Memoriae - pe_o_ny - Stray Kids (Band) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Prologue

One.

Waking up from unconsciousness is a peculiar event. Before, nothing seems to exist and the next second everything jostles with force and vivacity, in a hubbub of stimuli. Smell comes first. Mostly antiseptic and detergent. Then sound. Buzzing halogen lights on the ceiling, regular beeps coming from an unknown machine on the left, and muffled voices from afar. Then comes sight. At least as much as is possible. Extremely bright, retina-burning light, the patterns on the suspended ceiling panels. Then sensation. An unpleasant discomfort in the throat, general weakness and body refusing to move an inch. Then, finally, the memories– But this is where nothing happens.

Two.

Amnesia is often imagined as a damaged cassette tape. A frame, a box, filled with darkness, like a novel whose pages have been sprayed with black paint, covering and masking its contents. But the truth was quite different: there wasn't even a box delineating what was missing, no pages to hold onto. Was there even something missing? There wasn't a feeling of loss, that frustrating feeling that gives you the irrepressible urge to try and remember what’s forgotten, there was nothing. Just a void and emptiness. No ineffable chaos, but an appeased nothingness.

Three.

The face that leans over and triggers the frenzy. The lights fading abruptly, the machines beeping faster, the voices coming closer and closer, hurrying in all directions. The body finally wakes up, aching. Suffocation that comes with every attempt to speak. A word appears from the void, hospital, a familiar yet nameless fragrance—a paradox—wafts through the air, masking unfamiliar smells, and gentle warmth envelops a hand. Then complete darkness.

Three seconds.

Amazing what can happen within three seconds. Happiness and joy only take that long– and so do their darkest counterparts. Three tiny seconds are enough to turn entire lives upside down.

House of Sleep - Amorphis

Jisung was busy in the kitchen, still shirtless from a good night's sleep, preparing breakfast and hadn't heard Minho arrive. Minho, hair still a mess and naked from the waist up, leaned against the doorframe to discreetly observe his fiancé. The elegant line of his spine, Jisung’s golden complexion, his delicate and graceful neck. Minho approached him as silently as possible to embrace him tenderly from behind.

Minho's arms slipped around his lover's petite waist, his hands joining above his belly before he noisily planted a kiss onto Jisung's cheek, then rested his chin on the younger's muscular shoulder. Jisung, placing his hands onto Minho's, laughed, feeling happy and complete.

“Minho– if you don't let go of me now, you won't be able to have breakfast before going to the airport–”
“f*ck this trip. I wanna stay with you and never leave you, even for a second," whispered Minho in his beloved's ear.

The latter turned around, still in his arms, faced him and hooked his own arms around his better-half’s neck.

His gaze locked with Minho's, they looked at each other languidly for several long seconds before Jisung spoke again. “Believe me, oh great Lee Minho, it is with regret that I let you go, but I can't deprive China of my very talented and frighteningly sexy boyfriend’s dance performance!” he said with a smile before briefly locking their lips.

Minho tightened his hold on Jisung's waist, bringing their bodies closer together and keeping one hand on the small of Jisung's back while the other came up to his face. Tenderly, the younger nestled his cheek against the hand on his jaw and smiled brightly. Minho ravished the full lips within his reach, moving in harmony, a tender symphony. Jisung’s arms around Minho's neck locked a little tighter, as if to extend the contact into infinity. Minho's mouth detached itself from Jisung's, from which bled a plaintive moan, to place a myriad of butterfly kisses along Jisung's jaw, then settled on the naked collarbone and tenderly kissed its way up his lover's neck.

Jisung closed his eyes and subconsciously tilted his head back in a content sigh to give Minho greater access to his neck. The older couldn't help but smile into his lover's neck and began to suck the delicate skin between his lips in several places. Then he kissed every little mark, the ones left the night before and those who were just blooming, as he worked his way up to nibble Jisung's earlobe. The latter couldn't hold back a pleasured moan that sent shivers down Minho's spine. Jisung was incredibly arousing without even realizing it.

“f*ck breakfast.” Minho whispered into his ear, in a slightly hoarse voice.

Then he hungrily pounced on the younger's lips, cupping his face delicately but firmly in his hands. Jisung grabbed Minho’s hair with both hands, while Minho's tongue teased his lips, begging for access and their tongues met, rendering the kiss even more passionate. The two muscles brushed and fought together in a pleasurable duel, filling the kitchen with wet, erotic noises. Still kissing, Minho caressed Jisung's neck, shoulders and sides, leaving a trail of shivers on the skin his fingertips had just grazed. Jisung's hands gripped Minho's shoulders as the latter lifted him up by the thighs. The kiss broke so they could catch their breaths and Jisung, now towering slightly over Minho, lowered his eyes to meet his fiancé’s. The latter was watching him, breathless from their exchange, his gaze shining with want.

“I volunteer to be your breakfast–” Jisung breathed those words, biting his lower lip, then crossed his legs behind Minho's back before bringing their lips and tongues together again. Minho growled into the kiss, wringing a wail from Jisung. God, Jisung was sexy. Holding his man tightly, Minho made his way towards their bedroom.

Entering the room, Minho waited for his knees to meet the mattress before lowering Jisung onto the bed and straightening himself up. He took the opportunity to gorge on the view in front of him, the younger's brown hair messily sprawled around his head on the pale blue sheets, his half lidded eyes, misty with desire as they were on him, his lips ajar and reddened by the fiery kisses exchanged earlier, his arms resting palms up on either side of his face, the fine muscles of his chest heaving with the uneven rhythm of his breathing.

Feeling Minho's gaze trail over him, Jisung sensuously bit his lower lip to withhold a moan of anticipation. All his senses were switched on, receptive to the extreme. He wanted more, he needed more, and Minho was in the same state as he was. Minho settled down on top of him and leaned in to kiss him again.

Immediately Jisung's hands clawed at his back, not caring about the marks he might leave there, but Minho was not in favor of it. He moved away from Jisung and grabbed his wrists, kissing them gently before pinning them firmly above Jisung’s head with one hand, then he pressed his lips to the boy's cheek.

One cheek, then the other, then his neck. There, he let his tongue tease the sensitive skin while his free hand slid gently over the quivering body beneath him, reveling in the sounds falling from the brunette’s lips. He caressed one of his nipples, pinching it lightly, then slid his hand along his abs. With his fingertips, Minho circled Jisung's navel and reached down to the elastic of his shorts. Jisung's breathing hitched and resumed even faster than before.

With a triumphant smile plastered on his face, Minho watched Jisung tilt his head back in a silent moan, then, over the fabric, he placed his hand on that very special area of Jisung's anatomy. The latter's pleasurable yelp was lost in yet another kiss, reverberating all the way down to Minho's own length, which seemed to burst into flames. The gentle pressure on Jisung's crotch made him strain under the garment. Minho released his grip on the younger’s wrists and, with his tongue, followed the same path his hand had taken earlier.

He kissed the pink perky nipples before sucking on them, Jisung arching his back during the maneuver. The latter was no longer trying to hold back his moans and it was exhilarating to Minho. He knew how vocal Jisung could be and this excited him to no end. His tongue continued to descend on Jisung’s silky skin while, trembling, he straightened slightly on his elbows. And when he reached the elastic of the garment, Minho looked up at his lover for permission. Jisung, with his gaze anchored to Minho's, nodded eagerly and let out a sigh as his shorts and underwear were removed. One of his hands came to lose itself in the chestnut hair between his thighs, clutching at the strands beneath his fingers like it was his lifeline. Shipwrecked in pleasure, his head tilted back, his other hand crumpling the sheets beneath him. And Jisung pronounced Minho's name like a litany, again and again until his voice cracked, while his fiancé let his tongue and lips travel around his shaft.

“Min, I– I’m g-gonna–”
“Cum for me baby," Minho said before resuming his briefly interrupted caresses.

Jisung came, screaming, almost reaching nirvana. Minho moved to hover above his lips, kissing him tenderly, nestling his head into Jisung's neck and his body against his, waiting for him to come to his senses. He hiccupped when the younger's knee slipped between his thighs, causing almost imperceptible friction. With his co*ck even harder than before, he tried to pull away, but Jisung knew perfectly what he was doing. With an impulse from the younger, they rolled onto the mattress and Jisung towered over Minho, sitting on his lower belly, knees on either side of his hips. He smiled, caressing the dancer's defined abs beneath him with his fingertips.

Minho briefly wondered what he could have done in his previous life to have the chance to share this one with the sublime creature above him, then widened his eyes and missed a breath when Jisung, with a smirk plastered on his face, simply ran his fingers under the elastic of the last barrier between them.

“Can I–?”
“Anything you want." Minho breathed impatiently.

The brunette's smile widened even more. Jisung was beaming as he hastily removed the last of Minho’s clothes. Under Minho’s gaze, who was holding his hips, he began to caress himself and Minho let him, transfixed by the intimate show that was only for him. Jisung brought a hand to his mouth and, locking eyes with Minho, began to lick and suck two of his fingers sensuously. With his other hand, he grabbed his own throat, tilting his head back with a groan. Minho wanted to straighten up and kiss his offered throat, to grab his lover's hair– but the hand that was on Jisung's throat went to rest on Minho's pecs, pinning him down on the mattress.

And Minho surrendered, clenching his fingers on the caramel thighs straddling him, nails scratching and marking the soft skin.

“You're– You're so beautiful," he murmured, gazing into his fiancé's eyes.

He could only whisper the obvious, for fear that the sound of his voice would take away what was for him, at that very moment, the most beautiful mirage. Minho kissed Jisung with his gaze, converting all the caresses he had to repress since only his eyes were allowed to travel over the body offered to him.

Jisung pulled out his wet fingers to prepare himself as he ran his free hand over his own body, moaning, bringing his length to full hardness again, making his lover's straining co*ck even more discernible against his ass. When Jisung was finally ready, he pressed their two bodies together to become one. After a while, he began to move slowly, undulating his hips lazily. Minho straightened up to kiss him and, when the kiss had burned away the last crumbs of his restraint, he swore against Jisung's mouth, flipping them over to regain the upper hand.

Their fingers intertwined on either side of the younger's head as Minho varied the rhythm of his thrusts, sometimes slow and deep, sometimes fast and more brutal. Their moans and groans echoed together in a dissonant but beautiful melody. Minho slipped one of his hands between their united bodies to jerk his lover's dick at the same pace. Jisung's hand caressed his spine, moving all the way up, making Minho shudder, and back down his ribs before moving up to cling to the nape of his neck.

A few minutes later, they came at the same time, calling out each other's names.

Minho fell back onto the mattress beside the brunette after withdrawing and pulled the sheets up over them. Jisung leaned on one elbow to kiss him tenderly and smiled, then he snuggled into Minho's arms, head close to his chest, drawing arabesques with his fingertips onto his fiancé's skin.

“I love you.” It was Minho who had spoken, tightening his arms around Jisung.
“I love you too," the latter replied, raising his head to meet the other’s gaze.

And so they remained for a few long minutes, saying nothing, just enjoying each other's presence, the gentle warmth where their bodies touched. Then suddenly Jisung turned and glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table and began to panic.

“Holy sh*t, Minho, you thought you were going to trick me, didn't you? Hurry up, you have to leave in less than an hour or you'll miss the plane!” he groaned, clutching his own hair in panic.
“My plan's falling apart, I guess," Minho sneered.
“I'm not laughing!" Jisung grumbled, slamming his fist into his chest. “Hurry up, Lee Minho, get your ass out of bed and take a shower!”

The aforementioned kissed his fiancé's forehead with an airy laugh, earning a sulky pout, before pulling himself out of the sheets and heading nonchalantly for the bathroom under Jisung's gaze. He paused for a moment at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at the man still under the sheets.

“I hope you enjoyed the view!" he winked and grinned before disappearing behind the door.

Jisung rolled his eyes and chuckled, used to these kinds of comments from his companion, then let himself fall back into the pillows as he heard the shower water start in the next room.

When, twenty minutes later, Minho emerged from the bathroom, clean and dressed, he approached the bed where Jisung had been dozing off. With a smile on his face, he gently brushed a few strands from his forehead with his fingertips, before kissing one of Jisung's plump cheeks. Jisung fluttered his lashes to the touch and offered his fiancé a sleepy smile as their eyes met. Minho pecked a brief kiss on the younger's lips, then grabbed his left hand in his, slipping the silver engagement ring he'd retrieved from the bathroom cabinet onto Jisung's ring finger. He kissed him again.

“Are you going to put a ring on my finger every morning?" Jisung asked, happier than ever.
“Every day of my life that I'll wake up by your side, my love! And when I'm away, you can never take it off, not even to sleep," he added, frowning.
“You can be so possessive sometimes." Jisung laughed.
“But it's the same for me!" Minho smiled, waving his ring finger, which held an identical ring, in front of Jisung's eyes.

Notorious - Adelitas Way

I miss you already,
can I come back?

You've been in that damn cab
for like ten minutes, Minho!

It's not my fault that i
miss you already...

You should've thought about that before
you got so good at what you do.

Now stop sending me messages,
I won't answer until you get to your
hotel in China.

You didn’t even tell me
that you love me… :(

I miss you too, I love you!

Now get lost!

Minho smiled at his cell phone for a while before locking the screen and putting it back into his pocket. He'd begged Jisung to accompany him abroad, but Jisung had to go to a midterm the morning after the show and Minho's idea of a romantic trip had fallen through.

Arriving at the airport, he hurried to check in his luggage and pass through security to wait in the departure lounge. He ordered himself an iced americano and a slice of cheesecake, simply so he could take a selfie to send to his fiancé, who was probably busy studying in their apartment at the moment.

Once on the plane, he made himself comfortable, contemplating taking a nap during the four-hour flight from Incheon to Shenzhen.

He was at a barbecue with their friends, everyone was in the rooftop garden of their apartment building, on a summer's evening. They all came with gifts, food and drinks to share for the occasion.

Felix had returned from Australia to join them, his freckles more visible than ever above his dazzling smile, his hair as blond as wheat. Jeongin had brought company, smiling as he introduced his girlfriend to everyone; while Hyunjin remained in the corner, jealous of the youngest's girlfriend. Changbin, Chan and Jisung were sitting on the sofa under the pergola, a guitar in Jisung’s hands, composing and laughing from time to time, half-finished beers sitting on the pallet coffee table beside them. And Seungmin returned with a plate already filled with steaming meat.

Jisung caught Minho's gaze and summoned him with a big smile as he patted the seat beside him. Minho's heart began to warm in his chest as he slumped into the peeling faux-leather sofa. Jisung's hand found its way into his. Minho looked proudly at the ring on the boy's hand as he played with the one on his own, then looked lovingly into Jisung's eyes, whose smile widened even further.

Their friends uttered a number of falsely disgusted protests and all laughed at the situation before helping themselves to the various grilled dishes laid out by Seungmin.

Minho woke up somewhat disoriented as the plane began its descent towards the airport for a landing half an hour later. His subconscious had just reminded him that he and his friends hadn't spent a moment together in a very long time, mainly because of his numerous overseas performances in recent months. The Shenzhen competition was the last of the annual season, which would give him ample opportunity to organize these evenings again over the summer.

As he left the airport, he saw that someone was waiting for him beside a sedan with a sign bearing his name. A young blonde woman, wearing an elegant black strapless dress and patent pumps, was leaning nonchalantly against the car door. She smiled broadly as she caught sight of the dancer.

“Ningning!" he exclaimed, rushing to take her in his arms and spin her around.

The girl laughed in the embrace as one of her shoes slipped off her heel, hanging onto her toes precariously, and Minho gently put her back down, holding her by the elbow so she could rearrange her shoes in complete safety.

“My God, you've grown up! Look at you, you're a woman now! How long has it been since we've seen each other?”
“Minho! It's been so long– I think almost ten years?" she said.
“If I expected one of my juniors from dance school to end up working for the promotion of the performing arts…”
“An advantage of dual citizenship! They were looking for managers to take care of foreign artists," smiled Ningning as they settled into the sedan.

On the way to the dancer's hotel, they chatted mainly about Ningning and her plans since she'd started working in China, as well as the good old days when they'd gone to the same dance school in Seoul. She asked about Jisung, expecting to make the dancer, who already had a crush on him back then, blush, but it was her who squealed with delight when he showed her his ring with a smirk.

“Oh damn, fourteen-year-old Minho would be ecstatic to know he will marry his first love! How long have you two been dating? Tell me everything for pity's sake, feed me!” she exclaimed, causing the boy in the passenger seat to burst out laughing.

Ningning and Minho had lunch together at the hotel restaurant. The boy had invited her to make up for lost time, and also because a bit of company helped take his mind off his performance. At the end of the meal, Minho excused himself to go and rest in his room, tired from the journey and anticipating the long day ahead.

He wrote a quick text to Jisung, "I arrived safely at the hotel, I'm going to take a nap. I'm exhausted, I'll call you tonight. Love you", before placing his phone on silent mode on the bedside table. He took a quick shower before slipping into bed, falling asleep right as his head touched the pillow.

By the time he emerged from his sleep, it was already eight o'clock, so he hurried to the restaurant on the second floor. Just as the waiter came to ask if everything was going well, his phone buzzed on the table. Minho choked as he opened the conversation with Jisung.

There, in his messages, was a somewhat suggestive photo of his fiancé. Sitting on their bed, brown tousled hair and rosy cheeks. His thin wire-rimmed glasses on his nose, his head co*cked to one side. His muscular torso was bare and the sheet over his thighs hinted at his arousal. The photo was accompanied by a simple "want you".

Minho hastily locked his phone, cursing as he blushed intensely, praying that the waiter hadn't seen anything. A few customers at nearby tables casted curious glances in his direction. Once he'd regained his composure and the restaurant employee had moved far enough away, he returned to the conversation.

Damn it, Jisung, I'm
at the restaurant!!!?

Oopsie?

Were the glasses
mandatory?

Don't you like it?

A second photo of him, equally suggestive despite his attempt of a cute pout, accompanied the message. Jisung was truly playing with his nerves, knowing full well the effect he was having on Minho when he shed his contact lenses to wear his glasses. He clenched his fist on the table to contain himself as much as possible.

It's f*cking sexy.

You'd better answer
when I call you later.

Minho hastily got up, abandoning his meal and telling the waiter to put it on his room number bill before hurrying to his suite. He threw himself flat onto his back on the mattress as Jisung's contact rings echoed through his speaker and the call finally went through.

“Holy sh*t, do you realize what you've just done?" the dancer scolded immediately.
“I love you too," Jisung chuckled, exhilarated, on the other side of the call.
“I haven't even finished eating because I've started to– to– in the restaurant.”
“To what, Minho?" asked his fiancé with a warm voice.
“To pop a f*cking boner! Are you happy now?" exclaimed Minho.

He thought he heard Jisung's breathing quicken and the sound of sheets rustling.

“Very–" Jisung sighed.
“Don't tell me you're touching yourself right now?" he hissed, frowning even though the other couldn’t see.
“Then I'm not telling you,"

He could hear the mischievous grin in Jisung’s voice and Minho couldn't help imagining the scene that would have unfolded in their apartment if he was there watching him. Jisung shivering in the sheets, naked and lost under the onslaught of his imagination as he tried to fill Minho's absence. The phone set down on the pillow beside him as he answered it, pleasuring himself...

The image was enough for Minho's brief irritation to give way to his own desire.

“f*cking tell me everything, Jisung–”
“Hyung!” the latter moaned in an airy tone. “I– I can’t stop, please, I need you!”

So eager, Minho whispered all the lustful thoughts clouding his mind. How much he loved to hear Jisung sob and beg for it, the way he would play with Jisung’s sensitive nipples so he could watch him squirm and writhe under him, arching so beautifully to chase after Minho’s touch.

Guiding Jisung through the phone, Minho gave his fiancé exactly what he was coveting. He was craving to touch Jisung, to kiss him until his lungs started to scream and soon enough, after teasing each other with increasingly lewder words, praises and promises, both were chanting the other’s name as they came.

They stayed on the phone that night, basking in the other’s metaphorical presence after what Jisung jokingly named their ‘virtual mutual love’, falling asleep next to each other despite the thousand miles separating them.

In the early hours of the morning, Minho made his way to the Shenzhen Arts and Music Hall, just a few minutes walk from the hotel complex where he was staying for the weekend, to do his final scouting and lighting adjustments with the chaser before his evening performance. He had a quick lunch on stage with the other dancers scheduled to perform at the gala and was even able to practice a few times before the technical crews took all the dancers backstage to complete the final stage installations.

While everyone was getting ready in the dressing rooms, putting on their outfits and applying their make-up, Ningning interrupted them for a moment to hand out the program with the order of performances. Minho, being the oldest, would perform last. After giving them the final instructions and announcing that the gala would begin in just under two hours, the blond woman wished them all good luck.

Minho was the first to get ready, with his light make-up and his chestnut hair slicked back. Handsome in his black pants and pale blue oversized button-up with rolled-up sleeves. The first two buttons were carefully removed by Jisung the week before so the shirt would subtly reveal one of his collarbones.

Jisung had made two thread bracelets with the buttons he'd cut, and he and Minho each wore one on their wrists. Like a childish joke. And, as he watched the hall fill up and the first dancers perform their routines, Minho's stress increased, his fingers playing with the thread around his wrist.

Just before his turn, the thread snapped and Minho jammed the bracelet into his pocket as he strode barefoot to the center of the stage. The spotlight shone on him, revealing him to the audience.

The stress that had enveloped him until that very moment vanished in an instant.

Minho felt free on that stage. His whole core vibrated to the rhythm of the music echoing through the auditorium. The audience was transfixed by his graceful sequences, but Minho had no idea. He couldn't see the amazed faces that followed his movements, because when he danced, he found himself alone in the world, alone with his feelings, with his thoughts and the perception of his body, as if the whole world fit onto this stage and there was nothing remaining outside.

While some might feel vulnerable having their every move scrutinized in detail, Minho didn't care about the opinions and gazes of others. All that mattered to him was the satisfaction he himself could derive from his own performance, because movements that were meticulous but devoid of intention had no value in his eyes. Each step, each movement in his choreographies was an end in itself and was sufficient in expressing what the dancer wanted to convey. He dispensed it with aesthetics to tell his raw, almost brutal, but poetic truth to those capable of grasping it.

He went straight to the point, delivering just what was necessary in his dance. No superfluous steps, no excessively elegant coating, no frills. And that's what made him the great dancer he was. Praised for his unexpected, surprising and emotionally compelling performances. Minho had chosen to make dance beautiful through the feelings he infused into it, not to embellish feelings through dance. Because feelings didn't have to be an aesthetic or graceful. There were monstrous, terrifying feelings in this world and Minho refused to clothe them in glamor rather than romanticism. Because the most beautiful things in life didn't exist without the horror that stood in their way. And Minho was determined to dance life to the beat.

And yes, Minho was free. The feeling swelled his chest, making him light as he rarely could be without dancing, and it spread through his whole body in pleasant waves as he performed one of his last sequences. A fast, intricate pirouette, the paroxysm of life, love and happiness. But with fame and admiration also came scorn and hatred. People who worshiped him, people who hated him and also those who had mixed feelings.

When Minho laid down, his final silence before his very last move, he noticed a somewhat familiar face in the front row. A wry smile, topped by two eyes charged with mad adulation. And just as he was about to launch into a leap, he raised his head and terror quickly took over his features. The audience didn't know it, but this was no longer part of the choreography.

All the dancer's thoughts turned to the one and only point of importance in his life. Han Jisung… He was his past, his present, his future. The only thing he was able to think about at the moment was him. His laughing eyes, his wide, heart-shaped smile, his plump cheeks, the mole near his collarbone, the one on his cheek he loved to kiss, their fingers entwined just the day before. Just Jisung and the unconditional love for him.

And the blurred memories of Minho's life didn't flash before his eyes in those three little endless seconds, stretched out to infinity, like one might read in the pages of novels or glimpse in movies at the cinema. The only thing that flashed before his eyes were hundreds of images of the man he loved: Jisung graduating, Jisung in his wedding suit, Jisung putting a ring on his finger in front of their friends and family, Jisung falling asleep in his arms, Jisung talking to him about having children– Jisung. And the life that awaited them. The only thing that mattered to him were all the probabilities, all the possibilities that the future might hold.

Minho didn't give a damn about the past when the huge projector detached itself from the truss it was mounted on, a sinister metallic creak resonating, and fell straight onto him.

Time of Dying - Three Days Grace

Jisung stared at the television flat screen in the living room in horror. His mind had ceased to function, his whole body frozen in shock. The subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the news channel screen had caught his attention when he saw his fiancé's name displayed on them.

He had smiled at first, thinking he was reading the news of the Korean dancer's victory at the Shenzhen competition. But the evening had just turned into a nightmare.

Lee Minho, famous Korean dancer, hovering between life and death, following an incident during his last performance: report to follow.

No, it couldn't be. He limply grabbed the remote control, the movement painful to the extreme, his body leaden with what he'd just read, and turned up the volume on the TV, praying for an offensive error from a trainee.

The current section ended to make way for Lee Chaerin, the news anchor that evening. Under normal circ*mstances, Jisung could only marvel at the beauty of the presenter, with a mole at the corner of her lips. But on this night, he didn't care who presented the news.

"We interrupt tonight's programming for a news update. We've just learned that Lee Minho, the twenty-six-year-old dance prodigy, was involved in a serious accident during his performance in Shenzhen." The presenter paused for a moment, frowning imperceptibly as she pressed lightly on her earpiece. It was the longest three seconds of Jisung's life, before she spoke again. "According to our latest information, the accident involving Lee Minho was caused by sabotage of one of the projectors. The suspect, a Korean sasaeng, was arrested on the spot and handed over to the Chinese authorities pending extradition as part of the investigation.”

It took all of Jisung’s willpower to keep his breathing regular, his fists clenching painfully against his thighs, and not give in to anger and panic as images of a handcuffed and masked man surrounded by two police officers appeared on screen.

"Minho, whose state of health remains uncertain for the moment, has been urgently transferred to a nearby hospital to receive the necessary treatment".

And panic got the better of him as he rushed barefoot out of his ground-floor apartment, dressed only in his shorts and nightshirt, without taking the time to turn off the TV and lights. He nearly got hit by a car as he crossed the road and the driver, opening his window to insult him, stopped himself when he saw the young man completely haggard in the middle of the lane on the asphalt ground. Jisung got to his feet and staggered for a moment, continuing his walk towards the other side of the street.

From the building Jisung was heading to, emerged a boy about his own age, with deep-black curly hair and tanned skin. He too wore a panicked expression, which diminished somewhat when he spotted Jisung in the street. The curly-haired man rushed over to him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hurried him into his apartment. He provided Jisung with slippers and settled him on the sofa, wrapping him in a blanket. Despite the warm night of that first summer evening, Jisung was chilled from shock.

When the curly-haired man squatted down in front of him, Jisung finally let the tears that had accumulated flow freely, resting his forehead on his friend's shoulder.

“Chan-hyung–” Jisung's weak voice broke into a sob that gripped the elder's heart. The latter then put a protective arm around the younger man's back, trying to be as reassuring as possible.
“I know, Jisung, I saw it too. I was just coming to check in on you." Chan said simply, his voice also pained.
"This is a nightmare, isn't it? Am I going to wake up?” he asked, straightening up so he could read his friend's eyes. The answer he saw there was not the one he'd hoped for. As his tears redoubled, he continued in a trembling voice, “I've got to go. I can't stay here, I've got to catch the first plane. Chan, you've got to help me.”

