When it's YOU || minsung

The house was quiet after dinner, the kind of quiet that felt a little too stretched — like something held at the seams and about to snap.

Jisung was curled into the corner of the couch, still finishing the last of his tea, the warm ceramic mug resting loosely in his hands. Minho was standing by the front door, slipping into his jacket — the black one with the worn collar he always wore when he needed to be alone. It was practically a signal by now.

Jisung glanced up, eyes following Minho's movements like he always did, searching for... something. Clarity, warmth, a glance that told him he wasn't imagining it all.

"Minho-ah?" he called gently, tilting his head over the back of the couch. His voice was soft, almost careful.

Minho paused, one arm halfway through a sleeve. He turned slightly, raising a brow in question. For a second, Jisung hesitated — he only ever added the honorific when he was feeling especially earnest. Minho didn't seem irritated by it, just... tired.

"I'm going for a walk," Minho said, voice neutral.

Jisung sat up a little straighter. "Can I come with you?" His tone was light, almost hopeful. "I kinda wanna stretch my legs too."

But Minho's jaw tensed — not visibly, not for someone who didn't know him. But Jisung did. He knew every twitch of his expression, and this one wasn't promising.

"I was kind of planning on going on my own," Minho replied, shrugging his jacket on fully now.

The rejection was gentle, but it still landed like a stone in Jisung's stomach.

Still, he tried again. "It's been a while since we went out together, that's all. Thought maybe—"

"I know," Minho cut in. "We'll go another time."

He didn't look at Jisung. That, more than anything, hurt the most.

Jisung sat still for a moment, watching him tie his shoes with mechanical precision, like the conversation didn't even touch him. The distance between them was no longer just emotional — it was tangible, like Minho was building walls he couldn't climb fast enough.

"Hyung... come on." The frustration slipped out before he could stop it, biting into the edge of his words.

Minho looked up, arms crossed, expression guarded.

"What?"

"You used to ask me to come with you all the time," Jisung said, standing now. "You used to text me at 2 a.m. to go stargazing. You'd pull me out of bed to get ice cream just because. Now I can barely get you to look at me."

Minho's gaze flicked away.

"I told you I need space," he said, sharper this time. "We've still been watching things together. Isn't that enough?"

"No," Jisung said, voice trembling. "It's not. I need you, Minho. You're not just my alpha — you're my best friend. And I feel like I'm losing you."

Minho's expression faltered for just a second, but he held firm. "God, Jisung—I'm trying, okay? I don't know what the hell I'm doing. You're strong enough to handle a few days apart."

The words hit harder than he could've imagined.

Jisung recoiled like he'd been slapped. "Right. Okay." He let out a hollow laugh. "Have fun, Minho."

He didn't wait for a reply before turning and walking off. Behind him, he heard Minho sigh heavily.

"Jisung-ah..."

But he didn't stop. Didn't turn back. The door slammed softly behind Minho a second later.

Later that evening, Jisung curled under his blanket with Minho's old hoodie clutched to his chest, the scent already fading. It wasn't enough. He felt like he was drowning in an ocean of silence, each wave a question unanswered, a touch withheld.