nurse's office | minsung ✓

3

The bathroom was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of distant conversations that barely reached Jisung's ears. He stood alone in front of the sink, staring blankly at the mirror. His reflection was warped, distorted by the grime and fog that clung to the glass. His eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, seemed hollow, as if the life had drained out of them long ago. The bags beneath them were heavy, dark shadows that told the story of sleepless nights filled with endless spirals of thought. He gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white as his fingers dug into the cold ceramic, as though holding on to it would somehow keep him anchored.

His thoughts were a chaotic mess, swirling and crashing like waves in a storm. Felix is gone. Seungmin barely has time. Jeongin's in another country now.

The words echoed in his mind, louder and louder, until they drowned out everything else. His head felt like it was going to split open under the pressure. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were his friends. They were supposed to be the ones who understood him, who stuck by him no matter what. His lifeline. The ones who made the world seem a little less unbearable.

But now, that lifeline had frayed and snapped. What he had left were memories—empty conversations in group chats that had once been alive with jokes and late-night confessions. Messages left on read, missed calls that were never returned. And worst of all, the silence. The absence of the people he had counted on the most.

They've moved on. Why can't I?

Jisung let out a shaky breath, his vision blurring as the weight of everything bore down on him. It felt like he was sinking, drowning in the overwhelming reality of how alone he was. It was pathetic, wasn't it? Still clinging to something that no longer existed. Felix hadn't even spoken to him in weeks. The time zones, the new responsibilities in Australia—it had all created a distance too great to bridge. And Jeongin... well, Jeongin was off living his dream. A scholarship to a prestigious school abroad. He was making something of himself, moving forward with his life, while Jisung was stuck. Stuck in this place. Stuck in his head.

And Seungmin—he was still here, technically. But he was so busy now, so focused on his own life that Jisung barely saw him. And when they did meet, it wasn't the same. The easy conversations had turned awkward, their time together limited to polite exchanges and quick check-ins. There was no room for Jisung's problems in Seungmin's life anymore.

I have no one left.

The realization slammed into him, hard and fast, taking the breath right out of his lungs. His chest tightened, a heavy pressure that made it impossible to breathe. His throat constricted, and a dull ache spread through his ribs. He could feel the panic rising inside him, clawing its way up from his gut, sinking its sharp talons into his lungs, squeezing until it felt like the air was being sucked out of him.

He turned away from the mirror, pressing his back against the cold tile wall. His hands trembled, and he balled them into fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. He could feel the sting, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to drown out the storm raging in his mind.

He pressed harder, trying to focus on the pain, trying to make it louder than the thoughts that screamed inside his head.

Why can't I just be okay? Why am I still stuck here? Why does it hurt so much?

But the questions kept coming, relentless and unforgiving, until Jisung couldn't take it anymore. With a frustrated growl, he slammed his fist into the door of one of the stalls. The dull thud reverberated through the bathroom, but the pain didn't register. He hit it again, harder this time, his nails scraping against the wood. He felt the sting as they broke skin, but the sharp burn was almost a relief.

It was something.

It cut through the numbness, the suffocating weight pressing down on his chest. He hit the door again, and again, until the skin on his knuckles split and his hands throbbed. His breaths came in shallow gasps, ragged and uneven as he slid down to the floor, his body trembling uncontrollably.

His hands, now streaked with red scratches and bruises, rested limply on his thighs. He could barely feel them. His forearms were lined with deep, angry red marks where he'd clawed at himself, desperate for a release, desperate to feel something other than the crushing loneliness inside of him.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to feel this way, but he didn't know how to stop it. He pressed his forehead against his knees, his body curling into itself as he tried to breathe through the chaos inside him.

The world felt like it was spinning, like everything was too much. Too loud. Too heavy.

And then, nothing.

Everything went black.

Jisung wasn't sure how much time had passed when he woke up. His body ached, a dull, throbbing pain that pulsed through his limbs. The bathroom was still empty, the quiet almost deafening. He blinked, disoriented, his head pounding as he tried to make sense of where he was.

For a moment, he stayed still, staring at the cracked tiles beneath him. His body felt heavy, sluggish, as though all the fight had been drained out of him. His arms were sore, and when he looked down, he saw the angry red marks that lined his skin, the bruises blooming in shades of purple and blue.

What have I done?

But before he could even process the thought, the door to the bathroom swung open. Two teachers stood in the doorway, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as they took in the sight of Jisung crumpled on the floor, bruised and battered.

"Jisung?" one of them called out, rushing over to him. "What happened? Are you alright?"

He wasn't alright. Not even close. But he couldn't say that. He couldn't find the words.

"You need to go to the nurse's office," the other teacher said, their voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

But Jisung shook his head weakly, the motion making him dizzy. "I'm fine," he muttered. "I just want to go home."

The teachers exchanged concerned looks, one of them kneeling beside him while the other moved to the doorway, calling for assistance. "Jisung, you're not fine," the teacher beside him insisted gently. "You're hurt. We need to get you checked out."

"I don't need to go to the nurse," he protested weakly, the words barely leaving his mouth. "It's... it's useless."

But the teachers weren't having it. They pulled him to his feet, gently but firmly, and Jisung didn't have the strength to fight back. He barely registered the sting in his arms or the bruises on his hands as they led him down the hallway. He didn't even notice the curious stares from passing students.

All he could think about was how pointless this all felt.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