mvnsvng 💕

🐰🐹

[mvnsvng]

Hey everyone!!

So sorry for not updating Since the ’60s in such a long time 💔 I’m having my finals and I’ve been busy studying … I haven’t had any time to write :((

I’m gonna try my best to write the last two chapters before summer ends… At least summer break is in a week so I’ll have some free time!!

Thank u all so much for the support on this fic. :) <33

taglist: @lovelycherry17 @what-in-tha-earth @goquokkaaa

[mvnsvng]

Since the '60s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung

Previous chapter: Chapter 24.

Warning: sexual content. 18+

Chapter 25.

Their lips crashed together in a desperate need, touches full of love and sorrow. They had made it into Jisung's apartment, and as soon as the door was safely locked, they were all over each other. This could possibly be their last night together, and Minho was done holding back.

He grabbed every inch of Jisung's body that he was able to, hoding him, caressing him, having him. His mouth was now working down to bite and kiss at Jisung's neck, savouring the sweet sounds leaving the younger's mouth.

"What do you want?" Minho murmured against Jisung's honey skin.

"You," Jisung gasped instantly, nails scraping at the olders wide shoulders. "I want you,"

Minho grabbed Jisung's waist sternly, keeping him close as he walked towards the bedroom, kissing him eagerly.

Slowly they made it in the room, and Jisung rushed to remove the older's jacket. Their movements were rushed, and as Jisung helped Minho take off his shirt, it got stuck on the man's necklace, making them both laugh lightly.

Finally they got it off, and Minho stopped to stare at the cross pendant on his neck. With a quick snap, he ripped it off his neck, tossing it somewhere in the pile of clothes on the floor. How poetic, Jisung thought before throwing himself at Minho, mouthing at his neck, hands roaming all over his now naked upper body.

More and more clothes came off, and they were now on the bed, limbs tangling together.

Minho felt like he could explode with emotion at any moment. His heart was beating in anticipation, sadness and love. It was overwhelming, but it all made sense as soon as his lips touched Jisung's.

"How- Do you- Uh..." Minho hesitated as he tried to propose something he didn't know anything about. Jisung smiled at him, caressing his cheek with his thumb. "I'll help you, love, don't worry."

Minho felt his face flush in embarrasment and he smiled slightly, trying to hide it by kissing him again.

He then felt Jisung grab his hand and bring it to his mouth. He opened his mouth, slowly sucking on Minho's fingers, saliva dripping down his arm.

Minho watched in awe as the younger moved his hand down, guiding him towards his rim, never once breaking eye contact. Minho quickly got the hang of it, slowly stretching Jisung out, moving his fingers inside him and listening to the sinful noises coming out of his lover's mouth.

He added a finger, and a third one until Jisung looked completely ruined. He pulled out of the younger, looking at him, concerned.

"I'm okay, please, touch me" Jisung panted out, gesturing for Minho to go ahead. Minho gulped nervously before moving and aligning his erection against Jisung's hole.

Jisung was laying on his back, hands on Minho's as the older slowly pushed in, a guttural moan leaving his mouth at the sensation. Jisung squirmed and whined as his grip on Minho's hands tightened.

Soon, Minho bottomed out, waiting for Jisung to tell him to move. The blonde took deep breaths, adjusting to the feeling of being full. After a few moments he made a sound that Minho read as confirmation, and he slowly pulled out before thrusting again.

Jisung moaned, high pitched and uncontrolled, as Minho went slowly and softly first, afraid to hurt the younger, but his pleasure started taking over him and he quickened his pace, moaning softly, letting Jisung's voice fill his thoughts.

"Holy- Jisung- oh my god-" Minho spluttered as he chased his high, feeling euphoric as he found Jisung'a face with his hand, caressing it before leaning down to kiss him.

Minho had never felt such pleasure before. His whole body felt like it was on fire, colliding with Jisung's.

Jisung clawed at Minho's back, making Minho lean down and move into an angle where he could hit deeper and harder inside of Jisung. The younger's eyes shot open and his mouth opened in an inaudible moan as Minho abused his prostate.

"Yes, Minho- Oh- my god I love you, I love you Minho" Jisung blabbered as Minho thrusted inside of him, moaning in his ear.

He kissed under Jisung's ear, hot breath tickling his skin. "I love you too, holy shit I love you so much," He panted and picked up his pace.

" 'm so- I can't hold it anymore-" Jisung whined patheticallly, scratching MInho's back and chasing his lips with his own.

Minho kissed him hungrily, teeth clashing together and breaths mixing as he kept speeding up, feeling his climax approaching.

"It's okay, you don't have to-" Minho's sentence got cut off by a moan as he finished insdie of Jisung, filling him up with a final thrust. His body shook and his eyes rolled back, moves slowing down.

Jisung panted hard, caressing Minho's shoulder as he watched his orgasm wash over his face. Minho breathed hard, locking eyes with Jisung, instantly realizing.

"You- you didn't-" Jisung smiled, "It's fine-" Minho cut him off with a kiss.

"No way," he muttered, aligning himself back against Jisung and thrusting in hard, making the younger's eyes fall back. Minho didn't hold back, and thrusted in Jisung with all his strenght, feeling his own second orgasm building up already.

Jisung was a moaning mess, the sudden pleasure washing over his whole body in waves. It didn't take long before his legs were shaking, and Minho took that as a sign. He grabbed Jisung's untouched, leaking dick in his hand, pumping it as he thrusted even harder.

Jisung moaned and grabbed a fistful of Minho's hair, pulling it hard as his orgasm washed over him, making him shake all over. Minho released his second load in Jisung with a satisfied grunt, instantly capturing the smaller body in his arms, cradling him protectively, letting him calm down in his arms.

