Han Jisung is only 20 years old, but he has the eyes of someone who has already lived too much. Everything he's been through has made him lose himself, drowning his soul in pain.
Lee Minho is 22, but he grew up quickly. He has the smile of someone w...
Haru was preparing a quick and easy dinner when she heard the front door close with a loud noise.
«Jisung?» she called, not hearing her son's voice greet her as usual. Yet, no response.
She frowned and, without leave the onion and the knife she had in her hands, the woman came out of the kitchen.
Her son was bent over taking off his shoes.
«Ji!» she exclaimed with an uncertain smile. A strange feeling gripped her stomach, a premonition...
«Minho isn't having dinner with us?» she asked, trying to get rid of that thought.
Han didn't answer again and raised his head, showing his face. Haru's eyes widened: she hadn't seen her son in that state in weeks, since Minho had entered their life to be precise.
Jisung's gaze was blank, his eyes were shining but he wasn't crying. Not yet, at least.
But it was clear that he was suffering, that he was collapsing again, crushed by the boulder that his life had left on his shoulders.
«What happened, honey?!» she asked, moving closer to him, hoping somehow that he just had a problem at work or an argument with someone. Something solvable, something that any young person his age could face.
But he didn't answer.
Han didn't know what to say. What was there to explain?
He was a mess, his life sucked and he could never be happy. He was just a broken human. And that was it.
He walked past his mother, avoiding her worried gaze because he couldn't bear that as well. He had disappointed Minho, he had disappointed himself, he couldn't think of having disappointed his mother too. Again. He had already made her suffer enough.
So, without saying a word, he went up the stairs and locked himself in his room, under Haru's tired eyes.
He took off his clothes, almost tearing them, and fell into his bed. His eyes were still dry. His chest felt like it was crushing his lungs, his throat was completely closed, he felt suffocated, yet no tears.
He thought he had improved, he thought it would have been different with Minho... And instead he still had allowed Eun to hit him. Once again.
His past was there, in the shadows, always lurking. And it would never really let him live peacefully.
"You knew it, Han. You have to be alone."
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. . .
Days passed, Han did not leave his room. He had texted Chan that he was sick and didn't move from his mattress if not for basic needs. Haru had started bringing the dinner to his door again, only to find the food untouched a few hours later. She had started crying again, worrying, feeling useless as a mother.
![It's you // Minsung [Eng]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/332525481-64-k74806.jpg)