#minsungangst

He'd tried calling Minho's apartment every day for the first week. The phone would ring and ring and ring, empty and hollow, until Jisung couldn't stand it anymore and hung up. He'd gone to the apartment building twice, knocked on the door until his knuckles ached. No answer. The neighbors had looked at him with suspicion, and eventually the building manager had told him to leave or he'd call the police.

Jisung had left.

He'd tried Minho's work next. The store where his father employed him. But when he'd walked in, Minho's father had taken one look at him and his expression had turned to stone.

"Get out," he'd said, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"I just want to know if he's okay-"

"I said get out." Louder this time. "You're not welcome here. You will never be welcome here."

Jisung had stood there, frozen, until Minho's father had physically moved toward him, and then he'd fled.

He'd even tried asking around — carefully, cautiously — if anyone had seen Minho. But no one had. Or if they had, they weren't telling Jisung.

It was like Minho had vanished.

Like he'd never existed at all.

The worst part was not knowing.

Was Minho okay? Was he hurt? Was he thinking about Jisung at all, or had his family convinced him that everything between them had been wrong, sick, a mistake?

Had Minho given up on him?

The thought made Jisung feel like he was breaking apart from the inside.

He'd been through this before — people disappearing from his life, people deciding he was too much of a risk, too dangerous to know. But this was different. This was Minho. This was the person who'd kissed him in the rain, who'd held his hand like it was something precious, who'd looked at him like he was worth something.

And now he was just... gone.

Jisung hadn't been sleeping. Hadn't been eating much. He went through the motions of his days — work, home, staring at the phone — but nothing felt real.

He kept replaying that moment in his mind. Minho's mother bursting through the door, her face twisted with rage. The way she'd grabbed him, dragged him toward the door. Minho's voice, desperate: "Stop! Mom, stop it!"

And then the door slamming in his face.

He should have fought harder. Should have refused to leave. Should have-

But what could he have done?

Nothing.

He was powerless.

Just like always.

Jisung lit a cigarette with shaking hands and tried to breathe through the weight in his chest.

Three weeks felt like three years.

It was late afternoon when the phone finally rang.

Jisung had been sitting at his kitchen table, staring at nothing, when the sound cut through the silence like a knife.

He lunged for it, nearly knocking it off the hook in his desperation.

"Hello?"

Static. Silence.

And then: "Jisung."

Minho's voice.

Jisung's entire body went rigid. "Minho? Oh my god, Minho- are you okay? Where are you? I've been trying to-"

"I just-" Minho's voice was quiet, rough, like he'd been crying for days. "I needed to hear your voice."

"Where are you?" Jisung repeated, his heart pounding. "Are you home? Are you-"

"I'm at my parents' house."

Jisung's stomach dropped. "Are they- are they hurting you? Are you okay?"

"I'm-" Minho's breath hitched. "I'm tired, Jisung. I'm so tired."

There was something in his voice that made Jisung's blood run cold. Something hollow. Defeated.

"Minho, talk to me. What's going on?"

"I just- I wanted to tell you-" Minho's voice broke. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For leaving. For not being strong enough. For- for everything."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Jisung said desperately. "None of this is your fault-"

"I keep thinking about you," Minho continued, like he hadn't heard him. "About that night. When we- when everything felt right, you know? Like maybe we could actually-" He stopped. Swallowed. "I keep thinking about how you smiled. How safe I felt. How I didn't want it to end."

"It doesn't have to end," Jisung said, his voice cracking. "Minho, just tell me where you are. I'll come get you. We can figure this out-"

"I wish things were different." Minho's voice was soft, distant. "I wish I could've been braver. For you. For us."

"You are brave-"

"I'm not." A pause. "But I want you to know- I want you to know that you didn't do anything wrong. This was never your fault. You were- you were perfect. You are perfect."

Jisung's throat was closing up. "Minho, you're scaring me. What are you- why are you saying this?"

"I love you."

The words hung in the air.

Jisung's breath caught. "What?"

"I love you, Jisung." Minho's voice was barely a whisper. "I should've said it sooner. I should've said it that night, or the morning after, or- or any of the times we were together. But I was scared. And now I just- I need you to know. I love you."

