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Summary
Jisung stayed curled at the end of the couch, hunched into the same ratty hoodie he’d worn for days. “There’s nothing to say,” he muttered, flat, distant.
“There’s always something to say,” Minho replied gently this time, like he was afraid of scaring him further away.
Jisung’s mouth twisted before the bitterness could be swallowed down. He pushed up off the couch, chest tightening, eyes hot. “Yeah?” he snapped, voice raw. “Like what? That I wake up every day and wish I wasn’t still here? That no matter how hard you try, you can’t fix me and I’m dragging you down with me?”
Minho didn’t react right away. He didn’t raise his voice, but his expression faltered—just a flicker of something cracking behind his eyes. “You don’t have to be fixed.”
“But I do. ” Jisung’s voice cracked on the words. His hands shook, knotted into the too-long sleeves of his hoodie. “You say that like this isn’t killing you too. Like it’s fine that I’m not the person you fell in love with anymore.”
or: jisung falls inward—slow, ache-limned, quiet—and minho, with both arms, learns to cradle what remains. they move forward, or backward, or somewhere in between.
Series
- Part 1 of lenkerverse