just pretend.

28.

He got distracted by the raindrops hitting the outside of the windows, the rhythmic sound creating a soothing backdrop that contrasted sharply with the tension in the air. Most customers had left, and it was a quiet afternoon in the restaurant. They were about to close in half an hour, and Jisung focused on cleaning the countertop and the display case, meticulously packing the leftover desserts in boxes for him and his colleagues to take home. It wasn’t much – just a few muffins, some brownies, and cookies, along with a few decadent slices of cheesecake. They had a good day, and Jisung couldn’t help but smile at the fact that the only cheesecake that was sold out was his new creation, making him feel proud and satisfied. Suddenly, Jisung's moment of contentment shattered. “What the hell?”, he heard his colleague curse, and he turned around to look at her, frowning in confusion. She never cursed before, so this immediately set off alarm bells in his mind. “What?”, Jisung asked, his heart quickening as he followed her gaze, spotting a blurry silhouette sprinting towards the glass doors, rain pouring down around it. He felt a knot form in his stomach, bracing himself for something bad to happen. Quickly scanning the counter for something to defend themselves with, he prepared for the worst. The door flung open with a force that echoed through the quiet restaurant, and Jisung’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Minho stumble inside, breathless, his clothes soaked through with rain – and stained with blood. “Fuck”, Jisung whispered, his pulse racing, as he gently pushed his colleague aside and ran around the corner, crossing the room in a rush. The sight of Minho’s disheveled appearance – clothes clinging to his body and smeared with mud and blood – made Jisung’s heart clench. “What the fuck happened?”, he asked, urgency lacing his voice as he looked into Minho’s wide, terrified eyes. Minho shook his head, clearly struggling to form words, and Jisung’s chest tightened at the sight of his hurt face. Panic spread within him like wildfire. “Minho, what happened?”, he pressed again, his tone firm but filled with concern, as he forced Minho to sit on a chair. He carefully took the blood-stained knife from Minho's trembling hand, feeling the cold metal slip through his fingers. Minho turned his head, scanning the room with a paranoid expression, as if he feared that danger was still outside. “Wooyoung”, Minho choked out, the name hitting Jisung like a punch to the face, and his heart dropped. The gravity of the situation flooded over him. Minho let his bag slide off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a heavy thud, and slowly leaned forward, burying his face in his shaking hands. The sight of him in such distress twisted Jisung’s gut. “He should go to the hospital”, his colleague said urgently, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. Jisung nodded, giving her an apologetic smile, grateful for her calmness in the face of their crisis. “Do you mind closing today?”, he asked, knowing he needed to focus on Minho right now. She shook her head, extending her hand for the keys. “I owe you something.” Without wasting another moment, Jisung rushed to the kitchen, throwing his apron into the corner and grabbing his own bag. He pulled out his phone and called Changbin, his heart pounding as he impatiently waited for him to pick up. “Stop waking me up all the time”, Changbin groaned sleepily as he answered. Jisung rolled his eyes, the urgency in his voice sharper than usual. “Can you come and pick me up at the restaurant? I need to take Minho to the hospital; he’s injured”, Jisung said, the words tumbling out in a rush. He heard Changbin mumble some curse words before the sound of the door falling into its lock and the engine starting filtered through the line. Relief washed over him as he hung up. He quickly grabbed some paper towels, letting them soak with water, his hands shaking slightly as he prepared to help Minho. “Min”, he said softly, forcing Minho to look at him with red, teary eyes, his expression filled with both pain and fear. “Let me clean your face a little.” Jisung squatted in front of him, gently brushing the wet paper towels over Minho’s face. The touch was tender, but he could see the grimace of pain that flickered across Minho’s features as he winced from the pressure. Each sweep of the towel revealed the extent of his injuries, and Jisung's heart ached for him, desperate to ease the hurt and confusion around them.