted to breach over the cavern of secrets between them, Minho began to realize that he was just trying to understand.

Even despite this, Minho struggled to break free of his own confines. He understood completely that Jisung only wished to help, but there were some secrets that just needed to stay hidden, beneath the surface of everlasting shadows. Some pits of darkness were just meant to be glued to the abyss, left uncovered and away from innocent, prying eyes. Jisung didn't deserve to be cast in such hellish darkness, and that was all Minho wanted; to protect him from the negativity that burned from within.

But even as he stood by his locker, watching Jisung walk away, something heavier settled into his stomach. It wasn't fear or anger, not even really sadness, but rather a longing for something more, a longing for something deeper.

The morning passes and stumbles into the afternoon, spurring the bell to ring out for the signal towards lunch hour. Minho walks out of his class, his head down, bag slung over his shoulder, nervously trying to gather the courage to seat himself back at a table he long abandoned months ago.

He knew he could face some harsh words from Wooyoung, maybe San and Jeongin too, possibly Felix, but all he wanted was to be closer to Jisung. He wanted to make amends, to live amicably, to try and fix all of the wounds he had inflicted the moment his downward spiral rotated out of control.

The halls were immediately flooded with students, everyone rushing towards the combined lunch hall with mumbles of chatter and subtle laughter, echoing off of the metal lockers and floors. Minho scans his eyes across the crowd, finding no familiar faces within the depths, choosing to rather stand near the edge of the cafeteria, waiting for Jisung and his friends to arrive before approaching.

Eventually, Jisung and Felix walk in together, talking quietly amongst themselves with Wooyoung and San tailing them, Jeongin not too far behind as they all settled down, in the same exact spaces they had always been in. Except, Minho notices that his usual seat was taken, placing Jisung in the spot where he used to reside. He raises a brow, tugging his bag firmly on his shoulder before letting a shaky breath roll through, finding some sort of peace in watching Jisung mingle with the people he abandoned selfishly.

With a gather of courage, Minho strides closer, having noticed that everyone had peacefully settled in, his eyes trailing along the faces of people he hadn't spoken with in over a year. As he trails closer, Wooyoung is the first to spot him, his eyes widening, shooting to glance at Felix and Jisung before blindly smacking San on his chest lightly, signaling for quiet amongst the table.

"Hey," Minho starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Is it alright if I join you guys?"

"Oh," Felix says, his eyes widening, glancing at Wooyoung before turning back to face Minho. "Yeah, I mean–"

Minho watches as everyone exchanges a glance, everyone's eyes landing on that of Wooyoung's before the male nods his head, moving Felix to shift over to the seat on his left, giving way for Jisung to also move aside. Jisung looks up at Minho, and with a soft smile, he shifts aside, leaving the seat Minho had grown familiar in, wide open.

Minho slowly settled into the seat, a sense of ease coating his skin as the familiar seat envelops his senses, bringing back a plethora of memories he had long forgotten. It was odd how a plastic seat could bring such comfort the way this had, but Minho couldn't find himself to hate it.

"I'm glad you accepted my offer," Jisung mutters quietly, messing about with his lunch tote. "I didn't really think you'd show."

"No more running away, remember?" Minho says softly, watching as Jisung's head turns, their gazes interlocking, letting the sounds of the cafeteria melt into silence as a silent conversation heads under way. Minho wasn't sure how to express that he simply wanted to be here, and in some sort of icy, closed-off way, he hoped that his words would be warm enough to thaw the iceberg holding his heart hostage. Though, if Jisung kept looking at him like this, the way his smile lit up his eyes along with the curls of his brunette hair would surely be enough to melt him as it was.

"Right," Jisung nods, smiling as he looks away.

"Minho," Wooyoung calls from across the table, his gaze curious, but withholding no anger or animosity. Minho's breath holds in his throat, fully expecting a barrage of hate or something laced with irritation, but suddenly, Wooyoung's gaze softens. "I'm glad you're here."

Taken aback, Minho finds words hard to formulate, choosing to instead nod and smile small, glancing down before looking up, finding that Wooyoung's smile mirrored his own.