The latter had no choice but to accept and help the one he considered his younger brother.

He called an airline and booked two tickets. The first available flight was scheduled for the early afternoon of the following day, allowing Chan to prepare a basic suitcase for a few days when Jisung finally collapsed from exhaustion after crying so much. Chan quickly went to his friend's house, where he knew the lock’s password, to pick up some clothes, various hygiene products and his passport to add them to his luggage.

Jisung was awoken early by an unfamiliar call. The university was calling to clarify his unjustified absence from his first-semester exam. Jisung burst into tears again. He had completely forgotten, but he wasn't crying about his studies, he was crying about the reason for his absence. Chan, who was awake, picked up the call and briefly explained the situation to the secretary, who apologized several times on the other end of the line and bypassed procedure by justifying the absence in her computer system, allowing the boy to retake the exam in late December.

When Chan hung up, he noticed that Jisung was hollow, numb. He had stopped crying, physically present, but his mind out of reach, as if unable to reconnect to the present and to what might be going on around him. And Chan chose not to push him to regain his footing, knowing that Jisung needed this frozen, timeless moment to protect his mind from the turmoil for as long as possible. The fall would be brutal and would come soon enough. So he simply did his best to be Jisung's eyes and ears, at least for as long as it took.

He looked after Jisung until they boarded the plane. And, as it began to move across the tarmac to the departure runway, Chan finally allowed himself a moment of respite. He huffed as he sank into his seat, his hand automatically finding the younger's on the armrest between them. He closed his eyes for a moment.

He too couldn't fully realize the situation they were in, so he clung to the only coherent sentences in his mind: Minho had an accident. Minho had been injured. He and Jisung were on their way to China to find out more.

He didn't believe it for a moment, Minho having woken him up two days earlier to tell him to make sure Jisung woke up properly for his midterm, just before hopping in a cab and heading for the airport. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

“Chan? Chan? Wake up!" whispered Jisung, shaking him slightly.
“Hm?”
“I think we arrived, Chan!”

The latter hurriedly looked at the time on his phone. He felt disoriented when he saw that four hours had already passed since he'd closed his eyes; he hadn't felt himself falling asleep.

Chan then gently raised his gaze to the younger. Jisung didn't seem to have slept a wink the whole trip. He was paler than usual and large dark circles were beginning to appear under his eyes. The truth was: ever since he'd woken up shortly after three in the morning, Jisung hadn't dared close his eyes again. He didn't want to take the risk of new, terrifying images appearing in his dreams.

Deep down, he knew he'd only be able to get some rest when he was at his beloved's side. So as they waited to retrieve their suitcase from the conveyor belt, Jisung fought with all his might against the tiredness that wanted to get the better of him.

They took a cab to the Hall of Arts and Music, their only point of contact and information about Minho, and, when they got there, Jisung rushed out of the cab to the complex's reception desk while Chan collected their belongings and paid the driver.

As Chan entered the building, he was startled by Jisung shouting at the woman behind the counter.

“I told you we're not journalists! I'm just asking which hospital he's in!”
“Sir, I'm telling you again that I can't give you that information!” the young Chinese woman, who had spoken in perfect English, abruptly stood up, slamming her palms against the counter, her chair slamming into the wall behind her.
“What's going on here?" Chan chimed in, interrupting the exchange of evil glances between them.
“It's just that this person right here won't tell me where Minho is!” argued Jisung, pointing at the girl before slamming his clenched fist down on the desk.

Chan also tried to argue with the receptionist. More calmly than his friend, who was far too emotionally involved to continue being diplomatic, but the Chinese woman remained adamant.

“Jisung?”

Just as he was about to curse out the receptionist's entire family tree, a voice sounded behind him, making him turn around as a blonde woman threw herself into his arms and hugged him.

“It's you!" she sobbed.
“Uh– do we know each other?" he asked awkwardly as he broke away from the embrace.
“It's me, Ningning! We hung out together when we were kids at the dance and music school.”
“Ah yes, with Minho–” Jisung's voice broke and he cleared his throat to stop himself from crying again.
“Hurry up, I'll take you to see him. Your friend can come too." she said, pulling him gently by the arm to follow her after wiping away her own tears with the back of her sleeve.

In Ningning's sedan, Jisung climbed into the back because he felt Chan would be more chatty company for the woman. And, as the other two got acquainted in the front, he leaned his temple against the window and let his gaze wander outside. He would have liked to listen to some music or send a message to his friends, who had been trying to reach him all morning, but his cell phone battery had run out just before they landed in Shenzhen.

Chan had taken it upon himself to contact the couple's friends, warning them that he and Jisung would be hard to reach for a few days. They all understood and offered to help with anything that might be of use to Jisung and Minho. And the youngest was more than grateful, touched by the love and support of his friends. His only family, after Minho.

The hospital in Shenzhen was a brand-new complex, equipped with all the latest furniture and medical equipment. At least, that's what Ningning explained to the two boys to reassure them as she pulled into the drop-off zone. She told them that Minho was in the intensive care unit on the eighth floor before letting them go ahead while she looked for a space in the visitors' parking lot.

On reaching the right floor, the elevator doors opened onto a vast, luminous hall, a large marble desk in the shape of a crescent moon sat directly opposite the freight elevators.

A young man rose from behind the counter with a gentle smile. The man's posture and energy were calm and soothing, perfectly suited to this post where panicked families must continue showing up.

“We're here to see Lee Minho, who was admitted last night." said Jisung, tiredness showing in his voice.

Another man reading a file looked up at them, closing the folder he was holding. He looked over his glasses at Jisung and then Chan, before settling his eyes on Jisung.

“Are you family?" he asked curtly.
“His fiancé." confirmed Jisung, pointing to his ring.

The nurse nodded gently. He'd been right about the boy's dark circles and pale complexion, but he'd simply decided to check for a clear conscience as journalists had been trying to get a scoop by any means necessary since the day before. When he saw the ring on Jisung's hand, he no longer doubted his identity for a second.

“Mr. Lee is undergoing a second surgery at the moment." the nurse stated in a much softer voice.
“How is he?" Jisung's voice was a low murmur.
“It's hard to say at the moment, but we're doing everything we can, so we won't know for sure for a few days. I'm sorry," replied the nurse. “But you should know that he's fighting as hard as he can at the moment, so you can go and wait just over there.”

Jisung thanked him before bowing his head and began to shuffle off in the direction of the surgery waiting room that had been pointed out to him.

“There's a food and drink machine just down this corridor." the man indicated to Chan, pointing in the opposite direction and making it clear to him that he needed to talk to Jisung alone for a few moments.

And, as Chan quietly slipped away, the nurse quickly rounded the counter to join him. Jisung was about to enter the room when the man caught him by his sleeve.

“Here, I think you should have this back." he said softly, grabbing something from the bottom of his gown pocket and closing Jisung’s fingers around it.

Jisung's eyes widened as he opened his palm, in which sat two small pieces of silver. He raised his wet, incomprehension-filled gaze to the man’s face, who looked away to spare him as much as possible.

“That–”
“During his first surgery last night, we had to remove all his objects, but, even when he was unconscious, he wouldn't unclench his fist to have it removed... We had to cut it off. I'm sorry.”

In Jisung's small hand were the two broken halves of Minho's engagement ring.

Dying Slowly - Saint Asonia

Three days after Minho's accident, a doctor told Jisung and Chan that the dancer was now in a stable condition, but Jisung couldn't help but worry that Minho was still in a coma.

The doctors and nurses were reassuring. Minho's health was weak and it would probably be several days before he came out of the coma, but his life was no longer in danger. According to the medical team, the three emergency operations Minho had undergone in the first twenty-four hours after the accident had gone perfectly.

“The intracranial hemorrhage was perfectly resolved and the subdural haematoma was taken care of in time. There was no prolonged intracranial pressure– It’s a miracle your fiancé survived but he's doing very well.” the neurosurgeon explained.
“So why doesn't he wake up?" Jisung sobbed, caressing Minho's inexpressive face.

He ran his fingertips delicately along Minho’s nose and cheek before curling his warm palm against it. Jisung's heart clenched violently and his vision blurred when the gesture elicited no reaction from his fiancé.

He would have given his most prized possession—even his soul if he had to—to see Minho flutter his eyelashes and smile slightly at his touch, opening his eyes and taking his hand in his before kissing him softly. Jisung wanted Minho to come back to him, to plunge his gaze into his and tell Minho how much he loved him, how sorry he was for forcing him to go to this gala when all he wanted was to stay by his side. But Minho was too weak and his conscience was still too far gone.

“Although his body showed no serious visible injuries, his system had undergone severe trauma. He lost an enormous amount of blood through internal bleeding and had to switch to energy-saving mode to concentrate on his recovery.”
“Can't he breathe on his own?" Jisung asked, motioning toward the machine with which the dancer was intubated.
“He can, but with difficulty at the moment. A little outside help to tire him out as little as possible, so to speak.”
“I don't know what I'd have done if I'd lost him." he says, grabbing Minho's hand in his and squeezing it. “Thank you, doctor, from the bottom of my heart.”

He kissed the back of the hand he was holding before barely brushing his lips against the dancer's forehead, too afraid to hurt him further. Minho's body had lost its warmth, no doubt due to the blood he'd lost and the harshness of unconsciousness. There were cuts on his face in a few places, but the majority of the wounds were on his forearms and hands, a sign that he had tried to protect his head from the falling stage projector. Unfortunately, the fifty-pound machine had fallen directly onto him, because of its loosened hook and its safety sling that had been removed at the last moment.

The man arrested admitted to his crime. He had posed as one of the stage technicians and, mingling with the other professionals, had discreetly sabotaged the equipment. He admitted he had done it out of jealousy, because he couldn't stand Minho being happy and engaged to someone else. If he couldn't have him, no one else was worthy of his company. When the police searched his belongings, they found hundreds of photos of the dancer taken secretly with his phone as well as a whole box of sleeping pills. The sasaeng had confirmed his intention to kill himself just after the accident he had caused. A crime of passion, they said.

Jisung couldn't shake the feeling that had assailed him that very morning. When he was on his way to the police station, he bumped into the man in question, leaving while surrounded by agents for his extradition. The latter had recognized him and, seeing all the affliction Jisung was carrying, hadn't been able to prevent a wicked grin from forming on his face. This monster was reveling in Jisung's suffering, gloating over it. And if Jisung hadn't passed out in the middle of the police station at that very moment, his body going limp and his mind shutting down abruptly under an overwhelming mix of sorrow, exhaustion and pain, the rage he also felt would surely have made him jump at the deranged man's throat. Tit-for-tat, an eye for an eye, Jisung wanted nothing more than to make him suffer the exact same pain Minho was going through.

“He'll never hurt you again Minho– I promise." Jisung swore to his fiancé. “He'll end his life in a tiny cell and we'll love each other so much and for so long that he'll die of jealousy, you'll see–”

As the days passed, Chan had to return to South Korea to run his coffee shop, but Jisung stayed behind. And, when July arrived, his health a little stronger after ten days, Minho was finally able to be medically repatriated to his country.

Jisung spent his days at the hospital, sitting on the brown faux-leather upholstered chair, next to the bedroom window, which overlooked the green patio of the convalescent wing.

Whole days reading novels aloud, that had been piled up over the years by Minho, who had never given up hope of reading them. Nights sleeping on the big, uncomfortable sofa in the hospital room or sitting at Minho's bedside, holding his hand between his own. He was the one who shaved Minho every three days, the one who filled the humidifier's tank regularly and also the one who opened the window every morning to renew the air.

He only left Minho to do his laundry and pick up new clothes, as well as to do his grocery shopping and eat. Most of his time was spent at the hospital, which is why a fortnight after the dancer's repatriation to one of Seoul's hospitals, Jisung was now well known to the ward's carers. The older nurses and orderlies quickly took a liking to the adorable young man looking after his equally young fiancé; and the younger nurses regularly brought him pastries, fruits or coffee for breakfast.

When it wasn't them, it was the couple's friend group, that dropped by several times a week to give Jisung a few hours' breather from time to time or to bring him boxed lunches. They all came to chat at Minho's bedside, giving him the latest gossip or recalling episodes from their lives.

And these little things went on for several more days. Days that turned into weeks before weeks became months.

And despite the nurses and his friends’ kind attention, Jisung, who only cared about Minho, was withering. He wasn't eating properly and had lost a lot of weight, which worried everyone. His face had become thinner and his cheeks had lost almost all their roundness.

But what worried his friends the most was that Jisung had simply stopped singing. He, who couldn't go a day without singing a tune, even just to be funny, who used to spend entire nights composing songs. Jisung no longer sang, hadn't written for weeks and had even deserted the benches of the music university.

His voice and the flame that had burned inside him for years had dried up with each passing day. He had sung a few songs to Minho in the early days, but his passion had slowly faded away, dying like a flame trapped under a glass dome.

Because music was joy and life and Jisung’s had come to an abrupt halt on the first day of summer, almost three months earlier, at the same time as Minho's. Jisung had become a shadow of his former self and could only think of Minho's failure to wake up when he was urged to remain patient.

“You're such a slacker, Lee Minho. I was told you'd only be unconscious for a few days– I hope you're having good dreams at least." Jisung said in a flat voice.

He pulled the sheet up over his fiancé, then lovingly stroked his hair. Jisung hadn't spoken much for a few days and his voice was now weak and hoarse. The only words he uttered were now reserved for Minho, in the hope of rousing him from the limbo where his consciousness had been walled in.

“But above all, I hope you're thinking of coming back to us. We all miss you. Even Hyunjin, can you believe it? He's the one who fixed your ring, you know, and he even said you'd better get a move on if you still wanted him to make our wedding rings.”

He drew the curtains as the late afternoon sun trickled through the window onto Minho’s face. Jisung knew that Minho loved the sun, but the fiery glow on his fiancé's inert body was unbearable. He resented the fact that the star was brighter than his fiancé at the moment and came every evening to remind him that another day had passed without him.

With his hand still clutching the strap that unrolled the curtains, Jisung dropped to his knees, his back turned to the bed, his head falling forward. When he saw the floor staining drop by drop under the first tears that escaped his eyes, his hand still clinging to the curtain fell limply against his thigh and his shoulders slumped. His heart, patched over and over again, broke into a thousand pieces. Pieces he would later mend together, only to have them scattered again before the glue had time to dry. And so on, indefinitely, until life resumed.

He wept silently as he had all the other times, his trembling body the only proof, because Minho shouldn't witness this. And Jisung would deny these moments of their lives until the end, because the other would surely never forgive himself knowing that Jisung had had to overcome all this. But the younger wouldn't hold it against Minho, who was already suffering the most. Jisung would deny the crying, his own declining health, his nightmares and the music he'd given up– he would deny everything as long as Minho came back to him.

Jisung hurried to wipe away his tears with the back of his sleeve when he heard the sliding bedroom door open. Chan and Changbin had just arrived and they froze when they saw the youngest crouching with his back to them.

The two newcomers looked at each other briefly, surprised, but soon understood the situation.

“What are you doing on the floor, Jisung?" asked Chan softly.

Jisung didn't answer right away, feeling that his voice would tremble. He didn't want the others to see him like this. He didn't move, trying to breathe deeply to calm himself, but a strangled sob escaped him.

“Are you crying?" whispered his friend.
“I dropped my contacts and I can't find them. I can't see anything." Jisung cried.
“Seriously, Jisung– Please, stop lying to us." Changbin said.

The muscular boy approached and crouched down beside him, placing an encouraging hand on his back. He didn't add anything and Jisung bit his lower lip as hard as he could to keep quiet as the tears began to flow again.

Chan agreed to stay with Minho while Changbin took Jisung out for a walk to get some fresh air. He pulled the chair from under the window to his friend's bedside, then sat down beside him, taking his hand firmly in his own. He put pressure on it, gently, as if trying to make him feel his presence.

“Minho, how are you, bro? I'm– I don't know if you can hear me, but– well, don't take too long, eh? I know you've been badly hurt and all, but… The longer you take to recover, the more we lose Jisung. We're more worried about him than about you right now, you know?”

Chan released his friend's hand and ran his own through his curly hair, sighing for a moment, not really sure why he'd come to say all this when Minho surely couldn't hear him. He regained his composure before speaking again.

“He'll no doubt hide it from you when you're back, but we can all see how much he's suffering. I know you're doing everything you can right now, because you don't want him to be like this, you love him too much for that. It's just that right now we don't know what to do, a little help wouldn't go amiss, Minho... And we miss you.”

Chan leaned back in his chair, slumping against the backrest and tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. He remained in this position for a while, reflecting on the events of the last three months until the return of the two boys drew him out of his thoughts.

“Chan, are you coming to eat with us?" asked Changbin.
“But don't we usually eat here?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow and gauging Jisung's expression.
“The kid agreed to have lunch with us in the cafeteria, since tomorrow is his birthday…”
“He wore me down until I accepted." the younger said with a falsely amused smile.

Earlier, Jisung had given in to the threats and also because he wished he could spend his twenty-fourth birthday by Minho's side. He still wanted to keep the promise they'd made to each other ten years ago, when Minho was fifteen, to never spend their birthdays apart. And, as the boys left the room together for the main building's east wing, no one was there to notice Minho's index finger faintly twitching twice.

Point of No Return - Starset

Minho was floating in time.

He knew there had been an accident. Then darkness crept in all around him. Beams of light passed frantically before his eyes.

Dark again. The impression of floating next to his bruised, lifeless body on a stretcher in a vehicle. Dark one more time, before opening his eyes to a blinding light above him, a distant voice asking him to blink twice if he was conscious.

He wished he could comply. But he couldn't.

His body and mind were constantly dissociating. His mind was clouded, like it was filled with cotton, dazed when he had felt his necklace and earrings being removed, then his engagement ring. The darkness kept coming back to engulf him, but he had resisted. For Jisung. Because he couldn't lose the one thing that linked them at this moment.

With a final effort against the surrounding shadows, his fist had closed to prevent them from stealing Jisung from him. And when he'd felt his fingers lock, he'd welcomed the darkness with a smirk, proud to have won this battle.

After an indeterminable length of time, the darkness had faded away to make way for the world, empty and calm, in shades of sepia. How much longer passed, Minho didn't know, he felt trapped in an unchanging photograph. The wind didn't blow and the leaves of a tree hung in mid-fall.

No matter where he went, everything was frozen, with no way out. But Minho was strangely appeased, almost resigned, enveloped in calm and filled with patience. He was laying down in the grass at the foot of the tree, arms folded behind his head, watching the sky through its motionless leaves and letting himself think about his life afterwards.

He knew full well he was in that state between life and death. That distorted moment of a few hours—a day at most—but that feels like a single second and a whole lifetime at the same time. He was in a play built from scratch, just for him, by a complex electrical chemistry in his brain. A refuge far from pain and fear. It was a far cry from the colorful kaleidoscopes and brighter-and-more-vibrant-than-reality landscapes that some near-death experiencers liked to describe. For a moment, Minho thought that every near-death experience was different from person to person. He felt more lucid than ever, albeit bathed in serenity.

Suddenly, that bubble of warm tranquility exploded and a sound shook the ground beneath him. He sat up, looking around uncomprehendingly. It was the whole setting that threatened to collapse at any moment. And the sound that had been distant at first became clearer and clearer, despite the distance–

Cries.

And Jisung's voice filtering through the sobs turned his insides out.

Minho–

Yes, he was there. Minho wanted to shout that he heard him and loved him. Everything in him wanted to scream at Jisung to be patient and wait for him a little longer. Until he found his way back.

Let me join you.

No! He couldn't do that; he wouldn't forgive him. He just needed a little time, just a tiny bit of time.

Will you let me, my love?

No. No, no, no! Anything but that!

Panic closed its grip around the dancer's mind and since this place had been created to protect him from fear and pain, there was no longer any reason for it to exist. So the whole landscape collapsed, piece by piece, like shattered porcelain, taking Minho with it in its inexorable, vertiginous fall.

And Minho realized that it was him alone who had rushed down there. His greatest fear, the fear of losing Jisung, had suddenly awakened. It had seemed so real that he had allowed himself to be reached by the pure product of his mind, a simple hallucination.

Where he was, no light filtered through. He was on his knees in the middle of nowhere and, suddenly, a phosphorescent mist seemed to rise from the ground. The pale mist seemed animated, crawling, pulsing and spreading its shreds towards him, drawing ever closer. Fascinated, Minho stretched out his hand to meet it and, as the first wisps of mist curled around his fingers, his last memory was torn from him in a shimmering orb. And memories from before began to follow the first as the smoke coiled like a snake around his arm. He cried out in surprise, the experience not painful but strange, and as he screamed, several more luminous spheres left his body through his chest to join and feed the fog.

Horrified, Minho pulled his arm free as quickly as possible, rising to his feet. He stepped back, staring at the mist at his feet, which continued to crawl in his direction, before running as far as he could. Nothing but darkness as far as the eye could see. He ran blindly, with no idea of where he was going, fleeing from the only source of light that was the luminous fog behind him.

As he fled indefinitely, a little girl bathed in light and surrounded by the same fog that was chasing him appeared right in front of him, knocking him down on his knees. She looked down at him with a smile and held out her hand, but in terror, Minho got to his feet alone and stumbled around her before continuing on his way, wherever it might take him. Then a soothing voice echoed from all around him and within him, making him turn back to the girl.

“You can keep running and stand there in the dark– Or you can come with me and leave.”
“I don't want to forget," Minho murmured, shaking his head.
“If that's what you want–”

The girl then turned on her heel and began to walk back quietly, leaving him behind.

“Wait!" cried Minho.

The little girl stopped and looked over her shoulder. Minho's hand hung in her direction, as if to catch her, and his eyes were veiled in tears, imploring.

“Jisung– Will I ever see Jisung again?" he asked, his voice trembling.
“If you come with me, of course. If you stay here? Nobody knows, Minho.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Because I'm a part of you. I am you.”

The little girl slowly metamorphosed into his perfect double, as if he was facing a mirror. His own image held out its hand again, smiling.

Minho stared at the outstretched hand for a few seconds. His outstretched hand. And he understood the choice he finally had. To cling to his memories at the risk of perhaps losing his life; or to follow that part of him and find the love of his life to hold him close. And he didn't hesitate a second before seizing that outstretched hand and moving peacefully forward through the mist, iridescent halo lights rising into the air like celestial lanterns as they progressed. The two walked hand in hand before becoming one to return to Jisung as quickly as possible, before losing him too.

Happy Tragedy- Saint Asonia

Jisung should have celebrated his twenty-fourth birthday with his fiancé. He would have spent a sweet night in a hotel room that Minho would have booked for them after the latter had taken him to a hyped restaurant he'd been craving for months. They would have opened a bottle of champagne and enjoyed it in a bubble bath, flush against each other, cheeks pink and sore from smiling too much... But none of that. Just the hospital, again and again, and Minho's absence.

When Jisung's alarm went off on that Thursday, it was ten o'clock in the morning. For the first time since the day of the accident, he had gone home to sleep. He could no longer bring himself to call it "home". Because his home was by Minho's side.

He'd come shortly after two in the morning and had gone straight to bed to wake up as soon as possible. The only reason he'd gone back to the apartment was to make himself as beautiful as he could. For his birthday, for Minho too, even if he'd never admit it, to celebrate life in spite of everything. Or rather to defy it, as if he had enough insolence to force it to resume.

Arriving at the hospital that early afternoon, he hastily removed his long charcoal wool coat as he entered his fiancé's room. He hung it on the coat hook beside the sliding door and brushed back a stray strand of his hair. He stopped beside the bed, his hands nonchalantly in the pockets of his black darted pants, his white shirt with rolled-up sleeves tucked inside.

“So, what do you think?" he asked the sleeping man, slowly spinning in front of him. “Yeah, you're right! I'm really classy, I know," he confirmed as if he'd gotten an answer. “I've got to look good for my man!”

He leaned over to kiss Minho's forehead before sitting down beside him.

“Doc' said you'll probably be extubated later today, so that's good news, you'll be able to breathe properly now.”

And Jisung continued his monologues for most of the day. The doctor had explained to him a few days earlier, with the help of electroencephalogram recordings, that Minho's brain functions activated more intensely when he was stimulated. The dancer's brain was responding more and more to sensory input.

It was the most encouraging sign in weeks. The fact that Minho was reacting, even unconsciously, to external stimuli was proof of his gradual return to consciousness. Minho reacted to touch, to words, to heat and cold... And since this announcement, all those who could come to his bedside did not refrain from their little actions and found themselves more positive. Even if this didn't stop Jisung from breaking down and collapsing at times, when he was alone for too long.

After that day, when the medical team spoke of the dancer's reactivity, it was as if life had resumed its course in the hospital room. Like fine days returning after winter or like rain after a drought.

Seungmin had come to sing and play the latest music; Chan to tell him the latest gossip from the café that Minho loved; and Changbin to tell jokes and laugh alone about them. Felix had come with brownies he'd baked to share with the other boys, even passing a cake under the dancer's nose and taunting him to wake up soon if he wanted a slice. One day Hyunjin had come alone, recounting his life at Minho's bedside while scribbling jewelry sketches in a notebook, designing his new collection. And Jeongin had appeared in the late afternoon, making Minho the unwitting and forced witness of a jealousy tantrum from Hyunjin, who ended up leaving in a hurry.

Jisung happily let their friends be noisy and take up space and time in this room, sometimes smiling blissfully to see them being so normal around Minho. For a few hours each day, the boys erased the gloom and sadness that had been swelling between these four walls for far too long. They were the open window that let the wind of life into the room and into Jisung's heart.

Falling Inside the Black - Skillet

Minho observed the boys who were all present in the room he occupied. None of them looked familiar. He didn't even have the vaguest impression to have met them before.

“You really don't remember anyone here, Minho?" asked Doctor Seo.

On the day Minho woke up, the latter had returned quickly when Jisung had called her, saying that something was wrong with Minho. After a quick review of the situation, she asked Jisung to give them some time.

Jisung was sent back home for the next few days, a med prescription for himself in hand and advised—in an almost menacing way—to have some rest and real meals. Forced to stay in his apartment for four long, interminable days before Doctor Seo authorized him to come back to the hospital. The doctor had also prompted him to bring their whole group of friends to check something out, which had led to the current situation.

“Well, I didn't even know my own name until you examined me last week," grumbled Minho.
“Ah, it's definitely him! Look how bitter he is!" simpered a tall dark-haired man with medium-length hair.
“Hyunjin!" replied a man who looked a lot like the doctor, frowning and hitting his elbow into the guy’s side.

Minho looked at them with deep judgment in his dark eyes before turning to the small dark-haired man sitting beside him, staring into space for a moment. Minho passed his hand before his eyes, trying to get his attention.

“Hey!" he whispered. “Ji– seon?”

His voice was uncertain uttering the last syllable. The smaller man had told him his first name earlier but he wasn't sure he'd remembered.

“Jisung," said the boy in an atonal voice, still zoning out.
“What?”
“My name’s Jisung.”

Finally, he slowly raised his eyes to look at him but it seemed to Minho that Jisung wasn't really there.

