MY OWN STORY. minsung

ten

The pair of boys sat silently in a particularly unvisited section of the library at their school. It was filled with the dystopian genre, each ridge in the books filled with grime, and the last dates stamped inside ought to have been years and years ago.

All Minho did was watch — he observed the creases forming on the other's face, by his eye, and the sun peeking through the equally dusty windows. When Jisung didn't make a sound, seemingly used to his antics, Minho spoke.

"Jisung, don't you think this world is boring?"

Then he finally turned to meet Minho's eyes. He raised a brow: the movement in expression flew by in slow motion. Minho knew he could stare for long — not because Jisung didn't care, but because he didn't know how to react.

"Uh, I don't know." His response had merely been a gulp followed up with stammering.

The tips of Minho's lips curled up ever so slightly. "Are you tired of doing the same thing everyday?"

Well no, ever since you've come into my life, it's been so different and new — "Maybe. I'm just not sure, Minho."

"Let me put it another way," Minho sighed, eyes still fixated on the other's inquisitively natured resting face, "if you had the chance to do something interesting, would you take it?"

This was one question Jisung knew the answer to, final and definite. He knew to place a firm 'yes' at the tip of his tongue, but his casualty took the stiff word, cut it in half to make it more open-ended. "Yeah."

Minho seemed satisfied with the answer. His lips curled upwards even further. "I have an interesting idea for us." He said this through his grin.

Instead of a verbal response, Jisung cocked his head to the side.

It was fine. Minho was used to pitching ideas. His were the best, because after all, they came from the brain of a prodigy.

"My idea is to leave."

"The library?"

He shook his head.

"Uh... the school?"

He shook his head again.

"The world, Jisung."

"What about the world — what do you — you mean — you want to — leave — our world..?"

"You know what I mean. Put it simply so you can understand," Minho scoffed. He knew the boy needed to hear it in its simplest form, like a maths equation being skinned to the bone, to the point of being unable to chip a single piece off anymore.

Jisung gulped. "You... want to kill yourself... and you want me to kill myself..."

Finally, a satisfied grin fell upon Minho's lips. "That's right."

It wasn't the grin Minho usually pulled when he was merely amused: he really did become satisfied with Jisung just this one time. It was almost as if a messenger on earth finally got the message from him: the God above them all.

"Why?" Jisung asked, and with the question leaving his mouth, Minho's satisfaction ceased.

The prodigy rolled his eyes. "Didn't I just tell you why?"

Jisung shook his head. His hair swooshed along.

"It's so we can make things interesting."

—

"Do you understand what you have to do?"

Jisung nodded.

It was the usual scene at the library, and no longer was anybody comforted by the tragic stories circling the duo. Were they friends? What were they?

An ordinary boy and a prodigy who kept bumping into each other. That's all that Jisung could think of in terms of a headline, or the opening to a sick book, or as the first line of a stupid anime. All they did was bump into each other.

Then his mind wandered farther into back when he had nothing to do with this genius standing before him. He asked if we were bored. This was their destiny.

"Run me through it, then. Let's see how much you remember."

It was like revising for an assessment. Minho was testing Jisung on his memory and fed him information he had to endlessly throw up onto the concrete, letting it run through the cracks.

"I have to put... that... over my head..."

"Go on."

"And then wait... until you do the same..."

"And?"

"..."

"Continue, Jisung."

"And then you take my hand..?"

"Don't sound so unsure of yourself."

"Sorry, Minho."

"Don't just stand there. What's the next step? Be useful and tell me."

"It's — it's to kick the chair away, and — and — and then — we die, and — we're dead,"

"Well done, Jisung."

Their voices muffled behind the door of the intervention room located in the school's library. Just as they had planned so meticulously, their story becoming more interesting with each second passing, Jisung's heart beating much more than it was supposed to — they stood atop their respective chairs, and Minho watched Jisung slowly drag his noose atop his head to wrap nicely around his neck before doing the same for his own.

Then they took each other's hands. They interlocked and it felt like their destiny.

This was how it was always supposed to be: for their own story.

—