I like it| Minsung

4

As they reached Jisung's door, he fumbled slightly with the keys, his hands shaking. Minho stood patiently behind him, watching silently as Jisung unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The dorm was dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the outside world. Jisung flipped on a light, the room suddenly flooded with a warm, orangey glow.

"You still haven't tidied up since I was last here," Minho said, his voice laced with mild frustration. He stepped into the living area, his gaze taking in the slight mess that was Jisung's dorm.

Dishes were stacked up in the sink, unwashed. Clothes were scattered on the floor, a small pile forming in the corner. It was a far cry from the neat, tidy room Minho usually knew.

Jisung flinched at the comment, the reminder of how far he'd let his living space go. "Yeah... sorry about that," he muttered, shoving some clothes under the couch with his foot. "I uh... haven't really been in the mood to clean lately."
Minho arched an eyebrow, a hint of concern in his expression, but he said nothing. He knew Jisung well enough to know that this was a sign of his mental health declining. But he didn't want to bring it up, not now.

Instead, he just stepped further into the room, looking around as though he were seeing it for the first time.

He let his gaze roam over the small space, noting the details. The crumpled notes and scattered books on the desk, the half-empty coffee cups by the bed, the untouched guitar in the corner. Everything was a sign of Jisung's current state. Overwhelmed, stressed, messy.

Minho looked over at Jisung, saw the slight sag of the boy's shoulders, the exhaustion in his eyes. "Hey," he said, his voice soft. "Do you want me to make you something to eat? You didn't really eat at the restaurant."

Jisung looked up, surprise flitting across his features. He'd forgotten about food, if he was honest. But the reminder made his stomach grumble, an aching reminder of how little he'd actually consumed all day.

"Um," Jisung stumbled over his words, unsure. "You don't... you don't have to..."

Minho just raised an eyebrow, a small, challenging grin on his face. "I know I don't have to," he said, walking into the kitchen area. "But I'm going to anyway. Now sit your ass down or deal with me nagging you."

Jisung knew arguing with Minho when he was in this mood was useless. With a sigh, he dropped down onto the small sofa, watching as Minho rummaged through the kitchen.

Watching Minho move around his kitchen, knowing where things were, made something in Jisung's chest ache. It felt too intimate, too familiar.

Minho hummed a soft tune to himself as he worked, moving around the kitchen with practiced ease. He pulled out ingredients, boiled water, chopped vegetables. It was a routine he'd done many times before, but this time, the kitchen wasn't his own.

His movements were neat, precise, a stark contrast to the scatterings of Jisung's life scattered around him. The whole thing was so normal, so casual, that it felt surreal to Jisung.

The sight of Minho, his hands deftly handling the ingredients, was a stark reminder of all the meals they'd shared together before this mess started. How many times had Minho cooked for him? Been the one to feed him? Made sure he was eating, taking care of himself?

Jisung could feel the weight of their past, of their relationship, as he watched Minho work. It was a comfort and a pain, all at once.

After a few minutes, Minho had put together a simple meal. Rice, vegetables, a small amount of chicken. Nothing fancy, but enough to fill a stomach.

He plated the food and carried it over to Jisung, placing the plate in front of him on the coffee table. "Eat," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You need to eat something."