Alone {𝕄𝕀ℕ𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔾}

Chapter Twenty-Three

JISUNG'S EYES SLOWLY FLITTED OPEN, ONLY FOR THE SUNLIGHT STREAMING THROUGH A crack in the drawn curtains to assault his retinas. He groaned, squeezing them shut as a migraine settled in. Hell, his head hurt.

He forced his eyes open slowly, unsteadily sitting up. He was unfamiliar with his surroundings, and he looked around in slight panic, before he remembered that he'd been at Felix's party the night before. His eyes settled on an untouched glass of water and a packaged Tylenol on the nightstand next to the bed.

He popped the pill out of the wrapper, and downed it with the water, bringing a hand up to his aching head. Never doing that again, he grumbled, and slowly but surely, his pain began to recede until it was nothing more than a dull ache.

He could hardly remember anything after he'd downed that first cup filled with who knows what. He unsurely slid out of the bed, his legs trembling under his weight. As he observed the room again, he realized that this wasn't Felix's room.

That means... his whole body froze as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. This is Minho's room? How had he managed to get in there? He wasn't sure, but he really didn't want to be caught in there once the older male returned from wherever he was, because he clearly wasn't in his room right then.

Before he forced his legs into action, his eyes swept over the room – he couldn't help himself. It's not every day you get to be in your crush's bedroom, he thought, too caught up in the moment to dismiss it.

He noticed the way countless notebooks and papers were neatly arranged on the desk, and how there was a small pile of clothes unnoticeably tucked away in the far corner of the room. He smiled softly to himself before he walked out of the room.

As soon as he stepped outside, Jisung nearly tripped over a fallen body right in front of the door. Heavy snores erupted from the nameless person he couldn't quite identify, and he treaded carefully over the drunk, unconscious high school students littering the ground.

Felix is gonna have his hands full when he wakes up, Jisung chuckled, eyes narrowed at the brightness of the main floor. Did nobody go home? He grumbled, shaking his head lightly at the dozens of teenagers sprawled about.

He made his way into the kitchen, and rummaged through a few of the cupboards in order to search for a glass. He put into under the now running tap, filling it up some more. He quietly sipped on the water, surveying the area, and groaning; he'd just realized he'd probably have to help Felix clean this place up.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Minho stared down at the rushing current streaming beneath the old, thin bridge he stood atop of, his soft eyes following every dip of a wave, every jolt of a rock. Before he'd even realized it, tears had once again welled in his eyes.

His hands came to wrap around his bandaged wrists, and although his tight grip aggravated his new wounds, he couldn't bring himself to stop. It was a bitter, painful reminder that he'd broken the very promise he'd made on that very same bridge.

I'm sorry... he bit his lip, and took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing even more on the fish swimming tirelessly below. He envied their ability to constantly fight against the stream's harsh current in order to get to where they wanted to be.

He wiped away the tears clouding his eyes, shaking his head softly. There's nothing you can do about it now, he reminded himself; the promise he'd made had already been broken, and he knew it was something that could never be made up for.

He chose to push those thoughts to the back of his mind, where they'd hopefully remain ignored for as long as they could. He knew his mental state was crippling again, and he certainly didn't need the guilt that bound him to that promise to add onto it.

A promise he'd made to someone who probably didn't even remember him anymore.

He heard a small rustle to his left, which caught his attention right away. He noticed a squirrel perched on the far end of the bridge's railing, some sort of nut in its small hands. Minho smiled softly, watching how the squirrel tilted its head to the side cutely in an oddly familiar gesture before stuffing the nut in its mouth and bolting into a nearby tree.

It took the brunet a moment to realize where he'd seen the movement before, and when he did, he was keeling over in laughter. He'd never thought of comparing Jisung to a squirrel before.

As soon as he calmed down, his laughter reduced to short chuckles, he straightened and leaned over the edge of the bridge, staring down at the water once more. Now that the strawberry blonde had weaselled his way into his brain, Minho couldn't seem to stop thinking about him.

He doesn't have a boyfriend, the thought made a subconscious smile spread across his face. To anyone who would've passed by, they probably would've stared at him strangely; after all, it's not every day you see someone standing alone on a bridge with a smile on their lips and tearstains on their cheeks. 

A/N: Honestly, I read tips for writing "successful fan fiction" just to laugh at how vain and ridiculous they are -(0.0)-.

And 3k-- what -- when -- hOW

Q: What's your favourite piece of advice for when it comes to writing?

A: Write what you like. "Somewhere out there, there are the readers for your story." (and thank you, Margaret Atwood).

Lots of love,

~Junnie