cherry club 🍒 minsung

eleven

Recovery is not linear. It is a tedious process with multiple setbacks and exceptions. How do people truly determine if they are "getting better"? Is it how happy they are? By how easy it becomes? I don't believe so. "Getting better" is acknowledging that an event has occurred and actively seeking help to cope with it, regardless of how little progress is made. Do not be discouraged when simple touches, the glint of a blade, or a plate full of food triggers you. RECOVERY IS NOT LINEAR! Take your time, recover safely and effectively.

Stories, especially in fanfictions, often downplay the grueling aftermath of rape incidents or suicide attempts. Never has it been, and never will it be my intention to do so. Both are serious topics that should not be written about/spoken about lightly. My stories often mention suicide and self-harm because they are topics I have experienced and am educated enough to write about, the before AND the after. I hope to make this story realistic and accurately portray the thoughts and emotions of a rape victim, despite my lack of experience. If my depictions are inaccurate, please message/comment and tell me.

[ lime delight ]

Jisung scrolled through his Instagram feed, liking random photos and saving car videos to his Instagram folders. Minho's soft voice drifted in and out, fluctuating with the slapping of water against bathroom tiles, humming a beautiful melody Jisung recognized as his. Jisung's promise of a date had fallen through after Chan called him for an urgent meeting with a recording agency, and the days spent planning their album concept pushed date night to the side.

Minho understood how critical this record deal was to 3racha and never fussed about the indefinite delay on their date. Jisung loved him more for it, and any moment not dedicated to keeping Chan and Changbin civil, creating music, or meeting with their manager he spent with Minho. 

But when he saw the ad for a classical ballet performance in Seoul, he knew he needed to take Minho. The tickets hardly touched his loaded bank account, and the two-hour trip would provide them the quality time their relationship lacked. 

The bathroom door opened, and Jisung tossed his phone to the side. "Hey, doll. How was your shower?" Minho shivered at the pet name and shook his head. 

Be good for me, doll, and put your hands up. 

"Please don't call me that." 

Jisung tilted his head and hummed. "Why not? I thought you liked the pet names?" 

Minho licked his lips and tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper by Jisung's closet, nearly tipping the entire basket over. "Just don't, alright? It's not fucking complicated." He snapped, and Jisung held out his hands in surrender. 

"Jesus, sorry." Jisung picked up his discarded phone and aimlessly opened and closed his few social media apps, eyeing Minho through his peripherals. The dancer shook like a boat on choppy waves, and Jisung gently grabbed his wrist to anchor him. "You know that date we were gonna go on?" Jisung intertwined their fingers, and Minho's unfocused eyes followed the movement. "Are you busy tonight?" 

He wasn't, Jisung knew. He hadn't been busy since the day his spirit died, taking the boy Jisung adored with it. Minho practically lived on the living room couch, staring at whatever cartoon was on TV, but not really watching. It killed Jisung to see Minho, determined, lovable, fuck you all Minho, melting into the couch cushions. Sometimes he worried about leaving Minho alone during the day to record. He was unpredictable, and it would be the end for Jisung if he came home to a lifeless Minho, his heart feeling so hopeless he forced it to stop.