Being a full time model and a college student wasn't exactly his greatest choices in life, but this is what he gets when he signs a contract he's barely read (the attention span of a 21 year old isn't that far from that of a 5 year old--or at least, his is). Minho doesn't even have time to lament as he's gone from schedule to schedule, all while trying to get through his senior thesis.

You'd expect him to be dishriveled, looking like a walking corpse newly risen from the dead, but damn. Looking bad just wasn't part of his dictionary, and though his manager commended him on it, his boyfriend (who, in all honesty, was a tad bit happy this was the case) was grilling him to take some time off. It wasn't healthy, and even he knew it. The management didn't seem to mind his relationship status, with it being the 21st century and all, though he was asked to keep a low profile and not encounter any scandals since it wasn't only them he'd be getting an earful from.

He's gone from country to country, sometimes taking months off of school, and another one of those during this school year and he'd end up having to take summer and a fifth year. Both of which he doesn't want, having to go through summer class every single year after he was scouted. It was extra money, and he was thankful for it, because now him and his boyfriend were living together. That's the only thing keeping him going.

Or rather, it was.

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Ever since he had gotten the model gig, even he had to admit that he barely saw his boyfriend anymore. The last time he had seen him was during their graduation (in which he thanks every god in existance that allowed this miracle to happen) and it'd been quite a few months since then. Right after graduation, he had been tasked to model for various countries across Europe. And with his rising popularity, it took him 2 and a half months to be able to go back. He returned to an empty apartment, the bed looking unused and the tables and counter tops collecting dust.

Really, as far as he remembered, this was a shared apartment. But it doesn't seem like it in the slightest. He had called out for him, looking through every room (there were only three, it wasn't that hard to figure out he wasn't there).  Quickly fishing out his phone, he had dialed his number only to be sent to voicemail.

"Kibum? I'm home. Where are you? Call me back once you get this. I miss you."

He knew it was his fault, knew that despite the money he was bringing to the table it wasn't enough of an excuse to just leave his boyfriend all alone like that. But he knew Kibum would understand. He was the one who urged him to take the job in the first place. But he should've seen it coming, should've seen how throughout the years they were together, the smiles Kibum had for him were directed more towards a certain underclassman they met during their second year. He should've noticed the lingering touches and the sudden plans he always had. Should've noticed the way their kisses were always cut short, and how the fire in his boyfriend's eyes were no longer there.

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