"Yeah," Minho manages to mutter out. "Me too."

Minho simply sits as the table comes alive, talking and discussing random topics that he really knew nothing about, but yet, the banter of it all was so endearing. He was watching San make heart-eyes at Wooyoung, sharing their different lunches with affectionate banter, all things Minho remembered too well. Jeongin was peacefully eating, observing just as Minho had, their eyes catching for a moment before lingering away, passing with a common understanding of bringing back pieces that had gone missing all that time ago. Jeongin was never an emotional type, so Minho hadn't expected much of a reaction, but there was a hint of happiness and relief within the depth of his unamused hues, belying his true interest in Minho's return to their circle.

Felix and Jisung were talking quietly, discussing some new game Minho supposes Felix had talked him into, their conversation light and airy, a welcome breath of fresh air that offered solace from the overly affectionate tone San was speaking to Wooyoung with.

Minho's eyes wander, trailing across the familiar walls of the cafeteria before settling on Jisung, scaping across the softness of his skin, the gentle curl of his eyelashes and the set of his jaw, watching a smile weave onto his lips delicately. For a moment, all Minho could think about was that night spent in Jisung's room, wondering what would've changed if they had just kissed. Where would they be now? What would their friendship hold, and if anything, what would it have changed? Would Minho still feel this strongly? Would Jisung have run, or would he have stayed?

"Minho," Jisung starts, turning towards him, breaking the male of his slight reprieve. "Do you have a lunch or anything to eat?"

"Oh," Minho turns away, glancing at the empty table ahead of him, his brows furrowing as he remembers having to leave his house without anything to eat. "No, I don't."

"I'm truthfully not that hungry if you want something from mine," Jisung mentions, opening his tote. Minho glances from the tote's contents then towards Jisung, a glimmer of concern bestowed within his own irises, wondering a bit too much into why Jisung wasn't hungry.

"I'm not gonna take your food, Jisung. You need to eat, too," Minho says, but Jisung swats away his worry, pushing the tote closer.

"I had a big breakfast. My mom made a huge platter this morning to celebrate something for my dad, so please, I'm serious–" Jisung pushes the tote even closer, a pleading look glimmering in his eyes. "Have something."

Minho smiles, and with a breath, he snags the bag of crisps Jisung had stored in the top of the tote. Jisung smiles back, leaving the tote where it was, nearly about to turn back to Felix when an approaching shadow overwhelms the table.

"Minho'ah, you didn't tell me you were sitting somewhere else," Mingi suddenly chimes in, his smirk evident as he whips an unused chair around, sitting at the head of the table. Jongho stands nearby, his arms folded against his chest.

"Guys, can we not–" Minho pleads, but Mingi interjects almost immediately.

"Back with the gays, the aussie, the quiet moody one, and the nerd, huh?" Mingi laughs, shifting in his seat to look at Minho. "Have you gone soft on me? What is this behavior from you?"

"I don't really owe you shit, Mingi, so please, piss off," Minho retorts, his empty fist tightening, knuckles whitening.

"Ah, but where's the fun in that? You know I love to rile you up, and this seems more of a perfect time than any," Mingi drawls, leaning back in his seat, looking down the line of the table, eyeing Wooyoung with a smirk.

"San treating you right?" Mingi asks, raising a brow. "You can tell me, I'll kick his ass for you."

"He's fine, you asshole. My relationship isn't your business," Wooyoung spits back, his eyes narrowing unamusingly.

"I mean, if you want someone to take better care of you, I hear Minho is in the mood for romance," Mingi laughs, shoving Minho gently by his shoulder. "Well, I don't know, actually. I think he has a thing for nerds, not the. . . feminine ones."

"That's enough," Minho warns, shoving Mingi backwards into his seat. "Stop fucking talking and go on your smoke break."

"Talk down to Wooyoung again, and you'll have new problems to look forward to," San butts in, wrapping a protective arm around Wooyoung's shoulders, drawing him closer. Minho sighs, his face being hidden by his hands as he hears Mingi stand up, his palms smacking into the table, causing it to jostle about.

