Han Jisung ⁰²

Jisung drank more than he could handle. It wasn't a joyful drunkenness, but one that leaves the body numb. When Minho found him, he was sitting on the sidewalk, his back against the wall, his eyes vacant, and a weak laugh that led nowhere.

Minho bent down and took the glass from him. As he tried to pick it up, Jisung doubled over and vomited in the street, clumsy and unable to reach his target in time. Without thinking, Minho held his hair, waiting for the tremor to subside. "I'm sorry..." Jisung muttered, dragging out the words, clutching his jacket as if he were about to fall off the world.

He could barely walk. Minho put an arm around his waist and carried him. Jisung was acting silly, talking too much and clinging to him shamelessly, resting his head on his shoulder, reaching for his hand. In the taxi, he was practically on top of him, muttering incoherently between apologies.

At home, he vomited again, this time in the bathroom. Minho held him again, brought him water, and cleaned his face. Jisung let him, docile and clingy, clinging on whenever Minho moved away even slightly.

Minho led him to the sofa and gently sat him down. Jisung slumped there, breathing slowly, his eyes glazed over. Suddenly, he lifted his head and looked at him as if he had just realized something important. —Hyung… — he stammered, his voice trembling —. Your voice is beautiful.

His eyes filled with tears without warning, overcome by something he didn't even understand. Minho said nothing. He just stood there, holding him, while Jisung slowly calmed down. They weren't a couple. Nor were they just friends. They were that strange thing that forms when you break down without filters… because you know exactly who won't leave you.