"Minho-" Jisung's hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the phone. "I love you too. So much. But please, please tell me what's happening-"

"Thank you," Minho said softly. "For everything. For seeing me. For understanding. For making me feel like- like I was worth something."

"You are worth something-"

"Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Minho, wait-"

"I have to go."

"No, don't- Minho, please-"

The line went dead.

Jisung stared at the phone in his hand, his heart hammering so hard it hurt.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

"I love you."

"Thank you for everything."

"Take care of yourself."

It sounded like-

Oh god.

It sounded like a goodbye.

Jisung slammed the phone down and grabbed his coat, his mind racing.

He had to find him. He had to find Minho now.

But he didn't know where Minho's parents lived.

He stood in the middle of his apartment, panic clawing at his chest, trying to think. Minho had mentioned it once — just once, in passing — something about the neighborhood. What was it? What had he said?

Think, think, think-

The store. Minho's father's store. It was in- where was it?

Jisung grabbed a phone book with shaking hands and flipped through it frantically. Lee. Lee. There had to be-

There.

Lee Daejung. An address listed for a business and a home address in the same district.

That had to be it.

Jisung shoved the phone book aside and ran.

He didn't remember the bus ride.

Didn't remember the streets he'd run through, dodging people and cars and anything in his way. All he could think about was Minho's voice. The emptiness in it. The finality.

"I love you."

"Thank you for everything."

No. No, no, no-

Jisung found the street, his lungs burning, his vision blurring with panic.

And then he saw her.

Minho's mother, walking up the sidewalk toward the house, grocery bags in her hands. She hadn't seen him yet.

"Mrs. Lee!" Jisung shouted, running toward her.

She looked up, and her expression immediately twisted with fury. She dropped one of the bags.

"You," she spat. "What are you doing here? How dare you- you need to stay away from my son! You need to-"

"He's going to kill himself!" Jisung screamed.

She stopped mid-sentence, her mouth still open.

"What?" she whispered.

"Minho." Jisung was gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face. "He called me. He said goodbye. He said- he said he loved me and he sounded so- so empty and I think he's going to-"

"No." Her voice was barely audible. "No, he wouldn't- I just left him. He was in his room. He was-"

"We need to go. Now." Jisung grabbed her arm.

For once, she didn't pull away.

They ran.

The front door was locked.

Minho's mother fumbled with her keys, dropped them, grabbed them again, her hands shaking violently. She finally got the door open and they both rushed inside.

"Minho?" she called out, her voice high and panicked. "Minho!"

No answer.

She dropped the remaining grocery bag and ran for the stairs. Jisung was right behind her.

She threw open a door at the end of the hall — it wasn't locked. How had he gotten out? Had she forgotten to lock it when she left?

"Minho?"

Silence.

"Minho!"

Jisung reached the doorway and his entire world stopped.

Minho was lying on the bed, unmoving. His skin was too pale, his lips slightly parted. On the nightstand, an empty pill bottle lay on its side.

"No," Jisung breathed. "No-"

Minho's mother screamed.

She rushed to the bed, shaking Minho's shoulders. "Minho! Minho, wake up! Wake up!"

Jisung couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

"Call an ambulance!" Minho's mother shrieked at him. "Call an ambulance!"

Jisung snapped out of it. He stumbled back into the hallway, found a phone, his hands shaking so badly he could barely dial.

"Emergency services, what's your-"

"We need an ambulance," Jisung said, his voice breaking. "He's- he took pills. He's not waking up. Please, please hurry-"

He gave them the address, barely able to get the words out.

When he stumbled back to the room, Minho's mother was sobbing, trying to pull Minho upright, her hands shaking.

"Please," she was whispering. "Please, baby, please wake up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't leave me-"

Jisung sank to his knees beside the bed.

Minho looked so small. So still.

"Minho," Jisung whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. It was cold. Too cold. "Please. Please don't do this. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. You can't- you can't leave. Not like this. Please."

But Minho didn't move.

Didn't open his eyes.

Didn't breathe.

Or- wait. Was his chest moving? Jisung couldn't tell.

Or maybe he was imagining it.

Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer.

Jisung held Minho's hand and prayed to a god he wasn't sure he believed in.

Please.

Please don't take him from me.

Please.

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I tried my best at writing the disclaimer without spoiling...

I'm sorry :(