♡ Jisung had a bad habit of driving people away. Minho was committed to being his friend. ♡
[STORY EXCERPT]:
Jisung and his father had nothing in common except for a lack of relationships outside of each other. Jaesuk had booze and Jisung had Minho:...
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SOMEONE SPECIAL TW; DOMESTIC ABUSE. ALCOHOLISM.
This story began with a box of crayons.
Jisung was five years old, holding a crumpled mess of cheap wrapping paper in one hand and a 24-pack of Crayola Silver Swirl crayons in the other. If you had asked Jisung, he would've told you that the box was brandished in gold foil. Perhaps he would've said that he swore there was a frilly pink bow on top, laced in a sparkly ribbon.
"I–I'm sorry, I hope you like it!"
Across the rainbow, puzzle-pieced cushion flooring, came a voice. Jisung lifted his head from the box of crayons, his mouth forming a small 'O'. The whole purpose of Secret Santa is to ensure that your 'Santa' is Secret, unless this confusion is a byproduct of Jisung refusing to listen to Mrs Moore. Again.
The boy sitting directly across from Jisung's spot in the circle of classmates had a mop of dark hair and an uneasy smile. His hands were fiddling with the hem of his green sweater as he bounced nervously in place. Jisung remembered him vaguely: he was the kid who brought the girliest ballerina shoes to Show and Tell.
For a moment, words on his lips were nonexistent. He could say, "thanks! This is my very first Christmas gift", but then he'd risk his classmates making a mockery of him. He didn't want that, no way.
So, instead Jisung did what five-year-old kids do best: stare. And stare he did — for longer than necessary — until he heard one of his friends ("not"-friends) whisper something under his breath that sounded distinctly like "weirdo".
A part of Jisung hardly registered that the gift exchange had continued down the circle, and now Molly Matthews was aggressively ripping free a Barbie doll from its fuschia-print constraints.
Jisung looked around the circle of students once more, at all the different gifts they had received (or given). There were stuffed animals, toy cars, legos — you name it. When Jisung turned back to face the boy across from him, he saw that his classmate had gotten a Hot Wheels set with bonus tracks and everything. It looked super cool.
But then again, so did crayons.
❥ ❥ ❥
When Riley Browne unraveled his gift wrapped in tin-foil and unveiled a crumbled water bottle filled with mini-notes written on bits of receipts, the classroom fell deathly silent.
Then the laughter came.
It was the kind of laughter that echoed from wall to wall, ringing. Deafening. Taunting. Riley sat frozen in between his best friends — both who knew he wanted a Hot Wheels set — his bottom lip wobbling, while the rest of the class pointed and laughed and made fun of him.
Riley grew angry, demanding for his 'Santa' to reveal themselves. Mrs Moore wailed desperately for her class to quiet down, but it was too late:
Jisung's hand was in the air, then the "stupid gift" plastic bottle was hurled into the air, and knocked into Jisung's forehead. The class roared in laughter. The collision didn't hurt, at least, not more than the boiling shame that wrapped his body in infernos; that, or the universal realization that began to settle in.
