Save me.. ||MINSUNG HIGH SCHOOL AU

Unspoken Goodbyes

It had been three days since the shooting, and the hospital room felt colder each time Minho stepped inside. Jisung's recovery was going well, at least on the outside. His wounds were healing, the color was coming back to his cheeks, and the nurses said he might be discharged in another week. But there was a tension in the air, a quiet heaviness neither of them could shake.

Minho's eyes drifted to Jisung as he lay on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. They had shared quiet moments since that kiss, since the confessions, but today felt different. Jisung looked... distant, like he was already miles away.

Minho cleared his throat, trying to break the silence. "You know," he started, forcing a lightness into his tone, "when you get out, I bet the school will throw you a parade. They love a survivor story."

Jisung didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, as if Minho's words had only tired him more.

The silence that stretched between them was thick, suffocating, and Minho's heart sank. He hadn't wanted this. He hadn't wanted the truth between them to create distance. But with each passing day, Jisung seemed to retreat further, putting up a wall that felt even more impenetrable than before.

"Jisung," Minho said, his voice hesitant, barely above a whisper. "What's going on?"

Jisung kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, then opened them, his gaze fixed on the window. "Minho, can we... just not talk about it?" His voice was strained, his words laced with an exhaustion that went beyond the physical.

"Not talk about it?" Minho echoed, his throat tightening. "You mean... everything? Or... us?"

Jisung finally looked at him, his eyes dull, weighed down with something that looked suspiciously like regret. "I don't know, Minho. This—whatever this is between us—maybe it was just... a moment. Maybe it was the heat of everything that happened, but... what if that's all it was?"

Minho felt his stomach twist, a wave of nausea washing over him. "You don't mean that." He shook his head, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You don't mean that, Jisung. I know you don't."

Jisung looked away, his fingers gripping the edge of his blanket. "Maybe I do."

The words struck Minho like a physical blow, knocking the breath out of him. He felt his chest tighten, his heart pounding against his ribcage. "After everything... you're just going to walk away?"

Jisung's face softened, but he didn't look at Minho. "It's not that easy," he murmured. "Minho, we... we live in a small world. Everyone at school, they already have opinions about us. About you. About me. And I'm not sure I can—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I don't think I'm strong enough to go through that."

"Strong enough?" Minho felt anger bubbling up alongside the hurt. "After everything we've been through, after almost dying, this—this—is the thing that scares you?" His voice cracked, and he took a step back, running a hand through his hair, trying to keep his composure.

Jisung flinched, a small tremor shaking his fingers as he stared down at his hands. "I'm scared, Minho," he whispered, his voice almost too soft to hear. "I'm terrified. I don't want everyone to know. I don't want things to change. I can't handle people looking at me differently, thinking of me differently."

Minho looked down, feeling a deep ache in his chest, one that felt like it had been waiting to surface for a long time. "So, you'd rather pretend none of this happened? That nothing we felt was real?

Jisung's face fell, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes. "I'm not saying it wasn't real. I'm saying that maybe it's better if we don't keep pretending we can change things."

"Pretend?" Minho's voice was raw, his heart pounding against his chest. "How can you call this pretending, Jisung?" His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. "How can you stand there and act like everything we've shared means nothing?"

Jisung's eyes flicked up to meet Minho's, and in that instant, Minho saw the cracks beneath Jisung's calm facade. The pain, the fear, the guilt—it was all there, clear as day. But Jisung just shook his head, looking away, refusing to let his emotions show.

"Maybe I can't," Jisung murmured, his voice trembling. "But maybe it's easier if we pretend."

Minho stared at him, his throat tightening, words catching in his chest. He wanted to shake Jisung, to make him understand, but the walls Jisung had built around himself felt impossible to break.

After a long, painful silence, Minho took a step back, his heart heavy. "If that's really how you feel, then... maybe you're right."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, like betrayal and heartbreak all at once. He wanted to fight, to convince Jisung to stay, but something in Jisung's eyes told him it wouldn't matter. Jisung had made up his mind, and Minho felt powerless to change it.

Jisung's eyes flicked to Minho's, a glimmer of sadness in their depths. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the person you needed."

Minho swallowed, his jaw clenched. "Don't apologize. Just... don't."

The silence hung heavy between them, a chasm that felt insurmountable, and with a final, pained look, Minho turned and walked out of the room, each step echoing with the sound of unspoken goodbyes. He didn't look back, because he knew if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave. He would crumble, beg Jisung to change his mind

But he couldn't—wouldn't—do that. Not if Jisung wasn't ready to face the truth of who they could be together. Not if Jisung didn't want this, or maybe couldn't bear the weight of what it meant to want him.

---

Minho stepped outside the hospital, the cold air biting at his skin. He took a shuddering breath, looking up at the gray sky, feeling as if it were pressing down on him, mirroring the heaviness in his heart. The world felt colder without Jisung by his side, the silence stretching in every direction.

He leaned against the wall, his hands shaking as he tried to pull himself together. The hurt, the anger, the betrayal—it all crashed down on him in a wave, leaving him breathless.

And as the first tears fell, he didn't bother wiping them away. He just stood there, letting the ache consume him, the memories of laughter and rivalry, of shared secrets and quiet moments, all slipping through his fingers like sand.

In that moment, he understood what it meant to lose someone, not because they were gone, but because they chose to leave.