The Black rose (Minsung ff)

His own escape

Minho glanced up from his paperwork as the door creaked open, and to his surprise, Jisung stood in the doorway. For a moment, Minho almost didn't recognize him; Jisung's face held a softness, his usual guarded expression replaced with something calm, even warm.

"Hii," Jisung greeted quietly, stepping inside. His smile was small but sincere, eyes meeting Minho's with a light that hadn't been there for weeks.

Minho blinked, taken aback by this unexpected change. Normally, Jisung's interactions with him were tinged with fright or caution, but today he seemed... open. "Hey," Minho replied slowly, studying him. He felt a hint of worry tugging at him; it wasn't like Jisung to act this sweet out of nowhere. Still, the warmth in Jisung's eyes made him relax just a bit. Maybe this was a good sign.

"Am I interrupting, hyung?" Jisung asked, his voice soft, eyes darting to the paperwork scattered across Minho's desk.

"Not at all," Minho replied, still cautious but unable to hide his relief. "I'm..glad you came."

Jisung's eyes fell to the clutter on the desk, his fingers brushing absently over the edge of the desk, tracing patterns on the cool wood. "I just... wanted to say hi," he murmured, his hand moving from the edge of the desk to a letter opener lying amidst Minho's paperwork. He picked it up casually, turning it over in his hands, letting the blade catch the light.

Minho raised an eyebrow, glancing at the small blade in Jisung's hand, but he quickly looked back up to his face, savoring the easy expression Jisung wore. "It's good to see you like this, Jisung," Minho said with a small smile, feeling a glimmer of hope he hadn't dared to feel before. "Really."

Jisung returned his smile, letting the letter opener slip into his pocket before giving Minho a small nod. "Well... I'll let you get back to work," he said, still holding that same lighthearted tone.

Minho watched him leave, a mix of worry and contentment settling in his chest. But something in Jisung's smile lingered in his mind, a small shadow he couldn't shake. Still, he pushed it aside, choosing to believe that Jisung's mood was a sign of progress.

--

Back in his room, Jisung slipped the blade from his pocket, his hands trembling slightly as he stared down at it. He took a deep breath, feeling a familiar sense of calm wash over him, grounding him. Every emotion that had been gnawing at him seemed to fade, replaced by a dull, focused intensity as he headed into the bathroom.

Closing and locking the door behind him, Jisung sank down to the cold tile floor, back pressed against the wall. He stared at the blade, turning it over in his hands, the sharp edge catching the light. A part of him hesitated, a tiny voice in the back of his mind urging him to stop, but the weight of his pain was too heavy, too overpowering to ignore.

He pressed the blade against his wrist, drawing in a shaky breath as he felt the first sting. It was a relief, a momentary escape from the swirling storm in his mind. Each cut was shallow at first, controlled, as he watched the thin lines of red appear on his skin. But as he continued, his hands shook, his breathing growing unsteady, the pain intensifying with each new line.

The room blurred around him, dizziness setting in as he felt the blood trickle down his arm, staining the tissue paper he pressed to his skin. His head spun, the world fading in and out as he realized he'd cut deeper than he intended. He fumbled with the tissue, trying to press it harder against the wound, panic settling in as he fought to stay alert.

He closed his eyes, breathing in short gasps as he tried to steady himself, to stop the bleeding without alerting Minho. He couldn't let him know—not after how he'd acted earlier, not after giving Minho that glimpse of hope. He didn't want The older to go crazy, to take control over something Jisung felt he needed to handle alone.

This was his pain, his escape, and he wasn't ready to let Minho see the depths of it. Holding the tissue tighter against his wrist, Jisung leaned back, exhaustion washing over him. He forced himself to stay quiet, to keep his breathing steady as he waited for the dizziness to pass, determined to keep this hidden, to stay in control of his own pain and exhaustion.

It was his decision to stay silent, to keep Minho out of this corner of his mind, this realm of self-imposed suffering where he could cling to some form of control. The blood, the stinging heat under his skin, it was something he could grasp—an anchor in the storm of emotions that no one else could touch. 

Jisung let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, bracing himself against the overwhelming, dizzying rush that threatened to pull him under. This was his secret, and he was determined to keep it hidden.

But he hadn't accounted for Minho's intuition. The flicker of unease in Minho's mind had started as a whisper, a small, nagging concern that quickly grew impossible to ignore. Jisung had been so unusually sweet earlier, so carefree. It had been a moment of warmth and relief, the kind Minho hadn't seen in a while. But in hindsight, it felt almost... practiced, as if Jisung was planning something.

With that unsettling feeling growing sharper by the second, Minho's gaze fell on his desk, on the scattered papers, pens, a lighter—and then the empty spot where a small silver blade had been. The absence struck him like a lightning bolt, dread flooding his veins as he connected the pieces. If Jisung had taken it...

Without a second thought, Minho was out of his office and moving down the hall, his strides purposeful, his mind racing. The closer he got to Jisung's room, the more his heartbeat thundered, full of fear and frustration. As he reached the door, he took a moment to steady himself before quietly slipping inside. The room was dim, and the bed looked almost untouched. "Ji?" he called out, the quietness of his voice leaving hints of suspicion.

Silence met him, and he swallowed hard, his gaze sweeping the room. His eyes landed on the bathroom door. Swallowing the rising panic, he approached it, every step slower, more measured.

Hand hovering over the doorknob, Minho knocked, his voice soft but edged with a hint of worry. "Sung, you in there?"

A long pause. Minho held his breath, waiting, until finally, Jisung's voice drifted through the door, muffled and wavering. "Yeah... I'm just—fine."

Something in Minho's chest twisted at the sound, an unmistakable note of pain that Jisung hadn't quite hidden. He knew Jisung better than that, knew every subtle shift in his tone, every layer of emotion. And this was wrong.

"Open the door, Ji," he said, voice firmer this time, insistent.

"I'm okay, really... do you need something?" Jisung's voice came softer this time, a faint tremor slipping through as if he needed Minho to believe him, to let it go. "I promise, Min, I'm fine."

Minho's patience stretched thin, and he clenched his jaw. This was the last thing he wanted to do, but the sense of urgency, the older needed to make sure Jisung was safe. Pressing his forehead to the door, his voice darkened, quiet but steely with resolve. "If you don't open this door right now, Jisung, I swear I'll shoot the lock off."

A beat of silence.

Jisung's pulse quickened, panic flickering at the edges of his mind as he held the tissue tighter against his wrist, feeling the dampness grow beneath his fingers. His breathing turned shallow, desperate to steady himself, but fear clawed its way through him. He knew The older was serious, He knew that the older man wouldn't hesitate to follow through.