Stray Kids Oneshots

★ 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓹𝓮𝓽 pt.3 ★ (minsung)

Words: 6053
Ship: minsung
Consists of: angst. smex. rekindled (?)

★

The next morning, the sun streamed through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the room. Jisung's eyes fluttered open to find himself in the large, unfamiliar bed. His body was sore, but in the best way possible, a constant reminder of the night's events. He rolled over, expecting to find Minho beside him, but instead, his hand encountered only cold, empty space.

His gaze fell on the sticky note on the bedside table. In Minho's neat, precise handwriting, it read, "I already left because I have a class this morning. Just close the door on your way out, it'll lock itself." Jisung's heart sank. That was it? No goodbye, no sweet words whispered into his ear as he drifted back to reality?

He sat up, feeling the ache in his body as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The boxers and shirt he wore felt too big on him, swimming in the fabric that smelled faintly of Minho's cologne. He took a deep breath and tried to shake off the disappointment.

Still, he found himself unable to shake off the feeling of being utterly exploited. The starkness of the vacant room only deepened his sense of isolation. The stray tears that slipped down his cheeks were a reflection of the profound vulnerability he had exposed the night before. He had poured so much of himself into Minho, and now, as the morning light filtered in, he felt as if he was left with nothing but a note and a chaotic aftermath to sort through.

He pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric sticking to his skin briefly before giving way. His eyes caught sight of the bruises that decorated his body in the mirror. The evidence of their passion was stark and unmistakable, and the sight of them brought a fresh wave of emotion. He felt both cherished and used, a confusing tangle of feelings that made his chest ache.

With a heavy sigh, Jisung left the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him like a final note in a tragic symphony. The cool air outside was a stark contrast to the warmth of the room, and he shivered as he made his way to his dorm. The walk was a blur, his thoughts racing with a mix of regret and longing.

Once in his own bed, he couldn't help but replay the previous night's events, his mind a tumult of pleasure and pain, love and loneliness. He lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling, the only movement the occasional shiver that passed through his body as he remembered Minho's touch.

The next few days were a blur of unanswered texts and half-hearted attempts at conversation. Each time he saw Minho, the professor would offer a polite smile and a curt nod before disappearing into the throng of students. It was as if their night had never happened, and Jisung couldn't help but feel like he had been discarded, a mere plaything to be used and forgotten.

The pain of rejection was a constant throb in his chest, but he pushed it down, focusing on his studies and his friends. Yet, every time he walked by the faculty building, his heart would race with the hope of catching a glimpse of Minho. The anticipation was agonizing, but the pain of his absence was worse.

In class, the professor remained professional, his eyes never lingering on Jisung longer than necessary. It was like they were strangers, and it took every ounce of the student's willpower not to reach out and touch him, not to beg for another taste of the fiery passion they had shared.

One afternoon, unable to bear the silence any longer, Jisung's hand shot up. "Professor, may I speak with you after class?" His voice was a barely audible whisper, his heart hammering in his chest.

Minho's eyes flicked to him, a hint of surprise in his gaze. "Of course, Jisung," he replied, his tone even. "Come to my office, if it's urgent."

~