Minsung Oneshots

3:09 am

3:09 am.

The night still seemed young, the inky blackness in the sky characterized by the biting cold winter. Inside the studio however, the fluorescent lights overhead flickered, computer lights blazed, and a hunched boy sat silhouetted against them, head in his palms, his body heaving.

Han Jisung, was still awake.

The computer in front of him was open to a half written document, a coffee cup rolled dismally near his feet, a notebook and pen lay abandoned next to him, crossed out verses, frustrated scribbles and the minuscle word or two here and there just barely visible. The headphones were still around the boy's neck.

"Goddammit" A raspy, spent voice flickered in the air as Jisung strained to breathe, his knuckles white against the dark hardwood, eyes screwed shut.

He yawned for the umpteenth time. Not because he was tired, but because he couldn't breathe. He has been yawning for hours now, each deep breath of shortlived relief quickly following by that suffocating breathlessness.

Just focus, he told himself. You're not dying.

Which was pretty much the only way he had managed to pull through for so many hours— writing, rewriting, editing, singing, practicing, practicing, practicing.

Jisung tapped his pen loudly against the desk, a nervous habit, a distraction and a means to drown out the silence, all in one.

Focus, he thought again. Forget about it.

Jisung looked up at his document again, rereading the lyrics for the tenth time.

He gasped for breath again. And this time, it didn't feel like the oxygen was making it past his throat.

Jisung reached up and yanked the headphones off his neck. The silence that followed wasn't soothing— it was ringing. The computer light suddenly felt too harsh, the room to small. 

He stood up— and promptly stumbled. His ears rang, the tightness of his chest feeling almost familiar after all this while. The coffee cup rolled away as Jisung grabbed onto the edge of the table to steady himself. He cursed softly.

What was wrong with him? His body couldn't just shut down like this. That meant he was weak. And he couldn't be weak. He had to work harder, dance better, rap better, compose better. Only then would he be able to earn his rest. Not now.

Jisung sat back down, pulling at the collar of his shirt harshly as if that was the obstruction to his breathing. He pushed the hair away from his face, rubbed a hand across his tired eyes— and turned towards the computer once again.

"What the hell are you doing, Jisung?"

Fuck. Jisung jumped, startled at the sound of another human at this unholy hour. He glanced quickly at the clock on his screen.

3:20 am.

Even Chan was probably asleep by now. Then who—

Rapid footsteps clicked against the cold wood floor and a shadow csst itself over Jisung's desk. The boy looked up.

Of fucking course it had to be him out of all people who had caught Jisung.

"Hi hyung" Jisung rasped out. Minho looked down at him, concern and a tinge of anger evident in his face.

"What are you doing here Jisung?" Minho repeated, and Jisung gulped. Then he sat up a little straighter, hyper aware of his breaths coming even shorter now.

"Nothing—"
"Get up."
"Why?"

Minho raiser an eyebrow. Jisung got up.

The older promptly shut his computer, closing the doc. He picked up the coffee cup, shut the notebook, capped the pen and unplugged the headphones.