His hands began to twitch again. That was a bad sign- always a bad sign. It was like they had separate minds and lived off of different nervous systems and acted on their own. He cursed silently, a whisper under his breath, clenching his fists and staring down at the wooden table. The tavern was scarce of people, which was to be expected at this time of night.

Minho looked up from the table- clasping his eyes shut because it was always a bad sign when he looked. Eventually, the deranged and mentally-ill part of his mind screamed and chanted and shouted for his eyes to open and they obeyed, fluttering lightly before his head automatically snapped to the slim boy just across pub.

. , , .

He was too young-looking to have been caught under Minho’s radar- too innocent, too malnourished, too puerile. But, that was what his senses always searched for, with such a pristine acuteness that it even frightened himself at times.

Minho wanted to look away- longed for it- hoped his brain would come to the conclusion that this boy wasn’t good enough, wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t youthful enough. But, those were just wishes and Minho knew that there really was no point in lying to himself when he already knew what was coming next.

Even so, this was the first time that Minho ever felt the desire to stop. To just take a gun and pull the trigger towards his own heart because, honestly, this boy looked too… juvenile. He appeared to have his whole life ahead of him, big dreams, big goals- just like Minho once had. Truthfully, this kid seemed like he would go somewhere.

But, he had set his future in the stones the minute he walked through those doors while Minho was here- and if Minho was anywhere near you, that was always a disastrous sign. Minho ruined things. It was in his nature.

He gave up the fight with his legs and ultimately allowed himself the walk over to the other male’s table, plopping into a seat, unwelcome.

“Hi,” Minho said, observing the other.

Up close, the boy’s hair really wasn’t as faded of a blonde color as it had seemed, his skin pale like porcelain and his facial features soft. The semblance that stored itself deep in the irises, though, showed withering derma, split ends, and the yearning for death.

Which was always a bad sign. Minho could never turn that down.

The younger boy seemed to do the same to him, taking a long glance at Minho before dancing his fingers across the rim of the glass.

“Ya’ wanna ?” And Minho couldn’t believe that it had been that easy. That he didn’t even have to ask first. He honestly felt like it was some trick, that the boy was just messing with him, but, he could think about that later because the boy had already got up and pulled Minho up with him.

“What’s you’re name,” Minho questioned.

“Taemin… Lee Taemin,” He added after a moment of hesitation. And Minho looked back at the bar through the closing doors, already being able to picture the yellow crime scene tape as Minho pushed Taemin behind the back of the tavern.