Echoes of the Alley

21 - The Breaking Point

The day began with a dull ache in Jisung's chest, one that he tried to dismiss as just another bad morning. The weight had been there for so long that he had almost grown used to it—almost. But today, it felt sharper, heavier, like it was pressing down on him with a purpose.

He sat at the breakfast table, stirring his cereal long after it had gone soggy. The apartment was quiet except for the occasional sound of Jeongin humming as he tidied up the living room. Felix had already left for errands, and Seungmin was still asleep. Jisung should have felt some semblance of peace in the stillness, but instead, it made him feel even more isolated.

"You're gonna stir a hole into that bowl," Jeongin teased as he walked into the kitchen, breaking the silence.

Jisung glanced up, startled. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

Jeongin tilted his head, studying Jisung with a frown. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." The words came out automatically, devoid of any conviction.

Jeongin didn't press, but his concern lingered in the way he hovered for a moment before walking away. Jisung's stomach twisted with guilt. He hated how his friends were starting to tiptoe around him, how he was dragging their moods down with his own.

—
The studio was supposed to be an escape. It always had been. But today, the familiar walls felt suffocating. Jisung sat on the couch, his notebook open in his lap, staring at a blank page. The pen in his hand felt foreign, heavy, as if it were resisting every attempt to put words to paper.

"Any ideas?" Minho asked, glancing at Jisung from his spot by the computer. His tone was casual, but there was a quiet hopefulness in his voice, as if he were trying to draw Jisung out of his shell without pushing too hard.

Jisung shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His throat felt tight, his chest heavier than before. The silence between them stretched thin, and Minho eventually turned back to the screen, the clatter of the keyboard filling the room.

Minutes passed. Or maybe it was hours. Jisung wasn't sure. Time felt meaningless, slipping through his fingers like sand. He wanted to leave, to escape, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere that didn't feel just as suffocating as the studio.

"Jisung." Minho's voice broke through the haze. It was softer now, more serious. "You don't have to say anything, but... I'm here, okay? Whatever it is, you don't have to handle it alone."

Something in Jisung snapped. He stood abruptly, his movements jerky, almost frantic. "I need some air," he muttered, not waiting for a response before grabbing his things and rushing out of the studio.

—
The park was quiet, the paths mostly empty as dusk began to settle. Jisung walked aimlessly, his thoughts a tangled mess that he couldn't begin to unravel. His breaths came in short, shallow bursts, his chest tightening with each step. He tried to calm himself, to focus on the steady crunch of gravel beneath his shoes, but it wasn't enough.

Memories flashed through his mind, unbidden and relentless. The missed deadlines. The worried looks from his friends. The constant, gnawing fear that he was letting everyone down. It was too much. It had always been too much.

He sank onto a bench, his head in his hands. His body shook with silent sobs, the weight of everything finally crashing down on him. He wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but the words wouldn't come. All he could do was sit there, crumbling under the pressure.

The panic began to claw its way up his throat, his breathing growing more erratic. His chest heaved as he struggled to draw in air, the world around him blurring into a mix of muted colors and distant sounds. His hands clutched at the edges of the bench, his knuckles white as he tried to ground himself, but it wasn't working. The spiraling thoughts consumed him.