A/N I'd say don't start this fic, because the writing is terrible, but since you're here, I guess you may as well read it... I don't know xD Honestly though, the writing is woeful and from a time where my attention to detail was slim, so... The writing is awful. I'm not just saying this haha, but genuinely, this story is a mess that someday I'd love to fix, but either way, thanks for clicking here :3

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Lee Jinki. Twenty-six. Shot dead outside the entrance of a hotel in Seoul. Body later found dismembered in the back of a white van. Clothes burnt. Wallet stolen.

A chorus of silence echoed solemnly throughout the graveyard as clasped hands signified grief, and fluttering eyelids indicated the mourning. Swathes of black shrouded the quaint burial site, the clothes of the funeral-goers ranging in their flamboyancy.

Opposite Taemin, a portly woman sported a wide-brimmed hat, complete with copious amounts of black taffeta flowers, yet the man to his side wore a simple black coat over an even simpler black suit – a contradiction, if any, to the man’s usual outgoing demeanour. However, given the all-too-sudden and shocking nature of his best friend's – no, his brother's – death, Taemin doubted that Kim Kibum would treat the ceremony like a catwalk. As the other grief-ridden acquaintances, he'd treat in the solemnity it deserved, one that required little remark, just unfiltered quiescence.

Lee Taemin. Kim Kibum. Kim Jonghyun. Choi minho. There were only four left now, when there should have been five. Three days before Jinki’s body had been found, they'd made a promise on live television, for what seemed like the millionth time in their career as a group, to stay together for as long as they could. They'd meant it, too. None of them wanted to back out now, not after achieving so much.

However, Taemin doubted if their company could promote the remaining fragments of Jinki’s body as well as they could promote the charming, handsome, kind-hearted and individualistic man.

And now, introducing SHINee: Maknae Taemin, Flaming Charisma Minho, Almighty Key, Bling-Bling Jonghyun and the right arm of Onew's corpse! Taemin cursed himself for his sick humour.

On his right side, Taemin heard the short rasps for breaths that his hyung, Jonghyun, was making in order to try control the steady stream of tears that were coating his cheeks like rain on a window pane. Taemin didn’t have to look at Jonghyun to know he was crying, for the elder dispelled emotions as priests dispelled sermons - uninhibited in their strength. He wanted to rub Jonghyun’s shoulder, console him with the love a mother gave her new-born, but Taemin was motionless. The silence was so deafening that the rapid exhalations of his hyung were tampering with the very essence of the funeral, one that valued privacy, respect.

An empty breeze s around his ankles like a salient serpent, in search of any exposed flesh, but merely uncovered nothing to gnaw at but the expensive fabric of his suit. Oddly, Taemin found his eyes attached to the coffin; the flowers arranged on the top were quaint things. Possessing no horticultural knowledge whatsoever, he couldn't comment on what species they were, but they were pretty, dainty, a stark white. Pure, crisp, clear – like Jinki had been.

The priest cleared his throat harshly and began to speak, and once again Taemin transported his mind further afield, not wanting to listen to the anecdotes or prayers, rather focussing on how the gentle greenery of the graveyard plateaued downwards, how the private funeral seemed even smaller beneath the canopy of a beautiful, twisted tree, how Jinki’s grave was positioned beside his grandfather's. Jinki had told Taemin once that his father had reserved that plot for himself, obviously expecting to outlive his healthy, young son, but Jinki had admitted he'd see it as an honour to be buried alongside his grandfather. His grandfather had been a great man, seemingly.

Beside Taemin, Jonghyun was now crouched. Taemin hadn’t noticed the fall, but it seemed as if any willingness to stand had left Jonghyun, and he cried wholeheartedly into his palms, shoulders quaking, face hidden. A stranger’s strong gril gently coaxed Jonghyun’s shoulder, but it only seemed to further the emotional outpour as the coffin was prepared to be lowered into the grave.

Jinki’s close family watched fearfully. Taemin charted their expressions like he was constructing a mathematic formula; plentiful pathways of tears through thick helpings of heavy-handed makeup, the eyes as dead as the corpse in the mahogany coffin, hands clasped and expressions terrified. It was only when he realised that Kibum and Minho matched these expressions perfectly that Taemin’s heart lurched, stomach convulsed and vision blurred.

As the coffin was lowered, the weight left Taemin’s legs, a sudden affliction that resulted in having him on his knees in the dew-stricken grass. His cheeks felt hot, then damp, and as Minho crouched tenderly to pull him back to his feet, Taemin instinctively lashed out an arm, striking his hyung on the bicep and forcing him to recoil hastily.

His head swam with a thousand images: practicing vocals on the rooftops during pre-debut, crying into Jinki's shoulder in relief after their very first stage, sharing countless jokes and hardships with him, and most recently the filming of their comeback, released only two weeks ago, that had taken them to America to spend their final time travelling together as five, unbeknownst to them at the time. Memories of Jinki that were even stronger than the scent of the earth that would soon conceal his friend's body forever.

Taemin wanted to scream; he wanted to yell; he wanted to unleash his frustrations at the unfair God who'd caused this. But instead he buried his head into his hands, biting down on his bony fist to stifle the sobbing gasps, and allowed himself to finally feel the loss of his friend.

He'd screwed his eyes shut and didn’t realise the time passing u