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Jisung couldn’t feel his fingers. They tingled against the biting wind, even as he stuffed them in the pockets of his coat. They curled around his phone stored there out of habit, though he knew there was no chance it would vibrate with a new notification now.
He’d been walking around the city for hours at that point, before finally finding solace in a secluded area of the park. The sun had set, and he knew that he was toeing the line of having one of his member’s call the police on him. Guilt clawed its way through his chest, but he couldn’t go back, not yet.
Jisung wasn’t a stranger to these moods; they usually hit him hard and fast and then they were gone. But he could feel this one festering for months. It pointed to a deeper issue, not just a fleeting consequence of a joke falling flat. It ate him up from the inside slowly, almost imperceptibly, until one day the dam broke. That day just happened to be today.
Today, Jisung woke up and couldn’t brush off the itch crawling under his skin. The dorm was quiet that morning – everybody off doing their own things – so nobody noticed him quietly slipping out of the apartment and into the chilled winter air. The first person to realise something was amiss was Chan, who texted Jisung asking if he was coming by the studio later. Another text sat unread from Minho, reminding him about their scheduled lunch that day. Instead of answering either of them, Jisung turned his phone off, not wanting them to track his location.
“God, what is fucking wrong with me?” he mumbled to himself as he hurriedly turned into the street, unwilling to bump into his roommates coming home from the gym as he was making his escape.
He let his feelings stew inside of him, dull and resigned. They weren’t flurried like usual, weren’t busting at the seams with energy to expel out of him. They settled. They grew heavy and dark and ate him up from the inside. The negative thoughts snuck up on him. With every intrusive push from a “fan” at the airport and every voice crack on stage, they floated to the forefront of his mind: You’re not cut out for this. No one likes you. Just give up.
And then he’d crawl into the company car and be pulled from schedule to schedule and at that point, he just didn’t have the time or energy to fight off the thoughts. He started to believe them. He began thinking about what his life would look like if he weren’t in Stray Kids. And then he stopped being able to picture the rest of his life at all. He wanted to leave – in what capacity, he didn’t know, he just needed to get away.
So, there he was – AWOL and sat on a park bench halfway across Seoul seriously considering ending it all there. Would it be worth it, though? He’d worked so hard to get to where he is now. He’d sacrificed his youth to become an idol, knowing full well what it all entailed… But maybe he’d be happier living off-grid, releasing anonymous songs under a pen name and every so often peeking at how his friends are doing.
And that was always where the fantasy ended. Because as much as he thought he deserved being selfish, he knew just how devastated his teammates would be if he left the group or…worse. They’d gone through it once before, and that was before they’d all fused themselves into one big happy family. It nearly broke them, and it would certainly take a toll now.
Sighing and staring at the pebbles at his feet as if they held the secrets to the universe, Jisung stood up, stretching his muscles. He couldn’t check his phone for the time, but it must be dangerously late if the deserted streets were any indication. Reluctantly, and still feeling like his mind was elsewhere, Jisung trekked back home, eyeing the rare lone worker or couple passing him by. It was strangely comforting to be bereft of his earphones for once and listen to the sounds of a sleeping city. It grounded him.
The apartment door clicked open, letting Jisung slip in soundlessly. He was expecting everyone to be split between their rooms, sleeping or burning the midnight oil, but he was absolutely not expecting to be immediately jumped by Chan.
“Where have you been?” the man’s voice boomed assertively, and Jisung was reminded of how scary Chan could be when angry.
“Out,” he mumbled, avoiding the stern gaze, and moved to hang his coat. He pushed past his leader, narrowly missing shoulder-checking him as he made his way past the living room. That was when he froze. Sitting in a loose circle were his friends, all staring at him with conflicting expressions.
“Your phone was off,” Chan commanded his attention again. He wasn’t a tall guy, but standing arms crossed over his chest, his muscles flexing in his black tank top, Jisung cowered under his presence.
“I just wanted time to myself, hyung,” he avoided Chan’s eyes, looking away from the rest of his team, too.
“Nuh-uh, not good enough,” a new voice spoke up from the living room.
Jisung squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see whatever expression Minho had on his face. His voice sounded angry, and he knew – one look at him would crack his façade and spill his feelings all over the floor. But Minho didn’t back down, of course he didn’t. Jisung felt him slowly creep forward as Chan backed away, like a cat stalking its prey.
“You bailed on our lunch, refused to answer your phone and disappeared for twelve hours! What the fuck were you thinking, Jisung?” Minho growled. His chest was heaving as he tried to reel in his anger, but it was obvious from his pinched eyebrows that he was failing.
Jisung felt something in his ribcage crack, because Minho never called him just ‘Jisung’. He called him ‘Jisungie’ or ‘Hannie’ or ‘jagi’ or any other number of pet names that toed the line between what was acceptable for friends. So, hearing that, hearing the devastation in Minho’s voice and the looks of disappointment and worry on his friends’ faces, Jisung broke.
