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On his way home, Minho couldn't help but sigh as he felt raindrops on his shoulders. He deserved this. He messed up and ruined everything for the entire group. Now, they couldn't debut together. Everyone would have to go on without him.
It felt as if it went by so fast: the short (just over a month) training period, the practices for the show, the show. It all went by so fast—like a dream. Six seconds of trying too hard, just for it to crumble on you once you wake up. Minho woke up.
"Why did you do that?"
The voices of the other members rang through his mind. Why did he do that? They practiced together perfectly before the show, but as soon as he actually got to the performance, he couldn't help but mess up. Everything was perfect during practice. Everything went the way it was supposed to, and they were so confident. He was so confident.
Now, he walked home, rain pouring on him. He couldn't even bring himself to care that his nose was getting stuffy and that he couldn't see the sidewalk in front of him.
He felt so useless. He tried and practiced and worked to make everything perfect for the group. He couldn't even do his part. If he couldn't do this for his friends, what could he do? If he wasn't good enough to pass training, what was he? He wasn't even good enough to keep his group together.
He thinks about everyone else and how they're feeling. He's sure they're relieved they don't have to carry the weight of his mistakes. He's sure that they don't miss him. He's sure they're moving on.
He doesn't remember walking to the bridge. He was on his way home; was there a bridge on his way home? Below the bridge was water. Of course there was water.
A telephone booth. Just in case.
He almost picked up the phone, he swore. He swore he didn't think about pushing himself up onto the rail. The feeling of his feet dangling off the edge was too perfect to ignore. He felt like he was flying. He felt free.
He wondered if he'd feel even more free if he jumped off. He slapped his wrist for even thinking about it. But he knew he wanted to fly.
He thought he didn't deserve to feel free. Not after what he did to the others. They couldn't get what they wanted because he made a mistake. A big mistake. A mistake that made everyone else cry. A mistake that rendered him useless. A mistake that was a little more than a mistake.
Was he more than a mistake?
He wasn't. He was sure he wasn't. Everyone was disappointed in him. He was supposed to be good at dancing. He was supposed to be reliable. He was supposed to be perfect.
He wasn't. He was sure he wasn't.
He felt like nothing. He knew that if he jumped off the bridge, no one would miss him. Nobody knew him. The others would do better without him. He slapped his wrist again. No one was worthless enough to be dead. No matter how badly they messed up. Minho messed up bad.
He dreamed he would be able to give the group a future. He wanted to be part of the future. Now, without him, they'd move on and leave him behind. They deserved at least that much.
He promised he would be able to give them a future. He promised he'd be part of that future. He couldn't.
"Minho?" He thought he heard, but knew it was just a voice in his head. Everyone was practicing and moving on. They had to move on; they were strong.
He almost let himself slip off the edge. He held on tightly but pushed himself forward, his thighs hanging even farther off the rail. He breathed in. Would he push himself off? Or would he mess this up, too?
"Minho!" He heard again.
"Shut up," he mumbled, moving forward once again.
"Minho, what are you doing?"
"Shut up!" He pushed the last of himself off the rail, but didn't feel the air rushing through his hair. He wasn't flying. He wasn't free.
"Minho." He looked up this time. He saw Jisung, eyes wide as he held on tightly to Minho's arm. A wave of shame passed through Minho. He knew he wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be home.
"Jisung?" he gasped out, letting Jisung pull him back onto the rail. Jisung looked into his eyes and Minho couldn't help but feel small. He felt useless again. Was this all he was good for? Making trouble for everyone else?
A tear ran down Jisung's cheek and Minho felt his own eyes growing hot, Jisung's eyes still staring into him. He dropped his feet to the ground and stood facing Jisung, his arm still in Jisung's hand. He looked away from Jisung, too embarrassed to keep looking him in the eye.
"Look at me, Minho," Jisung demanded, letting go of Minho's arm and placing his hand on his cheek. Minho knew he could jump. He could push Jisung out of the way and let himself fly. He could feel free, he knew. But with Jisung's hand on his cheek—the only thing holding him down—he almost felt at home, like the bridge was where he was supposed to be all along.
Minho looked at him, blinking back tears. Jisung cradled his face in both of his hands. He looked admiringly into his eyes, a smile pushing itself onto his face. Minho almost smiled back. Almost. If only he didn't have to mess this up, too.
"You did amazing, Minho," Jisung whispered. "You did so good. We're all proud of you. We know you tried so hard, and we don't think we can do this without you."
Even though Jisung was staring right into him, it almost felt like he wasn't actually looking at him. It felt like he was looking through him. Or in a mirror, to himself.
"I didn't." Minho began crying then, warm tears running down his cheeks and coating his lips in a salty glaze. "I messed up."
"No, no." Jisung shook his head and pulled Minho's face closer. "You did good. Minho, it's okay. We all made little mistakes. We're human, after all. We're not meant to be perfect. I'm not sure I'd really like you all that much if you were."
Minho giggled, more tears rolling down his cheeks. "I never cry like this," he admitted. "I don't understand why—"
"You're human, that's why. Humans make mistakes and cry. It's just what we do. We're not meant to be perfect." Jisung let go of Minho's face and pulled him into a hug. "You're so stupid."
"I know," Minho said, wrapping his arms around Jisung's waist loosely. "I know."