Even drunk, Jisung was a good singer and a better rapper. Minho understood what had made Chan and Changbin so smitten with him. He was a born performer dancing around the room as he sang, grabbing random girls’ hands and making them skip around with him. Ideological differences aren’t always because of maliciousness, though. Sometimes they are just the result of ignorance. For example, there are plenty of rural, white communities all over America where no people of color live. Or, if they do, only one or two families may live there. It’s not unusual for white folks from these communities to change their views when they go to college or move to a different city. They can actually meet different people and see past the rhetoric and BS that the actual racists in these communities push.

I don’t really care what you think about me because it’s guaranteed that you’ll never be able to hate me more than I hate myself, so go ahead.” Jisung’s sobs continued to fill the room and when Minho looked up into the mirror, he could still see Jisung’s reflection, curled up on the floor. Minho dropped the hoodie and ran to the mirror, except it wasn’t a mirror. A glass pane separated two symmetrical rooms, the one with Minho in it and the other with Jisung inside. The palms of his hands pressed against the glass desperate to push through. You should see Deaun. She has to wear this super ugly long grey skirt.” Deaun went to the same school, though she was a year older than Tommy and two older than Jisung. Hate looks just like everybody else until it smiles. Until it spins around and lies with lips and teeth carved into the semblance of something too passive to punch.” – Tahereh MafiMinho didn’t mind the stares; he had long been used to them. In fact, it was kind of nice to be watched with a sort of fondness that came from their childlike freedom. Never should you let anyone make you suffer for the sentiment you feel because that is solely yours.” Fear of something is at the root of hate for others, and hate within will eventually destroy the hater.”- George Washington Carver

I loved that Dean ended up getting a story that really showed he was more than just the goofball/funny friend. The outside air was cold bit Jisung’s bare arms. He remembered wearing his hoodie yesterday but couldn’t remember when he had taken it off. He hoped it wasn’t still at Minho’s, it would be a lot harder to pretend none of this had happened if the hoodie remained as evidence. He wouldn’t be able to wear it again without remembering Minho’s arms around him as they walked. He wouldn’t ever be able to wear to school; it would just remind them both of how Jisung had cried and how Minho had cared. I need to go!” Jisung was frantically scratching at the wood like a caged animal. Minho pulled him away and Jisung fell into his arms. His hands curled around the fabric of Minho’s shirt, tugging Minho towards him. Please let us go.” Jisung turned his face so Tommy could see him. Tears streaked down his face and his voice broke as he finally spoke.

Neither of them said anything for a while. They just sat awkwardly pretending that the other's company didn’t make them uncomfortable. Jisung looked around the room, at anything other than the boy next to him. His gaze fell on the group playing just dance. Minho had always known that the lyrics were sad, but Jisung made them devastating. Deaun had tears in her eyes and Minho realised that she might know a lot more about this song than he did. And speaking as someone that grew up in one of those areas, it’s a hell of a lot more common than people realize. Jisung didn’t know if he was relieved when Tommy’s phone rang. The tension in the air disappeared as Tommy dropped his hand and stepped away to answer it. Jisung stayed frozen in place, staring at the empty air where Tommy was a second ago. He was drunk and sad, so he held on to Minho’s arms as he tried to pull away. He let his fingers linger on Minho’s skin as he let his grip slide.

The hope Jisung had fooled himself into believing came crashing down and Jisung was left facing the unlikely reality.

Minho nodded but still didn’t ask to join in when the next song ended. Jisung cheered for the winner then turned to Minho, almost exasperated.

Like always on a night like this, one where the world seemed so big and lonely and Jisung felt so helpless, he ended up typing his name into his phone.

Deaun’s house was exactly as he remembered, apart from the tell-tale signs of a party sprawled across the grass. The manicured lawn a perfect square cut hedges would have shown just how rich her family was even if the house wasn’t basically a small mansion. I’m fat. I’m ugly. I’m worthless. I’m useless. I’m depressed. I’m not ok. I want to die. I hate myself.”