Jisung's breath stabled as Minho kissed him all over softly, petting his sweaty hair. "Was that okay?" Minho asked softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I love you," Jisung whispered, too tired to even open his eyes. MInho kissed him sweetly, taking his time. "I love you too. Come on, let's get you cleaned up"

Minho carried Jisung to the bathroom, laying him down to sit in the bathtub. He turned the water on and waited for the tub to fill up before getting in himself.

Minho took care of the tired man in his arms, washing his body soothingly, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

"If in the future this world has bettered, will you find me?" Jisung whispered, tilting his head to look at the older with tired eyes.

Minho swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He wasn't the type to cry, but his eyes burned now. He forced a smile, nodding. "I promise. In every lifetime I shall look for you or I will be incomplete."

Jisung smiled at these words, laying his head against Minho's chest.

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Hi, im sorry i havent updated in a while :<

This is rlly coming to its end and im planning on editing all of the chapters soon, so whenever you get an extra notif from me, it's probably that.

I’m really bad at writing smut, I apologize 💔😭

What, one chapter and the epilogue left??

Taglist: @lovelycherry17 @what-in-tha-earth @goquokkaaa

[mvnsvng]

Since the '60s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung

Precious chapter: Chapter 23.

Chapter 24.

Minho had been released from the hospital a few days ago. Jisung had not seen him since, but they kept in touch by calling each other frequently, now that Minho’s mother had finally accepted the fact that his son is in love with a man.

Their calls were short. Quick words of assurance, only when Minho’s father was not home. (Mrs. Lee still hadn’t let Minho out of her sight, worried he’d do something bad to himself again.) They knew that every problem of theirs had not been solved by Minho’s mother’s acceptance.

They both knew.

And so, they finally decided to meet. It took some convincing for Minho’s mother to let him out of the house, but eventually she gave in. He was an adult after all.

Minho had suggested a park near their apartments, so neither of them would have to walk too long. Jisung agreed.

Now, Minho was sitting on a bench in the quiet park, a lit cigarette between his lips. His leg was bouncing up and down nervously and his thoughts were racing.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow reached Minho’s ears as Jisung was approaching. His heart picked up its pace as the beautiful face appeared from the woods, eyes darting around.

Their eyes met and a small smile rose on Jisung’s lips. Minho’s heart jumped in his chest. He hadn’t properly seen Jisung in about a month.

He couldn’t help himself and rose to his feet, tossing the forgotten cigarette on the snowy ground, walking to the younger man and engulfing him in a tight hug. Jisung let out a surprised chuckle, placing his hand in the older’s hair.

Minho let go and observed Jisung’s tired face.

“How have you been?” He asked softly. Jisung shrugged with a smile.

“How good can either of us be?”

The question lingered in the air, the answer being obvious.

Minho answered by placing a kiss on Jisung’s lips. The younger looked around consciously, but Minho turned his face back to him with his hand.

“It’s okay. This place is always deserted, that’s why I recommended it.”

Jisung nodded and they made their way to the bench, sitting down.

“How are you doing? With your mother and… the hospital?” Jisung asked cautiously, looking softly into Minho’s eyes.

The other sighed, looking up at the sky. “It’s fine. I’m not going to… commit suicide, like my mother keeps fearing. I…” He took another deep breath, turning his gaze to his lap.

“I only did what I did because the endless drugs, priests, shrinks and whatever my parents had thought would cure me from this deadly disease called love — they were making me crazy. They made my head spin and the medication made my body and mind feel all fuzzy. It was all changing me in ways I never wanted to change and- Jisung, the only thing that I still felt the same way about was you.” Minho finally looked at Jisung, who now had tears in his eyes, threatening to fall.

“They thought their actions would make my thoughts on you change, but that was the only thing that stayed the same.”

Jisung grabbed Minho’s hand and ran his thumb along his skin soothingly. “I love you.”

Minho sniffled.

“I love you too. I think that’s the problem between us.” He muttered.

“It’s so unfair…” Jisung complained as his lower lip wavered. Minho watched him, and as the sobs started leaving Jisung’s mouth, Minho grabbed him and hugged him protectively.

“I think we both know we can’t live like this,” Minho whispered into the younger’s hair. Jisung nodded.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company, knowing it might be the last time.

”What are you going to do now?” Minho broke the silence. Jisung looked up at him with a confused look. ”Are you going to see your parents? What about working?”

Jisung sighed and thought for a while before answering.

”I think I have to go see my parents. I know they love me, and I love them. Our beliefs may not align, but after all they are the ones that gave me life."

Minho hummed.

"They probably know that I'm... a homosexual. I think that's why they were so harsh on me. They want grandchildren and their only son is a faggot." Jisung laughed sarcastically. "That's why I left home so young, you know?"

Minho nodded. "I hope it goes well,"

"Me too," Jisung sighed. Then he looked up at the older, shooting the question right back at him. "What about you? Will you take over your dad's business and... get married?"

A hard lump formed in Minho's throat. Get married. To who, Yichu? He wondered what she would think if he went back to her.

"I think I have to," Minho whispered. Jisung hummed, picking at the skin on his fingers. "Yichu, huh?" He muttered under his breath, heart aching silently.

Minho grabbed his face and turned his gaze on him. "Let's not talk about that. We still have today, hm?” He placed a soft kiss one the younger’s lips.

Jisung hesitated for a second before asking, “Would you like to spend one more night with me?”

Looking into Jisung’s big eyes, he couldn’t say no. He nodded. “Yeah. Yes I would.” He said with a smile before kissing him again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I mean… you guys knew this was coming, right? With the prologue and all

Still hurt to write. idk man we r reaching the end of this book only a few chapters left

I also just realized I've been writing the title wrong all this time. it's '60s not 60's </3 lmaoo

Taglist: @lovelycherry17 @what-in-tha-earth @goquokkaaa

[crossroadsghoul]

"they're not gay" I don't know man, I read a masterfully written fanfic on A03 that says otherwise.

