Chapter IX

Stages of Grief

*This ficlet takes place after chapter 46 on TWT

It takes Taemin precisely three seconds to go from angry to absolutely furious and throws his six thousand bucks Vertu against the wall. It hits the surface with a loud thump, before falling onto the plush carpet covering the floor. Taemin stares at it for a long time, eyes unfocused, as he tries to regulate his rapid breathing. Minho is somewhere in the room, he knows, probably staring at Taemin like he lost his mind. Taemin probably did.

“She’s just worried about you,” Minho tells him, tone calm and level, almost emotionless. Taemin presses his lips into a thin line, taking a deep breath to will down the emotions rumbling within him. It’s not an easy task to do, especially when all he wants to do is hurt himself. Somehow.

“I’m not mad at her,” Taemin snaps, closing his eyes tightly and swallowing the lump growing in his throat. He’s such an idiot for thinking that he could handle this on his own. He’s a spoiled brat who is used to people doting on him all the damn time, and now, he’s pushing them away and closing the door on them and he’s all alone, trapped inside his poisonous mind with no slightest idea on how to keep himself from dying. “I’m a ing idiot.”

Gwiboon has been his sister since he was ten. She is a constant in his life, and she’s an immovable anchor. She’s always been there with him, for him, whenever he’s facing a storm. She and Jonghyun are his comfort zone; Gwiboon even more so than her brother—because there were times when Jonghyun was too busy facing his own demons to tend to Taemin—and Taemin can feel her absence in this storm like a missing limb.

He needs her the most now, and yet he couldn’t reach out for her, because he’s a disappointment and he doesn’t want her to be disappointed in him any more than she does now.

And honestly never, in all of his life, had Taemin felt like a complete and utter failure like this. He let Minho down, he let Gwiboon and Jonghyun down, he let his parents down, he let his friends down, and he even let his unborn baby down. Taemin looks up to the picture of him and Minho—black and white and artistic and gorgeous and they look so, so in love that Taemin can’t help but feel vulnerable knowing that other people can see the look in their eyes—and wonders why Minho hasn’t snapped, yet. He wonders when Minho would start punishing Taemin for killing their baby. He wonders if Minho is just going to pack his bag and leave quietly.

“Would you stop punishing yourself,” Minho whispers, arms looping loosely around Taemin’s waist. Taemin didn’t even hear him approaching, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing really matters, anymore, except for why isn’t Minho exploding—“Please?”

“You don’t have to be like this,” Taemin tells him, because Minho needs to know. He needs to know that Taemin would not blame him if he just walks out of Taemin’s life and never look back. He needs to know that—“I wouldn’t blame you if you want to find someone who isn’t a -up.”

Minho goes rigid behind him, and Taemin turns around to look. The color has drained from Minho’s face, his eyes unreadable and cold, his entire face frozen in shock as he meets Taemin’s eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You,” Taemin tells him flatly. “You can go find someone who isn’t a total disappointment.”

“What are you talking about?” Minho asks, voice void of all emotions. There’s a flash of pain and betrayal in his eyes that Taemin just doesn’t understand.

“I killed our baby—”

“No you didn’t,” Minho cuts him off. “It was not your—”

“I ruined your happiness, and I didn’t even have enough balls to tell my best friend that I need her, but I don’t want to drag her down with me, so I ended up hurting her and everybody else who shows the slightest indication of caring about my well-being and I let everyone down, Minho,” Taemin barrels on, exhaustion seeping in his bones as he spills his guts. Minho is still staring at him like Taemin is throwing him hurtful insults, showing no signs of anger or aggression.

“I—what the are you on about? Taemin, what are you talking about? There is absolutely no way that any of this is your fault!” he snaps, and yes, there it is, Taemin thinks. The anger is surfacing, and soon—soon Taemin would be able to bait his real feelings out to the surface. “You didn’t kill the baby! It just happened naturally! You have nothing to do with it!”

“But I still disappointed you,” Taemin states, too tired to raise his voice. “You heard what Doctor Cha said; auxiliary wombs aren’t strong enough to endure pregnancy. Ther