The first tear slipped out, painting his beige hoodie dark. Nobody said anything as his sobs slowly grew in volume until he was shaking and clutching his sleeves as if that would help keep him together. A hand gently lay itself on his shoulder and he flinched away. He didn’t deserve their sympathy and comforting touch, but the second he made eye contact with Minho, who was biting his lip nervously and hovering his hand over his arm, all the energy he had to not fall apart left. He crumbled into Minho’s arms, burying his face into his shirt and heaving wet sobs. Minho held him tight, squeezing the way he knew made Jisung feel safe. His hand wove its way into his hair and began petting it soothingly.
“Shh, Hannie, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby,” Minho whispered into his temple.
They stood there for a few minutes until Jisung suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that everyone was watching them. Reluctantly, he pulled away and ran his hands over his face to wipe away the drying tears.
“Let’s go talk,” Chan set a firm hand on his back, steering him towards the couch.
What followed were hundreds of dollars-worth of therapy hours delving into why he left, what he wanted his future to be and yelling at him for thinking even for a second that nobody would care if he was gone. By the end of it, it was the middle of the night and most of them had shed at least three tears. After a handful of tight hugs, Seungmin, Felix and Jeongin split off to their dorm, leaving only Minho lingering behind.
“I’ll stay here tonight,” he offered as an explanation, grabbing Jisung’s hand and leading them to his room. For once, no one teased them for it as Minho softly clicked the door shut.
They undressed wordlessly, climbing into bed together with practiced ease. As Jisung fit himself into Minho’s side like a puzzle piece, his eyes began watering again over the thought that he almost lost this. He almost lost Minho. Sure, they’d probably keep in touch if Jisung left, but realistically, how often would they even get to see each other with their busy schedules?
Jisung sniffled, burrowing deeper into his friend’s shoulder and winding his arm tighter around himself.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into the warm skin. It wasn’t the first apology of the night, but it was the first directed fully at Minho. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
It was quiet for a moment before Minho sighed, shifting them to lay on their sides and face each other.
“Jisungie,” he cradled the side of Jisung’s face like he was afraid of breaking him, “you scared me so much today.” His lips pouted into a frown as he caressed his cheek in rhythmic circles.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung whispered again, a single tear slipping out and dripping down his nose. Minho caught it easily, bringing their faces close together.
“I need you, Han Jisung. Don’t leave me again.”
Jisung closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Minho’s breath mingling with his, of the smell of his pine body wash caressing his skin and of the fingers now possessively holding the back of his neck, and his answer came easy, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Minho repeated before leaning in and kissing him.
They stayed like that, softly bringing their lips together, neither pushing to deepen it. When they pulled away, Jisung shivered at the loss.
“But seriously, never do that again,” Minho chastised and flicked his forehead. Jisung let out a weak yelp and rubbed the afflicted spot with a whine, staring into his friend’s gleaming eyes with betrayal. “Can’t have my boyfriend wandering the streets alone. What if someone snatched you up?”
Jisung rolled his eyes, feeling closer to his usual self that he had in weeks.
“You’re the only person who wants to snatch me up, hyung.”
“Good thing this,” Minho grabbed a handful of Jisung’s ass with a smirk, “is all mine.”
Scoffing, Jisung pushed his chest away and complained about getting too riled up to sleep. He was just about to turn off the bedside lamp and curl into Minho again when he paused.
“Wait, boyfriend?”
Minho also stilled, hand that was draped around his waist now nervously fiddling with his bunched-up shirt.
“If you want,” he tried to go for nonchalant, but Jisung could see the slight quiver in his lips. “I’ve basically taken ownership of you already. Wouldn’t be that big of a difference.”
“What is the difference?” Jisung playfully nudged his chin up, leaning into their familiar dynamic.
“The difference is I get to do this,” Minho leant down to capture his growing smile, “and this,” he trailed pecks down his neck, “and this,” finally, he stopped at the junction of his neck and shoulder and nibbled on the skin there, pressing his torso fully into Jisung.
A startled whine escaped Jisung’s lips as Minho continued licking and lightly biting his skin.
“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me, stop,” he chuckled weakly and successfully pushed Minho’s face away from his neck, who looked like the cat that got the cream, all too satisfied.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend. Now can we please go to sleep? It’s been an emotionally draining day.”
Minho’s smile softened as he placed one last kiss on Jisung’s lips and turned off the light.
“Sure, baby.”
He wrapped himself around Jisung’s back, entrapping his hand where it lay by his chest and squeezing once. Jisung sighed into his hold, systematically letting his muscles untense one by one. And he knew, he wasn’t cured, not even close. But maybe, with the help of Minho and their friends, he could try.