They were screaming again.

Like twinkling bells that screeched with every hit they took. Doors were slamming, footsteps echoed throughout the vast and empty house, knocking against Minho’s door.

He used to cry, cry little crystals that glittered in the pale moonlight as he watched the headlights of their car fly off into the dark night. He doesn’t cry now, because he is a desert who learned to stop hearing, stop thinking. The moon is gone, the sky is black and dark, except for those red lights running away from everything Minho’s ever called a home.

But it’s not even a home, it’s a glass cage that shatters with every shout, every slap, and Minho knows it’s not love, it can’t be love.

He carefully jumps out his window, zipping up his jacket as a cool wind brushes over him, like a gentle caress he’s never felt. He throws rocks at that house with chipped blue paint and out lights until a bright star sends him a fizzy smile.

“What are you doing here?” Taemin half whispers-half exclaims, hands automatically latching onto each other, rough ridges moving together until they click like puzzle pieces.

Minho grins then, fastening his pace, harsh breaths leave his chapped lips, but his hands stay, locked with Taemin’s.

“I’m kidnapping you.” Minho replies nonchalantly as he leans his burning forehead against the metal bus stop, waiting until the halting of tires send dreams and hope into his eyes.

Taemin looks at him quizzically, eyes hard and tired, but there’s a flicker, a flame of excitement, a shout of freedom, smothered behind reality.

“Min, I don’t have any money-I don’t even have any clothes-”

“Relax.” Minho says, lightly pushing Taemin’s back into the rumbling bus, pushing their way to the last seats.

There’s a certain magic in the last seats of the bus, where you can feel every bump, every little hole, you could feel the miles stretching on and on until you end up in the middle of nowhere and everywhere. Excitement bubbles in your stomach as the flickering city lights blur before you, buildings and trees becoming one whole muggy mess, tiny glistening dots against the midnight sky become lines of light that lead you to anywhere.

Taemin’s smile is bright and alive, well, as bright as someone can be in two in the morning. He leans into Minho’s shoulder, who feels the upturn of Taemin’s lips under far too thin clothing, and far thinner skin. They look out of the plastic window that’s been scratched and dirtied long before they set foot on this lone morning bus, the plastic slaps against their foreheads but they don’t care, they’re too busy trying not to notice the fact their lips are millimeters away.

The vinyl seats were torn open right down the middle, Taemin’s leg was thrown over Minho’s lap, and Minho found himself oddly at home. At home with the clumsy, ugly unwanted things, with the people who were too tired to be humans, instead being hopefuls, trying to escape their demons, or at least wake up before work. He felt at home with the little bundle of recklessness and foolishness that sat dozing next to him, their heads knocking together whenever the bus would run over a speed bump.

And it’s not love when he stares at Taemin’s slightly parted mouth, at his carefully drawn features that make him look like too much and too little all at once. But when Taemin shifts in his sleep, mumbles a pair of syllables that resemble something like Minho’s name, Minho decides to change his mind.

Maybe it is love, he doesn’t quite know much about this feeling he gets in his chest, like he’s flying higher than the moon, than the stars while at the same time he feels like he’s drowning, bubbles flying from his desperate lips, searching for air.

He doesn’t know much about his emotions or about the wave of guilt that holds him against the tide, but he does know about Taemin, knows him better than he’s known anything else in the world, and he knows himself enough to know that he wants Taemin to be happy and to live, to live not just for the living.

And the bus keeps on moving, rumbling almost silently against the worn streets, vacant houses and diluted flowers blurring into one, the excitement is dulling in his stomach as his eyes become heavy, Minho focuses on Taemin’s light breathing, and pretends that maybe, just maybe, it might be love.

--

The sun is burning bright against the enormous blanket of blue they call the sky when Minho finally wakes Taemin up. Little whispers leave his lips as he brings Taemin out of his safe dreamland, opening his eyes excitedly at their new destination.

Disappointment clouds Taemin’s features as he sees the familiar lettering of the market place where they spent one too many nights out together, counting their dreams one by one until the black fades into a hazy purple.

“This…this is just Jinki’s-”

“Yeah.” Minho cuts him off, grabbing him by the hand as they push themselves through the glass doors.

The little bells Jinki hung on the threshold for good luck jingle pleasantly, the sound of footsteps hitting the linoleum floor catches Jinki’s attention. He waves hello at the two, shaking his head as they disappear to the roof. They’re both helpless as they are clueless Jinki thinks to himself as he rearranges the display of teeth rotting candy.

“But I thought-we were running away, weren’t we?” Taemin asks, feeling like he’s missed a step as Minho’s long legs dangle down the ledge of the building.

“Not really.” Minho says, holding out his hand until he feels familiar fingertips that are always so cold, almost begging to be held.

“Running away from your problems, just make more.” Minho says as Taemin sits on his lap, legs gently knocking against each other, shoes looking wonderfully small against the horizon of the world.

“I know, I know.” Taemin says resignedly, shaking his head slightly, hair ghosting Minho’s cheek.

“I wanted to though. Run away.” Minho says conversationally as Taemin plays around with Minho’s knuckles.

“Oh?” Taemin asks, his voice sounds distant, like if he was a balloon floating away from Minho’s grasp, even though he’s holding Taemin’s body flush against his own.

“I did. But we can’t. At least not now.” Minho says right next to Taemin’s ear, hoping to bring the boy back down with him, so they can share this moment together, both of them present.

“I wanted to give it to you though-pretend at least.” Minho continues, sighing in relief when Taemin’s beautiful, glimmering eyes reflect his own.

“The excitement of running away.” Minho finishes in an embarrassed whisper.

The blush that was creeping up his neck settles in his cheeks as Taemin’s lets out a laugh, a bright and bubbly laugh that sends glitter into the autumn air.

“Thank you.” Taemin whispers, pressing the smallest of kisses against Minho’s cheek before hiding his head in Minho’s jacket.

And Minho smiles, enjoys Taemin’s company, treasures it. Even if it is for just a fleeting moment.