It started when he was 4.
One faithful day, he went home after school with a set of bleeding arms, knees and a whole lot of tears. His mom was there, shooing the pain away, cleaning his wound with a weird-smelling antiseptic, and kissing his knee while he giggled at the ticklish feeling. She told him to smile and to stop crying. He obeyed, wiping his tears away and smiling brightly.
They spent the rest of the day exploring the market and making a chicken sandwich together. The boy completely forgot about his boo-boo’s and enjoyed his mother’s company.
He fell asleep with a smile when his mother kissed his forehead and whispered, “Good night, good boy.”

It continued when he was 7.
When the bullies in his class found out that the small boy’s mother was a butcher that rode her bike and delivered meat all sweaty and face free of make-up, they made fun of the boy. They mocked his mother and called him ‘meat boy’ or ‘smelly boy’ or ‘smelly armpit boy’. The insults steadily got worse when they saw the boy’s mother sitting happily between the other parents, face natural and not covered in layers of make-up.
The boy would come home again with tears in his eyes, sobbing and questioning why the world was full of mean boys. They shouldn’t exist because they just made the world ugly and made other people cry. Curling up into a tight ball of tears, he would sob until his mother came and shooed the tears away. Again.
The rest of the day was spent, yet again, in fun. The boy and his mother would run around in their backyard—face and hands full of mud. They potted up some seeds and watered the cabbages. The little was once again stripped off of the bad memories he had.
When the time came for the boy to sleep, his mother would sneak as silently as she can inside his room and kiss his forehead. She would do this with silence because he was a big boy now and one of his friends told him that big boys do not cling to their mom’s anymore. But, the boy actually doesn’t mind, because he knew that his smile made his mom happy. And, if his mother was happy he was too.
He’s a good boy.

It all came down when he was 9.
That day when he met two strangers was the day he broke. He was going home from school when two men approached him. Being the kind and polite boy that he was, he asked them what they needed.
“We’re your new neighbor and your mother sent us,” the man who wore a brown bowler hat said.
“She’s kind of busy and asked us to accompany you on your way home, so that you’ll be safe,” the other man piped in.
The little boy stared at the man’s funny moustache and just nodded. He wondered if maybe one day that man will wake up from his sleep to find out that his moustache has reincarnated into green big caterpillar.
But, they are not going to go home. The boy raised an eyebrow in confusion, because his house was supposed to be on the left of the previous alley, not the right.
“Where are we going sir? Our place is not in this direction. Are you really my new neighbor?” he asked, polite and calm.
It was a simple question, really. But, the man with the funny hat looked mad as he asked the question. Before the boy could ask further, a pair of strong arms had grabbed his head and a handkerchief was shoved under his nose. Inhaling, he felt the world spin and soon, he out. The darkness accompanied him.
There are some questions that sometimes cannot be answered. Some of those are now being asked by the little boy…
Where was he?
Why was his head throbbing so painfully, like it was just knocked by a hammer?
Why were his ears ringing?
Why was his throat so dry?
Why couldn’t he speak?
Why was his tummy feeling so weird?
Why was the bowler hat-wearing man currently kneeling in front of him and his ?
The boy blinked and tried to think of something else besides the weird feeling of the man and at his private part. The man with the caterpillar moustache was now cutting ropes into short pieces. He grabbed the boy’s small arms and tried to tie them up. When the boy struggled, he slapped him and the boy tasted iron on his mouth. Tears rolled down the boy’s cheek and he tried to stop them. Big boys shouldn’t cry like a girl.
He tried to think of his mommy’s beautiful face and her kind words.

Life is like a cup of coffee. Sometimes, it’s better when it’s bitter.
But, sometimes we just cannot handle the bitterness.
We throw the coffee away and make a new one.
When things go wrong,
When your heart hurts too much until you can’t hold back the tears,
When you’re lost and you don’t know where to go,
Just smile. Everything is gonna be better…
Because, your smile is a candy,
A candy that replaces the bitterness of the coffee.

