Han Jisung"

Jisung put his pencil down on his notebook and rubbed his eyes. He had a paper due on Friday, two quizzes on Thursday, and his mother was starting to suspect he was going out more than usual. Everything was calculated, everything had to be kept under control. Until the text rang.

"Do you want to go out today?" "No, they won't let me." "Come on."

He sighed. He looked at the time: 11:48 p.m. He knew how this worked. He knew what was going to happen. He closed the notebook with a soft click.

"Mhmm... okay. When and where?"

Seconds passed. "Saturday. At night." "Why at night?" "Because I want to feel you."

Minho couldn't write beautifully, nor did he want to. His sincerity had a sharp edge. He was an unapologetic mess. And that, somehow, kept him tied down.

"That's a fucking bad decision," Jisung muttered to the air, but he was already putting on his jacket.

He met him on a street corner one night, when he was coming back from the library and Minho was sitting on the sidewalk selling whatever he had that week. They laughed over something silly. Minho offered him a cigarette, Jisung turned it down. And yet, from then on, they never stopped running into each other.

Minho had no plans, no home, no desire to live long. Jisung had all that. And he was risking it for someone who couldn't promise him anything.

But still, every time I called him, he came.