“Who are they?" asked the dancer.
“Our friends…”
“That's right! Shall we let them introduce themselves?" Doctor Seo cut in with a cheerful voice. “Jisung, can you come with me for five minutes?" she added quietly to Jisung, who nodded and discreetly followed her into the corridor.

Retrograde amnesia. That's what the doctor told Jisung. Minho no longer had access to anything that had existed before his awakening, no memory, not even the slightest impression, nothing. The thing with this kind of amnesia is that it could disappear overnight, after a few days, a few months, or last a lifetime. As far as Jisung understood the explanations that were given to him. He listened distractedly to the neurologist, not quite realizing what was involved.

“But, what do I do now?" interrupted Jisung, haggard.
“For the time being, Minho’s gonna stay here for another couple of weeks while we do the final complementary physical tests and start his physical therapy..." she began. “After that, if his memory hasn't improved by then, he'll still have to return to your home, into a ‘familiar' environment, which might bring back memories…”
“Okay," Jisung replied, still too shocked to react otherwise.

Changbin's mother smiled reassuringly and patted him on the head for a moment, then left to return to Minho. Jisung stood there for a while, completely bewildered in the corridor, before he returned to the room and stopped to watch from the doorway. Minho was hanging onto Jeongin's every word as the younger recounted anecdotes about each of his elders with a laugh, the other boys nodding at times.

For a moment, Jisung could have believed it was all a bad dream, just from seeing how normal the scene seemed. But when Minho's gaze drifted to his own, what he saw there could have plunged him into a bottomless abyss. Or rather, what he didn't see: the flame Minho had always had in his eyes when he looked at him, the glow Jisung had seen for years... was gone. It had simply been reduced to nothing.

“Hey Jiseon!”
“It's Jisung.”
“Yeah yeah... why are you looking at me like that? Are you in love with me or something?”

All the boys stopped talking abruptly as they tensed imperceptibly about the question. Jisung didn't answer, instead lowered his eyes and returned to sit on the chair next to Minho, who widened his eyes in realization.

“I'll stop you right there, I'm obviously engaged," he said, pointing to his left hand.
“Yeah, I know. You're actually engaged to me.”

Jisung had blurted out the information while showing off his own ring, identical to Minho's. And the latter decomposed, turning livid.

“What?" he asked, his voice a little shaken.

He looked at the other boys in turn, searching for any sign of a joke, because they all seemed like comical phenomena to him. But instead, all he noticed were embarrassed, evasive glances.

“Ahah. It's not possible," he said with a nervous laugh. “I'm very very much not attracted to guys,” he shuddered. “I'm not gay, okay? Say something!" he added, turning back to Jisung.
“What d’you want me to say?" asked the latter. “We've been going out for at least eight years, living together for four– I don't know what to tell you, Minho.”
“I think that's enough for today!” intervened the doctor. “That's a lot of information for Minho. Now we'd better let him rest! Go home, go on!”

She forced them all out, including Jisung, and, while the boys chatted along the corridor, the latter stood in front of the door, arms flailing at his sides. Reflexively, Chan glanced behind him and, seeing that Jisung wasn't moving, waved to the rest of the gang before retracing his steps. He grabbed his friend's chin between his fingers and lifted his head.

“Let's pull ourselves together, Jisung! Minho's awake and healthy, isn't that wonderful?”
“How am I supposed to get on with my life now?” questioned the youngest. “There's nothing going the right way, he doesn't even know who he is and– and–”

Jisung’s gaze went blank as he suddenly fell silent. He clutched his hair in an attempt to sort out the ideas that were running wild, linking themselves together without logical sequence in his head. A panic attack was not far off, he wanted the ground to crack beneath his feet and swallow him up, he wanted to be told that everything would be all right, that he was exaggerating... and Chan soon realized this. He gently unclutched Jisung's hands before drawing him against his chest and stroking his hair to comfort him, as he would have done with his own little siblings.

“It won't last, Jisung, it's only temporary. Everything's fine…”

But Chan himself wasn't sure about what he'd just said.

The following days passed without Minho's memory returning. Jisung continued to come every day, hoping to see Minho's loving smile greet him as he passed through his bedroom door, but he wasn’t allowed such joy. The dancer always sent him an awkward greeting that left his mood low but Jisung did his best not to show how affected he was, repeating to himself that Minho was healthy and that was all that mattered.

Since he'd woken up, Minho had categorically refused to let Jisung help him with his physical rehabilitation, claiming that he didn't want a stranger who wasn't a doctor touching him. Minho was in a vulnerable position because he had to relearn how to remobilize his muscles, made weak by the long coma, and didn't trust Jisung enough. So every day, for two hours, Jisung waited patiently for Minho in the bedroom, working on his lessons now that he was planning to go back to university.

On the fifteenth day after his awakening, Minho sighed as he once again found Jisung in his room after his daily appointment with the physical therapist. Jisung looked up from his notes when he heard him and noticed Minho staring at him disdainfully, leaning on his crutches in the doorway. Minho rolled his eyes and started striding towards his bed. Jisung hastily got up to support and help him, but the dancer pushed him back violently, falling in the process. Kneeling on the floor, his crutches scattered, he clicked his tongue and glared at the younger who had bent down to pick him up.

“Don't touch me!" Minho spat.
“But– I just–”
“Leave me alone! How long are you going to keep coming here?! Do we have to see each other every day?”

Jisung's eyes widened at his fiancé's vehemence. He was only thinking of doing the right thing and couldn't understand why Minho was reacting to him that way.

“Unless you want to end up on the street in a couple of days, yes, we have to," Jisung said simply.
“But I'm going home, you know!”
“Your place is my place too! Is that so f*cking hard for you to understand?!”

Minho blinked as Jisung, clearly on the verge of tears, raised his voice at him. The dancer sniffed in disdain as he carefully straightened up on his own and sat down on the bed.

“I hope you've got a spare room, I don't sleep on the sofa. And I certainly won't sleep with you," he added, noticeably trying to sound as natural as possible despite the disgusted tone slightly coloring his voice.

Jisung, finally understanding the real reason behind Minho's ruckus, started laughing contradictorily with his tears. And the older looked at him, one eyebrow raised, as if he were facing a madman. Jisung huffed, composing himself before fixing his gaze on Minho.

“Of course you'll end up in the guest room," he said sarcastically. “Sure, you won't sleep with me, but I too have my dignity, and it keeps me from sleeping with jerks!”

Minho let out a hiccup, indignant at having been called a jerk, but he didn't have time to utter a single scathing retort before Jisung had turned on his heel and left the room without looking back.

For the next few days, he didn't come back. Not even for a brief visit. He didn't check on Minho either. Jisung had taken the opportunity to move all the dancer's belongings into the previously unoccupied room of their apartment, not without a twinge of regret, and had instructed Changbin, who owned his own car, to collect Minho from the hospital on the fateful day.

When there was a knock on the door, Jisung invited Changbin in and offered him a cup of coffee. He didn't give Minho a single glance, still preferring to ignore him and giving him the silent treatment while he prepared two cups, but Minho expressed his caffeine craving too.

“Listen, you've got hands, you're going to make yourself one, the gay- sorry, the hom*osexual that I am, doesn't want to inadvertently contaminate you," the younger hissed, pointing to the coffee machine.

Changbin's spoon fell out of his hand right into his mug, his mouth agape at Jisung's reaction. His gaze passed from Jisung to Minho several times without understanding, and just as he was about to scold the younger, Minho quietly muttered "no".

“No, it's true, I overreacted. I'm sorry but, you understand, I'm not attracted to guys and–”
“Yeah, you thought I'd probably throw myself at you while you were sleeping!" Jisung cut in, giggling sarcastically.
“No, that's not it!" gasped the other, rolling his eyes. “Well, maybe a bit at first– I admit, I freaked out. But then I realized it wasn't your style, so I’m sorry. Are you happy now?”

Apologizing had cost Minho a lot, but he had to admit that Jisung had never behaved inappropriately towards him despite the time he'd spent by his side and he was reassured by this. In his eyes, Jisung didn't seem like a bad person and Minho thought that maybe they could end up being good friends if they got to know each other. Or rather, if he got to know Jisung.

“Don’t ‘are you happy?’ people when you apologize to them," Jisung muttered.

Minho threw an embarrassed smile in Jisung's direction, as if to say 'are we cool?', and the latter sighed in surrender before going off to make him a steaming mug and bring it back to him. Minho smiled as he retrieved the cup and raised it to his lips to take a sip, which he spat out with a grimace of disgust before raising an outraged eyebrow at the younger man.

“This stuff's disgusting, what is it?”
“Decaf.”
“Am I a little bitch? Where's my caffeine?!” he exclaimed.
“Lee f*cking Minho! Language!" growled Jisung through gritted teeth. “And Changbin's mother has forbidden you to have caffeine for the next fortnight!”
“And?" he raised an eyebrow.

Jisung huffed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment, trying to keep calm. Changbin, who had made himself small on the sofa throughout the whole exchange, stood up hastily, stammering a "good-bye" before hurrying off under Minho's questioning gaze. Unlike Minho, Changbin knew all too well that Jisung could quickly become frightening after having to pinch his nose to calm down.

“You can go to your room. It’s the last door on the right," said the youngest, pointing his arm and index finger towards the corridor.
“I'll go later!”
“It wasn't a question, nor a suggestion!” Jisung added with a frightening smile, which generated a series of shivers down Minho’s spine. “You don't want to go back into a coma.”

Not wasting another breath, Minho grabbed his little bag in a rush and retreated to his new room. Jisung had been a little extreme in his words and he was already regretting them, but all the stress accumulated over the last few months was just waiting to flood, and the amnesiac's impertinence had, for a second, brought out all of Jisung's frustrations in the form of an annoyance that surprised even him.

The new Minho left Jisung more lost than ever, a myriad of contradictory and incompatible emotions and thoughts jostling inside him at the same time. Jisung was torn between mourning the man he loved and screaming at this all too familiar stranger. He was lost between his aching heart and his mind, which seemed to get angry at the slightest annoyance.

And as he washed the cups he'd picked up from the living room coffee table, his hands in the dish soap bubbles and hot water, Jisung prayed for this new form of cohabitation to be a positive experience until his Minho came back. As soon as possible.

Save Yourself - My Darkest Days

On three different mornings, just after waking up, Jisung had almost thrown himself into Minho’s arms, already busy watching TV on the living room sofa. Each time, he'd held back at the last second under Minho's dubious gaze, landing right next to him on the couch in an uncomfortable posture.

“What are you watching?" asked Jisung one morning.
“Nothing much, apparently it's a rerun of Dancing with the Stars, it's fun.”

Jisung nodded with a simple hum as he scrolled through his social media, without really getting involved, focused on not doing too much around Minho.

“I think I like dancing," Minho added, which made Jisung raise an eyebrow. “Look at him, his alignment isn't right, and he's dancing offbeat. And the choreography is really lame. Who says entrechats are not really old-fashioned and ridiculous?”

Jisung's phone fell out of his hand as he stared at Minho, mouth agape. The latter turned to him without understanding his reaction and watched him for a while as Jisung blinked rapidly.

“D-do you remember?" Jisung asked, his voice full of emotion.
“What are you talking about?" said Minho, frowning. “I'm just saying I'm sure I can do better," he finished smugly.
“But how do you know?”
“I don't know how, I just know!”

Minho shrugged, returning to his show, huffing and puffing when a move wasn't quite right. Jisung watched in astonishment as Minho graded the performances, making comments that closely resembled the feedback handed out by the judges.

“That's it! We agree!" Minho exclaimed, pointing to one of the judges on the screen.
“You should take up dancing again," said Jisung matter-of-factly, prompting Minho to turn toward him. “I mean, you loved it so much that even when you lost your memory, it stayed with you...”

You probably loved it more than me, since that didn't stay with you. The thought Jisung had been holding back broke his heart and he felt like he was going to start crying, so he suddenly stood up.

“sh*t! I forgot I had to see Chan this morning!” Jisung made up an excuse in a trembling voice as he hastily put on his coat. “See ya, Minho. Please, don't burn down the house!” He slipped on his sneakers without taking the time to lace them up and quickly left the room, Minho still on the sofa in total bewilderment.

Once outside, he let himself cry, purging the feelings he'd been repressing since sharing his life with new-Minho. One week. It had been a week since Minho had moved back into the apartment and Jisung still couldn't get used to the idea of living with him as simple roommates. Or rather as a valet and his prince. Minho now seemed to be the type to be served and Jisung, blinded by his feelings, only responded to his requests like a loyal lackey.

Never thanked, never considered. Minho couldn't even realize that Jisung was suffering with how much he took it upon himself. Jisung had promised himself that he wouldn't put Minho through his pain and suffering. He simply wanted him to feel at home and at ease, so he could recover as quickly as possible. Jisung was content to ask him if everything was alright, to be present in all circ*mstances, hoping not to be too intrusive... He had tried to change, to take a step back for the sake of Minho’s well being. He did, to the point where it seemed to him that he was going to disappear completely if he continued to repress his feelings that much just in order to blend into a life that wasn’t his– that made him suffer.

Jisung dragged his feet until he found himself in front of Chris's door and, without much motivation, he struck the secret percussion he'd instituted with the whole gang to announce himself. After a few moments, Chan appeared in the doorframe and invited him in without delay, seeing the tears that had begun to dry on his friend’s cheeks.

Jisung took a few steps into the hall while the owner of the house ran to the bathroom to get some tissues. Felix appeared at the corner of the hallway between the entrance and the living room and Jisung started crying again.

“I didn't wanna disturb you, I'll come back later," he said, turning back.

Felix caught him in an embrace before he had time to put his hand on the doorknob and Jisung continued to cry on his shoulder.

“Jisung, you're not disturbing at all! I just came to visit Chris.”
“Join us, Jisung!" encouraged Seungmin's voice from the living room, startling him.
“They arrived one after the other unexpectedly!" Chan said behind his back as he returned.

He grinned broadly as he handed him a small packet of tissues, decorated with drawings of cute otters and Jisung chuckled through misty eyes as he grabbed the packet.

“I knew otters were a safe bet!” Chan congratulated himself. “I hesitated with minions, but I thought they didn't quite fit in with your personality.”
“Silly Hyung!”

The older ruffled his hair, which made Jisung gasp and Felix laugh, before putting an arm around his shoulders and escorting him to the living room. There, Seungmin rose to give him a quick embrace and a pat on the back. Felix began to mess with the youngest of them all, poking Seungmin in the shoulder and telling him he could have come to greet Jisung in the hall. Seungmin retorted that the hallway was small and so the two began to play-fight each other, engulfed by the sofa. Chan and Jisung glanced at each other before the eldest raised his eyebrows in exasperation.

“I'm getting five years older every day I spend with them," Chris whispered to him. “Ten years if Hyunjin is with them!” he added, making Jisung burst out laughing.

Despite Chan's jokes and Felix’s and Seungmin’s good humor, who were cheerfully teasing each other, Jisung’s state of mind quickly plummeted. And, for the second time that day, he found himself crying and weeping hard, generating a sudden silence among the three other boys who didn't know how to cheer him up.

“Why are you crying?" asked Felix, who was also starting to cry.
“Oh no no no, come on, not you too, Lee Yongbok," inveighed Chan.
“But I can't help it, Christopher Bang, I can't see crying without getting into tears myself, it emulsifies me!”
“We say ‘it moves me’”, Jisung resumed through his tears.
“But it sounds ugly!”

The two younger men were crying their eyes out in each other's arms, and Chan turned to Seungmin, seeking help to calm them down.

“I'll make coffee!" the youngest dodged.

Seungmin fled into the kitchen immediately afterwards, uncomfortable with all the tears, leaving Chris to his toddlers. He took his time making four drinks as he heard the eldest calming his two friends and, when he returned to the living room, Felix was wiping his eyes while Jisung sniffed harshly, biting his lip like a child while Chan rubbed his back.

“I'm sorry I cracked," murmured Jisung when he calmed down. “I just didn't wanna do it in front of Minho and– and I didn't know where else to go.”
“Don't apologize, Jisung, you did the right thing. That's what friends are for!” Chan reassured him, making Felix nod in agreement.
“Do you need someone to vent to?" asked Seungmin, looking at his watch. “I've still got like– three hours to go, and they're all yours if you want.”

Jisung was extremely touched. The puppy-like boy was rarely the confidant type, usually preferring to leave the listening role to the other boys in the gang. If he hadn't known that Seungmin was not fond of emotional displays, Jisung would surely have thrown himself into his arms. Instead, he returned a warm smile, albeit tinged with sadness.

He told his three friends about how lost and useless he felt in the apartment that was supposed to be his home with Minho. He felt torn between joy that the dancer was off the hook and disappointment at having lost his better-half and, for this, an immeasurable guilt was slowly eating him up. Incapable of being happy about Minho's good health, Jisung was seeing himself as a true monster for that exact reason, selfish and heartless.

“I couldn't be happy that he remembered he loves dancing! I'm an abomination, the only thing I managed to think at the time was that I'd rather prefer he'd remembered to love me! Every day I should thank the gods for bringing him back safe, but I spend my days cursing whoever decided he wouldn't remember me!”

He spoke quickly, because what was inside him just wanted to be let out. Jisung didn't care what his friends thought, as long as he could talk. He didn't care about any of that, because all he wanted was to hate himself just a little less.

“I hate him as much as I love him right now. I hate him because he's forgotten everything and I'm supposed to deal with it. I blame him because he seems to be handling it well. I have the impression that amnesia is only painful for me, because every time I ask him if he remembers something, he doesn't give a damn! He's comfortable in his own little world, and who am I to tell him to remember me, to remember us?”
“But it's normal for you to feel bad, kitty, you're human and you love him," Felix said, wiping a tear from his round cheek, leaving his little hand against Jisung's face.
“I don't think he was happy with me– maybe that's why he forgot, because he was never happy and it was easier for him to not remember–”

Jisung's voice broke into a sob at the assumption. And now that he had dared to utter it aloud, it seemed to him that he would be unable to keep it away from his mind. Minho had forgotten because it was his fault, because he hadn't been able to make him happy, because he wasn't good enough for him or for any other reason... but one that involved him personally.

“Don't you dare say that, Jisung!" Seungmin shouted.

Jisung looked up at him with wide eyes, and Felix and Chan beside him did the same in a simultaneous surprised hiccup. No one in the room had ever heard the youngest get so angry.

“It's absolutely not your fault! I've never seen Minho as happy as he is when he is with you. You've been dating since you were, what, fifteen? Damn it, Jisung, wake up! Minho's been crazy about you since he was nine!”
“What?!” exclaimed Chan.
“Jisung was barely seven when he fell for him, Minho told me at a party a few years ago. He must have been eight or nine, and, when he asked you out, he'd already loved you for almost half his life! So I dare you to say that again! That he wasn't happy with you! Go ahead, I'll wait.”
“I– he never told me," Jisung sobbed.
“I don't blame you for being sad and wanting him to love you again, so don't blame yourself for what he's going through today.”
“Seungmin’s right, kitty! Minho’s a victim, but so are you. Because when you love someone, you suffer with them and for them, don't you?”

Felix embraced Jisung, whispering reassuring words and telling him how much he loved him and how strong he was. And Jisung let himself go in the embrace, his heart recharging a little from the care his friend was giving him. Chan joined the embrace too and Seungmin moved closer to place his hands on Jisung's knees and pat them gently, his own proof of brotherly love.

Thus surrounded and comforted, Jisung let down the last walls behind which he had masked his grief, which he thought illegitimate. He too had the right to suffer, he was only human. A human who had offered his heart to someone and wanted the best for him. He realized that he would endure this pain a thousand times over again if he had to, as long as Minho could be happy.

As Jisung began to drift off to sleep, exhausted by all the tears he'd shed and lulled by the gentle warmth of that embrace, he thought for a brief moment that he was ready to give up on "them". If there was only one thing left, it was Minho, and Jisung was ready to sacrifice himself. If he had to, he'd be ready to still love him in silence and without expecting his love in return. As long as Minho was happy, he would claim to be happy too.

War Child - Hollywood Undead

It had been three weeks after leaving the hospital when Minho had finally gone out on his own for the first time. He enjoyed himself quite easily at the events that brought his little group of friends together, but was still uncomfortable about having to continue living in the same apartment as Jisung. Being alone with Jisung, who was constantly trying to find out if he was alright and acting as if life hadn't changed, bothered him to no end.

So he took advantage of a dance practice and the fact that the younger had to go to university that afternoon for his first secret shenanigans. Leaving the dance studio, he'd gone into a hair salon in hope of disappointing his forced roommate by returning with a brand-new face. He emerged two hours later with electric purple hair and matching make-up around the eyes, which the makeup artist had offered him with a flourish. She had found her customer perfect to her liking, and Minho had clearly understood her plan to make him stay longer.

Minho looked at his reflection in a shop window and a wry smile spread across his face as he recalled the pretty shade of pink the young woman had taken on when he'd slipped his number to her along with the payment. With his hand on the salon door knob, he turned back to the pretty redhead with the straight little nose and icy brown eyes, miming a telephone close to his ear and articulating a silent "call me" with a wink, before disappearing into the street.

It didn't take her long to call, as soon as her working hours were over to be precise. And Minho had smiled wickedly when he recognized her voice. He'd invited her for a drink, laughed at the redhead's anecdotes who blushed with each burst of laughter. Like a perfect gentleman, he offered her a second mojito and, with his most charming gaze, wiped away a few decorative sugar pearls that had clung to the woman's lips with his fingertips when she took the first sip of her second co*cktail. His cell phone had buzzed on the table, displaying Jisung's photo and the name "boring roommate". Minho had picked up without ceasing to smile at the redhead.

“Sorry, man, I'm currently in very charming female company," he had announced directly, placing his hand on hers.

He hung up without waiting for a reply, which pleased the redhead. When their drinks were finished, he had offered to take her home when he noticed the slight alcohol-induced blush blooming on her cheekbones. Arriving at the door of her apartment building, she had turned to say good-bye, but her gaze had been fixed on the dancer's luscious lips, which he had obviously noticed.

“Wanna have a taste?" he had asked with a smirk.

She didn't answer. Instead, she'd taken the opportunity. Their lips had met, gently at first, then more confidently and less chastely when Minho had slipped an arm around her waist, sighing as their tongues played together.

She'd taken him upstairs to her place, without the excuse of a nightcap, and they were soon swept up in other displays of physical affection involving nothing more than two bodies and desire. After sex, with the redhead fast asleep, Minho had pulled his clothes on, leaving his shirt with a few buttons undone and his hair disheveled, before leaving the apartment without a sound. In the elevator mirror, he had noticed the hickeys on his neck and leaned nonchalantly against the wall, running a hand through his hair and smiling. He had fished his phone out of his pocket and blocked the redhead’s number, then stomped out of the building, a smile still on his face as he’d swung his leather jacket over his shoulder.

Minho finally turned away from his own reflection in a shop window, while the memorable souvenir of that day remained imperishable on him. He basked in the sensation that had coursed through his veins after that moment when he'd realized that he was still attractive. He, who had nothing, who was nobody, had finally felt like someone, sparkling desire in the eyes of the women who had passed him when he had returned to the apartment.

It was from that day on, that evening, that he'd started going out more and more often. After tasting this exhilarating emotion, Minho began to covet it even more, again and again. He aspired to exist in other people's eyes, because that was the only way he could feel satisfied. Because, being nobody seemed to him like he had nothing to lose, but rather everything to gain. Minho was an addict and his drug was female attention.

From that day on, Minho had been attending parties at a frantic pace in the hope of receiving his panacea. From club to club, girl to girl. Each dose brought him undeniably closer to the next, his artificial paradise. Intoxicated by attention, his very own opium. His legal, non-lethal drug, whose overdose was burning hot and carnal.

The first descent had been violent and brutal, his name and image dragged through the tabloids. But as acerbic as the ramblings in those magazines were, he'd learned to rise above them. He'd even come to use them to keep score. The stolen photos of him, with sumptuous women clinging to his lips, were in his eyes the greatest proof of his existence.

In his eyes only, since he no longer spoke to his only family since making it to the front pages. His younger sister, still in Europe for her studies, had called him one November morning to ask for explanations, and the discussion had ended with the girl's screams and Minho's sneers. He didn't really care what this stranger thought since that's all she was to him. A stranger, a phone number and a couple of text selfies. The only thing Minho remembered at the time was that the news about him traveled abroad. And no matter what anyone wanted to think, whether they talked well or badly of him, the important thing was that people talked about him.

Three nights a week, from dusk till dawn. That's all Minho needed to feel he existed sufficiently without encroaching on his dancing. And today was one of those nights, celebrating his first dance performance since his accident as a pretext for seeking to extend the attention he'd already received.

He entered one of the clubs he'd become a regular at and a few girls gasped as the evening's challenge arrived. Because Minho didn't hit on anyone, it was up to those who attracted his attention the most to be rewarded. The boys looked on with bitter eyes since his mere presence between those walls reduced their chances to almost none.

Minho wasn't interested in what was going on in the club until he was drunk enough to enjoy it to the fullest. Some of the girls were well aware of this and that's why some of them wanted to get into his good graces by buying him drinks. From his couch, he sent flying kisses and charming winks to the young women who were pointed out by the boy who brought him drinks.

He was seated nonchalantly on the bench, one arm stretched out over the backrest, his other arm also folded in support as he held a glass of whisky close to him. The brunette who had offered it to him, in her short gown with large gold sequins that made her look like a mermaid, didn’t ridicule him by choosing one of the most expensive liquors from the menu. Satisfied, he locked his gaze in hers and extended an arm toward her before beckoning her over with his index finger. Insolence.

With a smile, she jumped gracefully from her stool, in a flash of sequins, and walked in his direction, long legs perched on her black platform stilettos. When she was close enough, he gestured to the opposite bench, inviting her to take a seat. The girl ignored his invitation and walked around the small coffee table to settle down next to Minho, who greeted the initiative with a smirk and his arm resting possessively on her bare shoulders. She looked at him warmly from beneath her long lashes.

“Thanks for the drink. The best of the evening!”
“I stole my boyfriend's credit card before coming tonight," she replied with a smile.

Minho was ecstatic. He loved the attention of women, but the attention of women already taken had an even more delicious flavor. A forbidden taste.

“And won't that boyfriend be jealous?" he whispered in the cheater's ear.
“He doesn't have to know.”
“Oh, he'll know. First thing tomorrow morning, when he’ll see you on the front page of Dispatch with my lips on yours and my hands slipping under the hem of your dress.”

He accompanied his words by placing his hand on one of the girl's thighs and slowly moving his fingers up the soft skin. He stopped when he reached the first sequins.

“Maybe he'll regret wanting to stay and play LoL,” she smiled, intertwining her fingers with Minho’s on his thigh. “But before we pose for the press, let's dance and get those photographers impatient.”
“With great pleasure, my mermaid!”

He stood up after her and, with his hand still in hers, let himself be dragged to the dance floor under other women’s jealous gazes. He was over the moon, for he'd just found the one he hoped would live up to his expectation for the evening. An easy girl, but one who would give the illusion of the opposite, playing on the tension that was building up. Yes, Minho didn't touch the ground anymore, he felt all-powerful, and he knew he would forever remain the brunette's favorite mistake.

