When Minho Was There • Minsung

𝟏𝟑

Minho and the man he was with continued a free-flowing conversation, neither of them noticing Jisung's looming presence.

Who is he?

Why is Minho acting so friendly with him?

Jisung thought he was Minho's only friend, and as controlling as it sounded, he didn't want Minho to have other friends. Jisung thought he was enough for him, but maybe he'd misjudged Minho.

He wasn't sure why he was getting so riled up; he could feel the tips of his fingernails digging into the soft palm of his hand. After all, Jisung didn't own Minho, but he couldn't help the feeling of betrayal that was coating his heart.

Minho looked like he was enjoying himself, with a large grin on his face. Jisung seethed. Minho only smiled genuinely at him, so why was this stranger able to make the blonde look so, so happy?

His frown sank impossibly low, even lower than before.

Jisung watched with his teeth clenched tightly as the tall man bent forward to place a kiss on Minho's bruised knuckles.

He kissed him.

Technically, it wasn't a true kiss, but the specific details didn't matter to Jisung; to him, it was all the same. How could Minho allow something like this to happen? The anger bubbling inside Jisung's chest was replaced with a new feeling: desperation.

Why wasn't he the one standing next to Minho, dancing with him? He should be the one cradled in Minho's large arms. He should be the one holding his hand and staring at him with fond eyes. It needed to be him. Why wasn't it him?

He slowly leaned forward, trying his best to lip-read. It was an invasion of privacy, and if he got caught, things could get quite messy, but he didn't care. He just wanted to know the full extent of what was going on, but his hope was rapidly fading away the more he watched the two men dance.

Jisung tended to jump to conclusions, and he knew that, which is why he stuck around as long as he could. Something in his gut told him to wait it out, but he wasn't sure if he could trust his own instincts. They hadn't led him very far in the past, and he wasn't ready to be let down again.

Why is he so hard to read?

Jisung bit down on his lower lip. Minho was sending him mixed signals, and now he didn't know what to do or how to handle the situation. His thoughts were interrupted, though, when he felt a firm hand pat his shoulder. Jisung flinched, whipping his head around to face whoever just caught him.

"Young man."

Oh.

Isn't that...Minho's dad?

Sure enough, Jisung was right. Minho's dad was the one who caught him spying on his son. He racked his brain, trying to come up with whatever excuse he could muster up, but it was no use; all that came out was a jumble of noises he'd rather not make again.

But to his surprise, Minho's father didn't question him; instead, he reached down to take Jisung's hand, which was curled in a fist at his side. He hadn't even noticed he was so tense. The man slipped a wine glass into his palms, and Jisung's fingers immediately wrapped around the spine of the glass.

He stared down at his reflection; the burgundy liquid rippled in his shaky grip. Now he understood why Minho wasn't interested in him.