𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌! ( kpop oneshots )

+ MINSUNG ▎ ROSES.

― TRIGGER WARNING, THIS ONESHOT INCLUDES:
mental illness.
outbursts of anger.
references to suicidal thoughts.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

(𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊) 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒:
― 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠.
― 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎.
― 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

❝ ONLY THE ROSES KNOW. ❞
minsung // word count: 4,297

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Jisung sat in Minho's bedroom, the side of his head resting against the window as raindrops fell steadily from the sky overhead. Downstairs, he could hear his boyfriend yelling aloud to himself, speaking nonsense the way that he always did when he went through a bout of emotional and mental overload. The younger boy breathed in deeply, telling himself that panicking and falling into a hyperventilating mess of anxiety on the floor would do no good at all, so he inhaled sharply, attempting to keep his lungs inflating and deflating at a reasonable and rationalized pace. Crying would do no good either, and Jisung knew that very well, so he brought his dominant hand up and wiped away the few stray tears that had dared to spill over his bottom row of eyelashes.

He would leave the waterworks to the clouds, because the rainfall was productive in many ways, whilst his own tears would do nothing more than cause moisture to be removed from his body. There was no point in crying over spilled milk, so Jisung refused to do so.

The sound of shattering glass broke through the atmosphere, and the young male upstairs internally cringed at the noise that was far too familiar for his liking. What was it this time? Another picture frame? A flower vase? Another one of his mother's glass figurines?

Then, there was silence. Minho had finally stopped speaking, and he was no longer lost within a chaotic whirlwind of anger and despair. Finally, his mind had come back to him properly, and he felt as if he could finally operate on a human level once again. His normalcy had returned, and the part of him that reared its ugly head every now and again had finally gone away. For the time being, at least.

Jisung pushed himself up and onto his feet, counting off the seconds before he dared to unlock the bedroom door and exit into the small hallway that would lead him to the stairs. Ten, nine eight. . . When Minho got that way, the younger male had learned to simply stay out of his way. Seven, six, five. . . It wasn't the older boy's fault anyway. Four, three, two, one. . .

The medicine was to blame.

"Minho?" Jisung called out to his lover softly, hoping not to startle the taller boy and make him feel threatened somehow.

From the bottom of the staircase, the older male stared up at the younger, his body shaking slightly as blood trickled down his right hand. Jisung's eyes widened at the sight of his boyfriend's injury, but he somehow managed to keep himself together for Minho's sake.

"I tried to clean it up," the taller male choked out, and Jisung winced at the drop of that horrid red substance that detached itself from Minho's skin and fell to the ground like the rain outside the window.

That was precisely why Jisung couldn't ever bring himself to hate the older boy. As loud and as cruel as he could be at times, Minho always tried his best to clean up after himself, even if it left his hands covered in scars. . .

"What did you break?" The shorter male asked as he made his way down the stairs.

He didn't get a response to his question, but as it turned out, one wasn't needed anyway. The distinct scent of hard whiskey took over Jisung's senses, filling his nostrils with a burning feeling and his mind with a hazy, intoxicated sensation. Minho didn't drink, as he was only eighteen and therefore still under the age to do so legally, but his father wasn't sober in the slightest. After his son was diagnosed with a rare form of psychosis, the older boy's father distanced himself from the family. Most hours of the day, and even into the late night, Minho's father could be found in his office at his workplace.