The Colors of Love - Minsung

twenty eight

Jisung stared at the message on his phone for a second longer than necessary.

PuppySeung:

Hyunjin's okay.

Just... shaken.

We're talking now.

He let out a quiet breath and leaned back on his bed, the phone still in his hand. The quiet rustle of his blanket followed him as he sank into the pillows, frowning at the ceiling.

"Good," he muttered to himself. "He needs to talk to someone."

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a while. Then, finally:

GeeSuck:

Don't tell him I asked, but... really, is he okay?

The reply didn't come immediately, so Jisung turned the phone over on his chest and sighed.

He hadn't even changed out of his hoodie yet. His bag was still by the door, shoes half-kicked off.

PuppySeung:

I can't really say he's okay...

Anyway, just be careful.

I'll explain soon.

Huh? Careful with what?

No context. No warning. Just that.

He blew out a breath, fingers running through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his skin.

And then his mind flicked back—Minho. The alley. That look in his eyes.

The image wouldn't leave him:

Minho, tense and cornered, like a wild animal too proud to ask for help but desperate not to fall apart. It hadn't been nothing. Not to Jisung.

He didn't know why Minho was shutting him out again.

He picked up his phone again and typed. To Minho.

Jisung

Hey, it's me. Jisung.

This is about what happened to you in that alley earlier.

Whatever's going on, please tell me.

I don't like being left in the dark.

Minho stared at the message.

He hadn't turned on the lights in his room. The glow from his desk lamp cast soft shadows across the floor, and the room felt too quiet. Too still. Like everything might shatter if he so much as breathed wrong.