The Weight of Goodbye || minsung

too close to turn back

Days turned into weeks, and the closeness between Jisung and Minho only grew. They slipped seamlessly into each other's routines, their lives blending in ways that felt both effortless and a little terrifying.

Jisung found himself waking up to Minho's texts, simple messages about his morning runs or random thoughts that made Jisung laugh, and falling asleep with thoughts of their time together replaying in his mind. Somewhere along the way, Minho had become more than just a friend or a distraction. He had become someone Jisung couldn't imagine his life without.

But with that realization came a gnawing fear, one that lingered at the back of Jisung's mind like an unwelcome guest. He'd been here before—had opened himself up only to be left feeling hollow and exposed. And as much as he wanted to believe that this time was different, the fear of being hurt again kept him on edge.

One evening, as Jisung was lost in thought at the café, his phone buzzed with a message from Minho.

Minho: Got plans tonight?

Jisung smiled to himself, his heart doing that annoying little flip it always did whenever he saw Minho's name on his screen.

Jisung: Nothing that can't be postponed. Why? Are you bored again?

Minho: Just a little. Thought you might want some company. How about a movie night?

It was a simple invitation, but Jisung felt a surge of excitement. He quickly typed back a reply, and within an hour, Minho was at his apartment, a bag of snacks in hand and a grin that made Jisung's heart race.

They settled on the couch, the glow of the screen casting soft shadows across the room. The movie played, but Jisung found it hard to focus, his mind too aware of Minho's presence beside him, the warmth of his shoulder just inches away. They had shared small touches before—a hand on his arm, a light brush of fingers—but tonight, the air felt different, charged with an energy that made Jisung's heart beat just a little faster.

Halfway through the movie, Minho shifted, turning toward Jisung with a soft smile. "Do you even remember the plot at this point?" he teased, his voice low and teasing.

Jisung laughed, nudging Minho's shoulder with his own. "Maybe. But you're the one who keeps distracting me."

"Me?" Minho raised an eyebrow, his tone playful. "I'm just sitting here."

"Yeah, sure," Jisung replied, rolling his eyes. But he couldn't deny the way his pulse quickened when Minho's gaze lingered on him a second too long, his eyes dark and filled with something Jisung couldn't quite name.

Without warning, Minho reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Jisung's face, his fingers grazing his skin in a way that left him breathless. The touch was brief, but it lingered, the warmth of Minho's fingers searing into his memory.

"You're always so jumpy," Minho murmured, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

Jisung felt his cheeks flush, his mind racing as he tried to think of a reply. But no words came, only the quiet thud of his own heartbeat filling the silence. He looked up, meeting Minho's gaze, and in that moment, he knew. There was no point in pretending, no point in denying what he felt.

Slowly, Minho's hand slipped down to cup his jaw, his thumb brushing over Jisung's cheek. The gesture was so tender, so achingly careful, that it made Jisung's chest ache.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Minho leaned in, his breath warm against Jisung's skin. Jisung's eyes fluttered shut, his heart pounding as he felt the soft press of Minho's lips against his own.

The kiss was tentative at first, a question more than a statement. But as Jisung responded, his own hand finding its way to Minho's shoulder, the hesitation melted away, replaced by something deeper, something that felt like both a promise and a risk.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, their breaths mingling, each kiss drawing them closer until the world outside faded to nothing.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their eyes searching each other's faces for reassurance, for understanding.

"Sorry," Minho whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to..."

But Jisung shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Don't apologize," he murmured, his voice steady even as his heart raced. "I didn't mind."

For a moment, they just sat there, caught in the silence, each of them trying to process what had just happened. Jisung's mind was a whirlwind of emotions—relief, excitement, and a flicker of fear. He wanted this, wanted Minho in ways he hadn't let himself want anyone in a long time. But the fear of being hurt, of losing this before it even began, lingered at the edges of his thoughts.

Minho seemed to sense his hesitation, his expression softening as he reached out, his hand finding Jisung's and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I don't know where this is going," he admitted, his voice low but sincere. "But I'd like to find out. With you."

Jisung looked down at their joined hands, his heart swelling with a mixture of hope and fear. He knew it was a risk, knew that opening himself up to Minho meant making himself vulnerable in ways he hadn't allowed himself to be in years. But looking into Minho's eyes, he realized that maybe—just maybe—it was a risk worth taking.

"Me too," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I want that too."

The confession hung in the air, a quiet promise that felt both fragile and unbreakable. For the first time in a long time, Jisung felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be—caught in the quiet, electric space between fear and hope, held steady by the warmth of Minho's hand in his own.

The rest of the night passed in a blur, the movie long forgotten as they shared quiet conversations and soft touches, each moment drawing them closer, each word weaving them together in ways they hadn't anticipated.

And as Jisung lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling with a soft smile on his lips, he realized something that sent a thrill of both excitement and terror through him.

He was falling.

Slowly, inevitably, and undeniably, he was falling for Minho.

But with that realization came a flicker of fear, a quiet voice in the back of his mind reminding him of all the times he had let someone in, only to end up hurt and alone. He wanted to trust Minho, to believe that this time would be different. But the scars from the past ran deep, and he knew that if he wasn't careful, this could end in heartbreak.

Still, as he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting to Minho's smile, his touch, his quiet reassurance, he allowed himself to hope. To believe, even if just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

And as sleep claimed him, he held onto that fragile hope, letting it lull him into dreams filled with quiet laughter, gentle kisses, and the warmth of Minho's hand in his own.