Upon seeing the person that is standing in the door-frame, I slowly exhale.
It’s only Minho.
“Can I come in?” He’s already inside anyway, so I simply nod.
Minho looks around the room aimlessly and I wait for him to speak, because he clearly has something on his mind.
“I came to ask you if you’re alright…” he finally explains. “Because lately you seem to be so strained. I’m really concerned…”
I frown; Minho has always been the silent observer, so I fear that he might have noticed too much of what’s going on. Still, I don’t necessarily want to expand his knowledge. So I make an attempt to give an evasive answer.
“I’m ok, it’s just that… sometimes certain people get on my nerves, you know…”
Bad idea.
“People like Jonghyun?”
“No, he’s… I’m…” why am I stuttering “Jjong’s just the idiot he always is.”
Minho steps closer to me then.
“Normally I don’t mind the business of other people, you know that. But today when you picked a fight with him out of nowhere… that’s simply not like you, hyung. And just now I saw him outside your room, he looked really upset.”
“He looks upset? Geez…” I clench my fists. What reason does he have to be upset?
I want to stop this conversation now. Right before Minho entered, I had been so good at pulling myself together. Why does he force me to think about Jjong again? And why do those freaking tears keep coming back?
Stay away, I order them over and over in my head like a mantra. Stay away, stay away.
“If you two have fought or something, he’s probably suffering from it just as much as you. But if you need some help dealing with him… Do you want me to talk to him, maybe I can—“
“Hell no!” I interrupt him. “First, I tell you, that guy is doing everything but suffering right now. He has probably not even wasted one thought on our situation. Second, he’s not worth talking to. Simply leave him alone. Ignore us. It’s not that bad, anyway.  I just… can’t stand him right now.” I can’t explain myself any further, because the stupid tears don‘t want to obey; I‘m running out of self control. Why does this have to happen now of all times?
With a hand clasped over my mouth, I try to at least choke the sobs, but I fail.
That’s absolutely great. First I tell him that it’s “not that bad anyway” and then I start crying like a girl. Totally credible, Key.
Minho looks at me with big concerned eyes. Without saying a word he places is arms around my shoulders and pulls me close. We stand like that for a long time. A certain atmosphere of steadiness and empathy is emitted by Minho while I cry with my head buried in his shoulder. Just then I realize how much I like him for not asking any questions or making remarks. He really is a good friend and that insight helps me to pull myself together.
After a while I eventually manage to calm down, pulling away from him and wiping my cheeks. “Thanks” I tell him because I can’t think of anything better to say.
He smiles and - after a short silence - answers, “I won’t ask what’s happened between you and Jonghyun-hyung. But since your problems seem to be serious I thought you might want to swap bedrooms with me. So that you can avoid him until you have settled things.”
I’m a little taken aback at this, but also infinitely grateful, as I know that he separates from Taemin only for me.
“That… would be great.” I’m really not that good at showing my gratitude. “Thanks… again.”
He ruffles my hair, saying that he will get his bed clothing to change rooms. During that moment I somehow doubt that this boy is actually younger than me.
I also gather my things and carry them into my new room. Taemin seems a little surprised and disappointed as I explain that Minho and I have swapped rooms, but he tries to hide it, saying that he looks forward to sharing a room with me. Later on, when Onew has returned from his schedule, I pull him to the side and inform him of the new situation. He seems confused but accepts it.
At dinner, I notice that Jonghyun has left, yet I’m rather happy that I don’t have to see him.
So at night I sit in my new bed and listen to Onew’s soft snoring. Since my mind keeps wandering back to a certain situation, I start to count the stripes of my blanket to distract myself. When my mind forgets that 58 comes after 57, my eyes fall shut. Colored streaks dance at the back of my eyelids, liquefying and solidifying.
Only right on the brink of sleep they seem to freeze, forming that one special face.