"Yeah? Wanna take this conversation outside? Last I checked, your father's a dead beat. A wounded warrior who couldn't return to his job as a fucking cop. And, you know what they say, Sannie–" Mingi pauses, his voice dropping a cent lower. "Like father, like son."

"Mingi!" Minho pushes himself out of his seat, planting his hands on Mingi's shoulders and shoving him backwards a few steps, gathering distance away from the table of people who didn't deserve Mingi's berating comments. "Stop being a fucking douche. I mean it."

"Oh, what? Trying to impress the nerd of the fucking century over here? God, bore me, why don't you? This isn't a romance movie, Minho, he's way too smart for you."

"I'd watch your fucking tongue," Minho suggests quietly, pushing him once more, feeling the entire cafeteria's eyes on him. "Shut it before I cut it off."

Mingi eyes Minho carefully, stuck in a haze of silence before he nods, clenching his jaw. With a turn, Mingi walks away, moving out of the cafeteria without another word. Minho takes a deep breath, feeling a bundle of shame and guilt swell beneath the surface, bringing back the exact fear of why he never wanted to agree to this in the first place.

He wasn't made for this kind of happiness. He didn't want this– this innate fear of being replaceable and talked down to, of being dismissed and left alone. He wanted to try for Jisung, but it felt like every time he came close to trying, he was shot back down, submerged back into the depths of the sea, fully prepared to drown in the darkness of his own making once again.

"I'm sorry," Minho rushes out, turning back towards the table. "I'm so sorry– I don't– you guys–"

"Minho, relax, slow down–" Jisung tries to reason, but Minho shakes his head, grabbing his bag.

"You guys didn't deserve that, and he's a fucking idiot, I'm sorry, I'll go–" Minho rushes out again, slinging his bag over his shoulders before quickly walking out of the cafeteria. He tugs his hood over his head, trying to create a physical barrier between himself and the crack of reality, feeling a bundle of emotions he had long since ignored bubble up towards the surface, like a kettle on an open flame; set to burst at any given moment, with just the slightest bit of pressure.

Minho walks, turning to the right, then to the right again, navigating himself to the men's restrooms to find a moment of peace before he crumbles into pieces. But, just as he stepped closer to the door that would somehow offer some sort of solace, a voice breaks out in the hall, causing him to stop in his tracks.

"Keep running away, Minho!" Mingi scolds. "It's all you've ever done, and it's all you're good for!"

Minho turns around, his hand gripping the strap of his bag tightly.

"What did you just say to me?" Minho asks, narrowing his gaze.

"You heard me," Mingi says confidently, stepping closer with a smugness to his every step. "Or have you gone deaf now? Did you dumb yourself down to just get closer to that idiot or what? Since when have you become so fucking stupid?"

"Since I started hanging out with you," Minho retorts, feeling a surge of tears break over his lash line.

"Aw," Mingi coos, his head slightly tilting. "Did I finally break your facade? Are you not as tough as everyone said you were?"

"Shut up, Mingi!" Minho yells, drawing the attention of a nearby teacher who had been eating lunch in her classroom. "You know why I am the way I am, and don't fucking stand there and pretend that you don't."

"Boo hoo! Your daddy hates you," Mingi yells back, a new found anger lighting up his expression. "Not everyone has a great fucking home life, and no one is going to take pity on you. You know damn well why he acts the way he does, and it's about time you start accepting it."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Minho says, his voice broken at the end of his phrase. "I've come to your house. . . time and time again, and you've seen everything–"

"I don't pity you, Minho, I pity no one, actually." Mingi folds his arms against his chest. "I'm just tired of tip-toeing around you hoping that one day you'd just grow some fucking balls and start acting like a man. Not some pussy who hides behind a mask of fake toughness and attitude."

"Screw you," Minho begins to turn around, but not before he feels Mingi's hand reach for his shoulder, pulling his focus right back to the interaction he wanted to avoid.

"Listen to me–" Mingi warns. "Turn your back on me now, and you're done. I mean that. Don't you remember what we did to Hongjoong before he graduated?"

