Save me.. ||MINSUNG HIGH SCHOOL AU

Recovery and Realization

The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly as Minho leaned back in the stiff hospital chair, staring at the closed door to Jisung's room. It had been hours since Jisung was taken into surgery, and in that time, Minho's mind had run a full marathon of dread, panic, and guilt.

The nurse had finally come by earlier with the news—Jisung was stable, his surgery successful. Relief had flooded Minho's entire body, but with it came exhaustion so heavy it felt like his limbs were made of lead. Now he sat, bleary-eyed, watching the door as if his focus alone could will Jisung to wake up sooner.

When the nurse finally called him in, Minho's heart skipped as he rose and walked toward the room. Jisung lay in the bed, his face still pale against the white sheets, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Bandages wrapped his side where the bullet had grazed him, and an IV line trailed from his hand, slowly dripping clear liquid into his veins.

He looked so small lying there, and for the first time in years, Minho was struck by how vulnerable Jisung really was. All the walls Jisung had thrown up between them, all the sarcastic remarks and smug competition—they had all been a defense. They'd been kids trying to shield themselves from whatever hurt or insecurities they didn't want anyone else to see. But now, in the soft glow of the hospital lights, all that armor was gone.

Minho approached the bed, his footsteps soft, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only sound in the room. Jisung's eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and it took him a moment to register Minho's face hovering above him.

"Minho?" His voice was a whisper, rough from the exhaustion and the oxygen mask he'd been wearing post-surgery. His brows knitted together, and for a moment, he looked confused, like he was trying to place the memory of Minho being there with him.

"Hey," Minho said, swallowing thickly, trying to mask his relief with a smirk. "Look who decided to finally wake up. You took your sweet time, didn't you?"

Jisung tried to roll his eyes, but it came out as more of a tired blink. "Are you... still here?"

"Of course I'm here." Minho's voice was softer than he meant it to be, the words slipping out like a confession.

Jisung's gaze flickered, a faint glimmer of amusement shining through his exhaustion. "Shouldn't you be studying for finals or something?"

Minho let out a small laugh, relief bubbling up in him. "You really think I'd let you off the hook that easy? Finals aren't for another two weeks." He tried to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

Jisung closed his eyes, exhaling softly. "Minho..."

There was something vulnerable in his voice, something that hadn't been there before. Minho swallowed, unsure how to respond, feeling exposed himself. So he did what he always did—he deflected.

"By the way, you have terrible taste in friends, you know that? Felix was about to collapse from worry. I swear he was ready to fight the whole hospital staff just to get updates on you."

Jisung chuckled weakly, his voice barely a murmur. "Felix... He's a good guy.

"You're not wrong," Minho agreed, sinking into the chair beside the bed, resting his arms on the edge of the mattress. "Better than either of us, probably.

A comfortable silence fell over them, the room filled only with the steady beeps of the monitor. Minho could feel the weight of all the words he hadn't said pressing down on him, like an invisible weight that he couldn't shake off. He looked down at Jisung, noting the way his fingers gripped the blanket, the tension still lingering in his body.

"Jisung," he started, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Back there... in the school... I—" He stopped, the memory of their kiss still fresh in his mind. It had been raw, born of desperation and fear, but the feeling behind it hadn't been new. It had been there all along, hidden beneath layers of rivalry and stubbornness

Jisung's eyes drifted open, focusing on Minho. "About that..." he murmured, his face softening as he looked away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I thought I was... I thought that was it, you know? I didn't think I'd... get another chance."

Minho's heart clenched, and without thinking, he reached out, covering Jisung's hand with his own. "You scared the hell out of me," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I thought I was going to lose you."

A silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Jisung's fingers curled around Minho's hand, holding on like it was the only thing tethering him to the present. "I... I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with a vulnerability Minho had never heard before. "For everything. For all the... all the fights and the dumb competitions. I thought if I acted like I didn't care about you, maybe..." He trailed off, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, unable to meet Minho's eyes.

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much?" Minho finished softly, his own voice thick with emotion.

Jisung nodded, his eyes misting over. "Yeah. But it did hurt. A lot."

Minho swallowed, his grip on Jisung's hand tightening. "Me too. All the time." He paused, taking a shaky breath. "Jisung, I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could. I was just... scared, I guess. Scared of how much I actually cared."

Jisung looked at him, and for the first time, there was no sarcasm, no smirk—just raw, open emotion. "Minho," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I care about you too. Maybe... more than I should."

The confession hung in the air, fragile and beautiful. Minho felt his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears as he searched Jisung's face for any hint of doubt, any trace of hesitation. But there was none—only a quiet acceptance, a shared understanding that had been years in the making.

"Then let's stop pretending," Minho whispered, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing softly against Jisung's in a kiss that was gentle and unhurried, a stark contrast to the desperate kiss they'd shared in the hallway. This time, there was no fear, no panic—just a quiet, overwhelming certainty that they were exactly where they were supposed to be

When they pulled apart, Jisung looked up at him with a small, contented smile. "You know... this is probably the first time I've ever felt like we weren't competing."

Minho chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from Jisung's face. "Guess we're finally on the same team."

Jisung's smile grew, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Yeah. Feels... weird. But good."

They sat in silence for a moment, their hands still entwined, each lost in their own thoughts. Minho felt a strange warmth blossoming in his chest, a quiet sense of peace that he hadn't felt in years. He didn't know what the future held—how things would be once they were back in school, once the memories of this day faded into the background of everyday life. But for now, none of that mattered.

For the first time, Minho felt like he could breathe. Like he had nothing to prove, no walls to keep up. It was just him and Jisung, no rivals, no grudges—just two people finally brave enough to admit how much they meant to each other.

"Thank you," Jisung murmured, his fingers gently tracing patterns on the back of Minho's hand. "For staying with me. I don't think I would have... made it without you."

Minho leaned his head against the edge of the bed, his eyes growing heavy as exhaustion finally caught up to him. "Get some rest, Sungie. I'll be here when you wake up."

Jisung's eyes fluttered shut, a faint smile on his lips as he drifted off. And for the first time, Minho felt the ache in his chest fade away, replaced by a quiet, unshakable certainty.

He had found what he'd been looking for all along.