While Minho was finally off the medication that was causing intense and harsh side effects, his feelings didn't seem to get better. He began to feel detached, really. Detached from his relationship, from his friends, from himself.
It was numbing. He drove back from work, the drive an hour ride home. He stared blankly at the road in front of him, hoping something would crash into him. No, stop it.
He shakes his head, suddenly slapping himself. His cheek stings, but he can barely feel it. He turns up his music, metal blasting from his speakers. He screams the lyrics, not at all on pitch. He needs to cry. He needs to get it out.
It refuses. He slaps himself three more times, slight tears brought to his eyes. They go away within seconds. He screams, hitting himself. How could every emotion be blocked out with the exception of anger? It was almost as if he was going through the stages of grief.
Denial. Denial of his relationship with Chan. He loved Chan, didn't he? He knew it, yet he couldn't feel it anymore. He didn't feel it at the festival they had gone to. He didn't feel it when Chan repeated the same three words to him.
Anger. Angry with himself at how selfish he was being. Chan needed him. Minho has responsibilities. He needs to get his head back in the fucking game. He's so stupid for this mental illness shit. It's so stupid.
Depression. He wanted to disappear. Never to return. He lost the motivation to stay. Why was he still here? Responsibilities... right. Fool everyone. That's what he has to do.
Bargaining. If he stays with Chan, he'll have a good life. They'll get married and adopt. They'll get a house. That's what Minho should want, shouldn't it be? He should stay. The feelings of detachment should disappear. They're not real.
He hasn't reached the acceptance stage. Even as he'd written in his journal about the frustrations. He hasn't genuinely smiled in two weeks. Looking back at recent pictures, his best friend even told him his smile was fake.
What should he do? Wait until he can get in contact with his therapist? What if his other med dosage was messing with him? He has another month until he sees his doctor. Can he do this for that long? Can he pretend?
His head and heart are silently screaming for an answer, yet neither can come up with one. People always say listen to your heart. His heart is beating fast. His heart is forcing blood to pump ever so quickly through his veins. His lungs are overworking themselves, trying to gather breaths that keep being pushed out.
His screaming along to the music turned into an attack on his body. He's desperate to feel something, but this isn't what he meant. He needs help. What does he do? Everything is moving so fast. Time won't stop for him. Help. Help. He needs help. Someone please stop and fucking help him! Fucking help!
His eyes focus back on the road, wave of anxiety finally passed. The blanket of numbness takes over once again. La, la, la, la. How the times have changed.
YOU ARE READING
Kpop Oneshots Part TWO
Fanfiction"I didn't think it would go in so far-" -not an x-reader -kpop ships -kinda gay tbh