In the club, one track followed another, taking bodies and minds into second-rate states, altering consciousness and inhibitions. The brunette danced against Minho, hitting on him with a delectable ardor. With her back pressed against his chest and one hand clasped in the violet hair at the nape of his neck, she arched her back shamelessly and body-waved rhythmically against his hips while Minho's hands manhandled her waist through her dress with each electrifying touch. He placed his lips on her neck, kissing the skin just below her ear with hunger and, at the warm contact, she turned to stare at him for a moment with misty eyes.

The brunette grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him eagerly to a quieter corner while he grinned like the Cheshire cat, knowing the moment had finally arrived. Placing her hands on his chest, over his shirt, she pinned him against a wall before searching his lips for a hurried kiss. He nibbled on her lip, placing his hands greedily on her ass to press her against him, their tongues meeting through an almost extinguished flavor of whiskey and tinted lip balm that tasted of peaches. When, through the kiss, the woman became more eager and passed her hand over his crotch, he ended the kiss and shifted a few inches back.

“Call your boyfriend!" Minho suddenly blurted out.
“What?" questioned the brunette, breathless and surprised.
“Warn him you'll be late tonight," he said with a toothy grin hanging on his lips.

To Minho's great surprise, she giggled before taking out her cell phone from a small pouch strapped to one of her thighs under her dress, and dialed her boyfriend's number. When he picked up after a few rings, she began to make up an excuse. As she addressed the person on the other end of the line, Minho used his fingers to slide one of the golden straps over the brunette's shoulder and replace it with his lips. The girl held back a sigh. He trailed his kisses up her graceful collarbone and neck. There, he sensually licked the fine skin before biting lightly and sucking. He proudly continued to mark the skin beneath his lips when the brunette let out a moan mid-sentence, which she'd have a hard time explaining without being embarrassed the next day. So, with a victorious smile, he straightened up and grabbed the phone to hang up before pouncing back on the brunette's lips.

King of Nothing - Saint Asonia

It was four o'clock in the morning and, for the third time that week, Jisung was still pacing through the living room. For the third time that week, Minho had left for the evening without bothering to warn him and Jisung couldn't help panicking until he saw the older return. It must be said that letting an amnesiac, who'd come out of a coma only a few weeks earlier, loose at night in the gigantic city that was the capital, didn't seem like the best idea of the century.

He kept wondering if everything was all right, if Minho was safe, what time he'd be home—if he'd even come home at all. The first few times, he'd tried to call Minho on his phone but when he'd realized that the latter was filtering his calls, he'd quickly stopped bothering. No, there was no point in getting on Minho's wrong side, he had to outsmart him.

Jisung had waited for the right moment to download a child-tracking app onto Minho's phone But he'd never used it, promising himself to do so only as a last resort, if Minho disappeared for more than twenty-four hours, which had never happened before, and never would– or so he hoped.

When he heard someone repeatedly typing the wrong code into the front door lock, Jisung suddenly raised his head and stopped walking back and forth in front of the sofa. He sighed, knowing full well who was struggling on the other side, before heading for the door. When he opened it, he immediately shifted to the side to clear the entrance.

“Hurry up and get in," he deadpanned.

Minho, who hadn't been able to grasp the code until now, looked at him as if he were a divine spirit and a big, awkward smile made its way onto his lips, to which a few traces of red still clung. Surely the remnants of a languorous exchange with a new hookup.

Although Jisung didn't let it show, he was greatly relieved to see the older.

“You really are the most helpful gay man on the block."
“Thank you, Minho. And you're the most wasted jerk of the evening, bravo!" Jisung said with a sarcastic applause.

The other laughed at the remark before going inside, almost falling onto Jisung as he tripped on the threshold. He tossed his shoes into the hallway before staggering to the living room under Jisung’s jaded gaze while he was correctly placing Minho's shoes in the cupboard. Minho was holding onto the walls to walk to the bathroom without toppling head first onto the hardwood floor, and Jisung rolled his eyes at the sight.

“I'm warning you, Minho! Don't trip and smash your face against the sink, there's no way I'm taking you to the ER this late!”

As an answer, Minho, who still had his back to him, raised the arm that wasn't against the wall and waved his hand limply, as if to say "you're pissing me off", and rushed into the bathroom to take a shower.

In the bathroom, Minho was struggling not to slip on the tiles as he undressed as best he could and, in that instant, the brief thought that he'd overdone it on whisky and vodka twirled through his foggy mind. Not for long though, as he laughed uncontrollably when he finally felt the warm water relaxing him, further proof of his pitiful state.

As he passed the bathroom door, Jisung shook his head at the older's behavior and went to his room and slid into bed, serene in the knowledge that Minho had made it back safe and sound—or rather, completely drunk—to his apartment and was not lost somewhere in the middle of Seoul. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Jisung, who'd been struggling to stay awake for hours, drifted off to dreamland.

Later that Saturday morning, Jisung woke up slowly, glancing at his alarm clock. Eleven in the morning, a perfectly respectable time to sleep in for. He stretched himself out of his sheets and headed for the living room to make himself a cup of coffee and some toast. As he passed the guest room, he briefly heard Minho snoring softly—the ultimate proof that he was completely drunk when he got home, since Minho only snored in this situation.

Having eaten his breakfast, Jisung took out two painkillers and poured a large glass of water in anticipation for when Minho would come crawling into the kitchen, moaning about the roots of his hair aching. Then, Jisung set everything down in plain view on the counter which was separating the kitchen from the rest of the room and set off to get ready.

As he reached his bathroom, from inside his bedroom, he noticed that he'd run out of clean towels, so he quickly made a detour to the other bathroom to pick up a new set. An annoyed curse slipped out of his lips as he opened the door.

He was faced with havoc. The black pants and blue shirt Minho had worn the day before laid in a mess on the floor. One of his socks was hanging on the edge of the sink while the second was balanced around the handle of the towel cabinet. The bath mat was still soaked from the night before, Minho's towel balled up on top of it and still half immersed in the shower tray. The toothpaste tube on the counter had been left open, its cap nowhere to be seen–

Faced with this true vision of chaos, Jisung clenched his fists to restrain himself from screaming as he left the room.

He stormed into the guest room, slamming the door behind him, and pulled violently on the comforter to uncover Minho in his boxers, still sound asleep.

“Damn Minho, you're such a pain in the ass!”
“Hmm? What now?" the aforementioned grumbled in a hoarse voice, still drowsy as he jiggled to retrieve the blanket.
“You've got to be sh*tting me, Minho! I've already told you to pick up your stuff," he tossed the still-soaked towel in his face. “But no, you don't listen–”
“Are you making a scene because I left a towel lying around?" asked Minho, pulling it off his face.

He rolled his eyes, with that grimace of his. It was a habit he had never lost despite the fact that his memory had vanished, as if it was engraved in his DNA. If this had once had the power to make Jisung laugh, this day it was too far of an insolence in Jisung's eyes.

“D’you hear yourself?! I can’t believe it," the younger chuckled, annoyed. “What the hell do you think you're doing? You're old enough to do better. Right now, you feel like a teenager. Minho, I can't stand having to be on your ass all the time because all you do is sit and do nothing!”
“Nobody asked you to be my nanny, I'm old enough to look after myself!”
“Ah, yes!" Jisung laughed. “And going out, clubbing four nights a week, coming home drunk at all hours and making the front pages of every tabloid cuz you've had more conquests than the entire history of Imperial Japan in a single evening is proof of maturity, perhaps?”
“You seem to have a problem with that. Are you jealous or something?”
“Oh, please," Jisung began, rolling his eyes in exasperation, "you can f*ck all the chicks you want, that's not even the point, but stop being so f*cking stupid and do it discreetly! It's like I'm your father and you're throwing a tantrum just to get on my nerves! Do you enjoy destroying everything you've spent years building? I'm tired of you, Lee Minho– I'm tired of you! I can't take this anymore!" Jisung screamed through the tears that had begun to roll down his cheeks.

Jisung was crying from sadness and anger, painful tears that he hated because they made him weak in Minho’s eyes. The latter was watching him with a half-sarcastic, half-disdainful look on his face.

“Oh, you're crying now?" sneered Minho.
“Shut up!" the younger growled.

Minho flinched at Jisung's tone. His voice had become so cold in an instant that Minho thought he was going to throw a punch at him if he kept pushing him like that. For the first time since they'd started arguing, Minho realized just how much Jisung had cracked. Far from being the weak boy he'd thought he was, he was surprised by the violent emotions he was beginning to see below the surface. He frowned for a moment before rising from the bed to face the other.

“Maybe you'll finally stop clinging to me like a desperate wife then– since I'm so stupid and detestable!” he argued, finally raising his voice in turn. “I can't stand you being on my case all the time! Don't you get it? Your Minho is dead and so is his love! I killed him. You need to get it into your head as quickly as possible and leave me alone!”

With his index finger, he hammered and imprinted each of his last words into Jisung's forehead, shattering the latter's last hopes with the same ease as if he'd stepped on a sandcastle.

“You're right– Minho's dead–" Jisung said, lowering his head.

Jisung had murmured, staring at his feet and twirling his engagement ring, which he hadn't taken off for months now, nervously around his finger. He bit his lip violently to swallow his tears, just for a moment, before raising his head and planting his gaze on Minho's.

Bewildered, the older took a few steps back at the sight. Jisung's chocolate eyes had lost their sparkle and were now so dull and empty of the gleam of admiration that always shone for him. The features of his face had also faded, the numbness of his heart had just taken over.

Minho looked down as he noticed Jisung's hands moving. His eyes widened for just a second as he watched him nonchalantly remove his ring and hold it between two fingers.

“Minho's dead– so I don't need this anymore.”

He threw the ring against Minho's chest and it fell to the floor between their feet, bouncing a few times with a slight clink against the wooden floor.

“I don't need to see what you've done with the one I loved anymore. I was waiting for him, but since you won't pull yourself together. "He took a deep breath before continuing. " Later on, take a good look in the mirror and you'll see how close you've come to nothing when you could have been somebody!” Jisung finished before turning on his heels.

Minho remained for a few moments staring at the ring abandoned on the floor of the guest room, his room. Then, grumbling, he slipped on a pair of sweatpants and his sweatshirt, which were lying around. He picked up the ring in his fist and, as he strode across the living room, took the opportunity to place it on the coffee table. Jisung, sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, didn't even spare him a glance as Minho grumbled his way to the entrance and slipped on a pair of sneakers before heading out into Seoul’s streets.

World War Me - Theory of a Deadman

Minho slammed the apartment door on his way out, leaving Jisung slumped on the living room couch. He hadn't appreciated being pushed around like a four-year-old.

As far as he could remember, which in reality wasn't that long ago, he'd been of age and old enough to make his own decisions. He was two years older than Jisung, so he didn't need any lessons from him. Minho was perfectly capable of managing his life and doing as he saw fit.

He grumbled unintelligibly as he walked away from the apartment, giving his frustration plenty of time to fade. He kicked a stone in his path, which rolled thirty feet along the sidewalk. If he'd been angry enough, and especially if he wasn't afraid of being arrested, he'd have picked it up and thrown it against a shop window to see the glass shatter, which, at the moment, would have satisfied him greatly.

Is Lee Minho’s career finished?

The aforementioned stopped abruptly and took a few steps back, right in front of the newsstand he'd just passed, and frowned as he reread the cover of one of those rags displayed on a revolving stand. He looked around briefly, noticing the looks of disdain or pity that some of the people reading the article might be giving him.

“Aish!" he swore, throwing a bill at the vendor before grabbing a newspaper and running off.

Is Lee Minho’s career finished?

Locked into a stall in the first public bathroom he'd seen standing on his run, back against the door, Minho's hands trembled as he held the newspaper pages open while he read the article published that very morning.

Everyone remembers Lee Minho, whether for his sumptuous performances or for the tragedy that happened to him in Shenzhen last June. The young dancer, who had been recovering from his accident for many months, has been back in the capital for a few weeks now.

If we had given the young dancer the benefit of the doubt about his newfound attitude after the disturbing events he was forced to deal with, his recent behavior may have shocked many admirers. Minho was indeed caught on several occasions partying merrily in all of Seoul’s nightclubs, shamelessly and unabashedly flaunting himself in the arms and on the lips of different young women every night, displaying a particularly rebellious attitude.

Last night was finally his first dance performance since his accident. And as with all his performances to date, Lee Minho once again showed impeccable technique… Impeccable technique for a mediocre performance. A highly technical sequence, completely devoid of the fire that made the dancer so exceptional.

The dancer, known for not bothering with polished movements to give life to the intangible, imperfect complexity of human feelings, gave us a performance worthy of a machine, cold and insipid from start to finish. Clearly, the brilliant dancer seems to have lost his way. His smug demeanor paired with this poor performance makes us wonder if all the emotion and beauty he displayed in his performances was just a shameless lie that...

“f*cking bitch! If I put my hands on the dickhe*d who wrote that load of sh*t–”

Enraged, Minho didn't even finish reading and tore the newspaper into a thousand pieces, violently throwing them like confetti. Half of them ended up on the floor, while the other half fell into the toilet and floated to the surface.

He unlocked the bolt and kicked the door open, which struck the wall on the other side, cracking one of the paving tiles with the sound of broken ceramics and startling a young man busy at the urinals. The latter, in incomprehension, turned his head towards the furious dancer.

“What? You want a picture of me?!” Minho spat before hurrying out into the street.

Wherever he went, he couldn't help imagining that everyone was spying on him, recognizing him and starting to talk as he passed. He pulled on the hood of his sweatshirt to protect himself from prying eyes. With his hands in his pockets, he strolled headlong through the crowds of people lining the streets of Itaewon that afternoon. Minho wanted to be alone, he absolutely had to. Before he broke down completely and added fuel to the fire of those who were delighted to criticize him in full view.

His steps took him to the Banpo Bridge, unusually empty at this time of day. A few cyclists occasionally used the bike lane, but none paid any attention to him. He crouched behind one of the columns, his arms wrapped around his knees, on which his chin rested, and stared at the ground, swaying imperceptibly back and forth.

You've got to be sh*tting me, Minho!

He began to cry silently, his fingers playing nervously with the sleeves of his sweatshirt as Jisung's words of a few hours earlier came back to his mind.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Right. What was he doing?

Do you enjoy destroying everything you've spent years building?

So this was what Jisung wanted to talk about? He wasn't talking about the relationship they were supposed to share then?

You can f*ck all the chicks you want, that's not even the point, but stop being so f*cking stupid and do it discreetly! It's like I'm your father and you're throwing a tantrum just to get on my nerves!

Minho was rocking harder and harder now, trying in vain to contain the unpleasant prickling sensation rising inside him. He felt like he was going to explode if he failed to find a way to pour away the acid that was eating him up inside.

I’m tired of you, Lee Minho–

He clapped his hands repeatedly against his head, groaning to silence Jisung's voice as he recited these horrors.

I'm tired of you.

Minho was beginning to suffocate under the weight of what he was doing. He threw his head back against the concrete column and tried to breathe in through his mouth as one of his hands went to grip his sweatshirt where his chest was. His knuckles turned white from gripping the fabric too tightly and the air was still blocked in his throat.

Jisung, so gentle and patient with him, had just put him in his place. And it was then that Minho realized he'd really screwed up. He really had to be a monster to hurt Jisung.

A monster. This time it wasn't Jisung's voice that spoke, but his own. You're a monster Minho, a good-for-nothing just capable of hurting those who care about you and disappoint the whole country, a shadow of your former self. You can't even dance anymore, what's left for you, Minho?

He slammed his skull against the rough concrete behind him. He wanted to silence the voice in his head, to silence his guilt, even if he had to knock himself out. Do you really think that's enough? He widened his eyes as his thoughts became clearer. Wouldn't you rather work it all out? Acknowledge your mistakes and take responsibility for them? Minho stared at the ground for what seemed an interminable moment, unable to see how to fix what he thought he'd broken forever. No?... Then jump– it's all you've got left.

He surrendered and struggled to stand on his feet, as if on autopilot, stumbling the ten feet to the rail. He placed his trembling hands there and stepped over the edge to stand on it. Balancing himself, he gazed for a moment at the water flowing under the bridge, the Han River water swift and tumultuous by the latest rains, giving the impression that it was boiling.

What's the matter? Are you scared now? He put all his weight on one of his legs to place his other foot above the abyss like the one inside him that filled his heart and mind.

He closed his eyes. Now move forward.

He was about to make his final move, his final leap, when an arm wrapped around his waist and sent him crashing backwards into the concrete floor, one hand shielding the back of his head from the impact. With his heart beating wildly in his ribcage until he could feel it pulsing near his eardrums, he reopened his eyes to see Jisung above him, breathless.

“You think you're at the swimming pool, asshole?" the younger exclaimed.
“I'm–”
“The only Han who has the right to end you is me! Is that clear?!”

Minho was taken aback by the reply, but a weary laugh escaped him as a small smile spread across his lips.

“You're really in love! You follow me everywhere, I can't even swim in peace!” laughed Minho.
“Consider yourself lucky. If I wasn't in love, I'd have pushed you because you were taking too long to make up your mind.”
“Are you going to get up or do you want to spend the night on top of me? Do I turn you on?”

Minho turned his smile into a seductive expression and raised his eyebrows suggestively. At these words, Jisung's hand, which was behind his head, had freed itself to form a fist in the air, which remained suspended. When his head met the ground, Minho winced, and Jisung sighed, letting his fist fall limply back down.

“Listen, if you didn't have such a pretty face, I'd have made you eat your bunny teeth!”

And Jisung rose to his feet, dusting off his hands before holding one out to Minho to help him up. The latter hesitated for a few moments, idly noticing the ring back in its original place, before accepting it, and soon he was on his feet.

Jisung held him in a vicious grip, guiding him with quick steps to God knows where.

“Where are you taking me?" Minho asked, trying to free himself.

Jisung stopped abruptly, causing Minho to bump into his back before turning around with a smile.

“Shut up and follow me, you'll see!”
“But–”

He didn't have time to finish his protest as the younger had already resumed his frantic pace. They ran between the onlookers, Jisung wearing his heart smile and turning occasionally to Minho. The latter had taken on his grumpy look, but his heart was beating wildly, secretly delighted that Jisung didn't seem to resent him for the moment.

They slowed down as they approached a modern building with shimmering, multi-colored windows, and Jisung led them inside. He spoke to a boy at the reception, whom he seemed to know, and the latter handed him a key before holding up four fingers. Jisung bowed and took Minho with him to the elevator, where he selected the fourth floor.

“Wait, wait, wait! Pause, time out!" Minho said, having recovered his hand to make a T in front of him. “I'm warning you that if you want to f*ck me, don't even get your hopes up, because–”

Jisung turned sharply to Minho, who suddenly looked up. Then, the younger burst out laughing under the slightly frightened gaze of the older one.

“First of all, let's make it clear that you're the one who would f*ck me," said Jisung, causing Minho to hiccup. “And you really think I'm taking you to a hotel? You're such an asshole," he laughed.
“No, but I'd rather be clear!" said Minho, whose face had taken on a rosy blush as he crossed his arms against his chest and pouted.

Jisung folded in half, his arms around his ribs and stomach as he laughed so hard at Minho, before wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Oh please, it almost looks like you're disappointed. Come on and stop thinking, you're not doing so well today!” Jisung urged him as the doors opened on the fourth floor.

He went to a door, where he inserted the key in the lock before opening it and inviting Minho to enter with an amused "ladies first". Minho immediately relaxed as he realized they were in a private dance studio.

Jisung had closed the door behind them and was taking off his jacket and shoes; Minho did the same and watched him head for the speakers at the other end of the room to switch them on while scrolling through his phone. When he seemed to have found what he was looking for, he smiled briefly before returning to the center of the room and looked at Minho, still standing along the mirrored wall.

“Look carefully, I've got something for you!" Jisung said before tapping a finger on his screen, locking it and sliding it across the floor to the nearest wall.

The Real You - Three Days Grace

The first notes of the electric guitar rose into the air and Jisung closed his eyes and let a smile spread across his face.

"You taste like cigarettes".

Drums and bass joined the guitar as he tapped the tempo with his foot.

"I hit it every chance I get".

And the music took possession of his whole body as he offered his performance to the heavens above him. For himself, for his feelings, for Minho... he began to dance softly, still smiling, swaying from one leg to the other to the languorous rhythm, his head following suit. His impromptu performance slowly fell into place, with Minho as the only audience in the room.

"I'm addicted to it, yeah I'm addicted to it".

And when the rhythm quickened, Jisung's arms joined the dance, his whole body undulating to the powerful sound of the bass that filled the space of the studio, from his toes to his fingertips.

"Don't stop now, you got me ready to... Blow!".

And it was like an explosion.

He opened his eyes wide, throwing his arms back as his head tilted skyward, mouth ajar, as if he was seeing for the very first time. Just for a second. And then he jumped up, spinning around.

Minho had never seen anyone experience music the way Jisung was doing right now. He was spellbound by the story the younger was telling, subjugated by the manner he was exposing himself. Feelings bared, for Minho to see.

"You taste like cigarettes".

Pain, sorrow, love, joy, bitterness were all depicted with heart and body. Jisung’s arms wrapped around himself as if he was holding back, then darted out in front of him as if in pursuit of someone. His fingers closed gracefully one by one around the void before Jisung brought them back to his heart, throwing his head back, eyes closed, mouth open in a silent cry.

Jisung’s hair twirled rhythmically, accentuating everything depicted when he brought his hands to his face before throwing them outwards from him just before Jisung started twirling in the air as if he never wanted to touch the ground again.

"Don't stop now, you got me ready to... Blow!".

And Minho was bewitched, caught in his net. Completely at the mercy of Jisung's emotions, which came crashing down on him with every thump of the bass drum. He felt his heart clench at the sight of Jisung recounting everything, screaming it all at him without a word and wearing a radiant smile on his face.

"Blow!".

And the rhythm changed, suspending the emotional tsunami that was about to break over Minho and infiltrate him just like water forcing its way into the lungs of a drowning man. Suspended. Just for a second. Before the waves turned back to reintegrate Jisung's body and he redoubled his energy.

"Tell me what to do".

Jisung ran to soar as high as he could. He imagined himself completely weightless, gravity no longer holding sway over him for a moment. His feelings could no longer reach him, he was so far up, and it made him feel even lighter, even if it was only fleetingly.

And when Jisung fell back onto his back, arms outstretched, panting and breathless, the music stopped.

Minho hadn't moved an inch since the music had started. The last few minutes had seemed eternal and yet so short. His gaze was fixed on Jisung still lying down, his chest rising and falling at a frantic pace.

And a brutal truth hit Minho with full force. The story that had just been told to him resonated deep within, without him knowing why. Minho fell to his knees, his head bowed and for the second time that day he felt tears running down his cheeks without being able to stop them. His whole body was weeping over a story that was no longer his, a souvenir that his memory had erased, perhaps lost forever.

He felt foreign to the emotions that assailed him, as if fragmented, fractured into two distinct parts, one of which was missing. In a way, he was dissociated from his past and his identity. His sister's words, spoken on the phone a few days earlier, hit him with the violence of a typhoon. "You're just a squatter in my brother's body". The tears redoubled, even though he didn't know it was even possible.

Jisung, who had straightened up when he heard Minho collapse to the floor, approached him, wiggling on his knees, and wrapped his arms around the dancer without uttering a single word. In an embrace that was only meant to be comforting.

Minho clutched Jisung's shirt like a kitten just rescued from drowning—which wasn't entirely untrue either—and lifted his tear-streaked face to capture Jisung's gaze. The latter pulled away slightly to run a hand through Minho’s hair, feeling Minho's fingers close over his shirt ever so slightly. He wiped away the tears staining Minho’s cheeks with his fingertips, the elder closing his eyes at the gentle touch on his face.

“Why are you crying, you idiot?" Jisung asked in a trembling voice.

Minho reopened his eyes to see Jisung's, also glistening with restrained emotion. He couldn't help drawing the younger into a sudden embrace and closing his arms around Jisung's neck, who tensed slightly.

“I don't know, asshole," he sniffed into Jisung's neck, eliciting a small laugh from him.
“Are we still calling each other names?" questioned Jisung.
“You started it…”

Minho tightened his arms around Jisung, who finally returned his embrace, and sniffed into his neck for a bit longer.

“But I'd rather your voice be used to call me ‘my love’ and ‘mine’.”

Minho shivered at what Jisung had just whispered in his ear. Unlike the previous weeks, he didn't feel disgusted by his attempt. He didn't feel comfortable with it either, but the unknown, irrepressible feeling that blossomed inside him wasn't unpleasant, whatever it may be. Minho loosened his grip to look at Jisung.

“I'm crying because it moved me.”
“Are you dodging what I've just told you?" teased Jisung, making Minho blush slightly.
“I didn't know you could dance," he said, evading the question again.

Jisung laughed and got to his feet, holding out his hand to help Minho too.

“You don't remember, but you're the one who taught me everything.”

Minho's eyes widened in surprise.

“I can dance like that?" he asked.
“Not only are you capable of it, but if you knew… you dance a thousand times better than that!”
“You mean with all that emotion and– and– everything else too?”

Minho tilted his head to one side, intrigued, his eyes shining full of hope under Jisung's praises, waiting for confirmation.

“Don't tell me you've never thought about looking at your old performances!" Jisung exclaimed in shock. “Damn Minho!" he smacked his forehead with his palm when the aforementioned shook his head negatively. “Come on, we've got work to do!”

He went to pick up his phone, which was still lying against the wall, to retrieve the videos of Minho he had been able to record over the years. He handed the device to the dancer who had sat on one of the chairs near the door, and they spent several hours religiously watching Minho's various performances.

Jisung couldn't help smiling widely. No matter how many times he watched the videos, he would never tire of them. When he slowly lifted his face to look discreetly at Minho, he squinted for a moment at the two small moles on his neck, just below his right ear but, with a violent effort, succeeded in diverting his gaze to his face instead.

Minho’s eyes were riveted to the screen, and a few unshed tears were threatening to fall. Jisung locked his phone, drawing Minho's attention back to him.

“You're crying while watching your own performances?! That's the epitome of narcissism, isn't it?" Jisung teased.
“It's– I can't conceive that it's me– I mean, I can't remember, he's a stranger to me... I–” his sentence hung in the air.
“You've just experienced what your spectators experienced, for the very first time, you've seen yourself from the outside.”

Minho nodded, grateful that Jisung knew how to put into words what he was feeling at that moment.

“How did it feel?" added Jisung.
“It was so beautiful, incredible... I felt so many things–”
“That's the Lee Minho effect!” laughed Jisung happily. “Now watch this–”

The younger played the latest performance to Minho, who looked with a grimace, not knowing where to put himself.

“I'm ashamed... it's perfect but it's so– bland?” he tried.
“There's your first lesson Lee Minho, the one you taught me first, even before the basics: perfection is a complex entity to grasp, since the imperfect is an integral part of its realization.”
“Perfection is– imperfect?" he rephrased.

And Jisung burst out laughing in agreement.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Damn! I obviously have a big brain but I'm incapable of understanding myself, this is infuriating!”
“It's up to you to discover your imperfections, what makes you a fully-fledged human being," replied Jisung. “Forget the technique.”
“Very funny telling an amnesiac to forget, Jisung, it's really a good o–”

Jisung placed his fingers on Minho's lips to interrupt him, and looked into his eyes, an indescribable depth in his gaze. For a second, Minho even forgot how to breathe, as the tips of Jisung's small fingers seemed to burn against his skin. The younger spoke again without breaking eye-contact.

