The stranger glanced at Minho with a look of hesitance, before asking Jonghyun, “This your partner?”

Minho just glared at him, eyes so hard Jonghyun thought he'd beat the man there and then. But Minho remained ignorant to the man’s curiosity and uncompromised in his calm, as he asked, “Where's Taemin?”

Jonghyun smirked and took another sip of whiskey. The stranger, obviously struck confused by the business of the younger males, turned away with a sigh, knowing his prize for the evening had been lost to an angry, brunette model-type, a type he vaguely recognised but couldn’t tell from where.

"Jonghyun,” Minho stressed, voice firm, “I didn’t bring Kibum. Now where the hell is Taemin?”

Jonghyun finished his drink. The glass hit the counter with a clink. Standing as steadily as he could on his drunken legs, he stumbled back from his stool. If Minho was fazed by his foreign surroundings, he didn’t show it, as he stood, stoic, watching Jonghyun lift a coat and swing it on, missing the sleeve three times as he tried to gain purchase. Then, brazenly, he tipped from the stool and practically lolloped to the exit, the relief visible on the bartender’s face as he watched the door open and shut.

Minho followed in silence.

The inside hum of the pub was inaudible from the dank alleyway it was situated down, instead swapped for the distant vibration of cars on a further afield road. Minho had noticed that, down this side street, the alleyways created a labyrinth. The few lights were from the sides of the windowless bar to illuminate customers' travels, but only showed a glow of a three metre radius to highlight Jonghyun and Minho, as they silently faced each other in the cold, pitch night.

“Where is Taemin?” Minho repeated, for the third time that evening. He clenched his fists, blood converting to nervousness as he watched his hyung steady himself with a small hand against the damp brick walls. He looked nauseous, as if he could be sick at any time. He wasn’t used to such religious drinking, after all, and he'd found the alcohol to create a maelstrom in his mind.

“’S’gone,” Jonghyun slurred, raising his head with a stooped neck to stare at his dongsaeng. Minho stood, patiently, eyes riveted on the tiny man before him.

“Speak clearer, Jonghyun,” Minho instructed, thrown aback by the quietness of Jonghyun’s speech.

“S’gone!” Jonghyun exclaimed, voice racketing down the empty alleyway. Minho just nodded, tears cracking at his eyes. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He wasn’t weak. Refusing to look at his elder, Minho instead averted his gaze to the unending black behind the flickering lights.

"So why did you text me?” Minho asked, fighting his disappointment. Part of him hadn’t trusted Jonghyun, but his hope had surfaced, spearing him against the wall of false dreams before he'd time to dodge the arrows. The rain began to mizzle softly, creating a chill that prickled both of the men.

“I've gotta question for you,” Jonghyun muttered lazily, finally pushing himself away from the wall. Though there was a sizable gap between Jonghyun and Minho, it was partially closed as Jonghyun tripped over his own feet, stumbling towards the younger but miraculously remaining upright. Minho swallowed thickly.

“You know,” Jonghyun continued, words barely decipherable, “what Kibum means to me. You know I love him, so why didn't you help me fight for him?”

Jonghyun’s voice was a drawl as he took another step towards Minho, the stench of alcohol prudent from his form. Minho instinctively took a step back, but remained still when Jonghyun closed the gap again, pointing a finger at Minho’s chest.

“Jonghyun, go home,” Minho instructed, “you're not thinking straight. Go home.”

“