hold me ♡ minsung

30. an overdue massage

♡

JANUARY 9

   One day later, Minho was on his way to see Jisung, to ask him if he wouldn't mind helping him soothe the pain in his tense, sore muscles.

...But you have to understand the position he was in. It wasn't that he wanted a massage (the thought of such a thing happening to him made him want to scream and throw himself from the window of his dorm room, and it made him quiver and shake like a leaf), and it wasn't that he couldn't take the pain— that he was too much of a wimp to grin and bear it— either. If it were only the pain he would've sucked it up as always. Rather, it was the fact he was utterly unable to focus on anything with the headaches he'd been having, which meant that his grades were immediately at high risk.

   All he wanted was to be able to pay attention to something other than the agony that being incredibly sore put him through. There was a sure way of getting that, at least, according to the  boys in his friend group who were now used to working knots out of each other.

   There came a point where Minho needed to choose the lesser of two evils: possibly flunk out of his classes, or deal with the intense unpleasantness of having hands pressing into him for an extended period of time (plus whatever consequences that allowing or asking for such a thing could bring) and he'd been fighting himself on that for hours.

   Again, you have to understand that Minho tried— he really tried— to do anything but go asking for something as horrible-sounding as a massage.

    In fact, he woke up in the morning, groaning and groveling with his face shoved into his pillow to muffle his agonized noises that came due to a mix of frustration and pain.

    He tried to fix things; he did everything he could think of to alleviate the havoc wreaked on his neck and back. He took a long, hot shower before he went to bed. He pressed his knuckles firmly into that annoying bump between his neck and shoulder that was always tender and uncomfortable. He forced himself to sleep on his back, rather than his side. And it turned out that none of his efforts had done a thing, because he felt absolutely no better than he had yesterday.

    Still, he assured himself that he'd be able to ignore it and go on, grumpily sitting through class after pain-filled class. That's what he always did, so why would it be different now? The last thing he wanted was to make a habit of begging for Jisung to come to his rescue. That was supposed to be a one-time thing.

   What made it different was that bright red 'F' circled on the quiz he got back today. 

   Turned out he failed that pop quiz from yesterday. 

   Minho had never failed anything before. A quiz, a test, a project— whatever it was, he'd never gotten any less than a C on an assignment, which made seeing that little, red-ink letter at the top of his paper seem surreal. 

   The scariest thing was: he didn't feel any better today, physically or mentally, as he felt just as brain-fogged as he did achy, which meant that he might do just as badly today, and if this continued, maybe he'd fail the class. Sure, it was a worst-case scenario, but with every shock of pain inside his skull it seemed more and more like reality.

   The failed quiz sat in front of him on the fold-out desk while he stared silently. His bleary eyes recognized nothing but the red scribble in the top right corner.

    Head throbbing and aching; hands tingling and shaking, Minho took a shaky inhale in a failed attempt to calm his panic. 

    Suddenly, a thought entered his mind.