overpopulated ▪︎ minsung

chapter 3; depression

Depression ran in Minho's family. His mother had a bad case of postpartum depression, his father had spent half a year in a psych ward when he was a teenager, and now Minho felt it. 

After Woojin's death, he had only left his apartment once, and that was for a doctor's appointment where they increased the dosage of his depression medication. His grades still hovered just above average, despite his lack of attendance in class. His teachers sent curious emails about his uncommon absence, some mad and others concerned. Jisung, personally, was irritated with Minho's behavior. He understood mental disorders well, having severe anxiety himself, and he knew that getting out could significantly help. 

"Minho?" Jisung knocked lightly on their bedroom door. "Come on, don't make me sing Frozen to you." Minho normally would have laughed at that, maybe even belted out his own rendition of "Into the Unknown". Instead, he got an annoyed grunt.

Jisung leaned his forehead against the cool door and scrunched his nose to try and stop the grief flooding over him. Because while Minho grieved over Woojin, he unintentionally left Jisung behind  

He sobbed loudly, lower lip quivering, before slipping a hand over his mouth and sliding to the floor. Jisung tried his best to stay quiet, going so far as to bite his fingers, but Minho already heard him. The man padded over to the door with his blanket thrown over his shoulders. Maybe food wouldn't coax him from his depressing cave, but Jisung's cries would certainly work wonders. His own frustration with the nosy boy vanished with the simple sound coming from the other side of the door. God, he was so in love. And that was what made his decision all the more painful.

He opened the door and draped his weak body over his boyfriend's curved back. Jisung had on one of Minho's bigger dance hoodies; the decals of his name and number on the back scratched Minho's uncovered legs. He refused to move.

"Oh, Sungie, baby. What's wrong?" Minho asked, brushing his nose along Jisung's wet cheek. Jisung blabbered for a second, tongue flailing and tears cascading.

"You're sad," he settled for. Sad didn't even begin to describe the sheer numbness in Minho's heart, the overwhelming thoughts in his mind, but Jisung knew from experience that mentioning Minho's depression typically led to an argument. He hadn't had a proper conversation with Minho in nearly a week, and he refused to let his own stubbornness push his boyfriend away for the second time. "I know Woojin's death really fucked you up, but," Jisung turned to stare at Minho's unfamiliar features. "I still need you. I need you to tell me how much you love my stupid stomach and my dumb cheeks. I need you to hug me when I'm stressed out about the death dot or finals."

Minho looked so incredibly guilty, but Jisung didn't stop. He couldn't stop even if he tried. Jisung wasn't good with emotions, conveying them, showing them, reading other peoples. Words, however, he was amazing with, and that was all he had to battle Minho's unrelenting demons.

"Woojin is gone. He's dead, and I'm sorry you lost someone you loved. He was my friend too, you know? I feel it, too. I see his pictures and I could cry. I remember the way I fell from him, the steadiness of his chest before he died. But just because he's gone doesn't mean we have to be. We can be happy, sad, mad, I don't fucking know, horny? He won't be mad. In fact, he'd probably tell us to get our shit together. He'd tell you to go back to school, to dance, to breathe."

Minho tightened his grip on Jisung and sighed into his neck. The warm air that tickled Jisung's ear was a reminder for both that they were still living, the world was still turning.

"I'm so sorry, Jisung."

The teenager wanted to reassure his boyfriend, but he wasn't ready. He couldn't accept the apology, as much as it pained him to ignore Minho's shaky breathing and white knuckles. Jisung smiled empathetically and pulled Minho's face to gently peck his chapped lips.

"I know you are," Jisung whispered softly. He stood up and patted Minho's fluffy hair. "Now go get dressed so we can bribe Chan with cuddles and chicken."

(Chan didn't want to leave his room either, but was more than happy to stuff his face with chicken and cry in his best friends arms). 

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