[midnightpia]

i love when people try to downplay the gay shit minsung say just for it to be revealed that it’s so much gayer in korean

[mvnsvng]

Since the 60's

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung

Previous chapter: Chapter 22.

Chapter 23.

Jisung didn't know how long it had been. He was sitting in a chair beside the hospital bed Minho lay in — still unconcious.

The paramedics had barged in Minho's room 7 minutes after Jisung had called. He had watched in horror as they tried to find a pulse before they took him in the ambulance and raced to the hospital.

Minho's mother had kept screaming for them to save his boy, clutching onto Jisung for support. When they finally reached the hospital, they had lied that Jisung was Minho's brother so he could go see him.

Jisung wasn't completely sure, but maybe Mrs. Lee had slightly warmed up to him.

He shifted in his seat. His back was aching from sitting in the same position for so long.

When the doctors had finally came to talk to him and Mrs. Lee, Jisung had been so out of it he couldn't even remember all the pills that the doctor listed Minho had taken. Imipramine, amitriptyline, valium... It was all meaningless. All he could remember was that the doctor had told them that his state was critical.

The sound of the door opening startled Jisung out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Minho's mother holding two cups of coffee. up to that moment Jisung had held Minho's hand, but now he quickly snatched it back to his own lap.

Mrs. Lee seemed to notice that and looked at Jisung with an uneasy look. She walked towards the stool beside Jisung, handing him the other mug.

"You look exhausted," She said flatly.

Jisung took the mug quietly, her actions surprising him. All this time at the hospital he had feared for the moment when Mrs. Lee would come to her senses and scream for him to leave his son alone, but instead she had given him the silent treatment, mostly ignoring his presence.

Mrs. Lee sat beside Jisung, staring at his coffee mug. The only thing that could be heard was the slow beeping of the monitors and machines attached to Minho.

"Look," Mrs. Lee started, "When I met Minho's father..." She sighed and smiled slightly. "I was head over heels for him."

Jisung stared at her, confusion written in his eyes.

"There was nothing that I wouldn't have done for him back then." She continued, now staring at her son with tears pricking at her eyes. "What I mean to say is... I- I see that same passion in you..."

Jisung almost fell backwards. What?

"And- and I know that I have been thinking about everything the wrong way, I realize it now," A tear slipped down her cheek.

"I went too far. I- Because of me- my son- Minho went so far to- to do this- and it's all my fault."

Jisung watched in silence as she tried to speak through sobs, unsure of what to do. He hesitantly raised his hand to her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

"I- It's going to be okay."

Mrs. Lee kept sobbing softly, and Jisung watched Minho's expressionless face. He must've felt so trapped.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he fell deep in his thoughts. What would happen after this? Would they continue whatever they had? Would Minho's mother still keep Minho from seeing Jisung? What about his own parents, he hadn't seen them in months.

As Jisung looked at Minho's pale face the memories started flooding his thoughts. The way Minho had been hesitant, scared and confused but over time warmed up to the thought of a relationship with a man. The way he held his hand and the warmth of his skin had spread to Jisung's heart.

The breakfast Minho had made for him.

It was the first sign of the future they could have had together. Jisung working from home, Minho leaving early in the morning but never forgetting to cook for his lover. And once he would come back home he would be greeted by a loving hug.

But the reality had hit them before any of that could become real. Jisung shivered as he remembered the way Minho's mother had dragged him out of the house.

They were both startled out of their thoughts by a gasp that came from Minho’s hospital bed. Minho’s mother shot up and yelled for a nurse. Jisung stood up and grabbed the older’s hand firmly, heart beating faster than ever.

Minho’s eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly. Jisung choked on a sob as Minho’s eyes opened slightly. He coughed, eyes widening as his gaze darted around the room.

”Wh- where- what- Jisung?”

His voice croacked as his gaze fixated on Jisung. Mrs. Lee watched from the side, refraining herself from jumping to Minho and embracing him. She owed the boys that much.

Jisung laughed through his tears. ”Hi, Minho” He whispered. Minho looked uneasy. ”How are- what- my mom…”

Jisung shook his head slightly. ”It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

Jisung felt Minho tighten his grip on Jisung’s hand right before a nurse came into the room, hushing Jisung further from Minho.

He is alive.

That was all Jisung could think of as he backed away to stand beside Mrs. Lee, letting the nurses check Minho.

Minho is alive.

From somewhere with a radio, flooded Jisung’s ears faintly;

”Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi. I'm having such a hard time finding motivation to write rn, so I'm sorry about slow updates, short chapters and bad writing ;(

I haven't planned any further, so I might need to come up with the rest of this fic before actually writing the next chapters. Any wishes? :3 (srsly give me wishes i need help)

Taglist: @what-in-tha-earth @lovelycherry17 @goquokkaaa

[mvnsvng]

Since the '60s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung

Previous chapter: Chapter 21.

CONTENT DISCLAIMER: If you are struggling with your mental health and feel like you could be triggered easily by talk of such sensitive topics, I recommend that you don't read this chapter. Remember that you are loved, cared for, and needed here. <3

Chapter 22.

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since Jisung watched Minho's mother drag him out of that apartment. Three weeks since he'd heard his voice. Three weeks of silence that felt like drowning.

Jisung sat on his couch, staring at the phone like it might ring if he just looked at it hard enough.

It didn't.

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

I'm sorry :(

Taglist: @lovelycherry17 @what-in-tha-earth @goquokkaaa

[mvnsvng]

happy new year! 🤍

happy (late) new year! ❤️❤️

[mvnsvng]

Since the '60s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung

Previous Chapter: Chapter 20.

Chapter 21 - Merry Christmas.

Seven days.

It had been seven days since Minho's mother dragged him out of his apartment. Seven days since he'd seen Jisung. Seven days since he'd felt like a person.

