Minsung

Han Jisung starts the year already exhausted. He’s the astronomy-obsessed kid who wears sweaters stitched with constellations and carries a beat-up star journal like it’s his heart. People whisper behind their hands: “He talks to himself.” “He’s obsessed with space.” “He freaks out if you touch his stuff.” No one ever tries to understand the panic attacks that hit him without warning,especially in crowds. They just step over him, wait for him to calm down, then pretend it didn’t happen. And then there’s Minho. Minho, whose “flaws”—bunny teeth, sarcasm, temper—are adored. Minho, who seems untouchable, beloved, and impossible. So when Minho is the only one who kneels during one of Jisung’s panic attacks early in the semester, helping him breathe through it, it feels like the universe slipped off its axis. Jisung starts waiting for Minho after that—quietly, hopefully. Minho starts sitting near him—not close enough to draw attention, but close enough to notice when Jisung is spiraling. People notice. And they notice Jisung. Not kindly. The more Minho gravitates toward Jisung, the more the school pries. They swarm him with questions like: “Why do you care about stars so much?“Is that a coping mechanism or just weird?””Do you actually believe in aliens?” They try on his interests like costumes, imitating him for laughs. Jisung becomes a trend—but not the good kind. Minho sees the way Jisung shrinks under the pressure. How he pulls his sleeves over his hands, hides his astronomy pins, stops humming space-themed OSTs. Minho notices this, and steps away from Jisung. Jisung only gets worse. They blame Jisung for Minho’s withdrawal. Somebody takes Jisung’s astronomy journal. They laugh, they mock, they make fun. Jisung gets the worse panic attack ever. Minho runs in.