When Minho Was There • Minsung

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cw// body shaming, suicidal thoughts

Jeongin was on his way home from cram school. He was lucky that his friend's mothers had also forced them to sign up, so he could enjoy himself a little while studying.

By the time they'd been let out, the sun had already started to set. He was used to it. Jeongin hardly had time to himself, busy with his volunteer work, studying, and whatnot.

"Bye!" Jeongin waved to his friends as they went their separate ways. Jeongin lived in the wealthy part of town, and, well, they didn't.

"See you tomorrow." They responded before turning the corner and disappearing from his sight.

Jeongin went along the same route almost every day; he was used to things being the same and hated change. So imagine his surprise when he sees the silhouette of Jisung on his tiny hill, sketching the marsh mansion while singing along to Miserable, a song that's recently begun trending.

Well, he stopped dead in his tracks. Eyeing Jisung's hunched figure.

How peculiar.

✧

Jisung struggled to breathe. He felt like his lips were made of stone. The fog was back; he couldn't see, couldn't move, and could only watch.

Instead of being in the water, this time he was on one of the small isles scattered throughout the marsh. Then suddenly, he could move. He immediately sat up from where he was lying.

"The tide is out." Unless he wanted to go scuba diving in the murky waters of the marsh, he was stuck.

Through the clearing, he could see something—a light. Then it was the same scene he'd seen the other night.

The man was sitting in a chair in front of the mirror, watching Jisung. Behind him is the old woman, combing her fingers through his hair. Jisung wanted to do that. He wanted to be the one to run his fingers through that hair; he wanted to be the one to feel the man's tanned skin under, or even better, on top of-

Jisung was pulled out of his delirium when the man moved. He actually moved. He stood up from his seat, and what's worse is that he turned; he turned and looked directly at Jisung.

✧

Jisung woke up feverishly panting. Sweat lined his temples and slid down his face. His pajama shirt had slid off one shoulder, and his shorts had ridden up his thighs.

"Again."

Again, he'd dreamt of that ridiculously hot man. It was unfair. Jisung wanted to see him physically in front of him, not in some stupid dream.

He looked around; he was in his bedroom. He remembered that once he'd gotten home, he said he'd take a quick nap before getting ready for the festival.

At the edge of his mattress lay a yukata, the same blue and white one that had belonged to Setsu and Kiyomasa's son. Jisung groaned, swinging his legs off the bed and snatching up the Yukata.

"I hate festivals."

✧

The streets were packed. There wasn't a single empty sidewalk; the roads had even been closed off. Jisung underestimated how important the festival was to the people in the town. Jisung watched as young children went from door to door, collecting candy like it was Halloween. He could use a snickers bar right about now.