“Don't dance with that," Jisung pressed his fingertip against Minho's forehead. “Dance with this instead!" he finished, placing his palm gently against Minho's chest, right above his heart.

Silence returned to envelop them both, as their gazes seemed locked in each other. Minho's heart began to warm in his chest, beating wildly against Jisung's hand. Imperceptibly, ever so slowly, both began to lean towards each other, inevitably coming closer in the process.

A vibration from Jisung's phone in their hands brought them back to reality. Jisung quickly retrieved his phone to check his notification. f*cking spam, he thought, disappointed that the moment had been broken so violently. For his part, Minho blinked a few times and caught his breath discreetly, but his thoughts were more confused. What the hell was that?

“What's that?" he asked Jisung.
“f*cking spam! “
“Ah, so nobody needs you urgently?”
“No, why?" questioned Jisung, curious.
“There's something you haven't shown me yet–”

Jisung tensed, seeing exactly what Minho was getting at. The performance of that day. And as Jisung’s shoulders slumped and his face turned away, Minho immediately regretted what he'd just done. Looking at his profile, Minho saw Jisung’s lower lip wobble with emotion, and his heart seemed to tear.

“Anything but that, Minho. Don't ask me to watch the performance that took everything from me, I beg you, please, don't ask me for that–”

For the first time, Minho listened to the advice of his past self. He clung to Jisung and closed his arms around his frame. One hand rested on the back of Jisung's head, in soft brown hair, trapping Jisung's face against his neck, and his other arm around his petite waist.

“What are you doing?" mumbled the younger against his skin.
“I'm dancing with my heart, not with my head. Now shut up, bug. Cry as much as you need to, if it makes you feel better.”

Fallen Angel - Three Days Grace

The day Minho broke down in tears in Jisung's arms and Jisung took the time to comfort him, their relationship slowly began to take a different turn. For starters, they had stopped calling each other names at the slightest disagreement they might encounter, which was already a big enough step forward to be picked up on. A notable advancement when one knew more about the dancer's new character.

Minho was the antithesis of what he had always been. He was petty, devious, impertinent, and sarcastic most of the time. But the boys around him had learned to put up with it, at least because he made an effort in their presence. Minho was overexcited, but above all savage, and it was this rebelliousness that was the most difficult for Jisung to live with. He could only witness his eldest's antics, unable to make him listen to reason in spite of everything.

The dancer did his best to polish his sultry image, understanding that his dissident attitude was hurting those around him, but it was completely beyond his willpower. Minho was lost in the tumult of a foreign life, trying as best he could to connect the dots, under the pressure of having his life scrutinized by thousands of strangers. Everyone had their own comments and opinions, claiming to know everything about him and the situation. But the truth was that Minho himself was mired in permanent doubt, only rebelling to keep up impression.

In whispers and on paper, Minho had become overconfident, haughty and lacking in humility. But behind this contrived appearance, he felt like a teenager in need of affection and attention. He was expected to pick up where he left off, complacent and unquestioning. After all, Minho had everything one could dream of. Talent, passion, adorable friends, a wonderful fiancé, the title of greatest dancer on the continent and of his generation– all he had to do was put on Minho’s clothes and live the life that was presented to him on a silver platter, and what was there to be unhappy about?

Nothing. He just didn't have anything left. Who you really are is forged by experience and memories, that was a scientific fact, a psychological reality. So who does one become when there's nothing left? The film of Minho's life had been left too long in the light, and all that remained was a reel of blank film: no more childhood, no more adolescence, no more moments of joy or sorrow, no more first times for everything. His first fall on a bike? Lost. His first medal for dance, lost. His first lie before sneaking out, his first baby tooth falling out, his first school trip? All lost. His first encounter with the boys, his first love, his first kiss– all these things no longer existed, but he was expected to live with that fact. And Minho found that unbearable.

Jisung, for his part, had slowly begun to accept that new dynamic, touched by Minho's efforts. He had slowly stopped perceiving the dancer's actions as attempts of provocation. Minho had mellowed under his touch, and while they weren't on the way to becoming as close as they had once been, the older seemed to have put aside his mistrust and the awkwardness he had felt living with his ex-fiancé. Minho had even discovered a special affinity to Jisung, who talked a lot while he usually just listened. But while Jisung struggled silently to curb his feelings and try to extinguish them, Minho's efforts only kept the embers burning, giving him a painful hope that never seemed to leave him.

Some might have thought that Minho would always have been irascible in Jisung's presence but, to everyone's astonishment, he had, thanks to this budding friendship, found a certain constant in his chaotic life. Jisung was the control variable in the experiment that was Minho's existence, the younger remained the invariable, reassuring element to which he could cling. Little did he know that every little step he took towards Jisung attacked the ramparts the younger had erected to barricade his heart.

Always present in his daily life, Minho had started hanging out in the living room at the same time as Jisung rather than hole up in his room. He'd then spent some time listening to Jisung and his rambling monologues, often jumping from one subject to another in a logic that only the younger seemed to understand, but eventually Minho found himself anticipating the themes that would come up next. He enjoyed these moments when his own thoughts were put to sleep by the younger's tirades, for Jisung had his own way of looking at life. Minho could listen to him talk about university and its courses, or the tiniest details of his last shopping trip, for hours on end. At that time, little did Minho know he was Jisung's only weakness.

One evening, while they were absent-mindedly playing with the gaming console and talking, Minho let slip for the first time one of his current preoccupations. He had been invited to an interview by the students of the university's journalism school, and although it seemed to Minho like one of the worst ideas of the decade, at the very least, Jisung gently tried to convince him.

“You should do it," said Jisung, still concentrating on the game.
“What's next? Give them everything they need to write the latest scandal about me on a silver platter?” Minho sneered. “I can already see the racy title from here: Lee Minho, the decay of a perfect life.”
“Don't do it for them, do it for yourself. Show them that what's being said isn't true. You've got a right to be lost, and it might do some people good to know that it happens even to the best?” Jisung tried.

Minho froze for a moment, staring into space, just long enough to lose the Mario Kart game he was currently playing against Jisung. The latter gently placed the controller on the seat next to him and turned to Minho.

“Afterwards, if you really don't want to, you're not ob–”
“Will you come with me?" the dancer cut in, voice uncertain.
“Oh? Hm, I don't know–”
“I think I'd feel better if you were there with me," Minho added almost shyly, looking up at Jisung's eyes.

Once again, Jisung should have politely declined and apologized, but Minho remained his only weakness. And so it was that Jisung emerged from class one evening to find a completely panicked Minho pacing up and down in front of the music faculty building. The younger sighed, pausing for a moment before striding off to join him. When he finally saw him, Minho hurried across the distance that still separated them and planted himself in front of Jisung without saying a word. Jisung was about to break the silence when, hunching his shoulders, Minho clung to the fabric of his sleeve with a shy hand, to stay glued to his side.

Surprised by this unexpected closeness, Jisung blinked for a moment, then, realizing that Minho was literally falling apart from stress on the spot, he offered him a small smile that was meant to be reassuring and warm. In reality, his expression was more like a grimace, but Minho understood the attempt and was secretly grateful. With Jisung covering his back, he was able to recompose a confident, if fragile, posture on the way to the journalism school.

The two boys were separated in the hall, when the student in charge of the organization came to greet and escort the dancer to the interview room. Jisung discreetly followed them into a video studio, noticing Minho starting to panic again as he realized that the interview would be filmed. Minho turned, looking around for something, and relaxed again when he saw that Jisung hadn't abandoned him in his fate.

Seated on a high padded stool facing the large camera, with reflectors redirecting the natural light onto him, Minho tried his best to answer the various questions in a cheerful, smiling manner.

“What was the hardest thing after your accident?”
“I think it was learning everything all over again. I didn't know who I was anymore," he began, “I'm still not sure I do," he added after a short pause.
“Speaking of which, lately we've all noticed a change in your attitude. How do you explain it?" asked the student who was conducting the interview.
“I– I think– I don't know, I'm trying to find my place?”

Minho's voice had become much less sure and Jisung, at the other end of the room, immediately sensed this. His heart ached, he felt far too involved when he shouldn't be. Minho's difficulties were no longer his responsibility, it was no longer his field of action, as Minho had already made so clear to him on several occasions.

“What's the reason behind your fancy club escapades?”
“I just like to dance and have fun.”
“By "have fun" do you mean "with lots of women"?”
“What? No, I– No, I just–”
“You were seen and photographed with four different women the last time, do you deny it?”
“Yes, well no, I'm not denying it, I'm– I'm–”
“Is this what they teach you to do in your school?" growled Jisung's voice from the corner of the room.

He stood up abruptly and his stool toppled over in the process, falling with a metallic clang. The younger's fists were clenched at his sides, and he seemed to be holding back from exploding in anger. Minho immediately noticed Jisung's clenched jaw, as well as his slightly furrowed eyebrows and the reddening of his ears.

“Are you studying journalism or gossip?" Jisung added, coming closer.
“Everyone wants to know," haughtily replied the girl who was leading the interview.
“Ah yes! Silly me! That's why you have no manners!”
“I won't allow you to speak to me in that tone, Hoobae.”
“Sunbae!" he exclaimed with all the possible venom in the honorific. “You're dating the camera man, aren't you?" Jisung asked bluntly, which made the student pause.
“Yes? But I don't see how that concerns you," she said, lifting her chin.
“But we want to know," he began with a predatory grin. “We want to know why the glitter from your lip gloss is also on the boom operator's fly," he said, pointing at the man in question, who dropped the microphone.

Minho put his hand to his mouth in shock with a gasp, staring wide-eyed at Jisung. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't found Jisung’s intervention extremely awe-inspiring. After the silence in the room that accompanied the revelation, it was time for everyone's realization, and things quickly began to get lively between the three people in the midst of the scandal Jisung had just denounced. As everyone began to whisper amongst themselves, sometimes giggling, Jisung closed his fingers around Minho’s wrist to make him stand and sneak away with him towards the exit. Jisung had just blithely crossed the line he'd set for himself, but he decided he'd regret it later. What he had to do now was take care to repair what he'd created, to get Minho away from the ambush he'd unwittingly led him into.

After that, Jisung felt torn between guilt at having incited his elder to do that interview and anger at not having been able to stop himself from getting involved to defend him. His fingers still around Minho's wrist, Jisung walked ahead, head down, and Minho followed without saying a word. He was oblivious to the war being waged silently in Jisung’s mind; all he could think was that the latter had once again helped him save face before he collapsed under the indiscreet and venomous questions of the pseudo-journalist. As their footsteps led them to the door of their apartment, Jisung's warmth left his arm as he began to type in the password. Minho sniffed behind his back, causing Jisung to turn around, and he witnessed a pout he hadn't seen on that face in a long time. The face of a child who had just done something stupid, a protrusion of the lips giving a sulky look and eyes that regularly fluttered their lashes with an ingenuous air.

“What are you–”
“Thank you!" Minho cut in before closing his arms around the younger's shoulders in an unexpected embrace.

Jisung stood there for a moment, tense and arms flailing, his heart hammering like crazy in his ribcage. He missed a breath, as if his lungs had been constrained in the embrace, but Jisung wasn't really suffocating. He raised an arm in measured slowness and patted Minho on the back, but the one who needed consolation now was none other than himself. His heart weak for the man who held him without a single thought of harm, Jisung began to feel the all-too-familiar tingle in his eyes and then quickly detached himself from the dancer. Jisung sent him a playful smile which, in reality, seemed so false that Minho noticed it. When Minho opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, Jisung interrupted him before he could speak.

“I'm not feeling well, I'm going to bed.”

And without another word or explanation, he unlocked the door and hurried straight to his room, leaving Minho in a state of utter confusion in the hallway.

Jisung quickly dropped face down onto the mattress, hiding his tears in the fabric of his sheets. For the mourning of his love that he was unable to leave behind, for his far too sentimental behavior towards the dancer, for the pain of having to hide and deny what he felt for Minho, for the anger he felt at not being able to talk or think about it without bursting into tears like a child. For all this and more, he cried himself to sleep that night. And those that followed too. Alone, in the room he used to share with Minho for what seemed like an eternity ago, Jisung allowed himself to be weak.

Someone had once told Jisung that tears were the petals of the heart, but the boy had also read that it was dangerous to indulge in the voluptuousness of them, because it takes away the courage and will to heal. And indeed, every tear he shed was just salt on his open wounds, stinging and delaying healing. Jisung had given in to this feeling, to the point where after the fifth night filled with cries he couldn't even find the strength to get up and pretend for one more day. Jisung wanted to allow himself to be weak.

But people cry, not because they're weak, but because they've been strong for far too long. And if Jisung couldn't understand this right now, someone was admiring the strength he'd shown all this time. Late into the night, Minho couldn't sleep, Jisung's cries coming to him from the bedroom on the other side of the corridor. For the first few evenings he heard Jisung cry, Minho wondered how he could have missed his sorrow, but he soon came to understand that Jisung had only hidden it from everyone for as long as possible, to keep them from carrying his burden with him.

No Tomorrow - Saint Asonia

Minho had been thinking for several days, hurt by Jisung’s misery filling the air without clearly understanding its contours. He hadn't been out of his room for three days, despite Minho's recurrent, worried requests to bring him something to eat.

The dancer had then called all of Jisung's friends, and incidentally his own, to organize an infallible plan—in his opinion—to lighten Jisung's mood: an evening at Le Faust. If the club was named after the man who once sold his soul to the devil, it was to show that it was a place of pleasure and excess, where the bass of the music mixed with the alcohol had the power to make you forget your miserable life until the first hours of dawn.

Hyunjin, Felix, Jeongin and himself were the most excited about the idea of a decadent outing. Chan, Changbin and Seungmin were up for it, but much more restrained and dubious about Minho’s plan, and it was them who first tried to motivate and get Jisung out of bed, but even the wise words of the eldest of the gang couldn't change his mind. Hyunjin, accompanied by Felix, took it upon himself while Jeongin laughed. The older boy knocked on Jisung's bedroom door.

“Bro? I'm warning you: if you're bare-assed, it's time to put on a pair of shorts, because I'm going to uproot you from your bed in a flash!”

In the absence of any reaction, Hyunjin waited a few more seconds before opening the door and entering the dark bedroom, Felix and Jeongin still on his heels.

From the living room, the other boys idly stood by as they heard fighting and shouting coming from the room. They stared at each other, mouths ajar, unable to understand what was going on, until Jeongin's smiling head appeared in the doorway, followed by an ok gesture to indicate that the situation was under control.

Minho offered a beer to the others while they waited, and the four of them settled down on the sofa in the living room. Not knowing what to say, they drank in silence, but it didn't bother them in the least.

“Ah, Hyunjin, no! Not the glitter!!” shouted Jisung's voice from the other side of the apartment.
“Listen princess, either you accept your fate nicely, or I'll force you with violence and tickling–”
“Don't you dare!”
“Felix?" Hyunjin's voice resumed. “On the count of three, we'll immobilize him. Jeongin, enjoy tickling him, he’s yours!”
“Count me in, bud!” replied the youngest of the gang, his smile clearly audible in his voice.

When Jisung's screams began to fill the apartment, Minho chuckled with relief. The boy's screams turned into uncontrolled laughter as he begged his tormentors for mercy. The atmosphere was starting to become much more breathable, and if a few laughs could be wrung out of Jisung, then this evening was well on its way and even starting on a positive note.

After forty minutes, the infernal trio finally joined the others in the living room, Jisung hiding behind them. The former were indignant that the evening had started without them, and the boys on the sofa made up for it by announcing that they'd buy the first round at the club.

“Good!" Felix intervened with his deep voice. “In that case, let us introduce you to the man who's sure to be the hottest tonight!”
“More than me?" taunted Minho. “You're dreami–”

Minho never finished his sentence, and stood speechless for a moment as the three boys shifted to reveal Jisung, who was curled up staring at his feet, toes brushing against each other, and twiddling his fingers.

“Oh f*ck..." muttered Minho.

Felix slapped Jisung's butt to make him move and advance towards the group.

“Come on. Stand up straight! Even Minho's drooling, don't worry.”
“It's not true!" exclaimed the aforementioned.
“I think it's true…” Jeongin said in a reflective pose.

And Jisung burst out laughing at the incongruity of the whole situation. And his infectious laughter was shared by all, happy to see that Jisung was at least receptive to Minho's plan.

“I didn’t even know he had that kind of clothing," the latter stuttered, pointing to the black vinyl pants and the loosely knit black-and-white striped sweater that slightly uncovered one of Jisung’s collarbones.
“He's got two closets full of it!" exclaimed Felix, his eyes twinkling.

Admittedly, seeing Jisung dressed like this had come as a shock to Minho, who couldn't remember ever having seen him wearing anything but shapeless jeans, sweatpants, oversized shirts and hoodies. To top it all off, the younger's brown hair had been styled to expose his forehead in a deliberate messy effect, and his eyes had been made up in a kind of light smokey eye tending towards a slightly purple burgundy color. On one cheekbone, two tiny stars made of ivory and pink glitter were shining proudly.

“Let's get a move on, shall we?" Minho suddenly asked to mask his embarrassment.
“Already?! But it's only nine?”
“You'll learn, little Jisungie, that the night begins early and ends late!” replied Minho with an enigmatic smile.

After a subway ride, they got off at Itaewon and made their way through the neon-lit streets of bars and restaurants, following Minho, who strolled with ease as if he owned the neighborhood. He greeted people a few times as the boys looked on in surprise, and finally stopped at the corner of two streets.

“Gentlemen... Le Faust!" he introduced, turning theatrically towards the group with a smile.

He pointed to the dark, modern building with its red neon sign behind him, and the boys immediately noticed the queue stretching so far down the street alongside the club that they couldn't see the end of it.

“We'll never get in there before tomorrow!" growled Changbin, who was beginning to regret letting himself be drawn into this harebrained scheme.
“Tonight we're V.I.P.! I know someone at the door!" Minho winked.

And indeed, Minho wasn't lying. The eight of them were inside within ten minutes of Minho chatting to the bouncer. Jisung was amazed at the influence Minho had managed to build up in such a short time. He was the last to go inside, and just before the door closed behind him, what he heard squeezed his heart to the point of nausea.

After descending the steps leading to the main area, Jisung rushed to the bar without asking for a second look, taking advantage of the fact that the club was still relatively empty to order two shots of vodka. He downed the first as soon as he had the shot glass in his hands, and returned to his friends with the second in hand.

“Oh, that's nice of you, you shouldn't have," Minho began, seeing him coming back towards him and making grabby hands.

Jisung shrugged and downed the second shot before passing Minho and settling into a secluded corner of the room. The older blinked in a daze as he followed Jisung's trajectory under Changbin and Seungmin’s mocking laughter, who hadn't missed a thing.

“He's wasting no f*cking time," Chan muttered, a worried gleam in his eye.

No one could hear his considerations over the music that gradually invaded the increasingly crowded space. Chan promised himself he'd keep an eye on Jisung throughout the evening. Jisung wasn't much of a drinker and, above all, he wasn’t much of a happy drunk. So if he was already starting the evening at this pace, it wasn't a good sign in Chan’s eyes.

“Let him have his fun!" shouted Minho, who'd just arrived at Chan’s side and was leaning on his shoulder. “He's got a right to blow off a little steam! And you too, Chris!”
“Only if you promise to keep an eye on him for a while!”
“Affirmative, Captain! Now go and have fun!”

And without warning, Minho pushed him by the shoulders into the dense, compact crowd swaying to sensual electro beats. Chan briefly caught sight of Minho smiling at him, waving his hand, before letting himself be swept away by the crowd.

Minho gazed around the club and found the pretext for the party after a few minutes, leaning against a wall looking at his phone. He sighed and made his way to the bar, where the barmaid quickly came towards him, fluttering her lashes under the annoyed murmurs of those who had been waiting longer.

“What'll you have, handsome?" she asked, leaning over the counter, more to proudly display her breasts than to hear him better.
“Vodka lime! Ten shots. In one glass!”
“Pardon?" she said, widening her eyes.
“Force majeure!" he said, pointing across the room at Jisung, who was still on his phone.
“Okay! I get it!" she smiled, starting to prepare the drink, a little more generous than necessary. “Need a little fantasy with that?" she added nonchalantly.

Minho frowned as he recognized the euphemistic name for liquid ecstasy.

“Nah, I don't need that sh*t!" he said curtly, handing the girl his credit card.

He retrieved the glass and moved quickly away from the counter, gauging the drink, worried that drugs had still been added without his knowledge. He decided to take a sip and wait a moment to check, just to make sure he wasn't putting Jisung in unnecessary danger. After a quarter of an hour with no side effects, and thus reassured, he brought the glass to Jisung who hadn't moved from his seat.

“Do me a favor, put away that damn phone and drink this!”
“Why?" asked Jisung, raising an eyebrow but tucking his phone away in his trouser pocket nonetheless. “Did you put something suspicious in it?”
“Well, someone offered to–" Minho began, making Jisung's eyes widen. “But I said no and I even tasted it to make sure there's no trickery involved, it's clean!”

Jisung's heart skipped a beat as he grabbed the glass with both hands, his fingers brushing Minho's. He'd seen him. He'd seen him taste the drink earlier and now understood why. It was this kind of small, uncalculated intention that made it impossible for Jisung to get past his feelings for Minho. So, staring at the glass in his hands and its slightly cloudy contents, he told himself that now was as good a time as any to get drunk and forget, even if only for an evening. He inhaled deeply before downing his glass in one gulp, under Minho's shocked gaze.

“What the f*ck's that burning sh*t?!” coughed Jisung, bringing his hand to his throat and inhaling through his mouth in an attempt to calm the fiery sting of alcohol.
“Vodka lime… Are you f*cking stupid?! You weren't supposed to do a shot!”
“But who serves almost pure vodka in a co*cktail glass? You're a sick bastard!" screamed Jisung, waving his arms wildly.
“I wanted you to loosen up a bit and–”
“Well, you've done it!" interrupted the youngest. “In less than half an hour, I won't even know my full name!”
“You're joking, aren't you?
“I'm not. I can't hold my liquor. Anyway, I'm off to dance, see you later.”

He passed Minho and headed for the dance floor. The latter was slightly panicking because of their exchange. He turned around sharply.

“Wait, what?! No, you stay there! Oy, Jisung! Come back here!”
“Loosen up, Minho!” he shouted back before kissing his fingers and blowing on them to send the kiss to Minho before skipping off into the middle of the crowd.
“Oh, what the hell," Minho swore, shrugging before slipping back into the cluster of dancing people.

Jisung was a grown ass man, and the other boys were keeping an eye on him too, so he had the right to get as seedy as he wanted and do as he pleased. So Minho let the bass take possession of him as he went wild on the dance floor.

fck Away the Pain* - Divide the Day

Heart at peace, mind light and body warmed up, Minho danced as if his life depended on it. His image was ethereal in the intermittent strobe light, like a timelapse sequence of underexposed photographs. He was in a trance-like state, completely cut off from the world, with only his body and the heady music remaining as one.

At least, until a hand on his shoulder abruptly brought him down to the stream of dancers amassed on the Faust dancefloor. He turned to find Seungmin and Changbin looking worried.

“Where's Jisung?!" shouted the shorter one.
“Isn't he with you?" asked Minho, and the boys shook their heads. “Maybe Chan?" he suggested.
“Chris is in total panic mode, he's been looking for him everywhere for almost an hour!” intervened Seungmin.

Minho abruptly stopped smiling and slipped off the dance floor between mixed bodies, the two boys hot on his heels. Finally arriving near the tables, where the air was fresher and more breathable, Minho climbed onto one of them as if it were a platform and began to look through the madding crowd for Jisung.

His gaze was drawn to an even more compact group that seemed even more ecstatic than the rest of the room. He smiled briefly as he recognized Jisung at its center, completely out of it, before pointing out his direction to the boys at his side, who thanked him with a wave before heading straight over there. He climbed down from the table, typing a message to the eldest of the group, telling him that Jisung had just been found, before trying to get closer himself.

Arriving a few dozen meters away, Minho noticed that all the other boys had also arrived in this part of the nightclub. But what surprised the dancer the most was Jisung’s behavior. He looked as drunk as he could be, for his upper cheeks and nose had taken on that characteristic pinkish hue. His face was thrown back, giving the glitter on his cheekbone plenty of time to sparkle when they met a beam of light, and he was swaying devilishly sexy with a luscious young brunette hanging onto his neck.

Minho wondered whether she was doing this in the hope of getting him between her sheets, which would never happen, or precisely because she knew there was absolutely no ambiguity about it. But he didn't wonder much longer when the young woman broke away from Jisung to crush her lips to those of an equally sumptuous girl with lilac hair.

Minho burst out laughing, and let himself be carried away again by the atmosphere when a pretty blonde with short-cropped hair and light eyes began to dance with him, resting her graceful arms on his shoulders. Minho pulled the blonde even closer, placing his hands on her hips over the waistband of her pleated mini-skirt. After a few minutes dancing like this, Minho's gaze met Jisung's, a little further on the dance floor, filled with a strange glow. Jisung quickly turned away and began to dance again, leaving a strange sensation in Minho's heart, but he didn't stop dancing.

Jisung moved away from the scene he had just witnessed, reducing all his efforts of the evening to nothing, to lean against a column a little further away. He ran his hand through his hair with a sad laugh. What did he expect? The new Minho was just what he was, of course Jisung was going to be confronted with a scene like this, he'd known it long before coming, and yet he'd had hopes that it wouldn't get to him. And yet, despite his shabby state, his legs going weak, his brain completely out of whack because of the alcohol and his blurred vision, his heart ached.

He was about to start crying shamefully when a tall young man with slightly wavy black hair falling onto either side of his face, approached him with a smile and handed him a glass.

“Thanks, but I'm already wasted!” he declined, speaking as loudly as he could.

The black-haired man's smile didn't falter, however, and Jisung finally noticed his bright pink, full lips. The boy shifted the glass to one side so he could get a little closer to him, leaving only a meter between them and forcing him to raise his head slightly. The stranger leaned in close so he could speak to him without shouting.

“That's why I brought a soft drink!” he said, before straightening up slightly.

He took a sip through the straw, to show that the drink hadn't been drugged, before pulling it out and handing the glass back to Jisung, who gratefully accepted it and took a few sips of the alcohol-free co*cktail.

“I saw what happened with the purple-haired guy... one-sided love?" he asked.
“Worse than that.”
“Your sister's boyfriend?" tried the boy in an insecure voice that made Jisung laugh.
“Fiancé– well, ex-fiancé now. Amnesiac and newly straight.”
“Hard blow.”
“He's all I've known in my life, hard blow yes," confirmed Jisung with a sad smile.

A tear escaped him, but his opposite wiped it away with his thumb before Jisung had time to do so himself, making him blush slightly from embarrassment.

“Oh no, stop! You'll get glitter on your fingers!” he then realized, setting his glass down on a ledge beside him.

He took the boy's hand to try and remove as much of the tiny glitter that had transferred to his fingers, eliciting a laugh from the boy who gently ruffled his hair with his free hand before leaning close to his ear again.

“Don't worry! You can put glitter all over me–” he said in a voice that Jisung found seductive.

He bit his lip slightly as he met the taller boy's gaze, and took a brief breath before speaking.

