XVIII Peony

He has always been proud of Minho. They have grown up together, closely, and he has seen his change, his evolution. He has been there, supporting him, giving him assurance, comfort. Seungyoon has worked with him for nights that can’t be counted, the stars in the sky guiding them on their journey through music, composing lyrics or arranging melodies. He has been the first person out of Winner to listen to his first solo song, back when they were five and their dream felt far away but bursting at the tip of their tongues, just a note apart. He has been there to collect the bits after falling, after another hiatus that he felt it was his fault. He was there to put all the pieces of his heart together, to make him fall in love with music again, rapping furiously at the beat of some dismissive track (bad mouthing their boss for not allowing them to create their own path).  Seungyoon has always been there for Minho, he has always stayed right by his side, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when the first petal, pink and gentle, falls from between his plump lips. The flower is pretty, standing completely in his palm; it’s a beautiful peony and he keeps it in his nightstand, fading slowly, dying a bit each passing day; it petals turn grey and dull, but nothing else comes from his core and he wonders if there is something wrong (because his chest aches but the flowers that he expects to encounter, swirling with every cough, but they don’t come, only fresh air that taste like what he dreams he would fill his inside and he stares at the moon at night, asking why).

It is simple adoration what he has for him.               

Minho looks at him and smirks. He beams at his sight and Seungyoon pouts cutely, melting his heart. He looks captivating, interesting, like his Siamese, clothes that are just complementing and he wish to call them “couple outfit” (instead they bicker and complain, the same dynamic that they are used to and Minho just follows the stream not wanting to reveal what is buried deep in his core).

Seungyoon jokes with Seunghoon and he stares at him, oblivious, his eyes capturing his laughs, memorizing the way it sounds, how it shudders, how all his body answer to it (he claps and bends and his cheeks are blemished: he loves it, like a revelry; he dreams about it too). Jinwoo sits next to him and follows his glare (he finds what causes such an amusement and smiles at him as if knowing something that is a secret).

“He likes you too” he reveals, patting his head tenderly, his voice falling over him like a miracle; his eyes wide open and he sees Seungyoon again, as if the first time.

They say that, when you love someone, you tend to act like that person. Minho wants to laugh because now it makes sense; the same hobbies, the same style, the same wanting to be together, finding all excuses just to spend another minute in his presence (walking next to each other, their cameras hanging from his neck, clothes that can’t be explained but that look exactly the same even before meeting, all these moments they have shared and that now make sense).

For once Minho isn’t afraid. He isn’t brave but, today, he mutters all the courage and Jinwoo gives him his blessing, his strength and, with them, he rushes to him, holding his hand.

“I love you Seungyoon”. The confession falls to him like flowers dancing on the wind. Seungyoon smiles the sweetest and interlaces their fingers together, pressing them as close as possible.

“I should have known that something was odd when I stopped coughing peonies” he replies, still smiling.

They aren’t composing music tonight, staying up on Minho’s studio. Instead of lost in the music, they are lost in their love, blooming like a song about to be sung.