heat lifts and swirls into the air as he sits by his sliding door, gaze vacantly watching the world blur by him while his tea steeps; he's hypnotized from the gentle lull of the waves and the people that dot the shoreline of the beach. he wonders, distantly, what they feel when the sand climbs up to their ankles or when the sea salt hits their visages or even when they jump into the water and the coldness climbs up their body like a familiar lover unseen for years.

( KKT -> 창민형 ) tell me about it, hyung. it's been crazy this week, hasn't it?

he shifts on the cushion meant solely for sitting, curling a leg under his weight before bringing a hand down to the heated clay pot— his palm slides over the body of it, heavy weight feeling soft and comforting against his skin.

hesitation anchors itself in his body, stiffening his joints and muscles. with a languid sort of motion, minghao looks to his phone and at where his messages lay bare. changmin hadn't responded yet so he jumps at the opportunity, leaning against his coffee table with a soft, content yawn.

( KKT -> 창민형 ) actually. ( KKT -> 창민형 ) how about you come over, hyung? i'm brewing a fresh pot of tea.

the world is frozen around minghao's body, his mind unable to process anything besides the hand on his back— a stable and grounding tether to the earth, to his present, but it does little to combat against the static roaring to life in his head. his breaths come out heavy and the panic rises like bile in the back of his throat, the pulse of an oncoming migraine pressing incessantly against his temple.

he can't possibly remember the exact events of his journey to this point in his day; he remembers, in short bursts, the airport and seventeen landing from god knows where. he remembers, with a figurative burst of a vein, the uproar of screams and the way bodies were pushing against barricades, against the hands of bodyguards.

trembling fingers press against his forehead roughly, eyelids squeezing shut to will the pain away— minghao had never been too good at handling pain, despite getting injured so often, and he had never been too good at averting mental crises, despite having a history of depressive slumps every so often. this, however? this was bad.

he's not alone, he knows this, but the body beside him does little to ease the panic in his chest— ballooning, ballooning, ballooning. this is his own personal war and he knows he needs to push against it.

a deep inhale now and he holds this breath in his chest to push the feeling down until it's practically nonexistent, and then he exhales once his lungs feel the deep ache. it feels like a breath of fresh air, albeit a momentary relief from the fuzzed screams in his head. minghao's legs give out from underneath his own weight, leaning into changmin's hand with a shaky sigh.

"yeah," he breathes out, elongating the syllables with a weak tremor. "yeah, i know." a whisper of the words, ghastly when he utters them out, with an edge of relinquishing whatever stubborn hold his brain had over him being an idol in the present moment. he knows he doesn't have to uphold any of the standards here— knows that this is a safe space, that he's but human and not a machine.

and as he sits there, knees pressing into the ground, the thought slips from him over and over again.

the rays of light roll over his knuckles as he drums his fingers on the table, watching the way it dances over his skin as though he has shimmering scales and the world had been submerged entirely underwater— his gaze slowly lifts from the light on his knuckles to the window beside where he's standing, simply staring out at the skyline of south korea. breathtaking, is the only word that truly comes to mind in a gust of a breath, his throat tightening in a flash of a moment.

it's in times like this that he feels his gratitude for life arise from the depths of his chest, vined with affection for the beauty of the world in motion. his head cants to the side for a moment then as if on cue, he senses motion from behind him and his body swivels to face the person he's become friendly with over the course of his time in the industry.

there's a companionable air betwixt the two performers, bowls of food steaming and the chilled bottles of soju decorating the table as though changmin had been prepared for the whirlwind that had been himself hurling through the front door— soaked and shivering from the random burst of showers. his brow quirks, the smile tugging at his lips unable to be hidden, as his gaze finds the elder's exasperatedly.

"hyung, what..." it trails off into a breathy laugh, hand coming up to cover his mouth habitually. "you didn't have to— i'm sorry that i had to take shelter at your place and i'm also grateful you opened your doors to me at the last minute but you didn't have to do so much."

to be fair, when he had been seeking shelter, the only person he could think of had been changmin and everything about the situation had been entirely last minute; from waking up late, going on a hike, a sudden sun-shower, running to the nearest store, and ending up at this apartment. he had shown up, soaked but with two glistening bottles of alcohol and an awkward grin, hair plastered to his forehead.

"i don't want to take up much of your time, either," he murmurs, modest and slightly embarrassed, his ears tinging a bright red now as he reminisces on the events of his day. lord, he winces inwardly. what an impression!