“I'm Jisung," he said in response to the implied invitation.
“Yeonjun," the black-haired man introduced himself. “And I'll let you know, Jisung, that I couldn't take my eyes off of you tonight, you're so radiant," he added, before kissing the fine skin just below his ear and stepping back.

Shivers of excitement ran through Jisung's skin at the memory of his lips, as Yeonjun's gaze swept over Jisung’s whole being, causing his heart and breathing to quicken. For a moment, Jisung felt guilty about what was happening, but reminded himself that no real commitment still linked him to Minho. And with the help of alcohol and the boy's gaze on him, this feeling that should no longer exist was finally reduced to ashes. Jisung was free, he desired and wanted to feel desired by this stranger he'd met in a club.

“You're not half bad yourself," he said in a voice he wanted to sound confident, as he gazed into Yeonjun's eyes.
“Use me up to your heart's content if it'll help you forget him," said Yeonjun, slightly out of breath from holding back.

So Jisung didn't hesitate. With eagerness, he threw his arms around Yeonjun's neck and took hold of his lips, standing on his tiptoes. In response, he wrapped his arms around Jisung's thin waist to support him a little more and bring their bodies closer together. Their warm lips moved against each other in a feeling close to desperation and, at Yeonjun's initiative, the kiss deepened. He gently ran his tongue against Jisung's plump lip, who let out a sigh of contentment when it finally met his.

After a while of this languorous kiss, they had to part to catch their breaths, but Yeonjun's lips immediately went to find the fine, perfumed skin of Jisung's neck. His senses on alert, Jisung immediately tilted his head to one side to facilitate access, while one of his hands gripped the dark hair at the nape of the boy’s neck. Eyes half-closed under the pleasant sensations he was feeling, Jisung didn't even notice that all his friends were watching the scene, eyes wide with surprise.

Chan, lips ajar, clasped one of his hands in front of Jeongin's eyes to prevent him from seeing, but to no avail, as the younger man stood slightly on his tiptoes to see over Chan’s palm. Changbin burst out laughing at Chan's unnecessarily paternal behavior, and Seungmin added that they were no longer kids. Hyunjin and Felix gave each other a knowing look, before clasping hands, fidgeting and jumping up and down to restrain themselves from screaming, all too happy that Jisung was finally moving on and starting to think about himself.

“Well then, gays, what's going on?" asked Minho, who came up to the aforementioned with a drink he'd just picked up at the bar.

Hyunjin grabbed Minho's glass, before Felix took him by the shoulders and swung him towards Jisung and his conquest, who were once again devouring each other's lips. Minho froze as he recognized Jisung, pinned against the wall by the stranger's body.

“Ah, cool," he said simply, before retrieving his glass and taking another long gulp.

Minho suddenly felt nauseous. Alcohol was hard to swallow and he wanted to go home. But as he headed for the stairs leading to the exit, Hyunjin caught up with him.

“Where are you going?" asked the latter.
“I think I'm going home, I'm tired, and the music's kinda lame," replied the purple-haired one.
“It's not even one and you love that song, so stop your nonsense. What's up?”

Minho didn't answer right away, thinking for a moment about the reasons for his condition, but he couldn't think of a single one that gave him complete satisfaction.

“I don't know," he admitted.
“Do you feel sick? Stinging eyes? Cold hands and a headache?”
“Yes! All at the same time, I–”
“You're jealous, bro.”

Minho widened his eyes, shocked by Hyunjin's absurd suggestion. Jealousy? What the hell?

“I'm worried about Jisung," he said, making Hyunjin raise an eyebrow. “I mean, he's drunk, imagine if the other guy was taking advantage of him and then imagine if–”
“Ahahah, replace "worried" with "in love" Minho– and stop kidding yourself!” Hyunjin cut him off with a laugh.
“You're full of sh*t! I'm just as worried about Jisung as you are about Jeongin.”

Hyunjin pursed his lips in a smile and hid it behind his hand to keep himself from bursting out laughing, while continuing to stare at Minho, who was making his angry pout, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed.

“That's what I'm talking about, you're infatuated Minho. Only you and Jisung can't see it.”
“You're in love with Jeongin?!” Minho shouted, clearly in shock.
“Don't change the subject!” snarled Hyunjin, flicking him in the middle of the forehead. “And you can stop sulking, Jisung pushed the hot guy away merely three seconds after you left!”

With that, Hyunjin turned around and skipped back to the group in time with the music, leaving behind him an utterly confused Minho with a suddenly and strangely lighter heart, staring motionless at his feet.

Rise - Blockheads

Jisung was pacing back and forth in a corner of the club, under the curious gaze of more and more people. He clutched his hair tightly between his hands without stopping his pacing as he felt panic rising inside him and his body began to tremble.

He gasped and turned around in a defensive posture when Hyunjin laid a hand on his shoulder. Recognizing his friend, he began to tremble again as his face tightened. His lower lip trembled and his eyes began to fill with unshed tears.

“Come on, let's settle down in a quieter corner. You look like a kid who's just been looking for his mother for an hour in a supermarket," the taller boy remarked.
“Hyunjin…”
“Put this on too.”

Hyunjin placed a small case in Jisung's hand before pointing to his ears. Inside the small plastic case was a pair of earplugs, and incidentally the most beautiful intention in Jisung’s eyes, who couldn't stand being sensory over-stimulated since the start of his panic attack.

He inserted the silicone plugs into his ears and sighed with relief as the music faded slightly into a cottony effect, appeasing just like he had put his head underwater. Hyunjin grabbed his hand and pulled him along with him towards the seats, deserted by people in favor of the dance floor. They came across Changbin taking a break on one of the purple leatherette sofas and joined him.

“Yo, are you having fun?" asked the aforementioned.
“Jisung was having a panic attack, so I– exfiltrated him?” tried Hyunjin, turning to Jisung who nodded briskly in confirmation.
“Oh sh*t, you didn't close the deal with the guy? Should I go and beat the sh*t out of him?”
“Hyung! I– it's– well, it's me, I couldn't–” Jisung said, lowering his head.
“Stay there, I'll get something to drink and we'll talk as much as you need afterwards!” smiled Changbin.

Hyunjin put his hand onto Changbin's arm to keep him seated, offering to go on his behalf. Changbin nodded and handed him his card, pointing out that there was no limit to what he could do to cheer up his beloved dongsaeng. Jisung almost burst into tears, feeling so touched. He wrapped his arms around his friend's muscular arm with an adorable little pout.

“Aaaah! So f*cking cute!" Changbin cooed, pinching one of Jisung’s cheeks.

Hyunjin returned after a short while with three bottles of hard liquor and shot glasses. As he poured the first glasses, Jisung began to recount the argument that had taken place ten days earlier, the state in which he had found Minho ready to throw himself off a bridge, how he had danced for him, how they had ended up in each other's arms several times. He told them that his little porcelain heart had been broken beyond repair, that the pieces he'd begun to mend back together reluctantly and silently hadn't held when he'd thought he'd lost it a second time. That no matter how hard he tried to erase them, his broken porcelain would forever bear Minho's hand-painted decorations.

He went on to explain how he'd wanted to use the first boy to show interest in him again to throw away the broken ceramics, but Jisung had always been one to value broken and battered pieces. He liked biscornu Christmas trees that nobody wanted, just because he didn't want them to spend the holidays alone, uprooted and unloved, of course he hadn't been able to throw away the pieces of his loving feelings.

“And you see he was soooooo sexy and all–” Jisung repositioned his elbow, which had just slipped off the edge of the table, as he waved his index finger in the air to punctuate his words. “Stay there, you!" he said to his elbow, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and frowning. “What was I saying? Ah yes sexy! Sooooo sexy– but I moaned the first name of that motherf*cker, not a motherf*cker eh, well yes! Arrrgh not literally–”

Changbin laughed as the younger man continued to get tangled up in his own words, and Hyunjin elbowed him in the ribs.

“Damn, he's worse than before. We shouldn't have given him another drink, Chan will dismember us before he sets us on fire, I'm too young to die!”
“How can you push him into Minho's arms if he's sober?" asked Changbin with a mischievous grin.
“Oh…” nodded the taller one. “Wait a minute!”
“His excessive respect. He loves him too much to try anything.”
“Especially as Minho's starting to discover some things about him, I think–”

Hyunjin went straight on to talk about the latest events and in particular about Minho's confusion when the question of jealousy and feelings came up. Glancing at Jisung and noticing that the latter was still entangled in his monologue, Hyunjin laid his analysis of the last few weeks out on the table for Changbin, who listened attentively, nodding at times when an interesting piece of information slipped into the discussion.

Minho's behavior, no longer so reluctant to get closer to Jisung, the idea of the evening to cheer him up — which proved that he was worried about Jisung's well-being, his desire to leave after seeing the younger in the middle of a heated kissing session with a hot guy. But also his crisis a few days prior, reported by Jisung a little earlier, during which he had clung like a castaway to Jisung, allowing himself to be comforted. Changbin's eyes widened as he noticed that, put together, these events formed what he would effectively call reasonable doubt.

“I think, but this is just my opinion, that a helping hand for our dear Minho would be kind of beneficial…” Hyunjin began. “What do you think?”
“All I'm saying is that I love declarations of love, especially when the declarer is drunk–” Changbin replied with a knowing look, making Hyunjin smile like hell.

The latter shifted his gaze to Jisung, who was half-comatose, slumped on the table between them. His round cheek was crushed against the table and he was mumbling incomprehensible things as he limply drew random shapes on the table with the tip of his index finger. Hyunjin ran a hand through Jisung's hair to tousle it and shook him a little, so Jisung straightened his head and looked up at him with misty eyes.

“Come on, my cutie patootie honeybunch sugarplum! Let's pick ourselves up, lift our chins and have one last shot before we do big things!" Hyunjin said, sliding a shot glass towards Jisung.
“Big things?" The latter asked in a pasty voice as he straightened up into a sitting position.
“Go seduce your fiancé again!”
“But–”
“You're going to make a move on Minho," Changbin cut him off. “Not tomorrow, not next week. Tonight! And at worst, if he's not receptive, just tell him everything you've just told us, he won't even remember it because of the alcohol. Well, he doesn't remember much already, you'll tell me– but you'll feel better!”

Jisung downed the glass before him in one gulp and motioned Changbin to pour him a second one, which he downed just as quickly before slamming it against the table and leaving without a second thought.

“I thought he was going to be harder to convince," Changbin conceded, watching him walk away.
“That's the magic of alcohol!" exclaimed Hyunjin happily. “Now we've got to avoid Chan if we don't want to die," he said before hastily ducking out of sight of the aforementioned who was coming in their direction.

Jisung was speeding through the Faust to find Minho when a violet flash caught his eye. He ducked in that direction and found himself face to face with the dancer, who flashed him an uneasy smile. Standing there, Jisung frowned as he noticed that Minho didn't seem to be enjoying himself as much as he could, not as much as he seemed to do in the celebrity magazine photos Jisung had seen before. So, in an impulse, Jisung began to dance as ridiculously as possible and, to be perfectly honest, given his blood alcohol level, he didn't have to concentrate that much. Minho chuckled as Jisung wiggled awkwardly, before bursting out laughing, which brought a dazzling self-satisfied smile to Jisung’s face.

He danced ironically for the rest of the song, and when the music changed to a softer, sexier tune, Jisung tensed slightly. Minho had regained his good humor and was now dancing without embarrassment, which convinced Jisung that he had nothing to be ashamed of, especially after having played the fool for the previous three minutes. Thus, abandoning his last reluctance, Jisung began to undulate to the rhythm of the music, which this time required more effort. But the music was spellbinding and he quickly let himself be carried along, rolling his hips, his arms rising into the air or sensuously roaming over his own body. When a stranger came to dance against him, his self-confidence went through the roof and he took the opportunity to really give it his all, turning away from the stranger to turn back his attention to Minho.

The latter looked at Jisung with astonishment. He'd known, for some time now, that Jisung was a pretty good dancer but he was surprised by the seductive side he was showing at that very moment. Minho’s heart thumped anarchically and it even seemed to loop in his chest when the younger drew closer to him, fixing his eyes on his. Jisung sensuously ran two of his fingers over his own lips, Minho swallowed harshly and a shiver ran up his spine as his eyes were drawn to Jisung's lower lip. Fleshy and rosy.

Jisung's hand continued down his neck, then his stomach, and he couldn't help smiling when he noticed he'd completely captured his ex-fiancé's attention with his movements. Jisung grabbed the bottom of his own sweater and began to lift it. Slowly. Perhaps too slowly. But he loved seeing Minho's confused expression and flushed cheeks. Just as a bit of skin was about to be uncovered, offered to Minho’s sight, a movement in the crowd jostled Jisung who, not expecting it, lost his balance.

Minho took a step forward to catch him, and Jisung landed in his arms, clinging to his shirt. Jisung's gaze locked with Minho's when he felt his hands rest on his waist and gently straighten him up. They stared at each other for a moment, and Minho didn't let go of Jisung's waist as they faced each other.

“What are you doing?" the older asked.
“I was falling!" Jisung giggled unabashedly.
“Yes, I understood that. I'm talking about before!”
“Well, I was dancing for you!”

Minho's cheeks began to flush without him understanding why. He frowned and tilted his head in a questioning posture.

“You were dancing– for me?”
“To seduce you!”

Jisung had taken on a sulky pout and the little voice in Minho's head screamed at the sight. Not a horrified howl as he'd thought, and that threw him off balance. He couldn't think of anything to say, the words stuck in his throat. So Jisung took a breath before speaking again.

“Because I love you for real. Not because you're handsome, although you're more than handsome too, but, damn, I love all of you," Jisung let out. “Even when you're a jerk, even when you're sick and whining because you think you're dying of a cold. I love you when you're at your weakest, when you feel like sh*t and you're complaining about your cute little belly. When your eyes land on me, I feel like I'm dying in a fire with every passing second as my heart becomes a blazing inferno. When you're away from me I– I feel like I'm dying of asphyxiation," he said, beating his chest almost violently. “I love you when you dance barefoot in the living room when you think I'm not looking, and I love you when you sing in the shower with shampoo as a mic when you think I'm not listening. I love every letter of your name, in Hangul and Latin and even Chinese characters. I love you when you're dressed like sh*t and unkempt, when you wince when you discover too late that there's coriander in a dish. I love you when you're majestic and fierce like a lion on stage, but I love you even more when you're soft and cuddly like a kitten in private. Even when you call me an asshole, I love you too– for what's there," says Jisung, pointing to Minho's heart. “And for your soul, which is the most beautiful I know, even if you’re a jerk now. And I can't stand it when people love you out of interest," he said at last, starting to ugly cry. “I want to smash the face of the guy who let us in because he said you were a slu*t and you were going to draw some puss* there. They're all so stupid, and you do everything to make them love you while I'm dying to give you what you really deserve. Won't you let me love you, Minho?" he finished, his voice cracking in a hiccup.

Minho's heart was beating hard, too hard. Too fast too. He'd just been caught in mid-air, then pinned to the ground, unable to escape. As if he'd even considered it. Jisung's words raced through him, creating a kind of alcohol-free intoxication. Far too addictive for an addict like him. He clasped his hands around Jisung's waist, trying to anchor himself in the present, to figure out what to say.

“Why are you crying?" he asked, mentally calling himself an idiot.
“It's because I love you too much," replied Jisung, making Minho's heart clench painfully. “All the love I have for you– it's too big, too much, to fit in my heart and body, so it flows,” he added before collapsing head first against Minho's chest.

The dancer stopped Jisung from falling when he felt his legs give way. When he realized that Jisung had just collapsed from exhaustion and copious amounts of alcohol, he put one arm around his shoulders and the other behind his knees to carry him princess-like to a bench. He picked up his cell phone and told the group chat that he was going home to put the younger one to bed.

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

The day after the party, Jisung woke up fresh as morning dew, slowly stretching as he got out of his room. He happily greeted Minho, who was seated at the kitchen island. The latter stared mouth agape as Jisung passed by next to him to grab a cup and pour himself a coffee without a single trace of embarrassment. He came to sit beside Minho as if nothing had happened and Minho, who continued to stare at him wide-eyed, let his spoon slip through his fingers and fall with a clink into his mug, generating a few splashes in the process.

“Minho! You’re getting coffee everywhere!" gasped Jisung.

The younger grabbed the paper towel roll to mop up the counter and the side of Minho's mug, but Minho didn't even react. When Jisung tried to wipe away a stain on his shirt, Minho raised his eyebrows and leaned back slightly.

“Take it off!" ordered Jisung, gently tugging at the bottom of Minho’s shirt, causing the latter to choke.
“What?!” Minho said in a particularly high-pitched voice.

His tone made Jisung's eyes lift up to Minho’s shocked face and frown at his weird behavior.

“You're gross! Take it off so I can put it in the washer, or else you'll get a coffee stain on it.”
“Aaah! I was going to throw it away anyway.”
“You're weird today– did you do something stupid last night, or what?" asked Jisung before taking a sip of his coffee.
“Don't you remember?" Minho pried in a small voice that made Jisung—whose memories were clearly scattered—tense.
“Let's see. What do I remember–" he began, staring at the ceiling like all the answers were written on it as he gently placed his cup back on the table. “The sh*t drink you gave me, I danced with a very cool lesbian and her chick– I think I had a few drinks with Changbin and Hyune too," Jisung recollected.
“Yeah, that's about it. I had to take you home because you fell asleep like a log.”

It’s been three days since Minho then decided to ignore Jisung's confession, certain that it would be easier for him to get over it that way. But contrary to what Changbin had said at the Faust, Jisung was the only one who couldn't remember anything while Minho couldn't get the moment out of his mind. And Minho wasn't relieved at all.

He lost himself in the convolutions of his thoughts, and often found himself confused when they took unexpected turns, leaving his heart breathless and causing him to miss what he could possibly be doing at the time. In three days, Minho hadn't managed to reproduce a single one of the dance sequences he was supposed to be working on, and it irritated him to no end; he had to keep practicing and Felix, who had dropped by the studio after his class, had suggested he do some improvisation.

That day, back at the apartment and lying on his bed, what he saw on the recording of his last session frightened him more than anything. He saw himself desperate and lost, and thought that thinking would only confuse him even more. Nevermind the burning sensation in his chest when he found himself alone with Jisung, nevermind his champagne heart that seemed to sparkle with every word Jisung spoke. Whatever it was, he didn't want to think about it anymore, didn't want to look in the mirror and wonder why his cheeks turned that shade whenever he recalled Jisung's words that night at the Faust. Minho didn't want to try and understand why those words had left such an indelible mark on him, because the answer he was already denying was frightening and threatened to set the world he'd rebuilt for himself upside down, the only familiar thing he could control and manipulate at will.

Minho locked his phone and dressed quickly before leaving his room with his coat under his arm and a pair of new shoes in his hand. As he crossed the living room, he refrained from glancing at Jisung, seated on the sofa while playing video games. He sat down on the small step at the entrance to put on his new pair of shoes when Jisung's distracted voice resonated behind his back between two bursts of gunfire from the game.

“Going out?”
“Yeah, I need to take my mind off things," he said in an unnaturally low voice that Jisung didn't notice, too focused.
“Hm, ‘kay. If you're coming home at five in the morning again, please don’t make too much noise!”

A lump formed in Minho's stomach when Jisung didn't even try to police him. He hadn't said a word about his recurring nocturnal escapades since their famous argument, and if Minho had enjoyed the taste of his newfound freedom after that, today that wasn't the case. Jisung had come to terms with the fact that Minho wouldn't listen to him anyway, and so had decided to stop commenting on his behavior and vilifying him despite his antics, out of love, but Minho took this as indifference.

“Okay, I'm going…”

Minho was counting on indecently loud electronic music and one or two sexy, scantily dressed girls to take his mind off things, and he was well served when a fake blonde with wavy hair set her sights on him. He pinned his last hopes onto her long, silky legs and plump breasts to keep his distracting thoughts at bay.

That evening he drank only one glass of alcohol, because he felt that confusing his senses with ethanol vapor would only cause more chaos inside him. That's why he seemed less receptive to the crazy charm of the blonde who had come closer.

The latter danced very well and attracted many envious, lust-filled glances, whereas she danced only for Minho and saw only him. He, however, couldn't help finding her movement meaningless. He thought briefly that Jisung danced better than she did, skillfully sensual without trying too hard like the damsel in front of him, even more beautiful than her when clowning around to make him laugh. He shook his head for a moment to banish the image of Jisung's dance; he'd come to forget and now he was comparing them.

When the girl locked her arms around his neck, Minho found her too tall and too blonde. When she kissed his neck, he closed his eyes to enjoy the sweetness she was promising and put his hands on her waist, which he found too large for his hands, unlike the one he'd held three nights earlier. The image of Jisung, clutching at his shirt, cheeks flushed and eyes misty loomed so clearly in his mind, he let out a groan of contentment. Realizing this, he abruptly reopened his frightened eyes and violently detached himself from the blonde who was staring at him uncomprehendingly. He felt as if he'd burned his hands on her body and stumbled away to put as much distance as possible between him and her.

Minho’s thoughts derailed as he slowed his pace, stopping in the middle of the dance floor, frozen among the dancers who weren't even paying him any mind. And it was then, as Arctic Monkeys' lyrics echoed through the club, that Minho realized it wasn't the blonde he was trying to escape from.

"Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new now I've thought it through".

Minho was trying to escape the feelings that had been awakening in him more and more clearly since Jisung's confession. His full, pouting lips had drawn his gaze like a magnet as he danced for him, Jisung's petite waist seemed to naturally find its place between his hands, as if tailor-made for him. He shunned Jisung's gaze, because he'd begun to depend on that admiring glow he'd always seen shining for him deep inside, and because he didn't think he'd survive the pain he'd feel if he were to see it disappear one day, extinguished.

Minho realized something, standing there in the middle of a f*cking club. He realized that the addict in him had allowed himself to be tempted by another drug without preparation. Accustomed to the effects of attention on him, he hadn't realized that he'd become dependent on another substance a thousand times more addictive: pure, unconditional love. Jisung's persistent, realistic and perfectly lucid love.

Minho ran to the coat-check and urged the woman to give him back his vest, she huffed and puffed and Minho didn't even thank her before putting it on and pushing past the people crowding the entrance to make his way outside.

He felt dizzy as if his brain was running out of oxygen, his heart beating so strangely that he thought he was going to pass out like an idiot on the sidewalk, and the fleeting thought that this would be deserved passed quickly through his mind. He tried to hail a cab but none would stop for him, so swearing, he kicked the edge of the sidewalk to chase away his annoyance before running towards the subway line. The next one that would take him closer to the apartment was scheduled in twenty minutes, so he settled down on one of the station benches to wait.

With his head in his hands, his fingers clutching his hair, his legs bouncing anarchically, he pondered his options now that he'd realized he wasn't going to get past those feelings with the first easy girl he had on hand. He had to confront Jisung, because it was all his fault. Yes, he could probably get clean, detoxified. Minho lifted his head as he heard the subway pull into the station and straightened up at breakneck speed to rush into the train, stuffing the ticket deep into his pocket.

He ran as fast as he'd ever run between his station and the apartment. As if Jisung might have decided to go out too and was afraid of missing him, and as he reached the door he paused for a moment. To calm his breath, but also to try in vain to find the words. His mind remained blank, or rather stuck on an image of Jisung three days earlier, when he had put him to bed, and had wanted to cuddle him so much he looked like a baby when he was sleeping. His eyes widened and he reached out with trembling hands for the lock on the door to enter the password.

In the hall, he took off his shoes without even thinking about it and let his coat fall to the floor, pooling at his feet, before taking a few steps into the main room, staring at Jisung who was still playing, slumped on the sofa. After what seemed like hours, Jisung paused his game and raised his head in surprise.

“You're home already?!" he asked, glancing at the clock. “Did you forget something?”
“What have you done–" murmured Minho.
“I’m sorry, what? I didn't hear a thing.”
“I asked: what have you done?!” Minho repeated, starting to cry.

Jisung's mouth fell open in shock, and he couldn't understand what had happened to bring Minho back in such a state.

“What's wrong, Minho?" he asked, sitting up straight on the sofa and looking suddenly worried.

Minho shook his head in reply, his voice caught in his cries. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, like a child, then took a few more hesitant steps towards Jisung.

“What's the matter, Minho? Please Minho, answer m–”

Jisung didn't finish his sentence as Minho rushed towards him, straddling his lap and kissing him through his tears as he held Jisung’s face between the palm of his hands. It was sudden and unexpected. Desperate and wet too. Jisung had frozen, eyes wide and hands suspended in the air by his side, when Minho's lips crashed into his without warning.

Somewhat regaining his senses, Jisung placed his hands on Minho's shoulders to gently push him away, but Minho leaned back against Jisung’s lips, starting to move his own. Jisung recoiled his head out of reach to try and get an explanation.

“Min', Minho! Wai– Wait," he said, trapping Minho's face between his hands to hold it firmly in place. “Wha– Are you drunk!? What are you doing?”

Jisung’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he waited for Minho to give him an answer. He stroked his cheeks with his thumbs to reassure him and encourage him to open up. Jisung waited, never taking his eyes off of him, without an ounce of disgust or judgment. Minho's heart broke at this realization, and his tears redoubled.

“Please don't push me away, Jisung. I need you. I'm all sober but I'm intoxicated, I don't know what the f*ck you've done to me!” he sobbed at full speed. “It hurts here when I think of you," he said, pointing to his heart. “And that's all I do, Jisung. I've been thinking about you ever since you spoke to me the other night, and I don't understand what's going on. I wanted to dance and find someone for the evening, but all I could think of was you, always you. f*ck! Jisung, when I had my hands on her it was you that I saw. Since your dance, your confession– I've fallen super low so, just– please, kiss me, love me, because even if I don't understand I can't do without now.”

Fire Up The Night - New Medicine

With Minho's face still in his hands, Jisung remained silent for long minutes after the confession. Dumbfoundedly, he blinked several times in an attempt to pull himself together, as if he were in the middle of a dream he was trying to chase away with the flutter of his eyelashes. Through his tears, which didn’t dry up, Minho noticed the gleam in Jisung's eyes flicker slightly, like the flame of a candle caught in the tumult of a draft, a reflection of his thoughts wandering on the wind of his feelings. Unable to bear the silence any longer, Minho closed his hands around Jisung's wrists to free himself, and more gently, he came to lay his lips chastely once more on Jisung's. Then, hiding his tears in Jisung’s neck, his fingers clutched around the fabric of Jisung's oversized t-shirt above his ribs.

With his face curled up between Jisung's shoulder and neck, Minho took a deep breath and let himself be enveloped by the indescribable smell. For Minho, it was both the scent of home, security and comfort, but also the perfume of the unknown. He never thought he'd find a place for himself here, so far from his certainties, but so obvious. When he had placed his lips on Jisung's, Minho had felt as if a flock of fireflies had lit his path. It was like flowers blooming in spring and leaf abscission in autumn. Minho, who wasn't supposed to be attracted to men, was attracted to Jisung. It didn't seem like the revelation of the century, just the next logical step. His lips on his and he felt it as a simple and indisputable evidence.

“Why aren't you saying anything?" Minho sniffed softly, not daring to look at Jisung.