It felt like seven years.

Minho sat on the edge of his childhood bed, staring at nothing. The morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and cold. Christmas morning. He was supposed to feel something — joy, warmth, something. But there was only emptiness.

The pills sat on his nightstand. Three different bottles now. His mother brought them every morning with a glass of water and watched him swallow them. "For the anxiety," she'd say. "For the depression." "For the... confusion."

He wasn't sure what they were supposed to do. All he knew was that they made everything feel muffled, like he was living underwater. His thoughts moved slowly. His body felt heavy. Even crying took effort now.

The first day, there had been a priest.

Father Kim had sat across from him in the living room, hands folded, expression grave. He'd talked about sin and temptation and the devil's influence. He'd talked about how God could cure anything if you just prayed hard enough, if you just wanted to be saved.

Minho had sat there, numb, and said nothing.

The second day, the therapist.

Dr. Choi. Middle-aged, wire-rimmed glasses, a clipboard full of questions. "When did you first notice these... urges?" "Have you always felt this way?" "Do you think it's possible you're simply seeking male validation because of issues with your father?"

Minho had answered mechanically, his voice flat. It didn't matter what he said. Dr. Choi had already decided what was wrong with him.

The third day, another priest. Then another therapist. Then someone who claimed they could "reprogram" his thinking through hypnosis.

By the fourth day, Minho had stopped arguing. Stopped trying to explain. What was the point?

His mother watched him like a hawk. She checked on him every hour. She'd removed anything sharp from his room — razors, scissors, even his belt. The window was locked from the outside. The door stayed locked when she wasn't there.

He was a prisoner. A patient. A problem to be solved.

On the fifth day, she'd brought in pamphlets about a special facility. "It's very discreet," she'd said, her voice almost gentle. "They specialize in... cases like yours. You'd stay for a few months, and when you come back, you'll be yourself again."

Minho had looked at the glossy photos — sterile white rooms, people in matching uniforms, smiling doctors – and felt something inside him crack a little more.

"I am myself," he'd whispered.

She'd pretended not to hear.

By the sixth day, Minho barely spoke at all.

He ate when food was brought to him. He took the pills. He sat through the sessions with priests and therapists and his mother's desperate, tearful pleas. He nodded when he was supposed to nod. He stayed quiet the rest of the time.

At night, alone in the dark, he thought about Jisung.

He wondered if Jisung hated him. If he thought Minho had abandoned him again. If he'd moved on already, decided Minho wasn't worth the trouble.

The thought made Minho's chest ache so badly he could barely breathe.

He wondered if this was what dying felt like. Not physical death, but something worse. The slow erosion of everything that made him him.

Christmas morning arrived with artificial cheer.

His mother knocked on the door — unlocked it, because of course she had the key — and poked her head in with a bright smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Merry Christmas, honey," she said. "Get dressed. We're having dinner at two."

Minho didn't move.

"Minho." Her voice sharpened. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Then get up. Your father will be here soon."

His father.

Minho's stomach turned. He hadn't seen his father since this all started. His mother had been handling everything, keeping him away, probably filling his head with her version of events.

"I don't want to-"

"I don't care what you want." The brightness was gone now, replaced by steel. "You're getting up, you're getting dressed, and you're coming to dinner. We're going to have a nice, normal Christmas. Do you understand?"

Minho stared at her.

"Do you understand?" she repeated, louder.

"Yes."

"Good." She set clothes on the end of the bed — a button-up shirt, dress pants. "Be downstairs in twenty minutes."

The door closed. Locked again.

Minho looked at the clothes and felt nothing.

The dining room was decorated like something out of a magazine.

A small Christmas tree in the corner, tastefully adorned with gold and silver ornaments. Garland draped over the mantle. Candles on the table. His mother had gone all out, trying to create the illusion of a perfect family Christmas.

Minho sat at the table in his stiff, uncomfortable clothes and felt like he was watching someone else's life.

His mother bustled around the kitchen, bringing out dishes — roasted chicken, vegetables, rice, all of it far too much for three people. She was humming a Christmas carol, her movements frantic, like if she just kept moving, kept smiling, everything would be fine.

The front door opened.

Minho's father stepped in, and the air in the room changed immediately.

Lee Daejung was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and a permanent expression of stern disapproval. He'd built his business from nothing, and he expected the same discipline and dedication from everyone around him — especially his son.

He hung up his coat without a word and walked into the dining room.

His eyes landed on Minho.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Merry Christmas," Minho's mother said, too brightly. "Sit, sit! Dinner's ready."

His father sat at the head of the table. Minho's mother sat across from Minho. The three of them, a perfect little family tableau.

Except nothing about this was perfect.

His mother served the food, keeping up a stream of cheerful chatter that no one responded to. His father ate in silence, his jaw tight. Minho pushed food around his plate and tried to disappear.

"Minho's been doing so much better," his mother said, her voice strained. "Haven't you, honey?"

Minho didn't answer.

"The therapy is really helping. And Dr. Choi thinks-"

"I don't want to hear about the therapy," his father said, his voice low and cold.

His mother faltered. "But-"

"I said I don't want to hear about it." He set down his fork with a sharp clink. "I want to hear what he has to say."

All eyes turned to Minho.

He kept his gaze on his plate.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," his father said.

Slowly, Minho lifted his head.

His father's expression was hard, unreadable. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Minho's throat was tight. "Yes."

"Do you?" His father leaned forward. "Do you have any idea how much you've embarrassed this family? How much you've thrown away?"

"I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't mean to?" His father's voice rose. "You didn't mean to destroy your future? Destroy your mother? Destroy everything I've worked for?"

"Daejung, please-" his mother started.

"No." He held up a hand. "He needs to hear this." He turned back to Minho. "I had plans for you. You were supposed to take over the business. You were supposed to carry on the family name. And instead-" He shook his head, disgusted. "Instead, you threw it all away for some- some perversion."

