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No matter how hard he tried, Minho couldn't find it in him to even have the energy to fall asleep.
He laid there in his bed, frozen. He didn't even want to call this bed his—it wasn't his a few days ago. It wasn't his when he was with the group of boys who could've changed his life. But now he had to call it his, because he was weak. Because he wasn't good enough.
A bitter laugh escaped his throat, sounding more like a dry heave than anything. He was a trainee now, not part of a debut project. He was back to being Lee Minho, the dancer who didn't have enough experience, who couldn't nail a simple fucking rap without having someone hold his damn hand.
Jisung.
God, Minho was pathetic, because his eyes swarmed with unshed tears and his stomach swirled at the thought of the boy. Jisung, who sang his heart out and put his entire soul into his raps. Jisung, whose lyrics were sentimental and said all of the things Minho had never dared to speak aloud. Jisung, who was loud and boisterous around those he loved, but also quiet and pensive. Somewhere along the way, Minho had found himself absolutely infatuated with the younger. He hated that. He used to never depend on anyone. Yet, now he finds himself unable to fall asleep without the boy who made his heart throb in his chest and his smile genuine, even on particularly hard days.
Humans are tricky. Human beings are scarier than any ghost or zombie could ever dream of being. Humans are not people who Minho gives his trust to. But with Han Jisung, trust comes easily.
Living alone for most of his life should have made Minho used to this. Loneliness and self-dependency should have come natural to him by now. On tour, he had his dance crew, but he never really let them in. They had only known the surface level version of Lee Minho—the Lee Minho who was strong and confident, albeit a little odd at times, the Lee Minho who was cold and calculated.
But deep down inside, Minho craved for love and affection. And Jisung had given him all that and more.
Minho was hooked on Jisung from the very start, ever since the younger boy had stared him down at their first meeting. Minho was sure Jisung had meant to be intimidating, but he was just oh so cute with his round-cheeks and sparkly eyes. And then, later, when Jisung had apologized for glaring at him and offered to buy him ice cream, Minho was all the more endeared. (Maybe it was also because Jisung had mentioned how mint chocolate ice cream was the pinnacle of flavor, and all those who hated on it simply had a lesser palate).
They had become best friends immediately after. The two never had super serious conversations, but they found that they never even needed to. It was almost like they had an instinct for one another—they were able to seek out when it was raining in each others hearts, and open up an umbrella. Jisung could nurse out Minho's thoughts even better than himself, sometimes.
Like for instance, right now.
Minho heard the doorknob turning and the squeak of the door. Assuming it was another trainee, he stuffed his face into the pillow, trying to give off the impression that no, he wasn't feeling better, and no, he didn't want to talk about it.
But apparently putting his face into a pillow that didn't smell like the dorms—didn't smell like Jisung—was enough to finally let go of all of the pent up sadness that had been rotting away inside of him, picking Minho apart and scrutinizing every piece of him ever since JYP told him that he wasn't good enough. He finally found it in him to cry. He laid there, frozen, unable to do anything more than stuff his face into the pillow harder and cry like a fucking baby. It was pathetic, really.
Warm arms wrapped around his shrunken frame. He didn't even need to look up to know who it was. But even then he couldn't move. Couldn't even make himself useful enough to fucking get up—but it seemed like Jisung didn't mind that right now—because he was still holding him softly and wiping away his tears and kissing into his hair. And Minho didn't think of how the hell Jisung snuck past the manager at this hour, or how he managed to find which room Minho was in, or how he cleared the trainees who should've arrived by now out of the room. Because Jisung was here. And that was all Minho needed.
"I won't do this without you hyung," Jisung whispered, as if he was scared his voice would quiver if he spoke any louder, "I can't do this without you."
Minho took the younger boy's hand in his own, admiring how their fingers intertwined and fit perfectly.
He didn't just need to hold Jisung's hand to rap, apparently.