minsung/skz one shots

burial plot.

Effortless, the way you left me
Now the air I breathe is taken from me

' ֶָ֢ 

MINHO

“Please, please don’t leave me,” Minho cried, his fingers wrapped tightly around Jisung’s wrist, not ready to let go yet. His grip was desperate, trembling, like a drowning man clinging to the last lifeline in a raging sea. “Please,” he breathed, the tears streaming down his face. The tears burned hot against his skin, carving jagged trails as they fell, but the ache in his chest burned hotter. He knew he had messed up, that he had pushed him to this decision, and yet, he was being selfish, not wanting him to let go. Every sob that escaped his lips felt like a plea for salvation, though he wasn’t sure if he deserved it. “Let me go, Minho. It’s over,” Jisung answered through clenched teeth, snapping his wrist out of Minho’s grip. His voice was sharp, cold, cutting through Minho’s soul like a blade. The sound of Jisung’s voice, so devoid of warmth, sent a chill down Minho’s spine. “Please don’t go,” Minho whispered, not sure what else to say to fix this. His voice broke with the weight of his words, each one fragile, like glass about to shatter. “Let me fix this, please,” he followed him to the door, watching him shoulder his bag. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic, uneven rhythm that drowned out every other sound. The silence between them felt suffocating, heavy, as if the walls of their shared dorm room were closing in. Minho didn’t know where Jisung would be living. They shared a dorm, and all the other rooms at their college were taken. He couldn’t help but wonder, the thought twisting in his chest like a knife. Sure, he would probably be able to sleep in the dorm of one of his many friends, but not for long, and then? Then he might come back to Minho. He clung to that faint, fragile hope like a prayer. Jisung turned to face him, making Minho’s heart skip a violent beat. The moment froze, and for a fleeting second, Minho thought there was a chance, a sliver of mercy in Jisung’s gaze. “Please,” Minho whispered again, pleading, begging for Jisung to stay – to give him another chance. His voice cracked, the word barely audible, as if the weight of his guilt was choking him. But Jisung shook his head, his hand already resting on the door handle, ready to leave. His shoulders sagged under the weight of hurt and disappointment. “I gave you everything you wanted, everything you needed, and it still wasn’t enough for you, Minho. I’ve tolerated it for far too long. I spent years trying to give my everything to this relationship, years, and you threw it away in a blink of an eye. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Jisung snapped, his voice cold and drained of any warmth. Each word felt like a nail in Minho’s coffin, sealing his fate. Minho knew he had hurt him, had betrayed him in the worst way possible. He had replayed the moment over and over in his head, the haze of that night, the sickening sense of wrongness when he woke up. But Jisung didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to believe him when Minho told him that he had been made drunk until the point of unconsciousness. As if Jisung was just waiting for a reason to leave him. “No,” Minho choked out, shaking his head slightly, looking at him through blurry vision. His breath hitched as he fought to find the right words, words that could undo the damage, if such words even existed. “Yes, you did. You thought you could just pretend as if you didn’t fuck around with two of our friends, without me finding out.” Jisung’s voice trembled with a mixture of fury and pain, though he tried to mask it with cold detachment. Minho’s heart sank, his breath hitching as he vividly remembered waking up next to both of their friends the morning after a party. The memory clawed at his mind like a cruel ghost, haunting him in every quiet moment. “But.. I was drunk,” Minho whispered, his heart stuttering as Jisung pressed the door handle down. His voice was thin, weak, laced with regret. “Yeah, I know. That doesn’t make it better, does it?” And with that being said, Jisung opened the door and left him standing in the cold hallway, with his heart shattering to the floor, unable to collect the pieces and build it back together. Minho’s legs felt like lead as he stood there, frozen, watching the door slowly close behind Jisung. He wanted to run after him, wanted to stop him from leaving, and wanted to tell him that he didn’t get drunk on purpose, that he didn’t remember what he was doing, but a part of him told Minho that it was useless. That there was no turning back and that he would have to face the world without Jisung by his side. His mind turned back to that night, to the betrayal that had cost him everything. The two "friends" – if they could even be called that – had ensured he was too drunk to know what he was doing. Each time Minho had tried to confront them, tried to make sense of the fragmented memories of that awful night, they had laughed in his face. Their mocking words played on a loop in his mind: “You wanted it, didn’t you? Stop pretending you didn’t.” Their laughter rang in his ears, cruel and mocking, like salt poured into an open wound. They had made him believe that it was what he wanted – but Minho loved Jisung more than anyone else in this world. He had his flaws, he made mistakes, but he tried his hardest to love Jisung the way he deserved to be loved. Yet, none of that mattered any longer. Jisung had left him, and all that was left were the broken pieces of his fractured heart. The air around him felt heavier, colder, as if the absence of Jisung had stolen all the warmth from the world. And as Minho sank to the floor, the silence engulfed him, a reminder of what he had lost and the hollow ache that would linger in its place.