Minho, is like a tree. Taemin thinks to himself as knees knock together, unsteady hands grasp onto each other in the secrecy of the afternoon. The sun is slowly rolling down and Taemin knows he doesn’t have much time left, but that’s okay because Minho has this weird way of making minutes last for hours and seconds last days. And it only takes a second for fingers to wrap against each other as the sky is set ablaze in the warmest of hues.

Everything is really just natural with Minho, the way he laughs is infectious and the way he speaks is welcoming, nice and soft, almost like a home. A home built with syllables and vowels, nostalgia in the soft lisp he has, a welcoming dinner in his gigantic heart. Because Minho is a tree, it’s as if his sole purpose is to help others, he doesn’t mind having his branches sawed in two if it meant wood for staying warm. He doesn’t mind his arms being used for nesting if it meant a place to stay the cold autumn night; he doesn’t mind his skin being carved if it’s meant as a memory, a little forever imbedded in another soul.

The sound of footsteps dragging against asphalt fills the space in between them as hands form a bridge, and it only takes another second for Minho to start rubbing his thumb over the ridges of Taemin’s knuckles. And it’s like he’s memorizing them, slowly tracing over each bump as if he were committing it to memory, like an astronomer determined to count every twinkling star in the night sky.

When they reach Taemin’s porch, the orange clouds are gone and the night envelopes them, hides them, the moon is gone, letting complete darkness cover the sky. And everything just happens in the span of a millisecond, but that’s okay because Minho’s hand is warm against Taemin’s, and their smiles are bright enough to light up their little street corner. And Minho leaves him, bidding farewell with a gentle squeeze of fingers, the barest brush of lips against skin and he’s gone, off into the shadows.

And Taemin wonders if you can miss someone that was with you only five seconds ago, but then he remembers that Minho isn’t here to eradicate time and loneliness has a way of slowing down seconds rather unpleasantly. And so he drums the tips of his fingers against the window sill, trying to block out the screams from down stairs and he focuses on long legs and shimmering stars.

Because Minho is a tree who has his roots cemented in every fiber of Taemin’s being.

--

Taemin doesn’t usually beg. But his body convulses and he needs his little package of crumbling petals.

He needs it horribly.

And he becomes a dragon, with tendrils of smoke flying from his mouth, disappearing into the wind in gentle wisps. After every exhale, the stars blur and the world spins around him, and the back alley where he’s crouched behind becomes a safe haven, like a gateway to another galaxy, another life. And everything is all right, there’s no screaming, no pleading, no splashes of red, black and blue. Taemin doesn’t even realize he’s crying until after he finishes his smoke.

His hands are twitching and he needs more, more crushed leaves to transport him far, far away. The thin strips of paper act like rockets and when Taemin takes another drag, he swears he’s flying all the way to the moon.

And then there’s a shout. A sudden yelp in the sky, penetrating Taemin’s small little world, and Taemin’s worried that the knight found him. Because the only person that can slay a dragon is a knight. But the smoke clears away and Taemin’s eyes are glassed over and for a brief second he sees tall branches reaching out to him.

His tree is here, and Taemin couldn’t be happier. He’s trying to say something, but words are slurred as Taemin trips over his feet, head slamming against the brick wall. And the tree-the knight, rips the flowers from Taemin’s mouth, stomping on it until the fire goes out, like a dying star.

And Taemin’s screams, he begs for his tree to stop, he begs for another one, and when his knight refuses, the dam breaks and steady rivers flow from Taemin’s glassy eyes. And the world briefly stops spinning, and he doesn’t see a tree or a night, he sees Minho, who’s just a little sapling. And Taemin wonders how someone can be so selfish.

Leaves are hitting the crown of Taemin’s head, and branches reach out to hold Taemin, as if Minho was the only thing from keeping Taemin from falling apart. But Taemin doesn’t care anymore. He needs his roses, thorns and all, and so he snaps the twigs in two and he runs away.

Feet are flying against the dark streets, the light posts becoming distant constellations. And as Taemin reaches out to wipe the stray raindrops that splattered against his cheeks, he realizes that the tears weren’t his.

Hey guys ^-^ hope you lovelies are enjoying the story~ If anything isn't clear or a bit confuzing, please don't be afraid to ask!!

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