The Weight of Goodbye || minsung

a fragile foundacion

It had been a week since that night in the city, since Minho's quiet reassurance had calmed Jisung's worries—for a time. But as days passed, that sense of security began to slip, fraying bit by bit under the weight of unspoken questions and a silence that grew louder with each unanswered text, each awkward pause in their conversations.

Jisung found himself walking on eggshells, caught between wanting to cling tighter to Minho and fearing that doing so might push him further away. He told himself that it was just a rough patch, that every relationship had moments like this. But in the quiet of his apartment, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting, an invisible fault line widening between them with each passing day.

One evening, as he sat on the couch alone, he picked up his phone and scrolled through his messages with Minho, re-reading their recent conversations. The words seemed hollow, forced. Jisung wanted to reach out, to ask Minho what was really going on, but every time he typed a message, he hesitated, his finger hovering over the send button before he finally set the phone aside with a frustrated sigh.

He had thought about inviting Minho over, thought about trying to fix whatever was happening between them with a night of laughter and closeness. But somehow, he knew that it wouldn't be enough, that there was something bigger at play, something they couldn't just brush under the rug.

The knock on his door startled him, and he jumped, his heart pounding as he went to answer it. When he opened the door, Minho stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice softer than usual, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Hey," Jisung replied, relief and anxiety mingling in his chest. He stepped aside to let Minho in, closing the door behind him as they moved to the couch.

They sat in silence for a moment, the air thick with tension, neither of them quite sure how to begin. Finally, Jisung spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Is everything...okay?"

Minho looked down, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the fabric of the couch. "Yeah, it's just...things have been a little overwhelming lately," he admitted, his voice quiet but sincere. "Work, family stuff...it's been hard to keep up."

Jisung nodded, his mind racing as he tried to decipher the hidden meaning behind Minho's words. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

Minho looked up, his gaze meeting Jisung's with an intensity that made his heart race. "I know," he murmured. "But sometimes, I feel like I'm just...dragging you into my mess."

The words hit Jisung like a punch to the chest, a quiet reminder of the fears he had been trying so hard to ignore. "You're not dragging me anywhere, Minho," he said, his voice steady but laced with an edge of desperation. "I'm here because I want to be. Because I...care about you."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and vulnerable, and Jisung saw something flicker in Minho's eyes—something that looked almost like regret.

"Jisung..." Minho's voice trailed off, and he looked away, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to find the words. "I don't want to hurt you."

The words sent a chill through Jisung, and he felt his heart twist, a pang of fear mingling with anger. "Then don't," he replied, his voice sharper than he had intended. "Don't hurt me, Minho. Just...be honest with me."

Minho looked up, his gaze steady and filled with a quiet sorrow that made Jisung's chest ache. "I don't know if I can do this," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I don't know if I can be what you need."

The confession shattered something inside Jisung, a quiet, fragile hope that he had been holding onto since the day they had first met. He wanted to scream, to tell Minho that he was enough, that he didn't need him to be perfect, just present. But as he looked into Minho's eyes, he saw a determination that made his heart sink—a look that told him this wasn't a conversation, but a decision.

"Are you...ending this?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

Minho's silence was answer enough, and Jisung felt a surge of panic, a desperation that made his chest ache as he struggled to keep his composure. He had thought they were building something real, something that could withstand the doubts and fears that plagued them both. But now, as he looked at Minho, he realized that maybe he had been wrong, that maybe this had always been more fragile than he had wanted to believe.

"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why are you giving up?"

Minho looked away, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his own emotions in check. "Because I don't want to drag you down with me," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet bitterness that made Jisung's heart twist. "I don't want you to end up resenting me for not being able to give you what you deserve."

Jisung felt a surge of anger, a frustration that made his hands clench into fists as he struggled to hold back the words that burned at the tip of his tongue. "You don't get to decide what I deserve," he replied, his voice shaking. "You don't get to decide what I want."

Minho flinched, and for a brief moment, Jisung thought he might reach out, might pull him into his arms and tell him that everything would be okay. But instead, he stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on the floor, a quiet resignation settling over him like a heavy weight.

"I'm sorry, Jisung," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I wish things were different."

Jisung felt a pang of pain, a deep, aching sadness that made his chest feel hollow. He had let himself believe in this, had let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, he had found someone who wouldn't leave. But now, as he looked at Minho, he realized that he had been fooling himself, that he had been clinging to a dream that was slipping through his fingers.

Without another word, he stood up, his movements stiff and mechanical as he moved toward the door. Minho watched him go, his expression unreadable, a quiet sorrow in his eyes that made Jisung's heart ache.

He paused at the door, his hand resting on the handle as he turned to look at Minho one last time. "If you walk away now," he murmured, his voice steady despite the pain that threatened to overwhelm him, "you'll regret it."

Minho's gaze dropped, and for a moment, Jisung thought he might change his mind, might reach out and pull him back. But instead, he stayed silent, his shoulders slumped as he looked down, a quiet defeat settling over him like a shadow.

Taking a deep breath, Jisung opened the door and stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he walked away, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. He didn't look back, didn't allow himself the luxury of hoping that Minho might follow. He knew that if he did, he would crumble, would let himself fall back into something that was already broken beyond repair.

As he walked through the city, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions, he felt a strange sense of clarity settle over him—a quiet acceptance that came with the realization that sometimes, love wasn't enough. Sometimes, no matter how much you wanted something, it just wasn't meant to be.

He reached his apartment, his hands trembling as he fumbled with his keys, the weight of his grief settling over him like a heavy shroud. He had thought that he could handle this, that he could open himself up to the possibility of love without fear. But now, as he sat alone in the dark, he realized that he had been wrong, that he had been a fool to believe that he could let himself love without the risk of losing.

And as he closed his eyes, the image of Minho's face lingered in his mind, a quiet, haunting reminder of the love he had dared to hope for, a love that had slipped through his fingers like sand.