nurse's office | minsung ✓

37

The night before the bar exam felt like torture. Jisung lay in bed, eyes open and unfocused, his mind running at a thousand miles per hour. What if he failed? What if he blanked on the easiest question? What if all this preparation was for nothing? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the thoughts away, but they only grew louder. He had begged Minho to let him study a bit more tonight—just one more chapter, one more set of flashcards—but Minho had put his foot down. He had firmly told Jisung that his brain needs rest more than it needs more facts crammed in at the last minute.

And so here Jisung was, under the blankets, sulking with a million doubts clouding his head. Sleep wasn't coming, no matter how hard he tried to force it. He flipped to his side, scowling at nothing in particular. This was a fucking disaster.

Then, through the haze of his thoughts, he heard the quiet creak of the door. Soft footsteps followed, approaching the bed slowly. He didn't even need to look to know who it was.

Minho.

Jisung stayed still, facing away, sulking like a child denied candy. He heard the rustle of fabric and felt the bed dip as Minho sat down beside him. There was a brief pause, and then warm palms pressed gently against Jisung's arm, followed by the weight of Minho's head resting on it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Minho stayed there quietly, waiting for any sign from Jisung—any word, any glance. But Jisung just lay there, stiff and stubborn.

Minho sighed softly, his breath warm against Jisung's skin. "I made you warm milk," he said, voice gentle, as if coaxing a cat down from a high shelf. "Helps with sleep."

"I'm not hungry," Jisung mumbled, his tone dry and distant.

Minho chuckled quietly, the sound low and fond, as if he had expected that exact response. "It's not food, dumbass. It's to help you relax."

Jisung didn't respond, but the smallest flicker of a pout formed on his lips.

Minho shifted, moving closer. "I know you're mad at me," he murmured, his voice soft but steady. "But you need to stop doing this to yourself. You've worked so hard, Sungie. Too hard."

Jisung sniffed quietly, his chest tight with frustration, anxiety, and something else he couldn't quite name.

"You're not going to fail," Minho continued, his words like a balm against Jisung's frayed nerves. "Even if you did—which you won't—you'd just try again. I know you, and you don't give up."

Jisung finally spoke, his voice small and uncertain. "But what if—"

"No what-ifs," Minho interrupted, firm but kind. "We're not doing that tonight."

Jisung blinked rapidly, his eyes burning. "It's just...it's so much pressure, hyung."

Minho's hand slid from Jisung's arm to his hair, brushing through the strands with slow, soothing strokes. "I know," he whispered. "But you're not alone in this, okay? I'm here. No matter what happens tomorrow, I'll still be right here."

Jisung's throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, he rolled over to face Minho, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. "You promise?"

Minho smiled softly, his gaze steady. "Always."

Jisung stared at him for a moment longer, then, without thinking, curled into Minho's side, burying his face in his chest. Minho wrapped his arms around him immediately, holding him close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a while, they just lay there, the room filled with the quiet hum of their breathing. The world outside might have been a storm of stress and expectations, but here, in Minho's arms, everything felt a little lighter.

"Still not hungry?" Minho whispered after a while, the hint of a smile in his voice.

Jisung let out a small, breathy laugh. "Yeah I could probably use something warm, I can't sleep."

Minho chuckled, pressing a light kiss to the top of Jisung's head before slowly pulling away. "I'll be right back."

Jisung nodded, watching as Minho slipped out of the room to get the glass of milk. And for the first time in hours, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could survive tomorrow after all.

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