here is where we meet

Minho/Hayi, Minho-centric

I met you first in autumn. The leaves of your skin withered and cracked under my footsteps in disjointed measures, sonata of the wind bristling the crooked twigs I did not recognise were fingers. Stiffness laced your movements, contrary to the sway of spring and upbeat summer.

They said you had to be sticks. Your beauty held no place if you did not curl like petite bonsais. You were a tree with too magnificent a stature, shade widespread and trunk too thick and strong.

You could still be pretty if you kept it small and demure, a snug fit into the display cabinets (bursting at the seams). Overcrowding, they called it. You would not stand a chance in such a competitive field where the crops were plentiful and they harvested the compact plants that could still bear fruit. There was no space for someone huskier like you.

So they planted you in the mud and stabbed the stakes too close to your feet. They bounded the measuring tape to ensure the corral stayed firm and grew you in that corset, shaved off your bark and tightened the rope around your figure.

I watched as it coiled all the way to your neck and you shallowly exhaled in 7/8 time, voice shuddering and the glow in your cheeks wilted. You wobbled in the gales and the arpeggios dismantled themselves further into fatigue and frailty.

The asphyxiation painted you white and blue and you deteriorated into winter, a subtle frown etched into your gaunt cheeks. Every seventh count, the inhale mismatched with an extra gasp because it was so hard to breathe. The beat rapid, heels screeching, your throat run down from both your exhilarating voice and the 12.5 inches demanded around your neck.

You said it was a choker, with the glitter and drawn on lilies ironically juxtaposed against your withered, drooping form. I joked that it was a noose.

We were never close. You were always closer to Hanbin despite the frequent bickering. He would struggle to say the right words and call you stupid, yell at you to get another size instead of strangling yourself to death. You would nonchalantly say it's normal for people to want more than a voice and he would scream louder.

I never knew what to say either. When you left the practice room and I happened to finish up in the studio, I would ask you to accompany me to the convenience store since it was midnight. You would chortle and tease me on the way there and amid our small talk, I would casually ask you what you ate for dinner.

To Hanbin, you would lie and say you ate well. To the less hot-headed me, you would groan about the meagre spoonfuls you had, tone lighthearted like it was a minimal annoyance that didn't matter.

Under the cover of darkness you always seemed more jubilant. When the glaring light of the signboard came into view, too reminiscent of the spotlight in the concert hall, you would wince and I would tug the hood of your jacket over your head.

While you skipped around the aisles, I tailed you amusedly, our rambles pronounced in the dead night's silence. I swept a thousand and one snacks off the shelves and swung around the basket, where we argued over what tasted better. In the end, we'd pick just a few, none of them yours since you would remind me of your strict diet.

I still gave you the chocolate milk and the biscuits anyway. The first time, you protested that you were not allowed to eat anything after a certain time. I said no one would know. You said your body would show.

It went on and on between the change of seasons, endless, cheap symphony composed under waning tungsten lights and a tattered awning. The conversation with the afternoon would go like this: the boy sprinkled the water into the soil and the tree would rustle in disagreement as it was not allowed to grow any more. It would be too heavy. The boy would go, "So what?"

You threw the bottle and packets away the first few times when I tossed them to you and went back to the studio. Astronomical stifles per season, September Equinox you remained, the December Solstice stole your breaths and I wanted more than anything to see you smile. The lead tapped staccato into the paper and I began to hear the harmony of every composition in your timber.

They tied the tape measure to your wrists and your upper arm, stifling the blood flow and extended the rope with strings of demeaning insults and relentless mockery. They attached a board to the ropes and made a merry swing out of your misery.

Every day, the boy sat by the tree and fended off the bullies hurtling themselves onto the swing, those who stomped hard on the seat and gleefully waited for the tree's branch to snap. Sometimes, the boy was too small and could not protect the tree. He would kneel by the tree's stem and cry, apologising and promising to be stronger next time.

I tried day after day to untie the suffocating nylon from your choked limbs. I am sorry I could only untangle the knots in your long, flowing hair. I am sorry I could only give you weightless, seemingly fraudulent words to comfort you. But believe me, I thought you were beautiful every time I told you so, and I still think so now.

You said you didn't fit the narrow mirror in the dressing room. I said to get a bigger one, then.

The sun blistered through seven months of merciless snow and the perpetual winter burning through your skin. I gave you my hoodie on the days it rained and we dashed across the street from the convenience store to the company building, your laughter carved into the maroon fibre of the sky.

It was one fine night that I said I loved you under my breath, and brushed it off with a cheeky smile. You fluttered your lashes and we had the same conversation with the afternoon.

The innumerable days spent with our fingertips touching, bristling heat yearning to bridge the distance between us—your eyes on the bottle as if you wished fervently it was Wonderland's potion—seemed to dwindle to an end.

You finally replied, "Yeah. So what."

I raised my head and turned to you. You shrugged smiled like moonlight shimmering off the ocean, five feet tall of a voice that shook the stratosphere and dripped Saturn into my hands.

I placed my hand over yours and you glanced up at me. I saw you breathe in 4/4 time, and I thought, how beautiful.

this is sorta like a branch of redux (similar plot but a lot more compact) but they're not linked ^^ thanks for reading~