Chapter Text
One of the songs from Minho’s new album was playing absolutely everywhere. It was impossible to open any social media app without hearing a snippet of it, and everyone seemed to have woken up that day already knowing that Minho’s ex-boyfriend had been a jerk to him. That was especially clear in the parts where he practically narrated some of the messages he’d received before the breakup, which made everything even more awkward… and much more talked about.
That was new coming from him. Minho had never been the kind of person to get involved in little public jabs or emotional games, much less in music. But this time, it was different, and everyone was noticing.
Another track that was circulating a lot among fans had a completely different tone. It was slower, less upbeat, and talked about how, on the outside, he said he was fine with everything, when in reality he had lied to himself several times just to keep believing that nothing had changed.
That had become a topic on entertainment shows, in interviews, and even in random comments on Minho’s social media, even when he posted completely normal things, like photos of breakfast or the studio. Any caption became an excuse for someone to comment “stay strong” or “he didn’t deserve you,” which only made everything even stranger, considering he hadn’t officially said anything about it.
Minho, in turn, pretended to be calm with the skill of someone who was definitely being emotionally tested by the algorithm itself. He told everyone the songs were just part of an artistic project, that there was nothing personal in them — which was technically true, if you completely ignored the extremely specific lyrics, the dates disguised in the verses, and the fact that everyone knew exactly who he was talking about.
The worst part was that he hadn’t planned it. None of those songs had been written with the intention of exposing anything, much less anyone. They had just… happened. They’d surfaced on random nights, between recording sessions, scattered thoughts, and that uncomfortable feeling that some stories don’t end exactly when we think they do.
Meanwhile, Jisung was finding out about everything through the internet, like any ordinary citizen being casually attacked by an entire discography.
He hadn’t woken up expecting to become the public villain of a whole album, much less an album that, ironically, he’d liked. Liked way too much, actually, which made everything even more offensive to his pride. But it didn’t help that the lyrics sounded… familiar. Not in a literal sense — he wasn’t going to admit that even under threat — but in the sense of recognizing feelings he himself had pretended not to feel anymore.
Which was unfair.
Very unfair.
He just wanted to exist peacefully without thousands of people analyzing every emotional mistake he’d made two years ago.
And yet, there he was, sitting on his own bed, phone in hand, reading comments like:
Minho really deserved better.
I hope his ex is embarrassed right now.
This album is therapy.
Jisung sighed and tossed the phone aside.
— This got completely out of control — he muttered to no one.
The worst part was that he didn’t know if he was more bothered by being indirectly exposed… or by realizing that Minho was still clearly talking about him.
Jisung’s bedroom door opened without warning, like it almost always did when Felix and Hyunjin decided that something important — or potentially embarrassing — needed to be discussed immediately. Felix walked in first, phone already in hand, expression caught somewhere between shock, curiosity, and poorly disguised amusement. Hyunjin came right after, leaning against the doorframe with that far-too-calm posture of someone who clearly had many opinions and was just choosing where to start.
— So — Felix said, breaking the heavy silence that already existed in the room —, do you want to explain why Minho decided to release an entire album emotionally exposing you?
— Or would you rather pretend there isn’t a song called Message at 2:30 floating around the internet? — Hyunjin added, tilting his head.
Jisung groaned and flopped onto his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it had better answers than his friends.
— You’re terrible friends.
— We’re great friends — Felix corrected. — Friends who bring real-time updates.
Jisung grabbed his pillow and covered half his face, as if that could protect him from both the world and the situation itself. The truth was that he was still trying to process everything: the album, the lyrics, the comments, the fact that Minho had managed to turn memories that were supposed to be buried into the collective soundtrack of the entire internet. It wasn’t exactly painful — at least not in that dramatic way — but it was… strange. Like tripping over something from your past in the middle of the street, only amplified by millions of streams.
— I saw them — Jisung said, his voice muffled by the pillow.
Felix and Hyunjin froze.
— You saw them? — Hyunjin asked.
Jisung turned his head, now looking at them.
— All of them.
Felix’s eyes widened.
— All of them??
— All of them — he confirmed. — Unfortunately.
Hyunjin crossed his arms.
— And?
— And what?
— And how are you feeling? — Felix asked. — Exposed? Attacked? Emotionally processed by pop music?
— A little of everything — Jisung admitted. — Mostly confused.
Because that was it: confusion. He didn’t feel exactly attacked, but he also couldn’t pretend none of it affected him. The lyrics weren’t cruel or vengeful — which, honestly, might have been even worse. They sounded more like someone trying to understand their own past than someone trying to point fingers. And that made it impossible to simply ignore.
— Confused like this is embarrassing or confused like why does this still affect me? — Hyunjin teased.
Jisung grimaced.
— I didn’t like that question.
— But that’s the one, right? — Hyunjin pressed.
Jisung sighed.
— Maybe.
Felix sat on the edge of the bed.
— He basically called you a jerk in hit-song form.
— He didn’t call me a jerk — Jisung shot back automatically.
— He sang about questionable breakup messages — Hyunjin commented. — That’s worse.
— I was emotionally unstable — Jisung defended himself.
— Everyone was — Felix replied. — But not everyone became an album.
That was true. And it was exactly what made everything so surreal. Two years later, when he thought that story was completely buried, Minho showed up with catchy choruses, verses that were way too sincere, and an entire internet ready to judge someone who didn’t even know he was being judged.
— Are you going to talk to him? — Hyunjin asked, far too casually for someone asking a potentially devastating question.
— No — Jisung answered way too fast.
— Do you want to talk to him? — Felix pressed.
— Also no.
They exchanged that silent look of he’s lying.
— You’re going to talk to him — they said together.
— I’m not.
Felix then pointed at the phone in his hand.
— Then why do you have his chat open?
Jisung looked at his screen.
Closed it immediately.
— Coincidence.
— Extremely specific coincidence — Hyunjin commented.
Felix smiled, way too satisfied.
— This is going to be trouble.
— This already is trouble — Jisung shot back.
— No — Hyunjin corrected. — This is going to be a public reunion, awkward vibes, a conversation that starts uncomfortable and ends with unresolved feelings.
— You watch too many romantic comedies — Jisung muttered.
But even as he said it, something inside him already had that uncomfortable certainty that, somehow, at some point, he was going to run into Minho again.
And it probably wasn’t going to be subtle.