crush culture | minsung

1.

tw: brief mentioning of self harm and abuse.

beep.
beep.
beep.

the familiar ambience of han jisung's alarm sounded in his ears. despite the boy's desperate attempt to cover his face with his plump white pillow, the sound was still heard, forcing him to rise out of his soft, warm bed and get ready for school. he ruffled his dirty blonde locks, debating whether he should actually show up or not. jisung had the ability to miss as much school as he wanted, and he would never be marked absent. this was because jisung's father owned one of the biggest corporations in all of korea, and as future ceo, jisung had pretty much all the power in the world on his side. at least, as much power as money can buy.

and jisung was sure that money could buy just about anything. even happiness, despite the famous saying that completely went against that notion. and even if deep down in his heart, jisung knew that something was missing in his life, despite having a surplus of cash, he would repress that thought with everything in him. because han jisung was the picture perfect son of the han family. and he would never let anyone view him as anything less.

the blonde decided to attend school, despite the fact that the weight of twelve unfinished assignments for the day were weighing down his backpack. not that he needed to worry about doing any of them- his father could simply pay off his teachers to change the menacing red zero in the grade book to a hundred percent in an instant. at least, that's how jisung had managed to get straight a's for his entire schooling career. sighing, he brushed his teeth and combed his locks, changing into a more school appropriate uniform than the spotted pajamas he was currently wearing. the blonde slipped on a navy blue sweatshirt, along with his usual black jeans and red high-tops. he grabbed his backpack, and headed down the stairs.

jisung winced immediately. he could hear the all too familiar sound of his father's deep, ruff voice, yelling at his mom. he heard a loud roar, and then, silence. figuring that he could fully head down the stairs, jisung practically tip-toed into the large kitchen. he examined as his dad exited the room, his driver trailing behind him. jisung's mom watched her husband leave, her hands clenched tightly into two fists, but upon viewing her son glancing at the sight, she let a fake smile creep upon her usual frown. "good morning sweetheart," she chirped, walking back up the stairs quickly, not allowing jisung to even utter a single word back.

jisung scoffed, turning back to face the kitchen. he didn't have a great relationship with either of his parents. they practically viewed their own child as a business partner since his birth, bringing him to meetings and always forcing him to attend elaborate parties. but, jisung realized he was fortunate to even have parents, and brushed their behavior off as best as he could. the constant shouting had been background noise for the boy for far too long, and he used his own music to drown them out as best as he could. shrugging the feeling off, jisung turned back to face the kitchen. upon seeing his breakfast already displayed on the table. he quickly chugged the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and gobbled down the nutella crepes that were adorned with all types of fruit.

"goodbye!" jisung yelled, wincing at the all too familiar, yet still painful echo that resounded back into his ears. it wasn't that he expected a reply from anyone, but he often found himself imagining what it may feel like to get one one day. although he knew it was foolish, the blonde haired boy was secretly hoping for a reply that would never come.

-

minho exhaled, a large puff of smoke filling up his sight. he liked it better when he couldn't see anything in his room. it made the boy forget about life and all its hardships for a while. the familiar feeling that weed brought seeped into minho, and he closed his eyes, relinquishing and practically soaking up the high as if it were sunlight. he finished off the blunt, making sure to step on it to put the fire out. not that he would care if his house burned. it truly wouldn't bother the brunette one bit.

he winced as the bright light from his phone shocked his eyes. he rubbed at them roughly, before his caramel pupils adjusted to the screen. minho audibly gasped when he saw the time. only three minutes until school would start, and lee minho was once again late.

not that he cared, however, it would result in another detention, which on the other hand, minho did care about. the brunette sprung up from his bed, going to attend to his usual morning routine, yet, an extremely sped up version, as time was ticking by painfully fast. he pulled on his usual pair of black skinny jeans, that were too ripped to even be necessarily labeled as jeans, more so holes. he shrugged on an extra large hoodie, black, his preferred color. he made sure that the sleeves were well adjusted, and that they wouldn't accidentally go up while the brunette was going about his day. not that anyone would notice. minho barely interacted with just about anyone at school, yet, the feeling that someone may see the marks on his arms still pounded in his head.

it hadn't been too long since his last time cutting, and minho was sure that the marks had not yet scarred, or come even close to healing completely. adjusting his sleeves for the final time, minho grabbed his bookbag and his skateboard, popping in his earbuds and blasting music as loud as possible. it would drown out the sound of his dad, who he was sure was either drunk or asleep. there was no in between. after both his little sister and his mother had fatally passed away in a car accident a year prior, his father had become terrible to both minho and himself. he treated alcohol like water, consuming it day in and day out with barely a break. and when those breaks did happen to come, minho would know. he would know by the intense screaming, he would know by the shattered glasses, and he would definitely know by the cold hand pressing against his skin. the marks they left were even more painful to minho than his own.

shrugging off his wandering thoughts, the brunette felt the weight of his backpack on his shoulders, knowing that somewhere in there was his solace, his one escape from the treacherous reality he was forced to live in. his poetry notebook. minho found comfort in words. after all, words could provide something for him that his father could never: safety. and minho would write and write until his hand cramped and his knuckles bled if it meant an escape from his life for just a little while.

he skated to school, as fast as he possibly could, mustering up some sort of strength to get himself through the day.