He moved through the days like a ghost, slipping in and out of rooms without a word. When Jisung tried to speak to him, he would answer in quiet, clipped sentences, never meeting his eyes. He flinched at sudden movements, tensed at the sound of footsteps behind him. The worst part? He no longer slept beside Jisung.
The first night home, Minho had walked into their shared bedroom, stood there for a long moment, and then turned around without a word. He had taken the guest room, and Jisung had let him.
It made sense. Of course it did. But it still hurt. Even more because Minho was healing so well, and now they had to start over.
Jisung gave him space. He didn't push, didn’t pry. He just made sure Minho was safe, that he ate at least something, that he knew Jisung was there if he needed him.
But Minho barely ate. He picked at his food, pushed it around on his plate, muttered that he wasn’t hungry even when his stomach growled. It wasn’t good. Jisung knew that, but he didn’t want to force him.
Tonight, though, was different.
Balancing a tray in his hands, Jisung approached the guest room, knocking softly before easing the door open. "Minho?"
Minho sat on the bed, knees drawn up, staring blankly at the sheets. He didn’t react to Jisung’s voice, only giving the faintest flicker of his eyes when Jisung stepped closer.
"I brought you something to eat," Jisung said gently. He set the tray on the nightstand—warm soup, soft rice, something light that wouldn’t upset Minho’s stomach. "Just a little?"
Minho didn’t answer.
Jisung sighed, dragging a chair over to sit beside him. He picked up the spoon, scooping up some rice. "You need to eat," he coaxed, voice quiet. "I know it’s hard, but… just a bite?"
Minho’s gaze flickered to the food, then to Jisung’s hand, then away. His fingers curled around the fabric of his sweatpants, gripping tightly.
Jisung softened. "Hey," he murmured. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I’m here, okay? I won’t hurt you. I just want to help."
Minho’s breath hitched slightly. He swallowed, his throat bobbing, but after a long moment, he hesitantly leaned forward. Just a little.
Jisung lifted the spoon to his lips.
Minho took the smallest bite.
Jisung watched carefully, ready to pull back if Minho tensed, but Minho only chewed slowly, mechanically. His eyes stayed fixed on the bed, his shoulders stiff, but he swallowed, and that was enough.
"Good," Jisung murmured, offering another bite. "Just a little more."
Minho hesitated, then opened his mouth again. Jisung fed him slowly, patiently, until half the bowl was gone. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
By the time Minho finally shook his head, signaling he was done, his expression had softened—just a little. His grip on his pants had loosened. His breathing was steadier.
Jisung set the spoon down, brushing his knuckles against Minho’s knee before stopping himself. "You did good," he said softly. "Thank you."
Minho finally looked at him then. Just for a second. Just enough for Jisung to see the exhaustion in his eyes. The wariness. The silent gratitude.
Jisung didn’t push. He simply stood, gathering the tray. "I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything."
Minho said nothing, but as Jisung reached the door, a voice—small, barely above a whisper—stopped him in his tracks.
"…Thank you."
Jisung turned, meeting Minho’s gaze one more time before nodding.
"Anytime."
He lingered for a moment, watching as Minho pulled the blankets tighter around himself, curling into the small space he had carved out for himself. Jisung wanted to say something more, something reassuring, but he knew Minho needed time. So he simply stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Downstairs, he set the tray aside and exhaled, rubbing a tired hand down his face. Felix, who had barged in early in the morning, sat on the couch, watching him carefully.
"Did he eat?"
Jisung nodded. "A little."
Felix smiled faintly. "That’s good, a lot better than nothing"
Jisung hummed, but the knot in his chest didn’t ease. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until Minho felt safe again, until he could look at Jisung without flinching, without the ghost of fear in his eyes.
Felix nudged him. "He’ll get there. He just needs time."
Jisung closed his eyes for a moment before nodding. "Yeah."
Felix studied him for a moment before sighing. "And you? Have you eaten?"
Jisung blinked, looking at him as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. He shrugged. "I’m fine."
Felix scoffed. "That’s not an answer."
"I don’t really have an appetite."
Felix frowned, but he didn’t push—at least not yet. Instead, he patted the couch beside him. "Sit with me for a bit."
Jisung hesitated. "I should—"
"Sit." Felix’s voice was firm but gentle, leaving no room for argument. "You can’t help Minho if you’re running on empty."
Reluctantly, Jisung sank down beside him. Felix watched him carefully before leaning back against the cushions. "You’re doing everything you can," he said softly. "You know that, right?"
Jisung exhaled, rubbing his hands together. "I just… I don’t know if it’s enough."
"It is," Felix reassured. "Even if it doesn’t feel like it. Even if Minho isn’t ready to talk yet. Just knowing you’re here? That’s something."
Jisung swallowed, nodding slightly. He wanted to believe that. He really did.
Felix nudged him again. "You’re not alone in this, either, you know. You’ve got me, Hyunjin, Seungmin, and the rest of us… You don’t have to do this by yourself."
Jisung sighed. "I know."
"Then act like it." Felix’s tone was light, teasing, but there was a seriousness beneath it. "Let us help too, yeah?"
Jisung hesitated, then finally, he nodded. "…Yeah."
Felix smiled. "Good." He stretched before standing. "Now, I’m making you something to eat. And you’re going to eat it."
Jisung groaned. "Felix, don—"
"Nope." Felix shot him a grin. "No arguments."
For the first time in what felt like days, Jisung let out a small, tired chuckle. "…Fine. But only because arguing with you gives me migraines."
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A/N: Jisung taking care of Minho, Felix taking care of Jisung😼
