Minho and Jisung-two stars in the same orbit, bound by friendship yet aching for more.
Minho chases a dream his father rejects, torn between ambition and forbidden love.
Jisung, the perfect son, hides his longing behind a flawless smile.
In a w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
۶ৎ
Song of the chapter: Casual By Chappel roan
Chapter: 06
Notes TW: Angst, Heavy miscommunication
The room was a tapestry of shadows, an unspoken grief hanging thick in the air. The golden light from the bedside lamp flickered faintly as if struggling to hold on to its warmth against the weight of the night. The rain's steady rhythm against the window felt like a distant echo of his own heartbeats, each one drumming out a lonely, restless melody.
Jisung blinked, his eyelids heavy with the remnants of fragmented dreams. The soft stillness of the room wrapped around him like a shroud, suffocating, yet somehow soothing. He felt it then—the delicate weight of Minho's arm draped over his waist, holding him close in a way that was both comforting and terrifying. He had always found safety in Minho's touch, but tonight, it felt like a trap.
His eyes traced the outline of Minho's figure beside him, sleeping peacefully, utterly unaware of the storm brewing within Jisung's chest. The contrast was maddening. Minho, with his usual calm, his unwavering steadiness, and Jisung, a chaotic mess of tangled emotions that seemed to swirl endlessly in the depths of his mind.
"6:23 AM." The digits on the clock burned into his tired eyes. The quiet hum of the world outside seeped in, but inside, everything was still—too still. Jisung moved, slipping Minho's arm off him as gently as possible, trying not to wake him. But the movement felt like betrayal, like he was pushing away the only piece of stability he had left.
The silence swallowed him whole as he sat on the edge of the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest. His mind spun in circles, fragmented thoughts flickering like distant flashes. Why was he still here? His heart twisted painfully at the question. He should've left—should've gone home and returned to the solitude of his own space where everything felt more certain. But no, he had stayed. Stayed because of Minho.
Minho—who had become a force of nature in his life, pulling him in, spinning him around, never letting him go, yet somehow, always making him feel like he was falling.
A soft murmur broke through the fog of his thoughts. "What are you doing awake at this hour, Ji?"
Jisung's heart skipped. Minho's voice was thick with sleep, soft and hushed, but still, it shattered the fragile silence. He turned to face Minho, who had propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes squinting in the dim light. The sight of him, so effortlessly beautiful, took Jisung's breath away. Minho's lips parted in a sleepy smile, the kind that made Jisung feel like the center of his world, even in the haze of the early morning hours.
"Nothing," Jisung replied, his voice a whisper of uncertainty. "I just woke up."
Minho studied him with an almost tangible curiosity, his gaze intense yet tender. It was a look Jisung knew well—the one that made him feel both exposed and cherished, as if Minho could see through him, through the layers he kept so carefully guarded. It was a look that made him feel like he was both the safest and the most vulnerable he'd ever been.
"What's on your mind, pretty?" Minho's voice was so soft, a whisper of warmth that wrapped around Jisung's name like a caress.
Jisung froze. His pulse thudded in his ears. The nickname sent a shiver down his spine, igniting something deep within him—something he wasn't ready to face. His throat tightened. He didn't know how to answer. He didn't know what he was feeling.
But the moment stretched between them, a silent bridge built on unspoken words, and Jisung couldn't look away. He couldn't hide from it anymore.
Minho's hand reached out, fingers brushing against Jisung's palm. The touch was delicate, deliberate—an invitation to something Jisung wasn't sure he was ready for. The warmth of Minho's hand burned into his skin, sending a rush of heat through him, stirring something raw, something dangerous.
Jisung opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in his throat. He didn't want to say anything that would make this harder—this moment, this fragile thread between them. He didn't want to ruin it. Not yet.
But Minho didn't give him the chance to think.
His hand cupped Jisung's face, lifting his chin gently, and Jisung found himself lost in the depths of Minho's eyes. It was a question. No words were needed. Jisung's heart pounded in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he nodded. A tiny movement, but it was enough.
Minho leaned in, and when his lips met Jisung's, it was as if everything around them vanished. The kiss was hesitant at first—soft, tender—but then it deepened, the urgency growing with each passing second. Jisung's hands found their way to Minho's neck, pulling him closer, as if by holding on tighter, he could erase the ache, the suffocating fear that had begun to twist inside him.
But just as quickly as the kiss had ignited, it faltered.
Minho pulled back, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His face, usually so composed, was now marred with something Jisung couldn't name. A storm was brewing behind Minho's eyes, and it terrified him.
"What's wrong?" Jisung asked, his voice barely a whisper, confusion laced with a growing unease.
Minho's hand hesitated near Jisung's waist, brushing against the waistband of his shorts in a way that felt almost apologetic. He couldn't look at him, couldn't meet his eyes.
"Don't look at me like that, Jisung," Minho's voice was barely audible, as though the words were something he had to force out, something he feared. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to—" He trailed off, and the pain in his voice struck Jisung like a physical blow.
Jisung's chest tightened. The words hit him harder than he was prepared for. I didn't want to hurt you. His mind spun, but before he could say anything, his hands were already shaking, his body trembling with the storm of emotions crashing inside him. His breath caught in his throat.
"Did you regret it?" His voice cracked, too sharp, too brittle. It felt like a demand, an accusation.
Minho's eyes widened, panic flooding his expression. "What? No, Ji, that's not—" But it was already too late. The damage had been done.
Jisung stood up abruptly, his movements jerky, his body betraying him as his heart struggled to hold onto any semblance of composure. His hands fumbled with his things, collecting his jacket, his phone, anything that could help him escape. He could feel Minho's gaze on him, but he couldn't look back. Not now. Not when every fiber of his being was screaming with the hurt he wasn't ready to face.
"Leave it, Minho," Jisung murmured, his voice low and final, a weight in every syllable.
Without another word, he walked out of the room, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality that echoed in the silence that remained.
Minho didn't move. He didn't know what to do with himself as the rain hammered against the window, filling the space with the only sound he could comprehend. His body sank back onto the bed, the weight of his own regret suffocating him as his mind replayed every moment, every word, every look that had led to this.
He had kissed Jisung, and now Jisung was gone.
And Minho was left alone, his heart breaking under the weight of something unsaid, something unfinished.
Patience was one thing Minho was slowly helping Han with.
But still, knowing you accidentally hurt the feelings of the person you love the most on earth was withering.