The word hit Minho like a physical blow.

"It's not-" His voice cracked. "It's not a perversion. I just-"

"I don't want to hear your excuses." His father's voice was ice. "I don't want to hear about your feelings or whatever nonsense that boy put in your head. I want to know if you're ready to fix this."

"There's nothing to fix."

The words came out before Minho could stop them.

His father's face darkened. "What did you say?"

"I said-" Minho's hands were shaking. "I said there's nothing to fix. I'm not broken. I'm not sick. I just- I just finally figured out who I am."

"Who you are?" His father laughed, bitter and cold. "You're a disgrace. That's who you are."

"Daejung-" his mother gasped.

"It's the truth." He stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "I raised you to be strong. To be a man. And look at you now. Pathetic. Weak. Throwing away your entire life for- for what?"

"For myself," Minho said, and his voice was shaking but steady. "For the first time in my life, I was being true to myself."

His father stared at him for a long moment.

Then he shook his head.

"You were supposed to be my son," he said quietly. "But I don't even recognize you anymore."

The words settled over the table like a shroud.

Minho felt something inside him shatter.

His father grabbed his coat and walked to the door.

"Where are you going?" his mother asked, panicked.

"I can't be here." He didn't look back. "Not with him like this."

The door slammed.

Silence.

Minho sat there, staring at his plate, his whole body trembling.

His mother was crying now, her carefully constructed facade crumbling. "Why did you have to say that?" she sobbed. "Why did you have to ruin everything?"

Minho didn't answer.

He couldn't.

Later that night, Minho lay in his locked room, staring at the ceiling.

Christmas lights blinked outside his window — red, green, gold — festive and cruel.

He thought about Jisung. Wondered what he was doing. If he was alone. If he was thinking about Minho too.

He thought about his father's words. I don't even recognize you anymore.

He thought about the pills on his nightstand. The locked door. The walls closing in.

He thought about how tired he was. How heavy everything felt. How much easier it would be if he just... stopped.

The thought scared him.

But not as much as it should have.

Minho closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but all he could hear was his father's voice, looping over and over:

A disgrace.

Pathetic.

Weak.

I don't even recognize you anymore.

And somewhere, faint and distant, he could hear "Can't Help Falling in Love" playing on a radio, and it made him want to cry.

But he didn't.

He couldn't even do that anymore.

Merry Christmas, he thought bitterly.

Merry fucking Christmas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

so... hope you have a great xmas, if you celebrate...! T-T

prepare for the next chapter :)))))))

Taglist: @lovelymariaa @what-in-tha-earth

[mvnsvng]

merry christmas 🎄❤️

merry christmas!!! new chapter coming today once i wake up 👀👀 (it’s 4.05am for me rn)

[papawolfchris]

STRAY KIDS ALBUM OF THE YEAR WINNERS MAMA AWARDS 2025 We are so proud of you boys!

[mvnsvng]

Since the '60s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung

Previous chapter: Chapter 19.

Chapter 20

Minho's mother didn't wait for him to move.

She stormed into his bedroom, yanking open drawers and pulling out clothes with sharp, jerky movements. Shirts. Pants. Socks. She threw them onto the bed in a heap, not bothering to fold anything, her hands shaking with rage or grief or both.

"Mom-" Minho's voice came out weak, strangled. He was still standing in the living room, rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door. Jisung was on the other side. He could still feel the ghost of his warmth, the safety that had been ripped away so suddenly.

"Don't just stand there!" his mother snapped from the bedroom. "Get in here!"

Minho's legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to move. He stepped into the doorway of his bedroom and watched as she grabbed a bag from his closet and started shoving clothes into it.

"Mom, please-"

"Please what?" She didn't look at him. "Please let you stay here with that- that Han? Please let you ruin your life?"

"I'm not ruining my life-"

"Yes, you are!" She whirled around, her eyes red and swollen. "You have no idea what you're doing, Minho. No idea what this means."

"I know exactly what it means-"

"No, you don't!" She was crying again, angry tears streaming down her face. "You think you can just- just throw everything away? Your future? Your family? For what? For him?"

"It's not about him, it's about me-"

"It's about him poisoning your mind!" She zipped the bag shut with a violent tug. "We're leaving. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere."

But even as he said it, he knew it didn't matter. His mother grabbed his arm — her grip bruising — and started pulling him toward the door.

"Mom, stop-" His voice cracked. "Please, just listen to me-"

"I'm done listening." Her voice was cold, final. "You're coming home. We're going to fix this."

Tears were streaming down Minho's face now, hot and endless. He tried to pull away, but she was stronger than he expected, or maybe he was just too broken to fight properly.

They passed the front door — the one Jisung had been thrown out of — and Minho's chest tightened so hard he thought he might collapse.

"Wait-" he gasped. "Please, let me just- let me talk to him-"

"Absolutely not."

"Mom, please-"

She dragged him out into the hallway, and Minho looked back desperately at his apartment door, at the closed threshold that separated him from everything that mattered. He wanted to scream Jisung's name, wanted to pound on his door, wanted to-

But his mother was already pulling him down the stairs, and his legs were moving, and he couldn't stop crying.

The drive to his parents' house was silent except for Minho's ragged breathing, the occasional sob he couldn't hold back and his mother's quiet murmuring. Her hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, her jaw set.

"… what are the Hans going to say about this… do they know… their son… my son…" she was muttering to herself.

"This is for your own good," she said quietly, and it sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

Minho didn't answer. He pressed his forehead against the cold window and closed his eyes.

The house looked exactly the same as it always had.

Minho stood in the doorway, bag in hand, and felt like he was twelve years old again. The same wallpaper. The same furniture. The same suffocating air of expectations and tradition and correctness.