If Jisung was unable to answer, it was partly because of the shock of Minho's revelation, but also incomprehension because he couldn't see what the other had been referring to, concerning what he'd told him a few days earlier. His emotions were on edge too, for his feelings for Minho had never faded, and the body against his own had a power over him that its holder didn't even suspect.

“I'd like to– I've got a few questions–" began Jisung. “First of all, what are you talking about? What did I say the other day?”
“At the party–" Minho breathed against his skin, rubbing his nose into Jisung's neck, who tensed under the gesture. “You told me everything that was on your mind– and your heart.”
“Oh. So it was real..." muttered Jisung to himself.

As Minho kissed him softly under the ear, Jisung let out a sigh that Minho took as encouragement. The latter then moved even closer to Jisung, who clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle a surprised moan.

“Wait, wait, wait! Minho, look at me!”

He concentrated, trying not to react to Minho's intentions, but mentally insulted himself as he felt his desire awaken, because Minho wasn't listening to him and continued his caresses. Jisung grunted and slid one of his hands along the back of the man above him, moving up gently but without hesitation. Jisung felt a shiver run through Minho's body and when his palm reached the nape of his neck, Jisung closed his fingers firmly around the purple locks there and tugged to make Minho lean back.

“I said look at me!" he repeated in a more authoritative voice, planting his gaze onto Minho's half-closed eyes.

Using that tone and force cost him superhuman effort. The only thing Jisung wanted at that moment was to give in to the warmth spreading through him. He gritted his teeth at the desperate look Minho gave him and swallowed once to try and contain himself. Minho stirred on his lap and Jisung closed his eyes to force himself not to submit to him immediately.

“Jisung–” moaned Minho, who was just as self-contained.
“Just o-one last question... What do you want?" Jisung asked, opening his eyes.
“You," Minho asserted, drawing a complaint from Jisung. “Jisung, I want you! All mine, right now.”
“D-do you even know what you're doing?”

Jisung wanted to make sure that Minho knew exactly what he was doing; he couldn't bear the idea of taking advantage of any moment of weakness. Understanding the maneuver, Minho sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically before returning them to Jisung.

“I, Lee Minho," he began solemnly, "being of sound mind and body, having drunk a single beer at the Faust and returned to the apartment, have thrown myself at Han Jisung here of my own free will, because I've been thinking of nothing but him for three f*cking days. So if Mr. Han Jisung here wants it too, I'd like us to stop talking and get carnal because, f*ck, I can't take it anymore, but if he wants written proof I'll–"
“Oh, shut the f*ck up!" Jisung cut in before plunging down to his lips.

Minho sighed as he found the contact he'd been waiting for. Jisung's tongue naturally found his to play with. His heart ecstatic at not having been rejected, he could have fainted as the sensations seemed so heightened. It was a paradox, torrid but tender at the same time. The color of desire and the color of something else colliding to create a whole new one, softer yet more vibrant.

Jisung was giving in to what his heart had been craving for so long, and Minho's hands reaching under his shirt to pull it off made him surrender. He broke the kiss and sighed as he sank back into the sofa, raising his arms to give Minho all the leisure he needed, to do what he wanted. Minho ran his fingers, trembling with anticipation, over Jisung’s uncovered chest and stomach with the delicacy reserved for fragile artworks. Minho wanted to engrave in his memory every sigh and moan that resonated for him, and an unexpected feeling brought tears to his eyes. Noticing the glimmer of sadness on Minho's face, Jisung straightened up to place his lips once on his.

“Why are you sad Min'?" he asked softly, framing Minho’s waist with his arms.
“I'm so sorry, Jisung. I'd like so hard to remember moments like these that once existed, to say that I've lost all of this–”

He didn't finish, for his voice died on a painful intonation. With his lips, Jisung wiped a tear from Minho's cheek.

“I'll give you as many new ones as you’d like until you find the old ones, Minho, I promise. Will you let me love you?”

Minho nodded gently in agreement, and Jisung leaned into his neck, kissing the skin he had missed so much. Encountering the remnants of the marks that others had left there, he passed over them again, leaving his own mark to occult the others. Minho, who was trying to unbutton his own shirt with trembling fingers, was getting annoyed that he couldn't, so Jisung pried his hands away before pulling firmly on both sides of the shirt, popping its buttons to the four corners of the room. A playful smile played across his lips as he looked up at Minho, who was staring back at him in surprise, lips ajar.

“I've always dreamed of doing that!" confessed Jisung with a giggle, running his hand over the older boy's belly. “It's usually you who rips mine off," he added before biting his lower lip sensually.
“Please do it again whenever you like, I think it turns me on.”
“Count me in, but now let me get down to business!” he warned, before pulling him back into a kiss.

Their tongues caressed hungrily, and Minho felt the full extent of how much Jisung must have missed him. The latter scratched his silky-skinned stomach before pressing his co*ck through his clothes, drawing a hoarse moan from him. With an expert move, Jisung reversed their positions, Minho finding himself sitting on the other side of the couch, the brunette on top of him, unbuttoning his pants and taking his length between his fingers to stroke him with a slowness that seemed unbearable. Jisung ran his tongue over Minho's lips and sucked on his lower lip for a moment before detaching himself completely.

“Condom!" he ordered breathlessly.

Minho slipped his hand into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out three square packages still attached together. He detached one, handing it to Jisung and tossed the others aside.

“That's my favorite slu*t!" grinned Jisung.

Minho let out an excited moan, and his dick pulsed in Jisung's hand, his smile widening all the more.

“Uh-oh? Lee Minho likes to be degraded?”
“Shut up!" growled the aforementioned.
“With pleasure!" Jisung replied with a wink before sliding down from Minho's lap to kneel between his thighs, tearing open the condom wrapper.

Jisung grabbed Minho's hips to pull him closer to the edge of the couch before asking him to raise his hips so he could remove his pants and underwear. Then, kissing the small scar near Minho’s navel, he quickly unrolled the latex onto Minho’s straining co*ck before running his tongue over its tip a few times. Jisung raised his charming gaze to Minho’s right before taking him in his mouth.

Minho watched as Jisung swallowed him and, catching a few brown strands of hair into his fist, threw his head back in an unconcealed cry of pleasure. The warmth of Jisung’s mouth around his co*ck was exquisite, and the tongue sucking and lavishing his length hungrily made his eyes flutter with a litany of moans. Minho had to force himself violently not to start jerking his hips and begin to f*ck Jisung's mouth. Because in this particular moment, Minho realized that Jisung wasn't like any other he'd ever slept with. He sensed that it sounded wrong, that sex with Jisung wasn't meant to be like this, that it was something bigger, something he couldn't name at that moment.

In this oh-so-erotic position, with Jisung between his thighs licking him in the most delectable imaginable sensation, Minho felt a pang of guilt emerge as he neared his climax. He felt as if he were degrading, defiling Jisung, and it was becoming unbearable for him.

“I-hn– Jisung," he begged, stroking Jisung's jaw to make his confusion clear. “Please, st– aah!”

A muffled cry escaped him as Jisung took his full length down his throat, just once, before pulling back and waiting for Minho to tell him what he wanted.

“Kiss me,” Minho whimpered, pulling Jisung against him. “Be my equal, be the one to take all the pleasure tonight, I–”
“I'll guide you then," Jisung breathed against his lips.

Minho nodded briskly and watched as Jisung rose to his feet and held out his hand. He followed him through the apartment to Jisung's room, their room, somewhat uncomfortable at being the only one completely naked. Jisung noticed his confusion and pushed him onto the bed, him still standing. He removed the last of his clothes sensuously.

“Don't ever be embarrassed to be naked in front of me!" Jisung said, sitting on top of his hips. “You're the most beautiful man in my eyes," he added, running his hands over the dancer's abs. “Do you want to see what you're doing to me?" he finally asked, before placing his lips against Minho's.

The latter let out a moan of approval which bled into the kiss, and clung to Jisung's neck when he felt him straighten them up into a sitting position on the mattress. Then Jisung broke the contact of their tongues and lips to lie on his back to Minho’s side under his astonished gaze.

“Look at me Minho, look what you're doing to me," Jisung purred, running his hands over his own body, his eyes half-closed. “And when you're unable to hold back any longer, know that you can do whatever you want with me," he moaned.

Minho felt his dick throbbing anarchically and the burn in his lower belly becoming even worse. Jisung didn't take his eyes off of him as he spread his legs slightly to reveal his reddened erection and, sighing Minho’s name, lowered one hand even further. Minho blushed like a startled virgin at the scene unfolding in front of him, and his fists closed painfully around the sheets when Jisung moaned as his finger circled his rim before disappearing inside of him, one by one.

Unable to bear it any longer, Minho went to shyly wrap his fingers around Jisung’s straining co*ck and gently caressed it, wringing a high-pitched cry from Jisung. Minho felt the frantic beating of his heart right through his fingers, gorged with pride at being the one to generate these reactions from Jisung.

“Aah– Min-ho hnn,” whined the latter as Minho's fingers became more sure and rapid around his shaft. “Ah! Yes–”

Jisung had just grazed his prostate with his fingertips, generating a painfully pleasurable feeling, but the angle he'd taken prevented him from pleasuring himself as much as he wanted, and he began to moan in frustration. On the verge of tears, unable to finish himself off at the moment, he turned his misty gaze towards Minho, who was watching him religiously, mouth ajar and breathless.

“Min' I– not alone, can’t aah–,” he moaned when the dancer tightened his fingers around the head of his co*ck. “Min' come, I– please– fill me up.”

Minho let himself be carried away by lust and positioned himself on top of him. He performed his movements with an ardor that was new to him, fast, somewhat clumsy, hesitant at times. Jisung begged again, his hands clinging desperately to the dancer's muscular thighs, urging him to act. And Minho finally granted Jisung’s request, his mind fading to white. Jisung's flesh around his dick, so warm and tight. Jisung's erotic whimpers filling the air made Minho’s heart plummet in his chest. Jisung's nails digging into his skin, Minho’s mouth and tongue on Jisung’s salty skin... As Minho thrust his hips to a rhythm that their mutual desire imposed, he saw the light dance before his eyes, exploding in colored spots like in a kaleidoscope.

And when he grazed Jisung's sensitive spot for the first time, Jisung's scream could have driven him mad. He did it again, and again, taking pride in the privilege to help Jisung sink into lust, of being the tool helping him to get lost in pleasure. And when they both came at the same moment in a cacophony of moans, Minho thought he'd just experienced the best org*sm of his short, memorable life.

He withdrew with all the gentleness he could and removed the condom before tossing it into the bin not far from the bed, and returned to Jisung's side, who was still in a daze. He took the opportunity to wipe away the traces of the latter's pleasure with a tissue he grabbed from the bedside table, then lay down in turn and they both let themselves be won over by the most peaceful doze, snuggled up against each other.

Minho had just experienced the flash, the most powerful high of his life as an addict, and he knew that after a trip like that, he'd definitely lost the will to ever wean himself off Jisung.

On My Own - Ashes Remain

When Minho began to emerge from his sleep at dawn, he didn't immediately realize why he was there. He turned his face gently on the pillow and, in the half-light of the room, his eyes fell onto the person beside him. And he blushed imperceptibly. He couldn't help smiling at what he guessed more than he actually saw: Jisung, sound asleep, his breathing steady and soothing.

He was lying on his stomach, his arms wrapped around his pillow and the sheets leaving his back uncovered. Jisung’s face was turned towards Minho, crushed against the pillow, giving a forced asymmetrical position to his ajar lips and amplifying the roundness of his cheek against the fabric. A few messy brown strands of hair caressed his exposed forehead and cheekbone, and Minho gazed at him motionlessly as if he were in an art museum.

December mornings weren't warm, even at home, but the warmth in Minho's heart at this very moment kept him from feeling cold as he rose quietly from the bed. He pulled the comforter up over Jisung, who sighed with contentment and tightened his arms around his pillow. Then, with hushed steps, still as naked as he'd arrived there, Minho left the room to shower and get dressed, feeling light-headed.

That morning, after breakfast, he left the apartment early. He had planned to sort out so many things, because in the current state of his life, after all the sh*t he'd created thinking he was doing the right thing, it was impossible for him, in this very moment, to look confidently into their future.

Because he'd made so many people suffer, because he'd behaved so irresponsibly and disreputably, Minho wasn't yet able to face his feelings. He felt even less able to face Jisung, because he considered that he would only bring chaos and pain to his already troubled life if he decided to be selfish now.

Two days. That was all Minho allowed himself. Two short days, to sort it all out, to get his life back on track. Two infinitely long days to toil to make amends, start afresh, forgive himself and get back on track to truly deserve what he dared to hope from Jisung. What Minho didn't know, however, was that he was already up to the task.

While Minho set out on the path he hoped would lead him to the dawn of his brand-new, respectable life, the sun continued its slow ascent towards the zenith. And when the first rays came through the window to tickle his senses, unaware of it all, Jisung emerged from sleep in his turn. His head still cradled in his pillow, he yawned as he groped at his side, and when his fingers met only emptiness and cold, he abruptly raised his head, one eye still closed so as not to be dazzled, and pouted as he confirmed that Minho was no longer there.

The latter was coming out of a hairdressing salon, his beautiful chestnut hair back in place. The dancer had decided to settle down, and that had to start with his hair color, he had to erase the traces of that ridiculous and childish act of rebellion he'd found funny at the time but which in reality resembled more of a pitiful, belated adolescent crisis. And as he regained his wiser appearance, his phone had rung several times, Minho declining the calls each time. Not yet, not now, it was still too early. He'd been fiddling with his cell for long minutes, not daring to do what he should. The hairdresser had noticed his customer's behavior and, surely thinking of an unfaithful man with a guilty conscience, had innocently slipped in a "sometimes you have no choice but to be honest and apologize, it's a bad time but it's for the best" that sounded like encouragement. And Minho, catching his gaze in the mirror, had shyly stammered out a meaningful "thank you" before sending that damn text to his sister.

I know you're back.

I'd like to apologize.

Can we meet, Miyeon?

Here we go! Have you
rediscovered your conscience?

Or did someone beat the sh*t
out of you, like you deserve?

Nothing like that, just...
please, let's meet!

Today!

Okay, I'll send you my address.

Minho arrived at Miyeon's house that afternoon with a sinking feeling in his stomach. His little sister had come home to spend the festive season with her friends, who were still studying in South Korea. He had heard about this from Changbin a few weeks earlier, as Changbin's sister was friends with Miyeon and was looking forward to seeing her again.

When he rang the apartment doorbell, he had to force himself not to run away when he came face to face with her. Even if he hadn't seen a photo of her, he would have recalled her, because she looked so strangely like him, with her piercing eyes and the same little nose.

“Did you finally realize you've become an asshole?" she asked by way of hello, her eyes crinkling.
“Yah! I'm still older than you, you owe me respect!" he snapped, causing her to click her tongue.
“Your entire memory is less than three months old. You're the one born yesterday now!"

Minho muttered incomprehensible things, holding himself back from insulting his sister out of anger, the swear words flying around in his head, even though he didn't mean a single one of them.

“Move your flat ass and get in, Minho," she sighed at the lack of retort she'd expected to receive.

She moved aside to let him in and closed the door behind him before taking his coat and making him settle down on the sofa. Miyeon disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

“I'm allergic to lactose," Minho said.
“First, you say 'intolerant' and then, you think I’m dumb? Of course my brother's lactose intolerant, it's oat milk. You're a pain in the ass, but I have no intention of killing you by faking an unfortunate accident.”
“You wouldn't be the first–”

Miyeon flinched at Minho's reference to his own accident but said nothing, waiting for her brother to continue.

“You know, just like all of you, I lost everything that day. Even if I don't know what, I lost it. I felt like an alien who'd landed by mistake and was forced to live a life that wasn't mine," he sniffed, looking at the chocolate drink in the cup between his hands. “I screwed up, Miyeon, I'm sorry. Not that it excuses my behavior, but I wanted to at least tell you that I'm sorry– and that I'm sure you're a great sister, even if I don't remember it–”
“The most beautiful," she said.
“Yes, you're right– Wait, what?!” exclaimed Minho, looking at his sister with an outraged expression. “I'm trying to be serious here!”
“I know, I'm not even mad at you anymore!” she said, taking him in her arms.

And Minho returned her embrace, genuinely happy to have been able to apologize to her. He felt a little better now that he could take her in his arms, like a first step towards reconnecting with his past. Like rummaging through a box full of trinkets relegated to the attic for nostalgic moments.

“But you have to admit, I'm the most beautiful!”
“That's because you look like me, you've got no personality to begin with!” he teased back.

They both giggled in the embrace, then stayed that way for a while before parting to finish their hot chocolates.

When she asked him why he'd changed his ways, Minho told her how he'd made Jisung suffer, the debauched evenings, the one-night stands, their quarrel, the press criticism, the time he'd tried to end it all... the time Jisung had saved his life, and yet he'd continued his bullsh*t despite their reconciliation, even though something had changed in him. He also recounted the party, Jisung's confession, how he'd felt– he told her everything except for the last night, wanting to be the only one to cherish it.

“My God, Minho! Jisung always told me that things were fine between you when I had him on the phone! You– you–?" she questioned, gesturing with her hands.
“You what?" sighed the dancer.
“And now, do you–”
“Love him? Yes, I think so– If loving someone means being afraid of losing them and never being able to get over it, that's clearly the case, and that's why I want to put everything back in order, because right now I don't deserve him.”

At these words, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, displaying a photo of Jisung. Minho looked at the photo until the screen went black again. The vibrations started again, displaying again and again the same picture of him, smiling beneath his full cheeks, and Minho could have started crying at that moment, so sick was he of heartache. A missed call and a voice message spawned into his notification center, adding to the others. Twenty-six missed calls. As many as the number of years he'd forgotten.

“Why don't you pick up?" his sister asked softly.
“Not yet, Miyeon, there's one last thing I've got to do tomorrow before– well, you know. Can I borrow your sofa tonight?" he asked, making his puppy-dog pout.

Just before noon the next day, Minho accompanied Miyeon to the nearest metro station and gave her one last hug before she left to meet her friends. The dancer then walked through the streets of Seoul to his destination: the hospital.

He had requested a full health check-up, as well as a screening test for various STDs. Because his greatest fear now was that the universe had decided to punish him for his casual and occasionally risky behavior. That his life had become pointless, or too short, or become too difficult because of some incurable and fatal disease. He'd had one drunken party after another, had had one partner after another, under conditions and circ*mstances that weren't always the most hygienic, and while he'd always used the necessary protection, he just wanted to be sure that he'd never put Jisung's health at risk. Because he'd never be able to forgive himself if he did. Because that would be even worse than dying himself.

The nurse who did his blood test congratulated him on his initiative, which she found charming and commendable, but Minho felt all the guiltier for it, and all the more stressed as he awaited the results. He had no intention of going home until everything had been perfectly checked, until he was one hundred percent reassured. So he waited for several hours, shaking his legs with the anguish he felt as he sat on that yellow wooden chair. The laboratory was overwhelmed by a viral epidemic, and so the tests requested by the resident doctors took priority over his own.

“Lee Minho?” asked a nurse, making him jump from his chair.

She smiled at him, took him to a cubicle to ensure the confidentiality of their exchange, and handed him the envelope with his results.

“Everything's fine Mr. Lee, no serious illness, no STD, not even Covid! And your liver's fine too," she laughed, because he'd insisted on checking for cancer, "but if you're that scared, cut down on the alcohol!”
“Oh god– you can count on me, no more bullsh*t," he said, a little embarrassed. “Thank you, doctor!”

Minho left the hospital as calmly as possible, his envelope under his arm, but started running as fast as he could through the sliding doors of the airlock leading outside. He wanted to get back to Jisung as quickly as possible, to finally acknowledge the feelings he had been denying until now. And as he ran, he pressed on Jisung's name in the contacts list of his phone and put it to his ear, eager to hear his voice and tell him he was on his way. His call went to voicemail when he was only two blocks away from the apartment.

"Yo! This is Jisung, please leave your message after the signal."
“Jisung, it's me, I'll be there soon!" he said breathlessly. “In 5... 4... 3... 2... 1.”

And he hung up as he began to type in the secret code, rushing back into the apartment and hastily kicking off his shoes, dropping his envelope in the hallway.

“It's me, I'm home–” he said in a weak breath.

He caught his breath for a moment, pressing his hands against his kneecaps and breathing through his mouth, but when no one answered after several long seconds he announced himself again, louder.

“Jisung! I'm home!”

Only silence answered him.

The End is Not the Answer - Three Days Grace

Minho? Where are you? I didn't see you when I woke up.

It's me again– what time do you think you'll be back?

Minho, please answer, I'm worried. Call me back– tell me everything's okay.

Okay, I got it– bye Minho.

As he listened to his voice messages, a lump formed in Minho's stomach and he began to tremble. The last message he'd received the day before, when he was still with his sister, was the one that worried him most. Jisung's voice was atonal, as if devoid of emotion. Foreshadowing the worst, Minho dropped his phone to rush into the apartment, his socks causing him to slip and nearly fall in the corridor as he made his way to Jisung's room, not knowing what to expect.

He knocked on the door, but no one answered on the other side, so he entered. As he got into the room where he'd spent his first night with Jisung, he recoiled at the unmade bed and the posters and pictures that no longer adorned the walls. In the adjoined bathroom, Jisung's toothbrush was no longer in the cup on the edge of the sink. Walking back into the bedroom, Minho moved his trembling hand towards one of the panels of the cupboard beside the door, and tears began to roll down his cheeks when he noticed it was empty.

He grabbed his cell phone from his jeans pocket and tried several times to reach Jisung, but it was invariably his voicemail that answered. He wandered around the empty room for a while, his gaze lost, and shuffled aimlessly down the corridor to the kitchen. His mind in slow motion, his vision blurred, his movements drained of energy, he reflexively grabbed a blue envelope lying on the counter, and his hands began to shake again as he recognized Jisung's handwriting.

He pulled out the letter and unfolded it with difficulty, almost tearing the paper as his spasms were so uncontrollable. His eyes raced over the missive, tears falling onto the paper, causing the ink to fuse in a gradation of blue where small storm drops came to crash beside the remains of another storm. And Minho collapsed like a dislocated puppet on the kitchen floor, the letter still between his fingers. If he was still conscious, his mind had retreated as he read the words addressed to him.

Minho,

I kept calling you, and you never picked up. Was that so hard? To tell me you didn't want me, that you regretted what we've done? Minho, I stopped counting how many times I called you, clinging to the idea that maybe you loved me, that maybe I mattered. I’ve spent days, weeks, months patching up my heart, picking up the pieces one by one, tirelessly, because I wanted to rebuild everything. For myself, but especially for you. I would have waited for you all this life and the one after alike if I had to.

I managed to keep my suffering heart alive all this time, with tears and sacrifices, but I held on, held on... ready to abandon you if that's what you needed, against my will. If only you knew how happy I was when you begged me to love you and you couldn't do without me, when I kissed your lips for the first time in six months, when I felt your heart beating so hard and so fast against mine... And if only you knew how much I suffered when I woke up alone in the cold sheets that had seen me love you and give you everything I had left.

All I had left, Minho! It was the love I had for you and the hope I had that we could repair ourselves. So I put the pieces of my heart in the palms of your hands that night, because you were the only one who could fix me, the only one who could melt gold to hold the pieces together and make it even more beautiful. But when I woke up naked in the folds of our sheets, and you filtered out all my worried calls, I realized I'd just been another one-night stand on your list of achievements. When I realized that you had turned my love for you into a weakness, that you had taken advantage of my feelings for one night, the only thing I recovered was the dust of my heart that had been crushed, finished off by your own hands. I made the mistake of believing that you could rebuild everything in a more beautiful way, in ten, a hundred or maybe a thousand words... but you destroyed it all with your silence.

I'm leaving Minho. Soon, but you won't see me again. I've booked a one-way ticket abroad. Because I can't stand being here anymore, where everything reminds me of what I'll never have again.

Farewell Minho.
J.

Minho's pain was dull. The tiniest little cracks he'd accumulated inside him turned into chasms, ocean abysses, deeper even than the Mariana Trench. Dull to the point where he vaguely wondered whether he still existed or whether he was scattered to the four winds, tossed by the currents. The pain was mute and dry too, with no more tears to prevent him from drowning in the guilt where the unsaid had led him. No tears for salvation, no words to describe it. It was the worst kind of pain, so strong that it overrode physical sensations, leaving Minho with no bearings to hold on to. A pain that could make you lose your mind if you endured it too much. No screams, no tears and no physical torture.

Minho felt his body start to move on its own, without trying to control or stop it. He just wanted to lose consciousness, but that pain wouldn't give him the chance. His legs carried him into Jisung's room and led him to the bed, head buried in a pillow, and the only thing Minho was able to breathe in was the scent of absence. The slightest trace of Jisung had disappeared, right down to his scent, which had not survived in the crumpled sheets.

With a herculean effort, because it seemed to him that he was slowly turning to stone, he dialed Jisung's number and put the phone to his ear. This time, only the automatic voice mail greeted his leaden heart; even Jisung's voice now seemed to have disappeared forever, as if he'd never existed. Minho left his message, saying that there had been a mistake, that Jisung had to come back, that he was waiting for him. And as he hung up, Minho laid back in the sheets, clutching the pillow, and only one thought crossed his mind before drifting off to sleep. You'll cry again tomorrow.

But there were no tears left to cry that day either. Just the drumming of an aggrieved heart that seemed to fill the thick silence that reigned in the apartment. And Minho realized at that moment how it was Jisung who had always kept life going around him. Because of amnesia he had lost his past, and without a past the future didn't exist, Minho's life was stuck in the present, and his only stability in that temporality was Jisung. Jisung, who was there one day at a time, never failing in his duties.

In his pain, Minho called again and again, for hours on end, inevitably leaving a message with each call. Wiped out, unable to cry, but still able to torture himself by wondering if Jisung was listening to his messages, deleting them as he went along. His mental torture ended when he tried to call again.

"Your correspondent's voicemail can no longer receive messages, please try again later"

A second night of dreamless, unrelieving sleep came at this point. And he greeted Hypnos as he would have Thanatos, weakly and secretly hoping that his pain would cease and that death would take pity on him. But there was no mercy for the broken-hearted and the lonely. And when he awoke at dawn on the second day without him, or perhaps it was already the third, Minho thought that this was his punishment, the Universe's plan of retaliation against him. It was the Universe that had let him pull himself up as far as possible before pushing him off the cliff, that had given him a glimpse of what he could have aspired to if he'd been a good person.

A surprising phenomenon occurs when the pain becomes too much, and Minho discovered what it was like to be out of time. Frozen, annihilated, he felt as if the emptiness inside him was overtaking his own contours and swallowing him whole in its turn. The pain and emptiness in his heart had taken up so much that he had the strange sensation of being in the middle of the void, that the roles had switched, leaving him in a kind of temporal blindness, unaware of the time passing by.

After a while, the pain slowly receded, giving way to an unpleasant numbness, like when the blood starts circulating properly again. And it was unbearable for Minho, who had become accustomed to the emptiness. Thus, as the glowing sun declined and took the only light with it, Minho crawled to the kitchen cupboard to take down whatever bottles he could find.

The dancer drank the night away, relying on the seemingly warm—but actually cold—embrace of liquors to soothe his seasick heart and lighten his stormy soul. And when the end of the vodka bottle broke the small nacre shell around his heart, Minho finally began to cry. A little, a lot, passionately, madly. But he'd come to terms with the "not at all" of the last few days.

