First Time

Jisung lost control again.

He didn't mean to, but it was so easy to slip into that headspace where he couldn't tell happiness from stress.

Did he even like his job? He wasn't sure anymore.

It hadn't been anyone's fault. He'd snapped without warning, without cause.

All Chan had said was that he was a little slow on the count into the chorus on the new choreo they were learning, and he was right. Jisung knew he was right. He'd felt himself lag slightly as he transitioned between moves.

It was his fuck up, and he'd started shouting anyway.

He had to stop doing this. He knew he had to stop.

It was just...hard. He got stuck in the moment and his head got so loud and he just...lost control.

So he ran. It was the only thing he knew how to do.

Fuck up, run. Fuck up, run. Fuck up, run. And then by the time he got home, hopefully everything would be okay again.

This was no different.

He'd shouted for no reason, he'd scared Jeongin and Felix, Chan got that look on his face when he was pissed because he was already dealing with so much shit and now Jisung was adding more shit to the ever-growing pile of shit...so he bolted.

It was easier that way. He couldn't make anything worse if he wasn't there.

He ran until his legs were burning, opting for the stairs instead of the lift, and almost tripped multiple times as he hurried down them.

He needed air. He needed air or he was going to explode.

He made it to the street and crouched down outside the company doors, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in his arms, just trying to breathe.

But then...then someone found him. That was new.

A small, gentle hand rested on his back, and the rustling of clothes alerted him to someone sitting beside him.

They didn't talk, and Jisung wanted to look up, wanted to ask who he was, wanted to ask why he was bothering with the crazy person curled up in the middle of the street, but he couldn't lift his head, couldn't get his voice to work. If he lifted his head, the world would come back, and he wasn't ready to face it yet.

The stranger sat beside him, hand on his back, body a few inches away from Jisung's so he didn't feel crowded.

Maybe he should've been panicking. A stranger was touching him, sitting beside him. This could be some kind of ploy to have him kidnapped.

Maybe being kidnapped would be a mercy at this point.

The hand started rubbing gentle circles into Jisung's back, and he shivered, leaning closer to the person's warmth.

If he was going to be kidnapped, might as well enjoy the body heat while he could.

The hand paused, and then a whole arm was draped across his back, tugging him into the stranger's chest, and Jisung didn't fight it. He actually smiled as he leaned in, he needed the hug.

Jisung didn't know how much time passed, but eventually he felt calm enough to lift his head, his heart pounding in his chest as he started to think about who could be holding him.

It's probably not a kidnapper. It's probably not a kidnapper. It's almost definitely a kidnapper

He tilted his head back and found—Minho?

Jisung blinked.

Minho?

Minho seemed to sense his gaze and looked down, dark eyes meeting Jisung's. "Oh. Hi. Are you feeling a little bit better now?"