Hate me. (Minsung)

//72//

jisung pulled the blanket back up their bodies.

he laid his head down on the pillow, impossibly curled in on himself despite being the one to decide to lay next to minho.

his hands were close to his chest in little fists as he laid on his side, facing minho with his back against the wall.

it was cold. the wall touched the back of his leg, making him shiver momentarily before being able to feel the body heat radiating off the person next to him.

his mother would lay with him, minho mentioned. she would lay down with him when he was sick and rub his headaches away.

minho was laying on his back, hair a mess and the ends slightly sticking to his cheeks still wet with tears.

jisung reached to his face and wiped it free of the salty water again.

he heard another deep sniffle come from minho, and felt the bed dip when he turned onto his side, his eyes still closed.

facing each other now, jisung stared at minho's face.

despite half of it getting covered by the blanket as minho attempted to get comfortable again- jisung still looked at it.

he was stiffly stuck against the wall; not being confident enough to get into minho's space in case he really was overstepping and in case the older would suddenly snap at him.

but that worry disappeared when minho suddenly freed one of his hands from underneath the blanket and blindly felt around for something.

his hand was warm when it found jisung's.

the blonde tensed, eyes widening from feeling the touch and wondering what minho was doing when he felt his hand was being brought up.

jisung found himself unable to mutter a single word when minho placed his hand on the top of his head- wordlessly telling jisung to pet him.

and before even allowing himself to think, jisung found himself doing that.

he silently began running his hand through minho's hair, watching the way his body immediately relaxed.

oh he was so, so sick.

he was ill. and maybe it was making jisung ill too.

his hand motions were slow and gentle, barely even there as he moved the strands of dark hair between his fingers.

his hair really was.. so dark. so soft.

this moment felt too tender for it to even possibly exist within the two of them. this felt so wrong and strange.

so foreign.

but minho hadn't even opened an eye yet. his body was still hot with fever, his skin pale and dark with eye bags.

his breathing was still struggled a little. his stuffy nose did relent slightly though, which made it easier to breathe compared to when he was actively crying.

no matter what minho could ever say, nothing could ever deny the way his body longed for warmth and affection.

no matter what he would say when he was no longer sick.

no matter what he tells people. no matter how many times he claims "he doesn't care for shit like that" or how much he hates hugs.

he was a human.

a human who lacked any sorts of affection from any other living being. a person who was stripped of the one stable human in their life.

he was just another human.