SHINee. That's their name. SHINee. Shining shinee. Five boys, men, that came together by chance that they'd be free.

From youngest to oldest, they stand together. A hand over their hearts, and a sword in the other. Their forms clad in glimmering armor as they stand before the world's gate. 

A double edged sword that they hold. Crimson seeps down their palms. It still hurt. They still hurt. They still bled. No matter how high we planned to place them.

Yet they knew themselves.They knew we were to blame. They know that we are behind them, pushing them. But what they knew and didn't speak was much more important.  The hidden glances and stolen laughs. Not from an admirer,  but from and for eachother. 

They stand before us, hand in hand. Or rather, wrist to wrist. Because remember, they hold a double edged sword. The more we push, the tighter they hold, and the deeper the wound bleeds.

They want to let go, but then.

Where's the pain go?

With closed eyes they watch on. Hand over their hearts instead of in our grasp. They stand infront of us, not willing to fight us. We surround them, yet they continue to hear our cries and sing us songs of rejoice. 

When the swords fall from their battered forms, they open their eyes and reach to pick up the pearlescent blade. A soft smile on their features as they once again close their eyes. 

Ready to protect us for one thousand more years to come.

A single thought floats throughout their memories. A burning hope or rather vision, of the day they will finally be free to hold our hand in theirs.