♡
FEBRUARY 12
i guess... i forgot. how all of this used to be a conscious choice.
.
Minho had been spending this past week sorting through (or, trying to sort through) memories that were suddenly popping up in his mind and flowing through it vividly. That talk with Chan had been like a hole suddenly poked in an overtaxed, unstable dam. Or the a loosening of an huge knot.
"Try to let yourself feel things."
That had turned out to be the key.
Minho was always trying to keep down and conceal his rejected feelings and thoughts. They were locked up. That's why he couldn't seem to remember anything when he tried before. That's why he couldn't figure this out before. He wasn't stupid, he just intentionally blinded himself to hard truths he didn't want to see.
The morning after he'd talked to Chan, he'd woken up, and almost immediately the conversation was back
on his mind. His own pitiful voice rung in his ears. The memory of crying out the words 'It hurts, hyung' was ingraved into the front of his mind, along with the image of himself draped over Chan's shoulder, soaking in the touch of the older boy's hand running up and down his back.
Reflexively, Minho shuddered, eyes squeezed shut and muscles tensed.
Like always, the memory struck him like lightning. Intense discomfort welled up in his stomach.
(With that reaction came the reassurance that he was in his regular mind— not the frighteningly new, desperate side of him that had been showing up far too often these days— which was encouraging, because for once he was both in his regular mind and striving to move forward, instead of sinking right back into his shell.)
Something deep inside him led him to fully believe that that memory was and should have been repulsive.
He had shown too much then.
That he was so... weak.
Such a baby.
So... vulnerable.
That word itself— vulnerable—as always, sent a chill down Minho's spine, just from thinking about it.
If hadn't already decided he truly, honestly wanted to change, Minho would've listened to those thoughts obediently and condemned that memory, promising himself (though he knew he couldn't keep such a promise) that he would never let anyone see him look that weak again. Continuing the cycle, for the umpteenth time.
This time however, those overly judgemental thoughts lit a fire under Minho, pushing him to finally get started, figuring out what the source of all the disgust that dictated his life really was.
Due to spending too long in bed mulling over conflicting thoughts, he had fifteen minutes until class. He rushed out of bed, looking for a scrap of paper and a pen. He just had to get something out. Whatever he could think of.
⊱ ────── {⋅. ➴ .⋅} ────── ⊰
✎
...i forget what was like to openly, unashamedly want to be hugged. or touched at all.
but i know that i did. there was a time (which i feel like i hardly remember) when i would run up to people with my little-kid-arms out.
come to think of it i even vaguely remember...
STAI LEGGENDO
hold me ♡ minsung
Fanfiction┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐ lee minho doesn't like to be touched. that's what he says, anyway. han jisung doesn't believe it. └── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘
