I m in multiple fandom and a depressed potato.

"Baby, will you look at me?" you pleaded once more, after getting nothing but silence from him as he looked around his room for his clothes.

It had been minutes now since you had filled him in on your friend's intentions, and you were yet to get any kind of word out of his mouth.

Biting his tongue not to say anything he'd regret, he decided to ignore you for a little longer — his mind racing and going through every possible scenario regarding you and Jongsuk, as he placed the recently folded black jacket inside the luggage he would be taking on tour with him.

You sighed, taking a step towards him and gently grabbing his wrist so he would at least look at you. "Minho…"

"I don't know what you want me to say, Y/N" he quietly spoke up, the look he had just given you being far from the loving one you were used to. "It's been over one week. He confessed to you over one week ago, I leave tomorrow for three months, and you are just now telling me about it. What am I supposed to say?"

"I… I'm sorry" your voice trembled. "I didn't want to worry you over nothing, because I feel nothing for him and I made it very clear to him, so I thought it didn't matter. But he's been insisting an—"

"He's been insisting," he let out a breathy, incredulous laugh; one that held no humor in it whatsoever. "Insisting. Great".

"It's not—"

"So what, he'll keep insisting harder once I'm gone? Once I'm no longer in his way?"

"The fact that you'll be gone doesn't mean he'll have a free pass with me".

"But I won't be here to physically make him back off!"

"It doesn't matter!" you exclaimed. "It doesn't matter, baby. I will tell him to back away. I won't let him get close, you know that".

Minho shook his head no, taking a shaky breath as his hands covered his face and he let his back slump down on the bed. He wished he could just open his eyes and realise it had all been a nightmare, that you had not actually told him his best friend was in love with you. But he couldn't. He knew the moment he removed his hands from off his face and opened his eyes everything would still be the same. So he didn't. 

"Minho…" you pouted, lying down on your stomach next to him and tenderly grabbing one of his hands. 

Although his other hand slipped down from his face right after, his eyes remained closed.

"He was supposed to be my friend".

"He is your friend" you mumbled, drawing gentle circles on the back of the hand you were still holding onto.

"He's not," his voice cracked, and your heart hurt. "He would never try to take you from me if he was, he knows how fucking much I love you".

"I promise nothing will happen…"

His chest moved up and down, a heavy sigh abandoning his lips. "He's always been there for you".

"So have you" you didn't hesitate to remind him.

"He's been there way more" he lamented, finally opening his sadened eyes and locking them with yours. "When I became a trainee and changed schools he was still in the same one as you, you would still go there together every single day. When I debuted you guys got in the same university, and now you get to go to all the parties together. Every time I went on tour he would stay here with you…"

"None of that matters to me" you reassured him. "The two of you have been in my life for the same amount of years. If I wanted to be with him I would've gone for it already, but I don't want to, and I won't ever want to. It's you the one I fell for, and you have been there for me in ways he could never".

"He could if you gave him the chance to" his eyes watered ever so slightly. "What if he keeps insisting when I'm gone and you end up realising that he is a better match for you than me. What if you fall for him, what if—"

"Shh," you hushed him, cupping his face in your hands and resting your forehead on his in an attempt to calm him down. "It's okay, baby. It's okay. We'll be okay".

"I don't wanna leave," he confessed, causing you to feel a pinch in your chest, as you had never seen him look so scared. "I don't wanna leave tomorrow anymore, not ever. I don't wanna lose you".

"What are you saying? You won't ever lose me" you tried to reassure him one more time, this one giving him a sweet smile and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "You wanna know why?"

"Why?"

"Because this," you brought his hand to your chest, placing it right over your heart. "This belongs to you. Always".

He pouted cutely. "Are you talking about your heart or your b—"

"Lee Minho!" you called him out before he could even finish, earning a throaty laugh from him that made the burn in your cheeks feel worth it. "I'm trying to be wholesome here".

Minho trapped you inside his arms, pulling you ever so tightly against his chest and throwing a leg over your lower body. "I love you so fucking much".

"You already said that" your voice came out muffled against the fabric of his sweatshirt. "And I hope you know I love you more".

"Not more, but I know you love me".

You smiled softly, not having it in you to fight him right then. "Always," your lips pressed a small kiss to his jaw. "No matter how much Jongsuk or any other guy insists, no matter how many hours away you are from me… I will always love you".

"You promise?" he whispered.

You looked up to him — your eyes alone letting him know you were dead serious. "Of course I promise. I have loved you for nearly a decade now, I know nothing can change my love for you".

The previous sadness that had taken over his eyes was now replaced by pure adoration, smiling sweetly before he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh, making yourself more comfortable on his chest.

"Tell me if he tries anything else…"

"Will do…" you promised, mindlessly tracing your fingertips up and down his bicep. "We should probably keep packing your luggage now".

He rested his chin on the top of your head. "What's the point if I can't throw you inside and bring you on tour with me".

You chuckled, playfully pinching his side. "Too bad I don't fit in it".

ii. 

you’re five when you meet him again on a playground. it’s an old playground, with rusty swings and plastic slides that have long since lost their color to the rain. a playground for children whose parents care enough to raise them, but not quite enough to keep from dumping them on a faded playground to sit and wait for the better part of the day. 

he’s crouched over the rotten wood chips when you approach him. messy locks of hair, faded blue jeans. 

he is crying. there is a kitten in his hands.

a filthy, feral kitten with fleas crawling over its eyes and nose and blood matting its orange fur. a dying kitten, its life seeping out of it with every gasping breath it takes. 

“you shouldn’t touch it,” you say. because you once made the mistake of picking up a kitten you found on the road to bring it back home and your mother slapped you twice across the face and forced you to throw it away. because you don’t know anything about this boy, but you still want to keep him from experiencing the smarting pain that bloomed within your chest when your mother lifted her hand and brought it down hard against your cheek. 

he shakes his head and brings the kitten closer. cradles it to his cheek, soaking its knotted fur with his tears. you squat down next to him and hope that his parents never found out that he held a dying kitten close to his chest while sobbing his lungs out, infesting his clothes with fleas. 

when the kitten finally dies, he buries it under the rotten decay of the wood chips. there are crescents of dirt underneath his fingernails when he stands up and brushes off his jeans. 

iii.

his eyes have hardened when you meet him for the third time at thirteen. 

he stares at you from his desk as you stand at the front of the classroom to introduce yourself to the class. his eyes have lost their soft glow, the round innocence he possessed when you met him on the playground. your chest jumps at the sight of him, flickering with recognition. 

you wonder if he remembers you, too. 

it takes you an eternity to muster up the courage to sit by him at lunch. even longer to ask him for his name. 

“minho,” he says, without looking at you. “it’s minho.”

“minho,” you repeat. and you smile. 

iv.

he walks into the classroom with his head held high, pain bottled up in glass jars, eyes defiant and tall. the class stares as he enters and then looks away. 

no one mentions the bruise decorating his cheek during the entirety of physics class. 

you meet him by the school rooftop and take his face in your hands. he looks away from you when you run a thumb across the bruise, wondering who could have possibly dared to hurt someone like minho. 

“you’re angry,” he murmurs as you press a bandaid to the bruise. 

you smile. “i’m always angry.” 

when you are born into a fragmented world, the product of your mother’s unhappiness and your father’s greed, anger becomes your first instinct— a primal impulse to seethe and simmer at the injustice of it all, to ache for something better. to take the pain in minho’s eyes and crumple it into a ball like a sheet of paper, trampling it under the heel of your shoe and leaving it forgotten on the concrete of the school rooftop. 

you dig out the shards of glass from the palms of minho’s hands with tweezers and staunch the bleeding with the hem of your hoodie. running a finger along the torn skin of his palm, you know that this is all you can do. 

v. 

you wonder how he managed to keep his heart all these years. 

the boy in front of you is the same boy from years ago, the boy who cradled a gasping kitten to his cheek even as it was left abandoned to die in the rotten decay of a faded playground. 

the past years have not been kind to either of you. and yet minho is unchanged. 

he is harder, yes, and there is a permanent sheen of weariness pressed to his skin. but his heart is still intact, still whole and smooth inside the cage of his ribs. 

the years have rubbed you raw— numbed you in ways unimaginable, taken whatever softness you ever possessed and hardened it into anger. you know that if someone were to cut open your chest and peer into your ribcage, your heart would be rotten and tainted within your chest, scarred and cracked, barely together by the seams. 

you envy minho for his wholeness. 

you sometimes wish that, just for once, someone could carve open your chest and see a full and unblemished heart beating within your ribcage. 

vi. 

there is moonlight splayed across minho’s skin and laughter bubbling from the corners of your lips, threatening to spill out in curls and wisps of smoke. his lips are pressed against your own as he pulls you in closer, all heated skin and tired eyes. 

the alleyway smells of burnt rubber. 

you brush away the bangs that stick to his forehead as you curl a hand around his cheek, cupping his jaw and brushing a thumb against the scar etched into his cheekbone. minho sighs into your lips and gives you all of him, allowing you to wrap your arms around his torso and press him closer. 

part of you feels selfish for allowing yourself to have him like this when you are tainted on the inside, your heart spoiled and bruised like overripe fruit. but you pull him in closer all the same. 

you are young gods in this moonlight and gods are allowed to be greedy like this, even if they are rotten to the core. 

vii. 

he doesn’t say a word. just silently slips into your apartment after dance practice, hair still slick with sweat, and falls asleep beside you on the couch. you watch as he sprawls out across the couch and allow your endearment to bleed through the edges. 

his head somehow migrates to your lap over the course of a few hours, hair splayed out in a halo around his head. 

you run a featherlight fingertip down the perfect slope of his nose and tell the sleeping boy with the shards of glass ingrained in the palms of his hands that you love him. 

he doesn’t stir from your lap. 

viii. 

he is curled in your lap again, but now he’s sobbing instead of sleeping. 

he opens his mouth to choke out another apology, tears soaking into the cloth of your t-shirt, and you tell him to shut up. because you’re not holding him because you pity him but rather because you would give the world to see the boy in your arms happy and if it means that your cheap gas station t-shirt will get ruined in the process then so be it. 

he presses his forehead to your collarbone and sighs. 

“i hate him,” he says. 

“i hate him, too.” 

“you don’t even know him.”

but do you need to know someone to hate them? if it were up to you, you would have slipped into minho’s apartment long ago and brought his father to his knees. you would have taken him by the chin and forced him to look. to stare. to breathe in minho’s humanness, his pain, and to understand the magnitude of his cruelty. 

look. look at the scars carved into your son’s palms from all the times you got a little too drunk to remember that beer bottles were for drinking from and not for throwing. the scar across his cheekbone from the time your fist connected into his cheek when he came home late from dance practice. look at his brokenness, the weariness that sits heavy against the dark circles underneath his eyes. 

look and realize what you have done. 

you would have taken him by the chin and made him realize his monstrosity. dragged him through the dust and left him on his knees, head hanging low with the heat of his own shame. 

but it has never been up to you. and all you can do is this. 

He seems so at peace, feeding them extra treats as though you cannot see, and snuggling up to the point you cannot see the line between fur and human skin. Your boyfriend is so gentle, so loving and caring with everything he does, and you see it now more than ever. The way he picks the cats up with utmost care and gentleness, and is weary not to drop them or do anything that could put them in pain. Eyes wide and full of adoration, he speaks with them as though they can understand him, pouting and nodding and smiling as though he is getting something more than a meow back.

He seems so at peace, feeding them extra treats as though you cannot see, and snuggling up to the point you cannot see the line between fur and human skin. Your boyfriend is so gentle, so loving and caring with everything he does, and you see it now more than ever. The way he picks the cats up with utmost care and gentleness, and is weary not to drop them or do anything that could put them in pain. Eyes wide and full of adoration, he speaks with them as though they can understand him, pouting and nodding and smiling as though he is getting something more than a meow back.

He seems so at peace, feeding them extra treats as though you cannot see, and snuggling up to the point you cannot see the line between fur and human skin. Your boyfriend is so gentle, so loving and caring with everything he does, and you see it now more than ever. The way he picks the cats up with utmost care and gentleness, and is weary not to drop them or do anything that could put them in pain. Eyes wide and full of adoration, he speaks with them as though they can understand him, pouting and nodding and smiling as though he is getting something more than a meow back.

Then again, you can’t bring yourself to find it strange, or odd. You simply think he is so full of love and care for the things he finds most precious in the world, and more than anything that sight is beautiful.

Although the atmosphere and comfort of being outside, tucked away under your thick blanket was once irresistible, the urge to sneak inside is now the only thing that occupies your mind.

Opening the door quietly, you’re practically tiptoeing your way inside. As quiet as your actions are, the smile on your face is loud. Hiding such happiness and content should be a crime, because all you want to do is scream and shout in a mix of overwhelming yet mellow emotions, tell the world how happy you are to be where you are right now. He is standing up when you reach him, opening a can of tuna in the kitchen to put into bowls so the cats can eat. You don’t feel like directly disturbing him, but your arms find their way to his waist, snaking their way around his hips until you can feel your hands meet in the middle.

He jumps, ever so slightly, at your sudden touch. You must be cold, in comparison to the comfortable warm air inside the apartment, but he relaxes immediately when your head finds the crook of his neck from behind. Against his skin, he can feel your warm breath and your icy cheeks, sending goosebumps down his back, the good kind. “Hey you.” He whispers, a smile present in your voice. It’s that kind of day—a day full of smiling and grins and ecstasy.

“I missed you.” You whisper back, sighing into him while closing your eyes. For a moment, you consider whether this is heaven. No worries, no anxieties. They are all tomorrow's problem, and you are happy to leave it that way. A small chuckle leaves him at your words, as though you’ve said something ridiculous, but it was true. You did miss him, and you needed him in your arms, which is why you’re here now.

Placing the now empty can down on the counter, he turns to you. Naturally, like an instinct that has manifested overtime, his hands find your waist without much effort. They slide behind to the small of your back, pulling you flush against his body. The closeness is something you crave, and finally getting it after what felt like forever satisfies you in a way you didn’t know was possible. “Better?” He asks, smirk present on his lips because he already knows the answer to his question. The way the corners of your lips have lifted up impossibly high tells him everything he wants to know, anyway.

With a hum, you bring your hands up to his cheeks. They are soft and plush, and you can’t help but rub a thumb gently across the skin as it grows a powder pink. In your hands, he looks precious and safe, and you realise you’d do anything you could to keep him safe like this, forever. The knowing smirk from earlier has still not settled, but like this, you’re only tempted to bring it closer. There’s a sudden temptation within you, needing the pretty mauve of his lips against your own, a temptation you can’t help but want to give into.

With little force, and a lot of compliance from him, you pull his face closer to his own. You don’t show it, but you want to giggle. From an outside perspective, you think you probably look like how he does when he brings one of the cats in for a kiss, but that is anything but surprising. If not, predictable.

For a moment, you linger like that. Lips mere millimetres away from another, his shallowing breaths against your own, his cheeks growing warmer and warmer in your touch. Lazily, your eyes blink up to his, and it doesn’t take seconds for your gut to be attacked by butterflies and knots that make you both nervous and utterly weak at the same time. But, it is also that that finally cuts the rope.

It’s sweet and gentle when you connect your lips, and even sweeter when he immediately kisses back. You suppose it’s been a while since you’ve been so desperate to be so close to him, but you can’t help it—he’s like a candy you know you shouldn’t eat, always on your mind and occupying your thoughts at the most irrelevant times. This time, you let your thoughts win. You don’t regret it.

The way he kisses you back is soft like velvet yet passionate, tongue just swiping against your bottom lip. It’s slow and meaningful, and you’re not too sure if your heart is finally relaxing or completely out of control. When you finally pull away, releasing yourself from his dangerous pull, you’re left breathless. He looks perfect, mouth wet from your lips and cheeks flushed the prettiest rose. It spreads all the way up to his ears, but he doesn’t seem shy. He just looks at you like you are his world, like he has finally found his home. Among this apartment, with the person he loves the most, with his cats who he adores, his mind finally feels at rest.

When the two of you touch, you must panic. The faintest sound of your breath catching in your throat, the widening of your eyes. You’re just as nervous as he is, he can tell, yet he can’t help but feel envious. God knows why you're shy, you’ve been attached at the hip for years, but he supposes it does feel different when it’s just the two of you. When the air settles and time stills, it is so much more than just a friendship. It’s a magnetic force that is unearthly and uncontrollable, and the need to be with you grows stronger and stronger as if there’s something more that exists, beyond just the two of you.

But that’s not why he’s jealous. No, Seungmin would never be jealous because you’re shy. It’s the natural naïveté that comes along with not knowing your best friend is about to die. It’s the innocence that fills your wide eyes as you turn your head to look at him, meeting his gaze with a smile. The taste that fills his mouth is nothing less than bittersweet and entirely sickening when he grins back, because he doesn’t want to lie to you. He wants to be honest, and tell you the truth, and let you know that he is so close to his breaking point, but he can’t.

But that’s not why he’s jealous. No, Seungmin would never be jealous because you’re shy. It’s the natural naïveté that comes along with not knowing your best friend is about to die. It’s the innocence that fills your wide eyes as you turn your head to look at him, meeting his gaze with a smile. The taste that fills his mouth is nothing less than bittersweet and entirely sickening when he grins back, because he doesn’t want to lie to you. He wants to be honest, and tell you the truth, and let you know that he is so close to his breaking point, but he can’t.

He can’t ruin his last moments with you, because they’re all he has left. Simply, why leave on a bad note if he can make your final moments together as saccharine as they get.

The summer air is warm, even this high up, but he knows that that is not the reason why his hands are so sweaty when he wraps his fingers around your own. In his throat, he can feel his heart pounding, and for a second questions whether his time has come earlier than expected. It’s a passing thought, though, the feeling of your thumb gently caressing the back of his hand soon to clear his mind. “Min?” You say, talking to him while looking at the sky.

He hums, moving his eyes to see if your face has turned, keeping his head up when he sees it hasn’t. “You’re tense, what’s up?” You ask, and for the first time ever he curses you for being nothing less than perfect. It’s no surprise you sense something is wrong, you’ve always been good at noticing the little things. The way he makes his coffee in the mornings, his favourite lunch order at the café on the corner. They’re things most people won't notice, and things the best people will. Maybe that’s why he’s had you at his side for so long.

“This is all just amazing, isn’t it? I guess I’m just realising that I’m a very small part of a very big world, but that’s not a bad thing.” He takes a deep sigh, attempting to relax his body with the breath he releases. “When I’m gone, it won’t be anything big, and I’m very grateful for that. But if the stars were to disappear, we’d all think the world was ending.” He chuckles, in the way he normally does when he thinks his words have gotten a little bit too deep, but you squeeze his hand.

You’re grounding him, just like you always do, but this time your grip feels a little stronger than normal. His heart doesn’t swell with its usual joy, it cracks. “Things like that aren’t funny, Seungmin. I don’t want to think of that happening — ever.”

