Everything is still. Silent and waiting, waiting because the sky is a washed out, almost pathetic gray and the air is hot and humid, but still there is no rain. No torrent of water that streams down from the angry clouds, blurring your vision, making the streets slippery, making the grass dark and muddy.

It’s the split second before that, before the rain, the calm before the storm. It’s almost scary actually, like the world is holding its breath and when it lets it go, it’ll be violent, it’ll be grand.

Today is also the day Taemin has to speak against his father, and yes he’s quite scared. He’s scared because if they don’t win, Taemin should just stop breathing completely, should fold himself up until he’s so small he can’t be seen, he should say his farewells and kiss the head of his brother one last time before breaking himself down to nothing.

And so he needs something, something to calm his nerves, something to cradle him into serenity, to sing unknown melodies into his ears as his eyes grow heavy and he isn’t afraid, not anymore. Call it liquid courage, call it crushed flowers, call it whatever, Taemin’s desperate now, almost hysteric as his hands grab and snatch for it, as his lungs beg for the smoke.

Minho doesn’t let him, holds him back like a dam holds back rushing water, and Taemin’s angry and scared and he isn’t thinking, he can’t. He just needs one hit, then he’ll be okay, he’ll be fine. He tries bargaining with Minho, offering things, offering a place in the sky, to crush the stars, but after his pleas Minho looks at him almost disappointedly, and guilt flashes in Taemin’s eyes.

It’s drizzling, not quite raining, and it’s dark, the clouds are now an ash color and the only reason Taemin’s able to see is with the light reflecting off the lampposts, shimmering and glistening on the soon forming puddles of water. He sees his reflection in one of the puddles, framed by dirty grass and loose pebbles, and his reflection doesn’t look like him. It’s Taemin, of course, but it’s like a different version of him, it looks desperate, it looks almost savage, but then the small teardrops from the sky blur the puddle and everything’s back to normal.

Taemin’s still scared.

It’s raining now.

--

He’s in the hospital.

He’s in the hospital and Minho screams, and yells and he blames everything on Taemin, on himself, on Taemin’s parents, on the placidly watching sun. And god Taemin is such an idiot, and no Minho’s not crying (he is) and he isn’t worried (worrying himself to near death actually), he doesn’t care anymore, or at least he doesn’t want to care (but he still does) because it isn’t worth it, to live in pain because of someone else, it’s not worth putting everything you have into someone, because then you have nothing left for yourself.

Nothing.

And the stars don’t mean anything anymore, and the vastness of night doesn’t give Minho chills anymore. And it’s funny how he thought Taemin’s skin was the lovelier than the moon, because now it’s this ghostly pale and sings of death. And Taemin’s eyes, which held everything, dreams, wishes, falling stars and streaking comets, well now they’re screwed shut. And they don’t show anything anymore.

Jinki’s worried about him, checks on him frequently, tries to create a safer environment for Minho because he’s afraid Minho would do something rash and indecisive. And Minho wonders if he really is that pathetic.

Jinki doesn’t ask about Taemin, doesn’t because the first time he did is still etched in his mind, and it hurts him to think about the things Minho is capable of.

Minho’s parents don’t note anything weird on Minho’s behavior, but that’s to be expected. Taemin’s father is nowhere to be seen, gone like paper wishes, flying in the wind. Yoogeun’s mother is furious, yelling, kicking, screams echoing through the hospital wing. It’s a lost opportunity for her, they can’t testify against someone if the person is missing, or if the main witness is crisscrossing the thin line between life and death.

It is a thin line, although it seems like two totally different things, one being alive and breathing and the other is just, well death, black, empty, nothing. But there are too many people in the world, who are dead on the inside, too many people dying, too many people losing hope, too many ghosts walking along the dark streets, living for absolutely nothing.

Yoogeun’s tugging on Minho’s jacket, the one he uses to cover the bruises, and this little boy is looking up at Minho with big, wide eyes, mouth slightly agape.

“Are you Minho?” The precious child asks, still tugging on the jacket.

Minho nods and tries not to crack a smile when the kid’s eyes become even bigger, and his little stubby legs jump up and down with glee.

“I know you!” The child exclaims, sitting himself right on Minho’s lap, voice extremely loud in the otherwise quiet waiting room.

“Taeminnie talks about you all the time.” Yoogeun says, nodding to himself as he plays with Minho’s zipper.

“Minho? When is Taemin going to wake up?” Yoogeun asks, titling his head to the side and halting his grubby hands.

Minho makes a noise in the back of his throat, words slipping from his mouth, losing them in maze of his thoughts, because Minho is in absolute awe in the innocence of this child. This child who’s used to harsh beatings, who’s used to yelling and crying, growing up in fear. This child is still pure, still believes in the goodness of people, sees meadows growing in the vastest and deserted places, this child still hopes. And Minho tries not to burst into tears, because soon this child will grow up, and the stars will be forced from his eyes, and the flowers will soon wilt.

Minho tries not to cry because he too remembers once upon a long, long time ago, he believed, he heard the music in the way people talked, he saw magic in everyday mundane things. But Minho’s lost that for now, and he hopes that this little kid doesn’t lose it too.

“Soon.” Minho responds finally, holding Yoogeun in his arms until the child falls into a deep slumber.

He lays Yoogeun down on a row of chairs, making sure the kid’s still dozing off, lucky for him Yoogeun sleeps like a rock. He quickly moves through the many hallways of the hospital, shoes scraping the almost perfectly kept linoleum floor, it’s strange, everything here is in perfect order, too clean, too meticulous, too perfect.

His mind barely registers the room numbers, blurry and red as he walks through the door, and there Taemin is, sleeping, dying.

He looks inscrutable, not quite peaceful, not quite disturbed, just there. But just there is okay, just there is fine because it’s still here, it means there’s a chance, a glimmer of hope that he’ll be fine, that they’ll be fine, and they’ll be together and Yoogeun can grow up happy and Minho can learn to love, can live happily and-and-

Minho isn’t crying, but he wants to. Wants to scream and yell and be bitter. But now he feels empty, empty and a little hopeless, just a smidge.

So he holds on to the beats of Taemin’s heart monitor, steady beats that ring throughout the room, unfaltering beats that promise something, that promise a future, little rhythmical heart beats that hold a song, that tell stories of a less screwed up tomorrow.

And for now it is enough.

--

alrighty guys, this is the second to last chappie, then it's only an epilogue and we're done! this has been something really personal to write and I'm so happy I could share it with you guys ^^ thank you all for the super sweet words <3