"You won't," Minho says between gritted teeth. "You wouldn't dare–"

"Oh, but I would," Mingi threatens, balling Minho's hoodie up in his fist, pulling him closer. "I took a fucking chance on you, and you're turning your back on me so you can fucking get closer to that idiot and your old friends. I won't have it."

"It's a good thing it's not your life to control then, you fucking idiot," Minho shoves him backwards, just in time as the teacher appears in her doorway. "Go fuck up someone else's life."

Minho fixed his hoodie, straightening it out before beginning to turn away, but not before catching Jisung's worried glance from behind Mingi.

"I'm serious–!"

"That's enough, go back to the cafeteria," the teacher warns. "Now, please."

Without another word, Mingi storms off, but not without glaring at Jisung on his way out of the corridor. Minho, not fully prepared to face the complex gaze of understanding and care within Jisung's gaze, turns away, submerging himself within the depths of the bathroom, allowing a shaky breath to flee from his lips the moment the cool air rushes to greet him.

Minho lets his bag fall to the floor, his hands reaching to grip the edge of a porcelain sink, his knuckles whitening as he struggles to keep his hands from shaking. His eyes were blurry with tears, hair cast down over the redness stowed away within, trying to hide away from the reality that he might finally be breaking down.

"Minho–?"

Minho doesn't look up. He knows it's Jisung, and he really wishes that just for a moment, the male would've just stayed in the cafeteria, eating his lunch and consoling his friends, leaving Minho to be the mess that he had always been.

"Hey, Minho, it's alright," Jisung says, carefully stepping closer. "No more running, remember? Talk to me."

Minho shakes his head, gripping the sink tighter, biting down on his lip so harshly that he's afraid his lip will split and blood will drip from his skin.

"I'm right here, and I care, Minho. No judgment, at all. There's nothing to fear when you're with me, Minho, I'm here for you. . . in whatever way you need me to be."

Minho's lungs expand, and for a moment, he feels an insurmountable wave of emotion cling to his tongue. He tries to breathe through it, but his exhale is met with a wrenching sob, causing his chest to heave and his heart to split wide open, bearing the true brunt of who he really was right in the open, praying that Jisung wouldn't run from the truth of his true persona.

"Minho," Jisung says sadly, placing a gentle hand on the male's back. "It's okay to feel this. Just let it out, don't harbor this anymore."

In a turn, Minho's gaze finds Jisung's, spotting the care and understanding that he had been momentarily unprepared to face, but now in seeing it, every single panel of his reinforced wall comes crashing down, leaving him to wrap his arms around Jisung, pulling him closer, relishing in the warmth of Jisung's body against his.

He's terrified. He doesn't want to be this openly broken for anyone to see, leaving his fragile parts open and exposed for people to gawk at and break even further. He didn't want Jisung to judge him, nor did he want Jisung to see him differently, to take whatever cusp of a relationship they had and break it off, leaving him well and truly alone to fend for himself. He couldn't live like this anymore, but he also couldn't live knowing that his true self could end up placing him in the exact position he wanted to avoid.

He purposely changed himself to befriend the only people who seemed willing enough to handle his toxic behavior and daunting mental illnesses, along with the trauma that came to bat with the score of his homelife; leaving Minho to abandon who he used to be, turning into the male Jisung had always known. Someone mean, brooding, emotionless and selfish.

He didn't want that. He wanted his true self back, the one that was kind and soft-spoken, and the one who withheld boundless sarcasm and love for his friends, shedding the protective layer to his heart to allow himself to just simply live and exist again; to just be as he was.

But he's scared. He's bleeding himself dry, laying his heart in Jisung's hands, praying that Jisung accepts him just as he was.

"Please–" Minho starts with a strike of sudden courage, his voice frail and broken, holding Jisung even tighter. "Please don't abandon me."

Jisung doesn't speak at first, tightening his arms around Minho in return, holding onto him as if he was afraid that Minho would suddenly disappear. But after a moment, Jisung speaks, his voice calm and warm, smoothing the edges to Minho's broken heart.

"Never," he breathes. "No more running away."