One overcast Thursday morning, someone is sitting in his seat.
Danbi comes to an uncharacteristic halt in front of Minho, urging him to stop immediately as well. He reaches out cautiously, confused when no handle bar seems close to him.
It's been weeks since there had been a interference in their schedule, that it takes a few moments and a startled gasp for him to realise that his usual seat by the doors in occupied by not one, not two, but three people.
Anxiety churns in his stomach as he hears the shuffling and mumbling of the strangers, but he doesn't move, too nervous to try. Danbi, sensing her owner's discomfort immediately, pushes back against his legs, acting as an anchor, but doesn't push him to move either.
"Oh sorry!" Someone finally shouts, their voice deep and slightly accented, "Do you want to sit here, Minho?"
"How-" he cuts himself short, eyes wide and throat dry at the sound of his name. Does he know these people?
Minho doesn't answer after that, giving himself a few moments to calm down from the change to begin any sort of human interaction. He vaguely realises the bus is yet to depart from his stop, and only then seems to understand that the bus driver always waits until Minho is safely sat down before starting the journey.
He feels himself flush in embarrassment, feeling the stares of millions eventhought it's less than a dozen.
"Uh." He clears his throat meekly, and below him Danbi presses further back into his legs, and he pushes forward, finding a balance to her pillar like stance. "I-"
He doesn't get far into his next pathetic excuse for a comprehensible sentence, because Danbi softens her stance and pulls on her harness, indicating a clear path ahead, and that she would begin to move forward unless told not to.
Minho is once again startled and rendered speechless as Danbi takes that as her queue to continue forth, leading him safely to his usual seat. He reaches out again, and this time, is met with the cool metal of the handle bar.
When he finally sits down and Danbi situates herself under the seat and between the gaps of his ankles, Minho feels the knot in his chest loosen. He rubs her wet nose against the exposed skin of his calf in attempt to comfort him, but he feels too overwhelmed to take it.
The group of strangers (or maybe not?) have stayed quiet, which is unnerving, especially since one of them is sitting beside him and the other two in front of him.
"I hope you don't mind me asking," he quietly says after an ounce of courage grows in his stomach, feeling the person next to him stiffen in surprise of Minho talking to them, "But have we met before?"
"Uhm-" one of then sitting infront of him starts, struggling to find strength in their words, "No. But we share a mutual friend?"
Minho scrunches up his nose, "We do? Who?"
"Well, I think we do atleast? Your name is Minho right?" The person beside him with the deep voice, who had said his name before, asks hesitantly.
Minho clears his throat, feeling slightly uncomfortable and out of the loop, "Yes, that's me."
It's one thing not being able to see what goes on around you, but not understanding is even worse. He's the centre of the conversation yet feels like a complete outsider.
"Ah, one of our friends said that he sees someone...like you...on the bus every morning. So we just assume that...it was you."
Someone like you.
Although that phrase was not said with any out right malice, Minho feels his heart drop to his stomach as a wave of self hatred and absolute dread washes over him. He feels his breath cut short, and Danbi is instantly out from under the seat and by his side, pressing her snout under his chin.
He can't breath, or well, he can but he can't. In that split moment of vulnerability he let himself feel too comfortable around people and let himself be ostracized and pushed back. Again.
Someone like you.
He knows they didn't mean it like that, in fact, he can hear the deep voiced stranger say something close to an apology or comfort, but the sound of Danbi sniffing at his ear and the blood pulsating through his head is too unbearably loud. Every small sound, from the humming of the bus engine to the shuffling of paper bags from the strangers infront of him is amplified, and Minho wants to run.
The bus comes to a halt, which to Minho feels like a pull of reality. Because he can suddenly hear again, and what he hears makes him wish he never got out of bed this morning.
"Morning driver!" The cheery, joyful, happy and cheekily infectious tone of Han Jisung fills the bus, and that's all Minho can hear.
One of our friends...
Everyone morning...
Someone like you...
"Oh god." Minho mumbles, standing up too quickly and feeling himself lurch forward with a head rush. Danbi is once again right there; and she stands a little taller as she pushes back into Minho's chest, urging him to sit back down.
He pushes her nose away, and she tries to push back, desperate for her owner to sit down in case he faints standing up.
But he doesn't feel light headed anymore, instead Minho feels the instinct to run far away push against his sculls and urging to break free.
Minho pushes Danbi back down, grabbing her harness a little tighter in his palm.
The sounds of the front doors of the bus hissing closed sends an adrenaline rush through his blood; and his flight or fight mode kicks in as he presses the 'stop' bell on the handle bar with urgency. The sound echoes around the bus and it even startles Minho, because he never presses the bell this early on in their journey.
He realises that their usual stop is more than 5 stops away but at that moment, Minho doesn't care.
He presses it again to grasp some sort of control over the situation, "Danbi, forward. We're getting off." And for good measure, he licks his dry lips and calls out to the driver, hoping to convey the importance of his exit, "Driver! I'm getting off please!"
"Wait-" The stranger sitting in the seat infront of him says, but Minho doesn't hear him over the voice slowly making it's way towards him down the bus aisle.
"Yooo! What are you guys doing here? I thought we were meeting at work?" Jisung asks amiably, a smile evident in his tone, obviously aimed at his group of friends, who all stay silent and do not reply. They don't have to, because it only confirms whatever Jisung had been saying about Minho to them.
The familiar feeling of betrayal seeps up Minho's bones and he feels absolutely ridiculous. He's spoken only a handful of conversations to Jisung over the past few days, mostly about their music taste or the weather or whatever random topic comes up. It didn't mean anything. He can talk about whatever he wants, and if Minho had his...his disability is a conversation they have often then so be it.
It. Doesn't. Mean. Anything.
They weren't friends, they didn't even know eachother that well- which is the only lesson Minho learns from this whole ordeal.
As Minho walks carefully towards the back of the bus to get off, he hears Jisung finally notice him and take a surprised intake of breath.
"Minho?" Jisung says, confusion hanging onto every syllable of his name, "Why are you getting off? What's wrong?"
Minho purses his lips, and for some absurdly unexplainable reason, feels tears well up in his eyes.
He doesn't answer, and instead turns towards Danbi, who immediately begins to walks to the exit door of the bus with a little more haste than she usually allows.
The bus driver, the only true person to ever value Minho's safety and well being besides his doctor, opens the doors, and immediately closes them after he gets off- leaving no room for anyone to get in his way of getting out of the situation.
Minho thinks he can hear Jisung knock on the window to catch his attention, and Minho wants to snort at the action. What was he going to do? Look at whatever Jisung was trying to tell him through the window? Embarrassment wells up in Minho's chest again as he pointedly does not look anywhere at the bus, which doesn't waste a single moment before pulling out of the stop and continuing down the main road.
Minho then walks away, letting Danbi pull him towards the direction of his flat instead of the park, and let's his unshed tears prick against his eyes against the cold wind.
They don't go to the park for the remainder of the week. Or the next.