Alone {𝕄𝕀ℕ𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔾}

Chapter Ten

"MINHO!" JISUNG CALLED, CAREFUL TO KEEP HIS TONE BELOW THE LEVEL OF SUSPICION imposed by the numerous passersby who still eyed him wearily from their peripheral vision. Minho sucked in a dry breath, hurrying his pace until Jisung latched onto his wrist once more.

Not wanting to cause a scene – something the younger male clearly had no qualms doing – he paused, although he kept his eyes trailed on the ground. "It matters to me." Jisung stated with a tone of finality, a small fire burning brightly in his eyes.

Minho was startled into silence by the intensity present in the younger boy, which only caused the strawberry blond's eyebrows to furrow even further. "So... so tell me what's wrong," he whispered, his own eyes dropping.

Minho's heart clenched, and he ripped his wrist from the other's grasp. "Stop... stop that," he muttered in turn, his fists clenching at his sides. When he saw the inquiring look in Jisung's eyes, he bit his lip, yet he was compelled to spill his feelings out to the other.

"Stop acting like you care." This was clearly not the response Jisung was waiting for, because his jaw slackened slightly and his eyes widened a fraction. "Stop acting like you're a good person when you just stand by and watch others get hurt."

Ouch. That one hurt, and Minho knew it the moment Jisung's eyes darted up, only to quickly avert themselves to the side. A terse silence overwhelmed the two, and as much as he wanted to break it, Jisung's voice was caught in his throat.

"I..." he spluttered, his lips desperately trying to form words that he didn't have. "I'm... not a good person. I... do stand by and watch people get hurt because I'm a coward." His words ran deeper than the surface wound Minho had created, and he began to think about all the times he could've done something. Could've helped somebody.

Minho's eyebrows furrowed – he wasn't expecting such a response, either. He'd expected Jisung to vehemently deny it, claiming that Minho was blind or stupid, spit fiery words that owned shallow meanings.

The last thing he'd expected was for Jisung to admit it.

They were both brought back to reality when someone bumped into Minho's shoulder, unapologetically continuing to walk as they cast a dirty look over their shoulder. They'd hardly realized that people had piled out onto the streets from the tall office buildings that loitered around the street, and they were standing in the middle of the bustling crowd.

"But I want to understand you, Minho, because I'm starting to believe that you're a gang member less and less." The last person who'd said they'd wanted to understand him was his therapist, and that wasn't a place he wanted to return to.

The brunet thought back to Jeongin in the hallway, and how he'd run away, even though Minho had saved him from humiliation and agony, and despite himself, he felt a huge surge of relief course through him, because, maybe, finally someone would try and look past all the falsehoods thrown his way.

Maybe someone would finally want to get to know Minho, not the mask that cloaked him. He snapped himself out of his wishful thinking, slowly shaking his head. "You don't want to understand me, Jisung. You won't like what you see." His last words accidentally slipped out like a smooth breeze, and he felt his heart stop momentarily.

Seeing Jisung's dumbstruck expression, he turned around and fled, disappearing into a sea of unfamiliar faces.

~#~#~#~#~#~

What did he mean?

Jisung's curiosity only grew as the evening progressed dully as ever. The notion that curiosity killed the cat – something his mother liked to constantly remind him of, for some reason – was tossed out the window faster than one could say ice cream.

"Jisung! Dinner's ready!" she called from the bottom of the staircase, and the teenage boy begrudgingly rolled over on his bed, flailing for a few moments before he made his way downstairs.

His stomach rumbled as he sat down with a plate filled with mashed potatoes, greens, beef and gravy, already shovelling a forkful into his mouth by the time his mother sat down. "So, honey, how was your day?" She smiled, politely eating from her plate.

Jisung's father leaned slightly forwards, tuning into the conversation around the dinner table. The strawberry blond smiled, trying his hardest not to focus on the empty seat beside him – something he failed at regularly.

"It was... good," he mumbled bashfully, although it was far from the truth. He just hoped that his fight with Felix would be resolved soon – he really couldn't bear the thought of distancing himself from the closest person to him.

"You're keeping your grades up, right?" his father inquired, to which the boy nodded tersely. "Good. We wouldn't want you to end up living on the streets like some dog." He growled, when the phone rang. His father stood up to reach the small table in the corner of the room, lifting the receptor and bringing it to his ear.

"Hello this is the Han residence," the cheerful smile slipped from his face in a few moments, and he slammed the phone back down, hanging up on whoever had called, and successfully startling his wife and son.

"Who was it?" she asked, concerned, and he simply rolled his eyes as a disgusted grimace crossed his features.

"Nobody worth mentioning."

Jisung knew exactly who it was, and a painful pang resonated in his chest.

A/N: Thanks so much for 100+ reads! I'm trying to keep a steady writing schedule, but that may change as school adds on more work and the number of works I release <3

Also guess who's fallen in love with GOT7? 0.0

Q: Which class do you hate the most? (I'm running out of questions here hELP)

A: UmMMMM... welllll tbh, I'd have to say this one class called Communications Technology. It's... Photoshop and stuff. It just ain't my thing -(0.0)-

Lots of love,

~Junnie