Hope for the Worst || Minsung

Nineteen

"I was about to head to the store for a few things. Jisung, Minho is your guest. Treat him with respect." my mom says as she grabs her keys.

"Okay, mom. Bye." I say.

"Goodbye, Jisung. Goodbye, Minho."

And with that, she gets in her car and drives off, leaving me alone with Minho.

"Well that's just dandy." I say, sarcasm present in my voice.

"It'll be okay." Minho says, "Your mom's not in the house? So what? There's nothing to be worried about, Jisungie."

"Don't call me that. Thanks for reassuring me, though."

"No problem." Minho says, looking proud for no reason. "Where are we going to work on the project? Kitchen, living room, your room, the basement? Do you even have a basement? I don't know your house."

He starts to ramble so I quickly answer, "We should work in my room."

I lead Minho upstairs while trying to remember if I left any trash in my room. I don't think I did so I hold open the door and allow him in.

"Your room is so cool." Minho says, the royal blue walls reflecting in his eyes. "It's vibey."

"Does 'vibey' qualify as a proper word?" I joke around.

"It does in my language." Minho says.
We laugh at the air and I clear my throat to get his attention.

"Let's start?" I ask.

"Yeah." he answers awkwardly.

For the next about-2 hours, we do research and put everything into a slideshow. Minho nudges me whenever I spell something wrong which happens unsurprisingly often, so he ends up doing that a lot. Not to mention Minho referring to me as "that name" every once in a while, pissing me off just a bit more each time. We get close to finishing when I hear a frustrated groan from across the room.

"You doing okay over there?" I ask, concerned.

"I'm just tired I guess. Sorry, things like this can stress me out easily."

"Oh, okay." I give Minho one more glace before going back to my work.

A few minutes pass by, I'm doing my work while Minho does his. The room is mostly quiet other than the sound of computer keys being pressed. But then,

"Augh!" I quickly turn back to see Minho running his hand through his hair, a disgusted look on his face.

I approach him and speak carefully, "Are you sure you don't need any help? If you want, I ca-"

"Shut up! I don't need your help." Minho yells at me angrily. He threateningly lifts up a clenched fist as if to hit me, but he doesn't actually do it. Even still, it hurt.

The pain isn't because of the threat, though, but because of the memories it brings with it.