His mother pushed past him, setting her purse on the entry table. "Go to your old room," she said without looking at him. "I need to make some calls."

"Mom-"

"Go."

He went.

His childhood bedroom was like stepping into a museum. The bed was made with military precision, the desk cleared of everything except a lamp and an old Bible. The walls were bare except for a single crucifix. It didn't feel like his room. It felt like a cell.

Minho sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

He could hear his mother's voice through the door, muffled but frantic. She was on the phone.

"Yes, I need to speak to someone about- about treatment options. For my son. He's- he's been influenced. By another man. I need- yes, I'll hold."

Minho's stomach turned.

Treatment options.

Influenced.

Infected.

He pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.

An hour passed. Maybe two. Minho wasn't sure. Time felt strange, thick and slow like moving through water.

His mother came in eventually, holding a glass of water and a small bottle of pills.

"Here," she said, setting them on the nightstand. "The doctor said these will help. With the... confusion."

Minho stared at the pills. "I'm not confused."

"Yes, you are." Her voice was gentler now, but it was worse somehow. Like she pitied him. "You're sick, honey. But we're going to make you better."

"I'm not sick-"

"Take the pills, Minho."

"No."

Her expression hardened. "Take them, or I'll make you take them."

They stared at each other, and Minho saw it in her eyes — she meant it. She would hold him down if she had to.

He looked away first.

"I don't need medication," he said quietly, desperately. "Mom, please. Just listen to me. I'm not sick. I'm not confused. I just- I love him."

The words hung in the air.

His mother flinched like he'd slapped her.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't say that."

"But it's true-"

"It's not love." Her voice was shaking. "It's- it's a sickness. A perversion. That boy has twisted your mind, and we're going to fix it."

"You can't fix something that isn't broken!" Minho was on his feet now, his voice rising. "I'm not broken! I'm just- I'm just finally being honest with myself!"

"Honest?" She laughed bitterly. "You think throwing away your entire life is honest?"

"I'm not throwing anything away-"

"What about Yichu? What about your future? What about us?" She gestured wildly. "Do you have any idea what people will say? What this will do to our family?"

"I don't care what people say!"

"Well, you should!" She was shouting now. "Because we have to live here, Minho! We have to face everyone! And you- you're just-"

She broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

Minho's anger drained away, replaced by something hollow and aching.

"Mom," he said softly. "Please. Just let me go back. Let me talk to him. Let me-"

"No." She wiped her eyes roughly. "You're staying here. We're going to fix this. I've already made appointments with a therapist, and a priest, and-"

"I don't need a priest-"

"Yes, you do!" She turned to him, her face desperate. "You need help, Minho. Real help. Not- not whatever that boy was giving you."

"He wasn't giving me anything. He was just- he was just there. He understood me. He made me feel-"

"Stop." His mother held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear about him, or your feelings, or any of it."

Minho's throat tightened. "Please. Just let me call him. Just once. I need to- I need to tell him-"

"No."

"Mom-"

"No." She was crying again. "You're not calling him. You're not seeing him. You're not thinking about him. We're going to erase him from your life, and then- then you'll see. You'll see that this was all just- just temporary insanity."

"It's not-"

But she was already walking out, and then the door closed.

And locked.

Minho stood there, staring at the door, his whole body shaking.

He crossed the room and tried the handle.

Locked.

He was locked in.

A prisoner in his own childhood bedroom.

He sank to the floor, his back against the door, and let himself break.

He cried until his throat was raw and his eyes burned. He cried for Jisung, alone in his apartment, probably thinking Minho had left him again. He cried for himself, trapped and helpless. He cried for the future they were supposed to have, the one that was slipping further and further away with every passing second.

Outside the door, he could hear his mother on the phone again.

"Yes, tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock. Thank you, Father."

Minho closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against his knees.

He'd never felt so alone in his entire life.

Night fell.

No one came to bring him dinner. No one came to check on him.

Minho lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a endless loop of Jisung's face. The way he'd looked at him before his mother tore them apart. The softness in his eyes. The quiet understanding.

"Whatever happens, we'll deal with it. Together."

But they weren't together now.

Minho was here, locked in this room, and Jisung was—where? Was he okay? Was he angry? Hurt? Did he think Minho had chosen this?

Minho rolled onto his side, curling in on himself.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to break down the door. He wanted to run back to Jisung's apartment and never leave.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't do anything.

And somewhere, faintly, through the walls and the door and the suffocating silence-

The familiar melody that had haunted him for months. It was playing faintly on the radio.

“Would it be a sin?”

It felt like a cruel joke.

Minho buried his face in the pillow and tried to block out the sound, but it followed him down into a fitful, tearful sleep.

The last thought he had before darkness claimed him was:

I'm sorry, Jisung. I'm so sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

heres this in celebration of the daesang!!! im so proud of skz <33

sorry for this chapter… hehee

taglist: @lovelycherry17 @what-in-tha-earth

[mvnsvng]

my straykids won the album of the year daesang ❤️❤️ i couldnt be more proud, i was literally bawling when watching it.

[mvnsvng]

Since the '60s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung

Previous chapter: Chapter 18.

Chapter 19.

The door to Minho's apartment felt heavier than usual.

He stood there for a moment, key in hand, staring at the wood grain like it might tell him what to do next. His hands were still shaking. Had been shaking since he left the café, since Yichu's voice had cracked on the word sick, since she'd looked at him like he was something unrecognizable.

He pushed the door open.

The apartment was exactly as he'd left it. Coat on the hook. Shoes by the door. The faint smell of coffee and cigarettes lingering in the air. It looked normal. It looked like his life. But it didn't feel like his anymore.

Minho dropped his keys on the table and sank onto the couch, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

You're sick.

He infected you.

This isn't real.