He had to find someone to blame. And there was only himself, so he staggered into the bathroom and leaned on the edge of the sink to regain his balance, facing himself. In the mirror, his reflection had reddened eyes and a pale complexion, iridescent trails had been left on his cheeks by the streaks of tears. It was too much, and for a moment Minho tipped his head back as he laughed out loud, before returning to stare at the man facing him, awkwardly taking a step back.

“Are you crying now?" he asked the reflection with a fatalistic sneer. “Suit yourself, Minho, cry! You're only good at screwing things up. Did you ever get your hopes up?" he questioned and waited, as if his reflection was about to answer him. “You never deserved to have any hopes, your hands destroy everything they touch! You destroyed Jisung!" he shouted. “You broke absolutely everything that mattered to you, because you're a f*cking loser. It's all your fault!”

He grabbed the cup lying on the edge of the sink and hurled it violently against his reflection. The mirror cracked, multiplying Minho's image in its many new facets.

“It's your fault, so cry, Minho!” he added, before collapsing onto the bathroom tiles, against the shower wall.

His hands fell limply to his side, on the cold sandstone floor, and his fingers met the hard plastic of the cup he'd thrown away earlier. As he pushed it away with his fingertips, something fell from it with a clink, and Minho groped until his fingers closed over the object in question, making his tears redouble.

He brought his closed fist to his chest, letting out a sob-strangled cry of pain, then opened his hand with new gentleness, caressing the contours of the silver ring that lay there with the fingers of his other hand. Then his trembling hand moved to his neck, where he grabbed a chain that was disappearing beneath his clothes before snatching it up and placing it next to Jisung's ring in his hand.

Minho stared for a moment at the necklace he'd only taken off to go out clubbing. The ring he'd kept hidden all this time against his heart dangling at the end of the chain, next to its twin. The ring he'd lied about getting rid of months before, but had never been able to part with. And as his ring found its soulmate, Minho cried all the tears left in his body as he watched the twins lie side by side in his hand. And in a flash of bright light he collapsed, unconscious on the cold bathroom floor.

Minho stared at the two rings in his hand, the happiest man on earth. He carefully placed them back in the black velvety box before tucking it away in the inside pocket of his coat and throwing himself around the neck of a dark-haired boy.

“Thank you Hyunjin, they are so beautiful! If he says yes, you'll have to make the wedding rings for us!”

The black-haired man laughed and broke away from the embrace to grab him by the shoulders.

“As if Jisung would refuse a marriage proposal from you!”

Minho frowned as the world around him began to undulate and looked at Hyunjin without understanding. The boy's lips moved without any sound coming through.

“What?" Minho asked.
“I said: now is the time, the end is not the answer," said Hyunjin before pushing him into the abyss that had opened beneath his feet.

And Minho awoke with a startle on the tiled floor, a migraine pulsing in his temples.

The End is Where We Begin - Thousand Foot Krutch

Minho instantly regretted drinking the night before as he swallowed two painkillers, which he had managed to find in one of the kitchen drawers, with the help of a large glass of water. Reflecting on his strange dream, the very one that had awakened him, his migraine intensified, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. His glass still in his hand, he caught himself on the edge of the counter to keep from falling as his vision blurred and a shrill tinnitus echoed in his right ear, making him wince. The glass of water abruptly slipped from his fingers and smashed against the floor, splashing water and sharp pieces all over the kitchen.

He brought his hands to his temples as the world whirled around him, making him seasick, and laughter seemed to fill the apartment. One laugh in particular resounded just behind him, making him swirl. He widened his eyes in surprise at the sight.

“Come on, Minhoooo!" said the one laughing with an adorable little pout.

He couldn't understand why Jisung was standing there in his cream hoodie, far too big for him. Taking an uncertain step towards him and extending his arm in his direction, Minho was about to speak when he heard his own voice join in.

“No, we're not making pancakes for dinner!”
“But you promised," sulked Jisung.
“For tomorrow’s breakfast then–”

Minho closed his arms around Jisung's waist and placed a small kiss on the tip of his nose. The younger let the most beautiful smile Minho had ever seen bloom on his face before placing his lips tenderly on his.

“So what's for dinner?" asked Jisung.
“You of course!” Minho retorted, making the younger burst out laughing, before diving for his neck.

Minho suffocated, his heart caught in a vice grip. He leaned forward, his hand on his chest as he tried to catch his breath. He staggered back to the living room, making no attempt to avoid the shards of glass his bare feet came across; he had to sit down before he collapsed.

“Oh, you've cut yourself!" exclaimed Jisung's worried voice.
“Don't panic! It's just a paper cut, darling!”

The scenery blurred in front of Minho’s eyes as it changed abruptly, turning into a more unpleasant one.

“Do your own bandaging! You shouldn't have touched me. I wouldn't have pushed you and you wouldn't have twisted your ankle when you fell! I've already told you to stay away from me!”

Minho threw the first-aid kit next to Jisung on the floor and left him in a lurch to lock himself in his room, slamming the door.

Again and again. It changed fast. From one scene to another. So fast that Minho had a hard time finding his breath, as if he was struggling and fighting to keep his head out of raging waters.

Jisung fetched the disinfectant and bandages, and took care of the tiny wound with tear-filled eyes, which made Minho laugh and pinch his cheek gently.

“Why are you so cute like that?" he asked.
“Stop it, paper cuts hurt like hell!” cried Jisung. “I don't know what's gotten into me, I'm so emotional today," he added.
“It's because you've been working on your demo for three days now," Minho scolded him falsely.

The memories hit Minho with full force, one succeeding another without warning, leaving him even more lost. Memories from before his accident resurfaced and more recent ones mixed together. He flinched as he heard crying at his side. And Minho's eyes widened in horror because he hadn't forgotten that moment.

Jisung was in tears, on the sofa, his composition sheets strewn across the table and floor, his guitar clutched tightly against him.

“f*ck, you're tiring with your sh*tty compositions, can't we have some peace and quiet in this apartment?”
“But– Minho, I–”
“Damn, I got home really late, I'm still hungover, and you wake me up with your music! How could I put up with that? Are you sure I wasn't telling you it bothered me?”
“You liked it!" sobbed Jisung.
“Well, it's a shame, I don't remember it.”

Minho began to tremble as he realized how obnoxious he'd been to Jisung. He brought a trembling hand to his mouth to hold back a cry of pain at the vision of that moment.

“What are you cooking?" asked Jisung, hugging him lovingly from the back.

“And I'm not allowed to eat?” spat Minho.
“Shut up, for God's sake!" snapped Jisung, waving the kitchen knife in front of him.

Jisung brought his trembling hands to his mouth, his eyes filling with tears. Minho looked so handsome on his knees in their candle lit living room, decorated with hundreds of pale pink peonies.

“Will you become my wi– my husband!?”

Jisung laughed through his tears at Minho's blunder. Minho blushed furiously as he opened the box containing the two silver rings, embarrassed at having lost his nerve at such an important moment, and Jisung found him adorable.

“Your wife or your husband! Whatever you want Minho, yes I want it!” he replied before throwing himself around his neck to kiss him.

“Your Minho is dead and so is love! I killed him, now get it into your head as quickly as possible and leave me alone!”
“You're right– Minho's dead, I don't need this anymore!" said Jisung before throwing his engagement ring violently against his chest.

The dancer screamed his pain and beat his chest through the tears that were now ravaging his face. It was unbearable for him to have such beautiful memories mixed with all the horrors he'd said and done. Every memory that came back to him and that he wanted to cherish was shattered like crystal against the story he had created from scratch. And in this collision of two memories all of them opposed, every joy bore the stigma of so much monstrosity.

Minho staggered through the apartment, almost falling once he stepped outside. The weight of guilt closed its claws around his lungs, leaving him breathless. The realization that he had destroyed what he had built with his own hands, that he had spilled indelible ink on the white petals of his moments with Jisung, was driving him to the edge of madness. With his vision plunged into the resurfacing past, he made his way like an automaton to Chris's apartment. Minho didn't know how, or by what miracle, he knew where to go, but he trusted his instincts and, on that cold mid-December morning, struck a staccato on a green-painted door and collapsed on his knees in the doorway.

When he went to open the door that morning, Chan had expected everything except finding a prostrated Minho on his door mat. He crouched down to try and straighten the dancer, but to no avail: Minho seemed to be in a state of shock, completely cut off from the outside world. After a few minutes, Chan decided it was probably best to call the emergency services and grabbed his cell phone.

He didn't have time to dial 119. Minho looked up at him in shock and grabbed his cell phone, typing a number he had at his fingertips on the screen before bringing the device to his ear as the older man looked on in astonishment. Chan recognized the number he was trying to reach and cut the call.

“Why are you doing this Chris, I've got to find him!" the dancer implored, letting a few tears escape. “I've got to find him," he whispered again.
“He's leaving, Minho. Do you hate him enough to stop him from trying to be happy? I beg you, stop the farce, let him go. You can't go on like this Minho, he's suffered enough too.”
“But I love him!" Minho shouted, startling his friend. “Chris, I can't stand what I've done to him, I've got to ask for his forgiveness, even if he doesn't want me anymore, I can't leave him like this!”
“It's too late, he's going to leave.”
“He's going to leave?" repeated Minho as a tiny flame rekindled in his eyes. “He's going to leave! Not ‘he's gone’, Chan?” he asked, shaking the older man by the shoulders. “When? Where? Answer me!”
“Soon, that's all I know– and that he bought the ticket at home.”
“Chan, you're a genius!”

In his euphoria, Minho slapped a kiss on his friend's cheek before hurriedly rising to his feet and speeding off, leaving Chris to observe him, one eyebrow raised and his hand on his cheek, from his doorstep. In the middle of the road, the dancer turned around without stopping to run.

“Don't forget you're supposed to be my best man!” he shouted.

And the older smiled broadly, moved when he finally realized that Minho had returned. The latter rushed back home and rummaged around for some time, finally finding what he was looking for, and his heart lurched wildly as he realized. He made a quick phone call, jumped into the shower and ate a ready-made meal he found in the fridge, which had not passed its expiration date. When he'd finished, Minho left everything on the counter and hurriedly put on his coat and shoes before making his way to the sidewalk. At the same time, a car pulled up in front of him and someone got out in a hurry.

“Damn it, Changbin, I almost had to wait! Give me your keys!" Minho ordered, holding out his hand.
“What, Minho? What the–”
“Vital emergency, don't ask any questions and give me the f*cking car keys!”

Changbin had no choice but to capitulate, as Minho grabbed the keys himself and was already behind the steering wheel. He sped off, leaving Changbin on the sidewalk, the victim of a carjacking by one of his friends.

Behind the wheel of the sedan, Minho watched the miles go by, his anxious gaze regularly diverting to the digital clock on the dashboard, and as the minutes ticked by, he began to feel more and more anxious. He prayed that traffic would continue to flow smoothly, and pressed the gas pedal a little harder. To hell with speed limits today.

Arriving at his destination, he straddled two parking spaces under the grumbles of some of the people around, and rushed out of the vehicle, running for his life. As he entered the hall, Minho recoiled at the sight of the crowd moving in all directions. He looked around for any help he could get to orientate himself and started running again, regularly bumping into someone. The minute hand on his watch was moving much faster than expected and his hands were starting to get clammy.

Minho uttered a curse when an announcement was made and turned back to run in the direction he'd just come from. He had no time, no more time, and now he had to pay the price for his sense of direction.

"Boarding for the flight to London is about to end at gate K"

As he passed the gate J’s beacon, Minho quickened his pace. He didn't care if he died of a heart attack, the only thing he could think about was the words he was going to use. A surge of panic swept over him as he considered for a moment that he might already be too late, and he began to slow down, on the verge of fainting. Run, you fool, it'll be too late when you die. He forced his legs to go again, despite his shortness of breath. Until the last second, Minho.

Recognizing a familiar beanie and hoodie in the distance, his heart raced like the first time, burning in his chest, or maybe it was his strained lungs calling him to order. He flew the last fifty meters to his goal, finally throwing himself against his back. His arms closed gently but firmly around the body against him, like a cage, and he buried his chin between the man's shoulder blades, gorging himself on his all-too-familiar scent.

The boy gasped as he felt a body against his and arms capturing him. And when the scent of jasmine shampoo wafted around and enveloped him, he knew he was going to miss his flight, because his heart wouldn't have the courage to leave now that he was here. He let go of the handle of his suitcase, which fell to the ground with a clatter.

“Minho?" breathed Jisung in a trembling voice.
“Hm– it's me," replied a soft voice behind his back, his arms still tightening around him.

Jisung stood there for a moment, arms flailing, before unhooking the arm around his torso and the one around his waist in an effort that put his heart to the test. He turned to Minho, detailing his new hair color for a moment, then took a step back to distance himself from him.

“How did you know?”
“The computer history–”
“sh*t," Jisung uttered with an embarrassed pout, lowering his head.
“Yeah, sh*t– and if you weren't so stingy you wouldn't have waited for a Tuesday when flights were cheaper–”
“I'm not stingy, I'm–”
“Thrifty. Yes, yes, that's what you've always said.”

Jisung frowned at the familiar remark as Minho closed the gap between them. Minho grasped Jisung's hand with all the delicacy he was capable of. In his eyes, Jisung was as fragile and precious as an edelweiss. With a trembling hand, Minho took out the silver ring from the bottom of his pocket and slipped it on Jisung's finger, who returned his gaze filled with surprise, shock, hope and questions. All at once.

“I remember telling you once: every day of my life that I'll wake up by your side, my love.”

Jisung's eyes widened even more and began to fill with tears, which silently rolled down his cheeks as their gazes locked. Minho wiped away the iridescent streaks with his thumbs, keeping his beloved's face in his hands. Minho took a final breath to give himself courage as he began to weep in turn.

“If you ever forgive me. If you still want me–”

Sunrise - Victon

“Yes, I do.”

Hyunjin hastened to bring the wedding rings, which he had made himself and which were now arranged in a small antique wooden box. Just as he was about to join the almost newlyweds on the dais, he caught his feet on the first step and stumbled, regaining his balance in extremis before any drama. Minho huffed and rolled his eyes, while Jisung giggled as discreetly as possible behind his hand. Hyunjin turned around, embarrassed by his clumsiness, and bowed repeatedly, apologizing under the laughter of the guests present that day.

“Did he really have to be the ring bearer?" Minho whispered to Jisung.
“He insisted, although I think it would have been safer if it had been someone else," replied the younger in the same tone.
“Eh? If I'm bothering you, I can still walk away with them!" exclaimed the jeweler, outraged.
“Come on, come on, you're making a spectacle of yourself, Hyune darling!”

Jeongin had just intervened, rising from his place in the front row to take the box from Hyunjin’s hands and hand it to Minho before grabbing Hyunjin by his tie to force him to sit back down next to him. And Hyunjin obediently followed suit, a smug look on his face. A clearing of someone's throat turned everyone's attention back to the person standing beside the couple on the dais, and Seungmin pushed the pair of glasses up his nose and looked briefly at the pages in his hand before speaking.

“I now pronounce you husband and– well husband! You may now exchange rings and kiss. But please don't force yourselves: if you're too shy, we won't hold it against you and– ew! You're disgusting!”

Seungmin hid his eyes behind his papers to the general hilarity when Minho grabbed Jisung's face between his cupped hands to place dozens of butterfly kisses all over his face before finally making their lips meet tenderly. Shouts of joy and applause echoed around the room as they continued to exchange that chaste kiss.

More than a year had passed since Minho had caught Jisung at the airport. More than three hundred and sixty-five days since he'd regained his memory, and as many days spent making amends with Jisung. Minho had finally come back as the person he'd been before, madly in love with Jisung, even more than before, and once again at the peak of his dancing career. He'd been unable to resign himself to the mediocre performance he'd been able to give while still suffering from amnesia, and when he'd returned to the stage six months later, he'd put on the most incredible dance presentation his audience had ever seen. Critics were more than enthusiastic, calling it "the show of the century" and praising the rediscovered genius of the great Lee Minho. And the dancer took advantage of the inquisitive press gathering at the exit to announce, to everyone's surprise, that he had just performed his final movement and had chosen to retire as a professional.

Minho's first love had been dancing and performing, but the most important thing in his life had always been Jisung. Dancing and the glory that came with recognition had almost cost him everything. So, when the younger had forgiven him for all the hardships, Minho had decided to end his career on a high note before he could finally take Jisung as his lawful husband. And he knew it was a decision he'd never regret, because no matter the obstacles: even with amnesia, Minho would fall for Jisung again and again.

As their lips parted, Minho looked at him intensely, his face still in his hands, and reflected that he'd never been happier than at that very moment. He looked at Jisung with all the love and tenderness he had for him, and the latter returned the same gaze misted with tears of happiness. Minho’s fingers caressed Jisung's soft cheeks with unspeakable gentleness.

“My husband!" said Minho, his voice trembling with emotion.
“All yours," confirmed Jisung with a big smile breaking through his tears. “My husband," he said, placing his hands on top of Minho’s.
“Until you don't want me anymore.”
“Never happening!" cried the youngest. “You're mine until I die, and I intend to live to be at least a hundred and thirty!”
“That's not long, we've only got a hundred and five years left.”

Minho made a disappointed pout that made Jisung laugh before kissing him again, making their friends grumble as they looked forward to finally getting to the reception and the meal that was taking place before the big party that had been organized.

“Yes, yes, it's all right, y’all! I’m coming," complained Minho as he finally separated from Jisung to escort the hurrying crowd.

As Minho made his way to the buffet to serve the first champagne flutes to his friends, Jisung discreetly sat down in a corner to observe him at his leisure. The more he looked at Minho, the more his heart pounded and melted like a marshmallow. He wasn't yet able to fully realize that he'd just married the man he'd always loved.

Jisung felt his cheeks begin to warm and fireworks begin to color his thoughts when Minho, who was chatting happily with Changbin and Chan, burst out laughing. His husband was too far away for Jisung to really hear, but his loving brain accurately recomposed the sound of his beloved's laughter. He blushed even more furiously, heat spreading through his chest as Minho's eyes met his before he articulated a silent "I love you".

“You're so enamored!” a voice suddenly raised beside him.

Jisung turned slightly to discover Felix holding out a flute of champagne for him and taking a sip from his own with a small smile.

“If only you knew– I want to bear his children, that's how much I love him," he replied, taking hold of the crystal glass.
“Well– it's not going to be possible, but you can always ask him to try and make you some," chuckled his friend in an innuendo that cost him a poke in the ribs from Jisung.
“Oh, stop it!" laughed Jisung. “The honeymoon is still too far away, I'll never make it until then," he added in a suddenly much more serious tone, losing his smile and returning his gaze to his husband, who was making small talk with people Jisung didn't recognize.

Felix burst out laughing at Jisung's sulky pout before taking him in his arms, congratulating him once again on his marriage.

“By the way! I've got what you asked for!" said Felix, taking a small cardboard box out of his little purse and handing it to Jisung with the smile of someone who knows too much, before slipping away as he had arrived.

Jisung carefully opened the box and smiled as he observed the delicate flower boutonniere he'd asked Felix to fetch for him from the florist. Minho, who had managed to escape for a moment, was coming in his direction and, when he noticed him, Jisung hurried to close the container to hide the contents, causing his husband to frown. The latter had his hands clasped behind his back, concealing a similar box from Jisung's eyes.

“I've got you flowers Lee Minho," cooed Jisung. “But first, let me fix your outfit," he said, placing the box on the table beside him.
“It's a good thing I've got yours too," said Minho, pulling the box from behind him as well with a smile as Jisung recentered Minho’s tie with delicate fingers.
“Great minds think alike," smiled the younger. “How's my bow tie?" he asked, taking a step back.
“Perfect, just like you!”

Minho leaned over to steal a tender kiss, and they smiled at each other as they parted. Jisung delicately retrieved Minho's tiny bouquet and dexterously hooked it onto the breast pocket of Minho's suit. Minho looked at the delicate, light-blue flowers, his mouth ajar with emotion, and gently stroked the petals with his fingertips.

“Forget-me-nots?” he asked, moved, and Jisung nodded.
“They mean a lot,”
“I know" Minho cut him off, tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s literally in their name. As for me–”

He took the boutonniere he'd had ordered himself, also delivered by Felix who'd been careful not to mention it, and clipped it to Jisung's pocket. A violet flower with long, fine petals slightly curved towards its center and a pale pink flower with delicate wavy petals.

“Chrysanthemum and carnation," said Jisung, blushing slightly.
“The thought of losing you is unbearable and I'll remember you forever," confirmed Minho, wiping a tear from his husband's cheek.

Jisung couldn't help crying a little, taking advantage of the fact that no one was watching them to evacuate the overflow of emotions that had been assailing him since that very morning. A mixture of impatience, nervousness, urgency, happiness and love. An indescribable, inexplicable sensation that he knew Minho was also feeling right now. At this moment, Jisung wished he could be alone in the world with Minho, that their respective identities could merge to form a single entity, that their souls could merge to feel complete at last.

Since Minho had come for him in that airport a year earlier, and he'd realized that Minho had returned to him in full, Jisung had become even more demonstrative in his feelings. He spent most of his time seeking and maintaining physical contact, but also a more spiritual and emotional connection with Minho. The latter was far from complaining, on the contrary, but kept thinking that he was the source of the trauma Jisung was trying to overcome. Unable to make up for the lack, that those months when their lives had been left in limbo, had generated, both of them had become thirsty for each other's presence. But above all, they faced up to their insatiable desire to be close to each other. In every sense of the word. They wanted to enjoy every second they were given as if it were their last, because three little seconds were enough to turn everything upside down. They had paid the price.

As the wine reception drew to a close, the guests all began to make their way into the adjoining hall to take their places at the various tables that had been set up. Sublime floral arrangements were in the center of the large immaculate white tablecloths and on pedestals. White and purple lilacs and gypsophila. I love you infinitely, my first love, my heart is yours.

They took their places next to each other at the center of the sweetheart table, their best man Chan and Felix respectively beside them, and the other boys placed themselves in the adjoining seats according to the only possible arrangement. Changbin found himself forced between Chris and Seungmin, as Hyunjin wouldn't let Jeongin go for even one second.

From time to time, Jisung watched the fresh couple, sometimes with an affectionate eye, sometimes with jealousy. Indeed, the young couple could be as tactile as one wished, unlike the grooms who were the center of attention on this day. The guests were constantly observing the official couple, which left Minho and Jisung in a state of measured restraint, much to Jisung’s dismay.

“Is something wrong?" inquired Minho, placing his hand on top of Jisung’s on the table.
“It's inadmissible," sulked Jisung, pointing to the other couple with a shake of his head.
“Let them be... they're in love!" laughed Minho.
“But so am I! I want to cling to you just the same," huffed Jisung, lowering his voice.
“And so do I–" mumbled Minho weakly.

Jisung didn't have time to reply. The guests had obviously come to an agreement, for they were chanting in unison, demanding a speech from the grooms before moving on to dessert.

Minho was the first to speak, his eloquence shining under Jisung's loving, admirative gaze, and he didn't look away for a second. The entire assembly drank in his every word, mostly thanks and praise for the guests and staff who had been assigned to the event. And while anyone could have perceived Minho as an excellent orator who was perfectly at ease, the reddening of his ears told Jisung that he was as nervous as could be. So the younger closed his fingers over those of his husband to give him courage until the end of his speech. Then Minho turned to him with a big smile, and when Jisung realized that they were all waiting for him to speak, he panicked, looking left and right as he pulled a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Please forgive my husband, he was subjugated by my speech just now!” joked Minho, generating laughter in the assembly.
“You'll see who’s the subjugated one!” muttered Jisung to him. “Excuse me, I was just looking for my notes so I won't forget anything," he added to everyone as he unfolded his paper.

He joked for a moment about writing too small, reaching into his jacket pocket again, before putting on the thin glasses he'd taken out. A feeling of intense satisfaction washed over him when he sensed the dazed look Minho suddenly gave him. Jisung took advantage of the situation to drag out his speech, often drawing laughter from the guests, while Minho tensed more and more to his right. Jokingly, Jisung put his hand on his husband's thigh under the table and fondled it firmly. Minho gasped and let out a muffled curse when he noticed Jisung's slight smirk. He realized that the younger wasn't acting innocently and decided to cut Jisung’s ramblings short by lavishing a few caresses too, causing the younger to stammer for a moment and hurry off to finish his speech.

The newlyweds received a round of applause, before being urged to cut the first slice of cake. Jisung stood in front of the cake with a pie scoop in his hands, not knowing where to start. Minho found him cute and came to stand behind his back, placing his hands on Jisung’s to guide him, and making Jisung smile with his heart-shaped smile. The first guests came to be served, while the music started, allowing those who wanted to eat dessert later to continue enjoying themselves. After cutting the cake and putting the utensil back down, Jisung turned around, still in Minho's arms, and Minho leaned into his ear.

“You really have no restraint, Han Jisung– we both know there was nothing written on your speech sheet.”
“Really?” Jisung said, falsely ingenuous, batting his eyelashes behind his glasses.
“Don't be surprised when they’ll ask you tomorrow why we disappeared in the middle of the evening for a yet unspecified time," confirmed Minho, before kissing him possessively.
“We can pretend nothing happened when we come back.”
“So get your groove on with your guests right now, because I assure you, with the dance I've got in store for you, I'm going to make you not able to dance afterwards," said Minho, his voice full of promise.

A big, mischievous, playful smile appeared on Jisung’s face, and he placed a fiery kiss on his husband's lips before pulling himself out of the embrace and running to join those on the dance floor.

Memoriae - pe_o_ny - Stray Kids (Band) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Prologue

House of Sleep - Amorphis

Notorious - Adelitas Way

Time of Dying - Three Days Grace

Dying Slowly - Saint Asonia

Point of No Return - Starset

Happy Tragedy- Saint Asonia

Falling Inside the Black - Skillet

Save Yourself - My Darkest Days

War Child - Hollywood Undead

King of Nothing - Saint Asonia

World War Me - Theory of a Deadman

The Real You - Three Days Grace

Fallen Angel - Three Days Grace

No Tomorrow - Saint Asonia

fck Away the Pain* - Divide the Day

Rise - Blockheads

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

Fire Up The Night - New Medicine

On My Own - Ashes Remain

The End is Not the Answer - Three Days Grace

The End is Where We Begin - Thousand Foot Krutch

Sunrise - Victon

Fin.

References

Memoriae - pe_o_ny - Stray Kids (Band) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Prologue

House of Sleep - Amorphis

Notorious - Adelitas Way

Time of Dying - Three Days Grace

Dying Slowly - Saint Asonia

Point of No Return - Starset

Happy Tragedy- Saint Asonia

Falling Inside the Black - Skillet

Save Yourself - My Darkest Days

War Child - Hollywood Undead

King of Nothing - Saint Asonia

World War Me - Theory of a Deadman

The Real You - Three Days Grace

Fallen Angel - Three Days Grace

No Tomorrow - Saint Asonia

f*ck Away the Pain - Divide the Day

Rise - Blockheads

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

Fire Up The Night - New Medicine

On My Own - Ashes Remain

The End is Not the Answer - Three Days Grace

The End is Where We Begin - Thousand Foot Krutch

Sunrise - Victon

Fin.

References

fck Away the Pain* - Divide the Day