Days went by without a single mention of your planned departure. Minho would spend his time, even if there weren’t that many, with you. Your time together revolved around his schedule, which you’d expected so you never took it to heart if he cancelled on you all of a sudden. You came to know that he has a habit of dropping by late at night, just like always. You were knocked out from a draining day at work once, sleeping way before your usual time. Leaving him to wait out for you for hours until you snapped awake at his god knows how many phone calls. And so you had to hand him the spare key. Which had led to a few interesting nights, just like this one.

It was a few minutes past midnight, you lay awake, squinting at the phone screen as you re-read the text message Minho had sent you.

Him: Hey you, is it okay if I come by today?

You: Since when did you start asking?

Him: Ha ha. See you at 9, smart mouth. Love you!

You: You see what I mean? I love you too pabo

You laughed to yourself, one because why did he even bother asking, two because he was three hours late. It wasn’t anything new, thinking that he might still be in the studio like he always was. Most days you’d be asleep by now, but Minho was a night owl and you didn’t realize you’d stay up later than usual for him. You were bound to leave, and even if the two of you never touched the subject since that night, you knew why he was taking any opportunity to be with you as often as he could.

It was a few minutes until you caught your stomach grumbling and you sighed deeply because,

Really? This late?

Dragging yourself off the bed, you shuffled through the darkness, making your way into the kitchen. Half way there, you stop in your tracks as your eyes adjusted to a figure hovering over the kitchen stove. You should have went bat crazy or scared or both, but instead you continued to stare at him, at… Minho. You couldn’t miss his shoulders, broad, as he shrugged and bobbed to, presumably, a beat in that head of his. It was amusing how, despite his age, he really was just a boy who cannot keep still. At all.

“Minho, what are you-”

“- how long have you been there?” He sputtered in shock, clenching a pair of chopsticks close to his chest.

“I’m sorry.” You chuckle, slowly walking over to him. “Were you really going to fight me with those?”

“It’s not funny.” He mutters, tongue in cheek. His gaze pierced through you as he stood below the dim lights, he had a loose t-shirt on over a checkered flannel, and fitted dark jeans and… is he even real?

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, he must have been too focused to be this startled, apparently making instant ramen by the smell of it. He was less tense as you scooted against him, catching your familiar scent as he place a kiss on top of your head. 

“Is this dinner?” You glance at him disapprovingly, craning your neck.

“Dinner was ages ago.” He looks elsewhere with a suppressed smile. “I’m still hungry.”

Minho pretends that he didn’t see that ‘of course you are’ look you gave him, as he took the entire pot off the stove. He didn’t bother helping himself with a bowl or anything, knowing well he’s going to eat off the pot itself.

Settling the steaming food on the table, he turned his head to see you still in the kitchen. He gave you that smile you adore so much, and you can almost read his mind, why are you still standing there?

~

You stare at Minho, in awe as he, more or less chugged down whatever was left of that ramen. Seeing him savour whatever he ate always made you forget how hungry you were. It was funny how he had offered to share it with you, yet he was the one to finish the whole thing himself.  

“Is there broth on my face?” He had a stupefied look, eyes wide.

“Hm?” He was adorable, and you weren’t out of your thoughts just yet.

“You’re smiling.” He leans in to poke your cheeks with a chopstick, jerking you to one side. You scowl at him, before biting his palm hastily for getting ramen broth on your face.

“Yah!” He yelps, snatching his hand back with a frown.

“I can’t smile?” You said with a light laugh, and he tipped his head up to look at you.

Smile all you want, he wanted to say. Heck, you might as well smile all the damn time, when I’m here, when I’m not. It hurt thinking that soon enough, he might not even see it, this real, this close. He didn’t know when, but the more he spent time with you, the more restless he became. Each passing day meant a day closer to saying goodbye. Minho wanted to make sure that even if he’d forgotten what you look like with that smile of yours, he sure as hell won’t forget how it made him feel.

