The Colors of Love - Minsung

twenty four

Jisung stared at the door long after Minho had left. The café was still buzzing with conversation, the clinking of glasses and soft hum of background music filling the space. 

But all he could focus on was the way Minho's expression had shifted—the tension in his shoulders, the urgency in his voice.

His gut told him something was off.

And Jisung had always been good at following his instincts.

He exhaled, pushing his chair back. He wasn't sure what he was doing, only that sitting here wasn't an option.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the pavement. The once-bright sky had started to fade into warm hues of orange and purple, the streetlights flickering to life one by one.

Minho was nowhere to be seen.

How far could he have gone?

He started walking, scanning the crowd, searching for any sign of him. His fingers curled around his phone in his pocket, debating whether to call—but something told him Minho wouldn't answer.

And then—

A sharp sound. Distant, but distinct.

Jisung's head snapped toward a narrow alley between two buildings. It was dark, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp at the far end. He hesitated, heart pounding.

Then he heard it again.

A voice. Low, tense.

Jisung stepped closer, peering around the corner just in time to see—

Minho.

And he wasn't alone.

The other person stood with their back to Jisung, their posture tense but oddly familiar. Jisung narrowed his eyes, but the lack of proper lighting and the rush of adrenaline made it hard to tell who it was.

Who...

"I told you," Minho's voice was low, steady, but Jisung could hear the edge of frustration beneath it. "I'm done with this."

A quiet scoff. Then the other figure finally spoke. "No, you're not."

Jisung inhaled sharply. The voice—it was familiar. Not enough for him to recognize instantly, but enough to unsettle him.

Minho's fists clenched at his sides. "You think you can keep pushing me around forever? I played along, but I'm not doing it anymore."

The figure took a slow step closer. "You don't get to decide when it's over, Minho."

Something in Jisung's stomach twisted.

The way this person spoke—as if they knew Minho, as if they had control over him—bothered him more than it should have.

"I already told you," Minho muttered, voice gritted, "I don't care what your plan is. I'm out."

A beat of silence. Then the figure sighed, shaking their head. "Fine. Walk away."

Minho's shoulders stiffened.

"But don't think for a second that you can stop him from finding out," the figure continued. "Because when the truth comes out... you and I both know it won't be pretty."

Jisung sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling like he was the one being spoken to. Finding out? Finding out what?

"Stay out of this," Minho warned.

The figure simply let out a quiet chuckle—low, almost amused, like they knew they had the upper hand.

Then, without another word, they turned and walked away, the sound of their footsteps fading into the night.

Jisung remained frozen in place, pulse racing. He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until Minho suddenly moved, exhaling sharply and running a hand through his hair.

Jisung should leave.

He should turn back, pretend he never saw this, never heard this.

But something about the way Minho stood there, staring at the ground like he wanted to disappear, made it impossible for Jisung to move.

So instead, his lips parted, voice barely above a whisper—

"Minho?"

Minho's entire body went rigid.

Slowly, he turned.

And when his eyes met Jisung's, there was something there Jisung had never seen before.

Fear.

✎ To be continued...