Yichu's words kept looping, over and over, like a broken record he couldn't turn off. He'd tried to ignore them. Tried to remind himself that he'd made the right choice, that he couldn't keep living a lie. But her voice wouldn't leave him alone.

What if she was right?

No. No, she wasn't. He knew she wasn't.

But the doubt was there, creeping in like smoke under a door.

He sat there for what felt like hours, staring at nothing, his chest tight and aching. The silence was suffocating. He needed to hear his voice. He needed to know that this — them — was real.

Minho reached for the phone.

His fingers fumbled with the dial, and he had to start over twice before he got the number right. The line rang once. Twice.

"Hello?"

Jisung's voice. Soft, a little sleepy.

"It's me," Minho said, and his voice came out rougher than he meant it to.

"Minho?" Jisung sounded more awake now, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Minho opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn't know how to answer that.

"Minho?"

"Can you-" He swallowed hard. "Can you come over?"

There was a pause, and then: "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Jisung showed up in eight.

Minho heard his knock and got up to open the door. Jisung stood there, slightly out of breath, his hair messy like he'd thrown on clothes and run out the door without thinking. His eyes scanned Minho's face, and Minho watched the worry settle into them.

"What happened?" Jisung asked quietly.

Minho stepped aside to let him in, and Jisung followed him to the couch. They sat, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Minho didn't know where to start.

"I told her," Minho finally said. "Yichu. I told her we should break up."

Jisung went very still beside him. "And?"

"She-" Minho exhaled shakily. "She didn't take it well."

That was an understatement. But he didn't know how to explain the look on her face, the way she'd recoiled like he'd struck her. The words she'd thrown at him like weapons.

"What did she say?" Jisung's voice was careful, gentle.

Minho stared down at his hands. "She said I was sick. That you- that you infected me." The words tasted bitter. "She said it wasn't real. That I just... I don't know. That I'm confused or broken or-"

"Minho." Jisung's hand found his, his fingers curling around it. "You're not sick."

"I know." But Minho's voice wavered.

"Do you?"

Minho looked at him then, and the concern in his eyes made something crack open in his chest. "I don't know," he admitted. "I thought I did. But the way she said it-"

"She's hurt," Jisung said softly. "People say things they don't mean when they're hurt."

"What if she's right?"

"She's not."

"But what if-"

"Minho." Jisung shifted closer, his hand tightening around Minho's. "Listen to me. You're not sick. You're not broken. You didn't get infected with anything. You just- you figured out who you are. That's not a disease. That's just... life."

Minho wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to believe him so badly.

"I'm scared," Minho whispered.

"I know."

"What if- what if my parents find out? What if everyone-"

"We'll deal with it," Jisung said, and his voice was so steady, so sure. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it. Together."

Together.

Minho leaned into him, and Jisung wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. Minho buried his face in Jisung's shoulder and just breathed. Jisung smelled like soap and faint cigarette smoke, familiar and grounding. His hand moved in slow circles on Minho's back, and Minho felt some of the tension start to ease.

"I'm sorry," Minho mumbled into his shirt.

"For what?"

"For being a mess. For dragging you into this."

"You didn't drag me anywhere," Jisung said quietly. "I'm here because I want to be."

Minho pulled back just enough to look at him, and the softness in his expression made his chest ache in a different way. A good way.

"Thank you," Minho said.

Jisung smiled, small and sad. "You don't have to thank me."

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away for a little while. Minho felt Jisung's hand in his hair, his breath against his temple. It felt safe. It felt right.

And then the phone rang.

The sound cut through the quiet like a knife, sharp and jarring. Minho tensed immediately.

"Don't answer it," Jisung murmured.

But something in Minho's gut told him he had to. He pulled away and stood, crossing to the phone on unsteady legs. He picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Lee Minho."

His mother's voice. Cold and clipped and seething.

Minho's blood went cold.

"Mom-"

"Don't you 'Mom' me." Her voice was shaking, but not with sadness. With fury. "What the hell have you done?"

His stomach dropped. "What are you-"

"Yichu called me. She told me EVERYTHING." The word came out like a slap. "She told me about that- that boy. She told me what you've been doing."

Oh god.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

"Mom, listen-"

"No, YOU listen." She was shouting now, hysterical. "How could you do this? How could you throw away everything —your future, your family, your LIFE— for some- some-"

"Stop." Minho's voice cracked.

"I will NOT stop! Do you have ANY idea what you've done? What people will say? What this will do to us?"

"This isn't about you-"

"Of course it's about me! You're my SON!" Her voice broke, and Minho heard her sob on the other end. "My son, and you've- you've let yourself become-"

"I'm still me," Minho said, his throat tight. "I'm still your son."

"No. No, you're not. My son wouldn't-" She was crying now, openly. "Where is he? Is he there right now?"

Minho didn't answer.

"He IS, isn't he? That- that thing is in your apartment right now-"

"Don't call him that," Minho said, his voice harder than he'd ever used with her.

"I'm coming over."

"What? No- Mom, don't-"

"I'm coming over RIGHT NOW, and we're going to fix this."

"There's nothing to fix-"

The line went dead.

Minho stood there, receiver in hand, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break through his ribs.

"Minho?" Jisung's voice, quiet and worried behind him.

He turned slowly. Jisung was standing now, his face pale.

"She's coming," Minho whispered.

"What?"

"My mother. She's- Yichu told her. She knows. And she's coming here."

Jisung's eyes went wide. "Right now?"

Minho nodded.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, frozen. And then Minho heard it — footsteps in the hallway. Fast, angry footsteps.

The door burst open. He hadn't locked it.

Minho's mother stood in the doorway, her face twisted with rage and tears, her chest heaving. Her eyes landed on Jisung, and her expression turned to something like disgust.

"You," she spat.

"Mom, please-"

But she wasn't listening. She stormed across the room, grabbed Jisung by the arm, and started dragging him toward the door.

