Author's pov..
The following day was just like the last-heavy with the unsaid words that hung between them like a storm on the horizon.
The silence was louder than any argument could have been, filling every room, every corner, every breath that passed between them.
Jisung sat at the kitchen table, staring at the untouched cup of coffee in front of him.
He had made it with his usual care, but now it was lukewarm, the steam long gone.
His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the edge of the mug, a rhythmic sound that felt alien in the stillness of the house.
Minho had retreated even further into himself. Every time Jisung passed by the hallway, he'd catch a glimpse of Minho's back-his face hidden behind the door to his study or the living room, as if there was a forcefield keeping him from having to face Jisung.
He had tried. He really had. Every time Minho seemed to be in the same room, Jisung had made an effort. He'd asked questions.
He'd tried to initiate conversations. But it was like Minho wasn't there-like his presence was a ghost, nothing more than a shadow in the corners of the rooms.
Jisung exhaled softly, leaning back in his chair. He had always been the one to push for answers, to talk things out, to solve whatever was broken.
But today, something inside him shifted. It wasn't just the exhaustion from the constant silent battles; it was something deeper. A feeling that maybe... maybe it was time to stop.
What was the point of pushing for answers when the other person wasn't ready to give them? What was the point of forcing conversation when it was met with nothing but silence?
He didn't want to be the one who begged for attention, for the crumbs of affection Minho had once given him without thinking.
He didn't want to feel like he was pleading for a connection that no longer existed-or maybe had never existed at all.
So Jisung made a decision. He would stop. No more pushing. No more attempting to reach Minho when he had made it clear he wasn't ready to talk.
Jisung let his hands fall into his lap, a calm settling over him. It wasn't relief, not exactly, but it was a kind of acceptance.
If Minho needed space, Jisung would give it to him. He would let the silence stretch as long as it needed to, let it grow heavy, until whatever was broken between them either mended itself or dissolved completely.
He stood up from the table and walked toward the living room. There was no need to linger, to search for Minho.
