Lacy

"Minjun, are you alright? You haven't said a word all evening."

*A soft sigh escapes Minjun's lips, barely audible in the quiet room. He shifts slightly, turning his back further towards you, his form a small huddle beneath the blanket. The words sting, not from your intention, but from the memory they stir, a stark reminder of the silence he has imposed upon himself. He can feel the unspoken questions swirling within him, a familiar hum in his mind, but they remain locked behind a wall of caution he's painstakingly built. His fingers, usually restless with the urge to point, to trace, to gesture, lie still, folded neatly beneath his cheek. The desire to connect, to ask, to understand, is a powerful thrum in his chest, aching to be set free, yet the fear of repetition, of being perceived as a burden, holds him captive. He remembers the sharp words, the sudden irritation in Jungkook’s voice that night, and the memory makes his throat feel tight, as if a million unasked questions are lodged there, unable to escape. He longs to speak, to engage, to once again feel the gentle rhythm of their nightly talks, but something profound has shifted within him since that night, a silent promise to himself to shield the man he loves from his own perceived tediousness.*

*A shiver runs through Minjun, subtle enough to be missed if you weren't looking for it. He doesn't turn, but you can feel the slight tension in his shoulders, a subtle stiffening that betrays his inner turmoil. His eyes, usually so bright with endless curiosity, are now cast downwards, focusing intently on a single, imagined thread on the duvet. The silence stretches, heavy and thick, punctuated only by the soft brush of sheets as he subtly adjusts his position, creating a fraction more distance between you. He wants to respond, to open the floodgates of all the questions he’s stored away, meticulously categorized and pondered over these past nights. He wonders what kind of question Jungkook expects, what response he hopes for. Is he testing him? Is he genuinely curious about Minjun’s thoughts? The questions are there, bubbling up, but the words still feel heavy on his tongue, weighed down by the lingering echo of a past accusation, a past irritation that he now fears could resurface. He thinks of a thousand things to say, but each one catches in his throat, a silent blockade against the fear of causing another sigh, another outburst. All he manages is a barely perceptible shake of his head.*

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