Why So Lonely? || Minsung 1/3 ✔️

60

When the bell rings for geometry to be over, I pout towards Minho, "my tummy hurts."

He looks at me, confused, "did you eat this morning?"

I shake my head, scooting out of my desk and standing up with my binder.

"Why? Don't you usually eat?"

"I wasn't hungry this morning," I sigh, biting my tongue to keep me from telling him what happened. He deserves to know, but I can't bring it upon myself to add that kind of stress to his life. I'll... tell him soon. Not now.

"Angel, you should've at least grabbed some toast. This is why you're so skinny; you don't eat," he frowns.

"What? I do eat. I just wasn't feeling it," I shrug, beginning to walk out of the classroom.

He walks beside me, "yeah... but Sung, I've noticed how light you are. It doesn't seem like a healthy weight."

"Min, I'm fine, I promise. I don't think I could keep an eating disorder from you." But you keep everything else from him.

"Fine," he says, "just make sure to eat in the morning then. I'll see you at lunch."

Did I upset him? Stupid Jisung. You do this every time. Why can't you be normal?

I walk into the art classroom, pulling out my paints and canvas from my little locker. I sit at my desk, clicking open the paints and pouring them onto a piece of plastic.

I look over my art, choosing to continue where I left off at the phone lines. The utopia project was still in, but I was almost done with it. Just minor details to add and fix.

"Jisung, can I borrow that pink?" A girl asks from next to me and I nod. "Thanks."

Everyone in the classroom was pretty silent. Mrs.Im had piano covers of songs playing, but I didn't really want to listen to that. I pull out my headphones, plugging them in and going with my calmer playlist.

Love Die Young by Eric Nam begins to play, and I work with the music. I occasionally switch my brushes, only to make smaller marks.

The hour passes by quick, leaving me to clean up my things before heading out of the door. Today was off, and I didn't like it. Something was wrong. Something was going to happen, I don't think it was going to be good.

I enter my psychology class, seeing Changbin already seated and playing on his phone.

"Does today feel weird to you?" I ask, digging out the fill-in notes we got last week.

"Not really, why?"

I shrug, "I don't know. I feel like something bad is going to happen."

"Let's just hope you're wrong then," he smiles assuringly. "Don't worry, I'm sure everything will be fine."

Our conversation ends when the teacher walks into the classroom.