Chapter Text
Minho had been having a bad feeling since the moment he woke up.
Not a strong enough feeling to stop him from going through his day, but something persistent nonetheless. Like an itch beneath his skin. A heaviness sitting quietly at the bottom of his stomach.
He couldn’t explain it.
Nothing particularly bad had happened.
The schedule for the day was relatively simple. He had an early appointment at the dermatologist before heading to the company for a meeting with Chan and a few management staff regarding upcoming schedules and promotions.
Normal.
Routine.
Still, the unease lingered.
Minho moved quietly around the apartment while getting ready.
Jisung was still asleep when Minho stepped out of the bathroom dressed and ready to leave. Half buried beneath the blankets, hair covering his eyes, one arm dangling off the side of the bed.
Minho paused by the doorway for a moment.
Usually he would’ve woken him up just to annoy him.
But Jisung had mentioned the night before that he didn’t have any schedules today. Just meeting a couple friends later in the afternoon.
So Minho let him sleep.
The apartment was quiet except for Jisung’s soft breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside.
For a brief moment, looking at him there, Minho felt stupidly fond.
Domestic.
Comfortable.
Dangerous.
He walked over anyway, tugging the blanket higher over Jisung’s shoulder automatically.
Jisung stirred slightly at the movement, nose scrunching.
“Mm?”
“Go back to sleep,” Minho murmured.
Jisung made a sleepy noise in response and curled deeper into the blanket.
Cute.
Annoyingly cute.
Minho rolled his eyes at himself and grabbed his bag.
“I’m leaving,” he said quietly while exiting the bedroom.
“Buy me something tasty later,” Jisung mumbled into the pillow.
“You have food here.”
“I want outside food.”
“Brat.”
Jisung only hummed sleepily.
Minho left the apartment with that image still lingering in his head.
The dermatologist appointment dragged longer than expected. His skin condition was generally fine, but the season was changing so he needed new serum, moisturizer, and scrub. Minho honestly lost track of when the dermatologist told him the order of using the products.
By the time the session finished, it was already close to noon.
He grabbed lunch alone nearby afterward, kimbab for something quick and filling. He was scrolling through his social media while eating, absentmindedly seeing he had 17% left of his battery.
Chan had already texted twice asking where he was.
Minho sighed and reached for his bag to grab his charger.
Nothing.
He checked again.
Then the other pocket.
Still nothing.
He couldn't find his powerbank either.
“Shit.”
Normally he would’ve ignored it and borrowed someone else’s later, but considering how this kind of meetings with the company would usually take hours, followed by an improptu dinner and drinks, he would rather grab his own. He hated having to borrow someone else's property for a long period of time.
With another sigh, Minho texted Chan quickly.
forgot my charger at home. gonna be late
Almost instantly, Chan started typing.
Minho didn’t bother waiting to read the reply.
He already knew what Chan was probably going to say.
Just borrow someone else’s.
Use mine.
Get your ass here now.
But Minho was already standing and gathering his things. The apartment wasn’t far anyway.
It would be quick.
In ten minutes he'd already arrived at the building. He would quickly make his way upstairs, grab the charger, maybe check what Jisung was doing, then head straight back out. He would face Chan's wrath later with a straight face like usual.
The bad feeling returned the second he stepped into the building elevator.
Stronger this time.
Minho frowned at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator. The surface was warped, making his face look twisted and pale. Like a ghost.
He and Jisung liked to make funny faces and took photos of themselves in here.
Without a warning, his stomach twisted something ugly.
“You’re being weird,” he muttered to himself. It's maybe just the kimbab he ate earlier.
The elevator dinged.
He stepped out. Walked the usual path to his apartment.
Quiet hallway.
Familiar door. The deep thud it made against the frame when it closed.
Nothing unusual.
Then Minho noticed the shoes by the entrance.
His steps slowed immediately.
They weren’t his.
And they definitely weren’t Jisung’s.
A pair of women’s sneakers sat neatly beside the shoe rack.
For one strange second, Minho’s brain refused to process it.
And then he thought, maybe Felix was here.
Maybe one of the staff from the company was visiting.
Maybe—
Laughter echoed faintly from inside the apartment.
A giggle, to be exact. A girl’s voice.
Minho’s stomach dropped.
The bad feeling inside him suddenly became something horrifyingly tangible. Like a tentacle that sprouted from deep within and wrapped around him tighter and tighter by the second.
Slowly, mechanically, he stepped inside.
Shoes still on.
Heart beating in his throat.
The living room came into view.
And Minho’s entire world tilted violently sideways.
There, on the couch—
Their couch—
Jisung was kissing a girl.
No.
Not kissing.
Full on making out.
The girl straddled his lap, sweater slipping off one shoulder while Jisung’s hands rested against her waist. Their mouths moved desperately together, completely absorbed in each other.
Like they belonged there.
Like this was normal.
For a moment Minho genuinely forgot how to breathe.
His chest hollowed out so suddenly it physically hurt.
Something escaped him then.
A sound.
Small.
Broken.
But loud enough.
Jisung froze instantly.
The girl jerked back in surprise.
And then Jisung looked up. Saw Minho standing there.
Every bit of color drained from his face immediately.
“Hyung—”
Minho stared at him.
At his swollen lips.
At the girl still halfway in his lap.
At the hands that Minho stupidly thought belonged to him in some unspoken way.
And before he could stop himself, the words came out quietly.
“I’ve only been out of the house for a few hours.”