He decided to believe on his mom completely, and he began to smile.
He laid still, closed his eyes and smiled. He fought to keep his eyes shut and his smile intact even when he was suddenly rolled around and faced the ground. He kept quiet until he felt something enter his and he screamed. He screamed all the pain that seemed to increase with every grunt of the man above him. His body burned but he still smiled. Everything gets better when we smile, right?
The easiest way to forgive ourselves and kill the pain is by pretending.
So, he was making a decision.
He’s a good boy and he’d pretend.
The little boy, who now grabbed a knife from the floor with bound hand and stabbed the knife straight through the man with a moustache’s chest, was not him.
He’s a kind boy, so the boy who kicked the man with the hat’s member and pulled the bloody knife from the lifeless body beside him and pointed it in front of the man’s neck and glared, was not him.
He’s a polite boy, so the boy who jumped and ran away without his pants—still holding the bloody knife—was totally not him.
A minute? An hour? An eternity?
The boy was still counting. He was still counting how many seconds had passed. He was alone, surrounded by the darkness.
How many heartbeats had passed since his body can feel pain again, but his heart can’t. His heart and mind was, slowly but surely, becoming numb despite the pain of his body.
A heart was not supposed to be numb…
A mind was supposed to register the pain…
Crying was supposed to be wet with tears, and not dry.
He stared at his bloody hands.
“No, no, no. I’m a good boy,” he whispered. He gasped when a voice in his mind whispered back.
‘No little pie, you’re a bad boy. You’re a murderer. You’re disgusting.’
“No, please...I’m a good boy.”
‘If you want to be one, and then just accept that fact. Or maybe...I can be you. And you can be nothing. I will protect you from the world, and you will protect me from boredom. Deal, nothing?’
The little boy nodded slowly, the grass in which he was laying on tickled his ears.
“Okay, now my name is nothing,” The boy whispered. “And you are…Lee Jinki.”

He did not know how long he had lain immobile on the hard ground. The blood on his hand had already dried up, as he kept on holding the bloody knife. He stared at the weapon and noticed the yellow-ish color behind the blood and complicated pattern on the handle of that thing.
The knife was so beautiful, he thought.
He heard footsteps approaching him. He gasped, staring at the eyes of unknown guest.
Am I in heaven?
The boy’s dull eyes widened. The angel came to bring him home.
So bright.
So lively.
So beautiful.
He was so sure that this angel was special, because, how many angel had an adorable dimple on their left cheek?
The bloody boy smiled.
“Jinki! Oh my goodness, what happened? Jinki!!!”
Even the angel’s voice was so beautiful.
--





