𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥. [minsung]

chapter eight

☆°°^-*

And I try to be the chill boy that,
Holds his tongue and gives you space
I try to be the chill boy but,
Honestly, I'm not.

☆°°^-*

Jisung hadn't talked to Minho in two weeks. Almost three. Minho had dropped him off to his house that day, the car ride filled with silence as usual, but this one felt awkward and laced with rage and Minho's misery. When the elder stopped infront of Jisung's house and opened his mouth to speak, ashamed of all his actions, Jisung simply muttered a small 'bye', seemingly having drenched out all his anger and now being left with only his sadness,, and walked out and into his house.

Minho regretted not speaking up during the car ride, it would've complied Jisung to hear him out. But he hadn't known what to say, how to find the right words, and Jisung was correct in his not starting a conversation. Minho understood where the younger came from, he just didn't know why he couldn't make the younger understand him.

Feeling helpless, Minho had even visited Jisung's house, three days ago now, though it had been a stormy one. Only to get greeted by the boy's mother, who smiled at him sadly and said Jisung hadn't come out of his room for weeks, barely eating, barely surviving.

When Minho was walking away from the house, rain pelting onto his face, running down his cheeks and soaking into his clothes, he had found himself staring into Jisung's window, the one visible from the lawn outside.

Jisung was looking down at him, his eyes red and puffy from crying, his cheeks scratchy and bruised from wiping them away. Knowing Minho had caught him, he retreated into his room, away from the elder's gaze, probably to his bed by his direction. Minho had been in that room enough to know.

I caused all of this. I made him sad.

Minho didn't sleep that day, not like he had been the other days but he had atleast gotten fits of slumber. Not any that day. Or the two days that had followed.

The elder had constantly texted the younger for the past weeks and had, ofcourse, received no reply. Jisung hadn't even seen the texts, he was still on delivered and he didn't know if he'd prefer being left on seen more.

Now as Minho squeezed his face into the texture of his pillow, soaking the tears into the cover and forming a pool of damp into it, he couldn't help but wonder how and when he'd fucked so much up. Jisung's words rang in his mind, repeating themselves over and over again.

'If you're so fucking sure about being casual, Minho, then fucking act like it.'

All the younger felt definitely hadn't come from a singular mistake Minho had made and he realised that fairly well. It was the cumulative blow up of every shitty thing he'd done, every time he'd hurt the younger without knowing. And that, was what left Minho carved.