~

The clock read a quarter past two in the morning and you didn’t know why you were still alert. The two of you were huddled on the couch, with you absentmindedly twiddling the beads of his bracelet as he rested his hand on your knee. You had your focus solely on the TV screen, and Minho couldn’t contain how flattered he was as he grinned ear to ear. There was a re-run of one of his performances for a competition a while back. It was one war of a show, and he remembers how guilty he felt for not doing as well as he wanted to. He had such heartfelt support from his family, friends, and fans, thinking he never thanked them enough. Minho couldn’t help but wonder how different it would have been if he had you then.

“Wow. He’s amazing.” You almost squealed, and you see him glare at you by the side.

“You’re unbelievable,” He wraps an arm around you, pulling you playfully into a headlock. “I’m him!”

“Prove it then.” You said with a smile, pulling yourself back to face him. He had his eyebrows furrowed, puzzled. “I’ve never seen you live.”

“I’m not sure you can handle it though.” He gave you a smug smile, hopping off the couch, eager to accept the challenge.

“Try me.”

And he did.

He had you wrapped around his finger, and you let him, gladly. Minho had plenty of experiences, rapping one on one, but with you it was different, it felt intimate somehow.

You were blown away, completely awestruck at he could handle this much talent. He truly was meant to be doing this, and you were happy, so happy for him, that he gets to do what he loves and does best. It was difficult to comprehend how he can be so emotional, having seen him let loose in front of you plenty of times. And how he has the ability to be the complete opposite, coming off so strong, just like how he is now.

His voice was gruff, heavy as he spits out bitter phrases, powerful enough to leave his audience with an impact. He was aggressive, you noticed how he clenched one hand to his mouth, and the way his lip twitched, and the lip biting, and that pulsing neck vein, and-

Lord have mercy on my soul.

“I don’t do this everyday you know.” You know, a private show. He was back to his usual self, a shy smile on his face as he clears his throat.

“Oh god, you’re like two different people.” You stammer, rubbing the back of your neck, mildly flustered.

“Hm. I’ve heard.” He laughs, “Which one do you like better?” Tilting his head to look at you, curious.

“It doesn’t matter, you’re still you after all.” You leaned back, trying to recover discreetly. Until he kneels down in front of you, resting his arms on either side of your legs. He brushed his thumb lightly on the skin of your thighs, oblivious to how he’s got you in such a mess.  

Minho leans in, too close for your comfort. He pauses as the tip of his nose touched yours, catching how your pupils had dilated, seeing himself reflected in your eyes.

“Who?” He whispers, his breath fluttered on the surface of your lips. And in that moment he moves in placing his lips, soft on yours. You were all sorts of feelings, smiling in pure bliss as he kissed you over and over.

“Song. Min. Ho”

He feels every syllable uttered from your lips, sweet on his. Minho didn’t think he could fall anymore harder than he already was, but he was. And he didn’t want to stop.

~

It wasn’t until the sun had started to peek in, washing the dark sky to a deep, quiet blue. You were both still awake, and you were still scooped in between his legs, sitting by the balcony. The morning air felt chilly, and you feel Minho tuck his legs in, wrapping you closer to him for warmth.

“This shouldn’t feel so sad, right?” His voice low, hummed from his chest. “But it does.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing his cheeks to yours. You said nothing, feeling like you knew where the conversation was heading to.

“I know you don’t want it to be that way, but I don’t think I can pretend like I’m okay with all this. Not anymore.” Your chest tightened as you hear that crack in his voice.

“When are you leaving?”

And there it was.

“Just a little over two weeks.” You say quietly. There was no use to holding it back, if anything you were glad that he’d finally asked. Glad that you still had the chance to say that it was in a matter of weeks instead of days. 

“Oh wow. That fast?” He chuckles, yet you sense the disappointment in his voice.

“Minho-”

“It’s cold, let’s get some sleep. Hm?” He stood up carefully, taking your hands and he pulls you up to your feet.

You see the sadness in his eyes, and you were sure he could see the same in yours. Squeezing his hand, you wanted so much to tell him that it was okay, that you and him will be okay. But you were scared. Scared if he’d come to ask when will that ever happen, because honestly you were convinced that it will never be.

~