"Get out!" she screamed. "Get OUT of my son's life!"

"Stop!" Minho shouted, rushing forward. "Mom, stop it!"

Jisung stumbled, trying to pull away, but her grip was iron. "Mrs. Lee, please-"

"Don't you DARE speak to me!" She shoved him toward the door, and he barely caught himself on the doorframe. "You've poisoned him! You've ruined him!"

"I didn't-" Jisung started, but she slammed the door in his face.

The sound echoed in the apartment.

Minho stood there, staring at the closed door, his heart in pieces.

"Mom," he said, his voice barely audible. "How could you-"

She turned to him, and the look on her face was something he'd never seen before. Fury and heartbreak and something that looked almost like fear.

"Pack a bag," she said, her voice cold.

"What?"

"Pack. A bag. You're coming home with me."

"I'm not going anywhere-"

"Yes, you are." She stepped closer, her eyes blazing. "I am not leaving you here to destroy yourself. We're going to fix this, Minho. We're going to fix you."

"I don't need to be fixed."

"YES, YOU DO!" she screamed, and then she broke down, sobbing. "My baby, my son, what did he do to you? What did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything," Minho said, his own voice breaking. "Mom, please-"

But she wasn't listening. She never listened.

And as she grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward the bedroom, all Minho could think about was Jisung on the other side of that door.

Alone.

Again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

so... hi guys!

I finally got the motivation to write again, and I feel like it shows lol, this is so much better written than the previous ones

this was angstier than intended, i apologize <3

dw guys its only getting worse from here !

taglist: @lovelycherry17 @what-in-tha-earth

[mvnsvng]

GIRL, I was listening to my minsung playlist (that made to listen to your story) and Merry Christmas,Please don’t call by Bleachers started playing. I kid you not i started crying and dying at the same time. This is soooo minsung from your story and it’s so sad. And love them and i love your story and this is- 🤚🏻

ok bye ( pls listen to it) 🙏🏻

AHHH-

I know the song omg 💔 stop

thank you so much for the love 😭😭 i srsly didnt expect shuch loyal readers ❤️❤️

maybe i’ll write a xmas special 😼 extra angsty or extra fluffy?? hmm

ALSO FEEL FREE TO SHARE THE PLAYLIST!!

[mvnsvng]

Since the 60's

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Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung

Previous chapter: Chapter 17.

Chapter 18.

Minho finally called Yichu.

He had heard Yichu's hesitant answer and he felt his heart breaking a little. Minho wanted to meet with her to 'talk', so they agreed a date.

Now, Minho was sitting in a small café waiting for his girlfriend. Tapping his foot ion the ground anxiously, thoughts roamed in his head wildly. Is this a mistake after all?

But no, he shook his head as a picture of a sweetly smiling Jisung popped in his head. I have to do this.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the café door opening and closing, causing the bell to jingle happily. Minho's eyes locked with hers.

Yichu looked tired.

Dark circles under her eyes and hair up in a messy ponytail. It was an unusual sight. Yichu had always taken care of herself and never allowed herself to go out without looking like an angel.

"Minho," She breathed. Minho stood up to greet her with a tight hug. He felt Yichu tense in his harms before slowly melting to his touch, balling her fists on Minho's chest.

They sat down and Minho's heart raced wildly.

Yichu's eyes didn't leave his for a second, even though Minho was avoiding eye contact. "I..." He tried, but the words kept catching in his throat.

"I'm just so sorry." He finally let out, finally looking her in the eyes. A tear rolled down Yichu's cheek.

"You're leaving me," She choked out. "for him."

Minho shut his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Minho tell me im wrong." She said more sternly as more tears fell. "Do you hear what i said? He! It's a he, Minho! That's sick!" She yelled out, earning a disapproving look from the old man sitting in the other corner.

"Yichu, I-"

"No, Minho- You- You love me. You always said that you love me. He- That- creature has infected you, I- I'll find a cure, Minho I'll do whatever it takes-" Yichu's panicked words were cut out by Minho.

"No! Don't you understand? I didn't want this! I didn't, but it can't be changed! I'm- I am not sick, goddamn it!" He yelled, tears now dropping from his eyes too.

"I do love you! I do, but-" He didn't know how to continue that sentence. His head dropped and he let the tears drop from his eyes to his lap.

Yichu hesitated, but reached out to hold Minho's hand, sobbing. "Don't do this. Don't leave me, Minho, don't ruin us." Minho inhaled through his nose.

"Yichu, there is no us, anymore, it's been just you for a long time."

Her eyes filled with a new set of tears and she hurriedly stood up to leave. "Wait!"

Yichu turned around once more to meet Minho's pleading gaze. "Please don't tell my mother." He pleaded, and Yichu scoffed harshly before storming out.

Minho stayed there, head in his hands, sobbing quietly. He had picked a café with no customers for a reason. He knew it would not go well.

He thought about what he had just sacrified. He could not trust Yichu not to tell his mother, and if she knew... Minho was terrified to even think about how she would react. He was already disappointed in him for not being married and not having kids, now what if he never would do any of that. What if he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jisung. With a man.

His thoughts were distracted by the only other customer in the cafe, the old man standing up from his seat and walking towards him. Minho got startled and rose his head from his hands as the man placed a small origami made of a napkin in front of him. He didn't say anything, just looked at Minho with pitying eyes before slowly walking out of the building.

Minho looked down. It was a swan.

New tears prickled at his eyes as he chuckled lowly, turning the swan origami in his hand.

Maybe people aren't all that bad.

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this is a flill-in chapter, so its pretty short, sorry about that..

Minho finally doing Yichu justice for leaving her, sorry not sorry <3

taglist: @lovelymariaa @what-in-tha-earth

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[avonsstory-deactivated20251112]

miss when everyone was pumping out fics every two seconds