He doesn’t have the heart to respond to you. He considers telling you about everything, about his death date looming over him since the moment he grew conscious, the weight pushing on his shoulders with the knowledge of his own death. It’s selfish and mean and horrible, but the pressure is unbearable and he wonders if for one, last day, he can allow himself the pleasure, the relief of sharing his pain.

But of course, that is a mere thought, a second reality where the weight is bearable and the consequences are not frightening. For now, this will do. It’s as close to peace as he will ever get, hand in hand with you while the stars slowly begin to uncover themselves above you, your touch warming his skin like the sun melting the ice in the spring. He can hear your breaths as they leave your lips, pursed out and still as your body relaxes. Everything about you right now looks angelic, as though you are the one taking him up to the afterlife yourself. With the twist of his head, he watches as your chest rises then falls, his eyes tracing the curves of your body and the slopes of your facial features. Your jawline, nose bridge, even the gentle curl of your eyelashes. He wonders if it would have been selfish to love you like this earlier, knowing he didn’t have long to be with you. Perhaps, it is worse to love you now, when having him is simply not an option.

“I can feel your eyes, you know.” You whisper, turning your head to catch his face. You don’t miss the roll of his eyes, and the gentle smirk that tugs on his lips. Seungmin is entirely gentle and there is nothing more you want to do than lie with him, holding his body tight to your own while you indulge in the darkening skies.

Quietly, he lets out an incoherent mumble, but his hand breaks away from yours. Like he’s read your mind, he goes to tug you closer, softly ushering you into him until you move yourself to hug him. Head resting on his shoulder, arm wrapped around his chest, he feels like he’s in paradise already. A little bit of him hopes he really does pass at midnight, because dying like this would easily be the best way to go.

Against his rib cage, his heart beats erratically, and his breaths shallow like you’re taking his air away. Everything about you is so warm: the breath that hits his collar bone, the hand that lazily scratches his side. You’re dreamy, and he can see the way your eyes flutter shut in defeat against your fight against fatigue.

A larger, louder sigh leaves your lips, and it sounds more content than anything else. “I can hear your heartbeat, I think it’s making me sleepy.” You mumble. snuggling your head in closer to his body. He doesn’t think he remembers a time you’ve ever been this close, and it makes him wonder if he’s been wasting the last twenty two years of his life.

“Rest, I don’t mind if you fall asleep, you know.” he replies, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair, smiling at the way your lips curl up in contentment.

Still, you shake your head, defiance in your action. “There are too many words I want to say. So many things I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you.” You admit, voice growing smaller as you go on. His eyes squeeze shut, and he begs and prays that you stop here. That any feelings, any bubbling emotions are put at bay for one night. Because finally, he is at peace with you, and at peace with himself, but peace is as fragile as porcelain. Seungmin knows it’ll break with as much as three words, and his heart isn’t ready for that.

“You’re talking nonsense.” He tries to reason, tries to shove away. However it’s futile; you’re stubborn and determined and cursed with feelings that the world does not allow, but still, he tries. “Go to sleep, yeah?” He whispers, hoping the shake of his voice is hidden by the volume.

You have no more objections, tightening your hold around his waist as if you know he is going to go, and bring yourself closer to the warmth of his body. “Sleep well, Seungmin,” You say, audibly swallowing on nothing. He prays, subconsciously, that you don’t say anything else, that your body will still and your breath will become calm and relaxed. But before his silent cries can reach whatever gods linger amongst the clouds, tears prick his eyes and words meet his ears, softly spoken yet shattering like poison ivy.

“I love you.” You finish, a deep breath escaping your lips before the exhaustion washes over your body.

He curses. He curses the world for cursing him and he curses you for loving someone who can’t love you back. You deserve the world, and everything it has to offer, and all the love it will give you, but he just can’t understand why you had to choose him. In fact, he can’t understand why he let you choose him, and why he let himself indulge in you.