Window to freedom °•Minsung•°

23)

The next day, Minho woke up sore and freezing.

"The fuck..." he grumbled under his breath, bliking slowly to adjust his eyes to the light hitting him from the window.

The open window.

"Well that explains why I'm freezing"

He got up and almost fell back down on the sofa.

"And that explains why I'm so sore."

He yawned, closing the window then noticed a cigarette stub on the sill.

Then it hit him.

"Jisung?"

Silence.

He felt flush creep up his skin as an aching jolt passed through his morning hard-on.

Memories from the previous afternoon crowded his thoughts, each one filthier than the other and he sighed.

"Jisung??" he called, more urgent this time.

When silence answered once again, Minho decided to go look for him, starting from the kitchen.

There, sat on the table he found a small note.

"I'm sorry" it read.

"He left..." Minho realised.

Disappointment washed over him but he tried to shake it off his shoulders.

It was Christmas' eve after all.

...

"FUCK IT'S CHRISTMAS' EVE. I'M SUPPOSED TO GO PICK UP YOONA AND CHANGBIN AT THE STATION"

Panicked, Minho zoomed through a cold shower and got dressed with the first clothes he found. His neck was a disaster. Cursing himself, he speedran the steps: color corrector, concealer...

In the end, they hadn't even prepared the bed and moved the things they were supposed to move.
Minho groaned: Yoona was going to scold him all day.

As he ran towards the door, finally ready, he noticed a red lump on the floor.

"Huh?"

It was Jisung's tartan scarf.

Following a burning instinct, he pressed the fabric on his face. inhaling that sweet citrusy smell.

Then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

As he boarded the bus to the station, he typed a message to Jisung, informing him of the result of his forgetfulness.

Once that was done, he slipped his phone in his pocket and overlooked the crowded space around him.

He felt awful. In every possible way.

Every single feeling he had let himself forget for an afternoon was coming back. In the forefront was guilt.

"These days it seems 2/3 of my feelings are guilt"

he thought glumly.

He, Lee Minho was a cheater.
A cheater and a liar.

And on top of it, he apparently was the kind of cheater and liar who picked up his fiancee mere hours after having fucked someone else.

His heart was crushed and breathing was getting hard.

"How am I supposed to face her now?"

he thought as he clutched his aching chest:

"How am I supposed to marry her after this!?"

He had failed. The gods had given him a test and all he had proven was that he was a weak, disgusting person who knew no self control.

"Maybe I shouldn't go. Maybe I should take a walk on the railroad... hope for a train to..."

"Sir?" a random woman asked then:
"You are having a panic attack. Please follow my instructions"

The lady helped him sit down, pressing something cold on his wrist and asked him to name things he could see, touch, hear.

Slowly but surely, Minho's breathing calmed down along with the ache in his heart, that dropped from stabs of piercing pain to a general tightness.

"Thank you" Minho mumbled to the woman as everyone on the bus stared at him.

"I'm a therapist" she said simply:
"It's my job"

When Minho exited the bus in front of the station he took in a big breath.

"I don't know how but I have to do this"

he told himself.

Then he walked in, shoulders hunched and black circles under his eyes, looking like a prisoner marching to the gallows.

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