Jisung flinched like he’d been slapped.
“No, hyung, wait—”
The girl scrambled awkwardly off the couch while Jisung stood so fast he nearly stumbled.
“This isn’t—”
Minho laughed softly.
Not because anything was funny.
It just hurt too much.
“How long were you waiting?” he asked hollowly. “Did you invite her over the second I left?”
“Hyung, please listen to me—”
Minho couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
Everything around him felt muffled and distant, like his brain had abruptly stopped functioning properly. Or had been replaced with a handful of cotton stuffed into his head.
Jisung was already moving toward him now, panic written all over his face.
“Minho-hyung, I can explain—”
Minho turned before he could reach him.
His movements became automatic after that.
Bedroom.
Bag.
Charger.
He almost grabbed the wrong cable because his hands were shaking so badly.
Behind him, Jisung kept talking.
Stuttering.
Apologizing.
Trying to explain something.
Minho didn't hear a single word. Couldn't.
The sound of his heart thundering in his ears drowned out everything else.
He needed to get the hell out of here. Quick.
Jisung was standing by the bedroom doorway. Minho pushed past him, ignoring the gasp Jisung let out.
“Hyung, please—”
The girl was still standing in the middle of the living room.
Out of place. Awkward. Fixing her sweater like it mattered.
Brown hair a mess.
Minho walked straight out of the apartment, carrying only the clothes on his back and his bag containing nothing else but his wallet, phone and the god damned charger.
Jisung's voice followed him.
He kept walking. Down the hallway, into the elevator.
Out of the building.
Down the street.
His thoughts scattered so violently he couldn’t even figure out where he was going until he found himself standing outside Hyunjin and Changbin’s apartment door.
He pressed the doorbell button violently, once, twice, thrice.
Hyunjin opened the door, supporting an annoyed expression. One look at Minho’s face and his face dropped.
“What happened?”
Minho didn’t answer at first.
Changbin appeared behind Hyunjin holding a protein shake, equally confused.
“Hyung?”
Hyunjin guided him inside, into their living room. The layout was somewhat the same with his own but different colors. Different rug, different couch. Some of Hyunjin's paintings were hanging or leaned up against the wall.
There, Minho finally spoke.
"I saw Jisung. With a girl."
The explanation came out disjointed. Messy. Jumpy.
Some words had to be pushed out of Minho's throat like a roll of barbed wire forcing itself through soft tissue.
Leaving deep marks as they went.
“What the fuck?” Hyunjin snapped when Minho finished. “Seriously?”
Changbin looked stunned into silence.
Meanwhile Minho just stood there feeling strangely numb.
Because honestly?
He wasn’t even angry.
Not really.
Not at Jisung.
The overwhelming feeling swallowing him whole was disappointment.
In himself.
How stupid could he be?
He had spent years mistaking skinship and affection and lingering touches for something deeper.
All the flirting.
The cuddling.
The kisses pressed absentmindedly against his cheek or neck or hair.
Minho had believed it meant something.
But apparently it didn’t.
Not to Jisung.
He had built entire fantasies out of things Jisung might have considered casual affection between best friends.
The realization made humiliation burn hotly beneath his skin.
“Hyung,” Hyunjin said carefully now, anger softening into concern. “You okay?”
Minho laughed quietly.
“No,” he admitted.
And then, right there in the middle of Hyunjin and Changbin’s living room, Minho’s legs gave out beneath him.
He dropped to his knees hard against the floor.
For a second nobody moved.
Not Hyunjin.
Not Changbin.
Minho himself barely understood what was happening.
It felt like every emotion he’d been forcibly holding back since leaving the apartment had finally erupted all at once inside his chest.
Shock.
Humiliation.
Grief.
Jealousy.
Heartbreak.
They crashed through him violently enough to make breathing difficult.
What was he supposed to do now?
He couldn’t go back there.
Absolutely not.
He’d sooner gouge his own eyes out than look at that fucking couch again. Or that living room.
Minho pressed trembling hands against his face.
He thought about his stuff. What about his stuff?
His clothes.
His toiletries.
The furniture they picked out together.
Where was he even supposed to live now?
And worse—
What happened now?
Not just between him and Jisung.
But the group.
Because whether they liked it or not, this would affect everyone.
Dorm arrangements.
Schedules.
Practices.
Performances.
How were they supposed to stand onstage pretending nothing had changed when Minho felt like someone had pushed him into a meat grinder and now he'd come out of the other end feeling like an entirely different person?
A broken person.
His charger.
He almost laughed.
He came back for something as stupid as a phone charger and instead watched his entire life implode.
Hyunjin crouched beside him immediately.
“Hyung,” he said softly, panic hidden badly beneath anger. “Hey. Breathe.”
Minho couldn’t.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to.
Changbin appeared on his other side looking equally alarmed.
“Sit him down properly,” he muttered to Hyunjin.
“I’m trying!”
Strong arms wrapped around Minho from one side.
Another hand rubbed awkwardly between his shoulders from the other.
Hyunjin was hugging him tightly enough like he was afraid Minho might physically fall apart.
Changbin kept trying to say something comforting, though the words came out clumsy and unfinished.
But Minho barely heard either of them.
Because all he could think was how everything was ruined.
Not damaged.
Not complicated.
Ruined. Irreversibly.
The life he’d quietly built around Jisung for years had shattered in under five minutes.
And Minho had absolutely no idea how to survive the aftermath.
- TBC -