Work Text:
minsung’s too tired to feel much of anything, now.
all he can do is stare in the mirror.
he - they? she? no, definitely not she.
minsung shudders at that, tugging at the ends of his hair until his scalp aches.
no. no, he doesn’t need to cut it. his hair’s fine this length, he’s worked so hard to get the company to let him grow his hair out, he just needs to shower. that’ll fix everything.
but then he starts to tug his shirt off, and the sight of his body in the mirror makes him feel sick.
he needs to shower. but he can’t.
minsung stands there for a moment, listening to the shower run, and tries not to cry.
god. he’s pathetic. they’re pathetic.
before they can think about it, minsung grabs a pair of scissors out of the drawer and sits in front of the mirror hanging on the back of the door.
his hair’s certainly long enough that he could cut a few pieces off. it’s down to his shoulders again, the last time it was like this was elementary school, and-
minsung feels sick again.
there’s a chunk of blue-pink hair on the floor before they know it. and then they can’t stop.
the stylists will be mad, probably. he doesn’t care.
they just watch as more and more chunks of hair float to the floor, feeling as if they’re watching someone else entirely do this.
it’s weird.
minsung stands- it doesn’t feel like his body, though- and finally brushes the hair off his lap into the trash can. they’re glad they took their sweatpants off already.
he faces the wall this time, squeezing his eyes shut as he tugs his shirt over his head. their boxers get thrown off with the rest of his clothing, and minsung tries to keep his eyes on the wall as he gets in the shower.
he’s tired.
slowly, they sink to sit, and then lay, on the tiled floor of the shower.
they don’t have to think like this - the shower drowns out the sound of anything else, even his own thoughts.
it’s... nice.
minsung can just let everything run down the drain with the water when they’re like this. he doesn’t need to worry about the way his body hurts - and a part of him wonders if they’ve been mentally ill for so long that his body’s finally getting sick as well - nor does he need to worry about the fact that it feels like he could crumble into a manic episode at any moment.
they just close their eyes, cold water running through their hair and seemingly turning their mind off.
still, minsung can’t get rid of the feeling that this isn’t their body. almost absentmindedly, he runs a hand over the scars on his chest. it sort of feels like their body, and yet... are they even real?
he’s too tired to think about, though. it’s dark and they don’t really have to feel much of anything like this and they don’t have to feel bone-achingly tired, for once.
minsung opens his eyes eventually. he’s still staring at the bathroom ceiling, still just laying there as cold water beats against their body.
it still really doesn’t feel like they belong here.
he struggles to his feet, trying to find the energy to turn off the water. it takes longer than it should.
they keep their eyes off the mirror as they finally step out of the shower, pulling on a bathrobe and drying their drenched hair with a towel.
they’re tired. it hurts.
he knows he should blowdry his hair, but... he’s too drained to.
it’s barely past 8 pm.
minsung stumbles to his room, closing the door behind him.
they pull a hoodie from his closet - it’s one of youngjoon’s hoodies, he realizes- and pull it over their head, wet hair sticking to his face.
the light in his room hurts. they turn it off.
it’s only after he pulls on a pair of boxers that minsung allows themself to collapse into bed, pulling on headphones.
of course he forgot to turn off his music before showering.
minsung just sighs, face pressed into a pillow. they’re too tired to get under the covers.
he’ll be back to normal in the morning.
they know that’s a lie.