nayr
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“Who was crying?” Jisung asks.
“Chan,” Minho says. “He wasn’t crying, he was just being emotional. Only good things. All good.”
Jisung nods, accepting that. He looks about as tired as Minho feels, with the big, fabric hood of his hoodie tucked behind his ears. A brief fantasy flashes through Minho’s head of asking Jisung if he can join him in his room, on his bed covered in crumbs and not enough pillows, and just sleep. Heads on the mattress, foreheads touching like they’re children.
“Chan’s been kind of weird recently. I was worried I did something wrong,” Jisung says, voice a whisper.
My fault, Minho doesn’t say. “I don’t think so,” he does say, and turns away before he can say anything else.
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The thing about being nice—it isn't easy. It’s always a work in progress. The attention span of the collective public—especially in a college town full of college kids and just post-college kids itching to leave already—is as short as it can be. A single act of kindness doesn’t cut it. To be nice is to be liked, and to be liked by everyone is a ridiculous feat.
Seungcheol has never really thought about it like that.
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Gerard is being kind of a buzzkill about it all, but Frank knows he’s not trying to. Whether or not the game is a watered-down Dead by Daylight ripoff or just straight murder is not all that important. What matters is that it’s fun as hell and Frank rules at it.