The very next day, SHINee had a fan meeting to do.
The morning, as usual, was loud and chaotic. It started out with Onew’s loud scream which practically made the other members jump up from their bed and rush to the source of the noise. Their leader was on the floor with Minho’s soccer ball-patterned blanket twisted around his legs. His brown eyes were wide, and one hand was on his chest as he tried to catch his breath.
Onew was completely confused as to why he was on Minho’s bed again, because he never clung to Minho before when that horrible nightmare haunted him. But, he didn’t remember dreaming last night. And that fact was surprising him, too. It had been a long time ago since he has had any bad dream.
What happened last night?
On the other hand, Minho was sitting at the edge of the bed with the same shocked expression. The tallest man of the group just blinked and stared at the leader, who was crawling on the floor. Then, he proceeded to look at Jonghyun who stood at the doorway with a dumb expression. Shrugging, the lead singer walked away just before Key’s head popped up with a sleepy maknae beside him.
“Well, at least today I don’t need to poke your with a spatula,” Key nodded.
--
“Stop glancing at him,” Key muttered.
Minho blinked, “Glancing at who?”
“Stop being a coward Minho—just attack him or corner him at your room and kiss him or something.” Key snorted.
“......am I too obvious?” Minho asked nervously.
“Yes Choi Minho, you ARE.”
“You’re such a mean umma.”
“You’re such a dramatic teenager.”
“Your hairstyle’s always weird.”
“Yours is just boooring…”
“Your expression is totally annoying.”
“You don’t even have any expression.”
“You’re too noisy, like a girl.”
“You’re so quiet, like a zombie.”
“You are—“
“GUYS. Come on, guys. Stop quarreling. We will be on the stage at ten minutes,” Jonghyun rolled his eyes at his two dongsaeng’s and then continued with his activity—chatting happily with some coordi-noonas.
“Since when was Jonghyun-hyung the mature one on this group?” Taemin, who had been watching his hyung’s idiotic debates, mumbled while munching on his cookies. He pouted, obviously unhappy that his only entertainment on their boring backstage got interrupted.
--
The fan meeting was a disaster, big disaster.
Minho exhaled, trying to slow his racing heartbeat. His leader was wearing a super serious face most of the time, smirking to the screaming fangirls, who thought that his serious expression and smirk were the iest things ever.
Onew made Taemin terrified by trying to kiss him when he was singing; he fell from his chair, glared at the MC, glared to the cameras, and gave incoherent responses to the MC’s question—Eh, Hmm, and Err just to give a few examples. But, those were nothing compared to when he answered a pretty simple question.
“Onew-ssi, what’s your most favorite thing in the world?” the MC asked.
“I like cotton candy—and Minho’s hugs.”
Minho felt uninvited butterflies flying at his stomach.
--
Minho was eyeing their manager who stood at the side of the stage. He looked worried about something and was making some silly, unclear gestures.
The fan meeting was, thankfully, coming to an end. Minho raised an eyebrow and asked the manager, “Me?”
He tried to understand what the hell the manager was saying. Everything felt clear when he understood a word that the manager mouthed.
“Jinki.”
Oh! Minho’s head snapped to the side, his eyes finally catching what the manager was talking about.
There was his leader standing in front of thousand fans with closed eyes. So what? Minho thought. It’s not like Onew tripped on something or fell...oh, that was when he noticed Onew’s head tilt back on slow motion.
Minho’s leg stepped forward immediately, and he wrapped his strong arms around Onew’s waist. He felt the body on his embrace jerk and Jinki practically yelled with a shock expression, like he just saw a ghost or something. The fan’s squeals echoed around the whole venue.
“Hello, hyung. Why so sweaty?”
Wait. That was stupid, Minho. You don’t even talk to him since this morning and the first question you ask him is why he was sweaty?
He half expected Onew to answer, something like…
“Sweating is a normal activity for mammalians, Minho.”
Or…
“When it’s hot, we sweat.”
Instead of a painful smile.
Minho not let his hug fall apart. In this very close distance, he saw Onew’s lip—very pale and dry.
“Are you sick, hyung?”
“No…” Onew answered, touching Minho’s finger—which wrapped on his chest—with trembling hands.
More fangirls screamed. Minho’s head screamed too…with worries.



--
Minho sat at the edge of his bed and rubbed his curly wet hair with a blue towel. Yawning loudly, he sunk on his bed and thought things over.
Today was an exhausting day, he sighed. SHINee was finally back at their dorm and all of them just wanted to take a rest so badly. They needed to sleep and wake up with a fresh mind and body. But even without trying, Minho knew he can never rest well, not with his hyung’s condition.
The leader seemed particularly strange today. He bumped his head when they entered the van, and stayed as quiet as a cemetery in the middle of Sahara desert on their way home. That was scary.
He just knew he needed to find out what’s wrong with his hyung. He must, even if finding out required him burying his pride.
He reached for his mobile phone and scrolled through the phonebook. Inhaling deeply, he clicked the call button in front of a name. After two rings, a voice answered him.

“Yeoboseyo?”

“Leeteuk-hyung, this is Minho. We need to talk.”


an: Lee Jinki, sowryyyy ;___; dont glaring at me like dat...




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