This is my first attempt to write Minhoon. Most certainly the last. Thanks for reading.

XVI. Buttercups

His touch lingers on his skin, smoothly over his hair where he has petted him like a child. He smiles at the memory. He smiles at the taste it brings (Seunghoon has touched him and with his fingers, he has stolen his heart even when it was his since the start, always had). He knows, though, that he doesn't feel the same (it pangs in his chest, the sudden realization covering his mind).

He knows it because he has seed his love, buried it deep inside his pocket and now it's blooming, like an explosion of bright yellow that stains his chest and his lungs (the petals come up gently and he stares at them, at those pretty little buttercups that represent his heart). In his core, they stand for him, for what he means to him: yellow like the sunshine for how warm he is, graceful like his dancing, elegant but simple, bright and cheerful, meaningful. Seunghoon is all of them (he is much more, too). Minho breathes and it's his smell that tingles his nose. The flowers fall gracefully on the floor and Jhonny stares at them, ready to haunt them for hurting Minho (he wants to laugh but his chest hurt with the aftermath of a wave of coughs and the air comes in in small puffs, unable to fill his lungs, unable to satiate his need of him).

He doesn’t know how it started but, suddenly, there was a pang in his chest whenever Seunghoon smiled at him, fondly, something warm growling from the inside and it felt good, nice. Maybe it was, for sure, that time when he flew all the way down Seoul to Tokyo only because he was feeling lonely (it was that moment when he realized that Seunghoon meant more than just a friend would, it was then when he started longing for his attention, for his touches, for any kind of affection; it was then when his feelings finally arouse, climbing inside the walls of his ribs until reaching the blooming period; the seeds were planted, running wild in his system, filling his blood).

And now his feelings are overwhelming him, blooming through his mouth, spouting gleaming petals of golden sun that mean that his love is true. That Seunghoon doesn’t reciprocate them, too. He cares about it a lot. He cares because it means he is about to die (and the idea of a grave where buttercups are evergreen is only pretty if he puts it into a draw; otherwise he is afraid that he endures it because there is nothing else he can do since he doesn’t know how to put a stop to it, to cut the roots that are growing, tangling around his organs like a vine, taking away air and blood flood).

Seunghoon starts acting meanie to him. At first, it’s all funny, nothing big or bothering; he makes fun of his fashion sense more than before and Minho laughs at it, too (he might be correct but he dresses as he pleases and gives Seunghoon more reasons to make fun out of him). He also adores the way he laugh, with his whole body, how it sounds like a reverie, how much he wants to stay in there, listening to him chuckling, at him belittling him, at him just being by his side (he doesn’t care because that means that he cares about him in a way and that’s all he wants). But, eventually, this is becoming worse and others start to notice.

Seungyoon asks him to stop.

“Hyung, why are you so nasty to Minho? He hasn’t done anything to aggravate you…” Minho overhears them one day, Seungyoon nagging at Seunghoon, concerned about his attitude.

“It’s the only way, Seungyoonie” is his answer (but that doesn’t answer anything and, after a few seconds filled with pregnant silence, he obligates to elaborate), “Jinwoo told me that he has developed the Hanahaki disease because of me.” After it, he doesn’t need to say anything else. At the far end of his vision, Seungyoon nods in agreement.

So this is it; he knows and his feelings are in the open, they have been discussed without him, they have been analysed and exanimated and they have agreed that the only way to save him is to make him loathe him. He wants to help. He wants his feelings to go away (only because he doesn’t want to disappoint Seunghoon again, he wants to be strong for him, too).

He dreams about him that night; he wakes up covered in bright yellow and the pungent, stingy feeling tackling his throat, itching and covered in blood. He realizes then that his time is close, that he is about to die. He doesn’t want to, so he clings into the flowers, scoffs at them, he brushes them off of his bed and cries until he sees in red. Jinwoo snuggles with him, reassuring him, patting his back with affection and care.

“It’s ok, Minho, we will find a way”

He prays for it to happen. And, if he has to die anyway, that the Almighty gives him the courage to kiss Seunghoon first. It’s the only thing he asks and begs for.

He feels how much effort Seunghoon is putting into making himself depreciable, hateful, saturating his persona with loathe comments but he is aware of the reason behind his behave and so he leaves them unaffected (it doesn’t hurt as much as knowing that he will throw away more flowers later does). He can’t loathe Seunghoon as much as he tries to push him to do so (he can’t because he loves him way too much).

Seunghoon tries harder; he tries to push him even harder, away, rude and raw, ripping him open and leaving him there, alone, exposed. Minho wants to cry (Jinwoo consoles him as best as he can). Still, he hasn’t the courage to hate Seunghoon; this is something far away from his reach.

At some point between practising for their Private Stage and the actual date, Seunghoon gives up. He confronts him instead. He tells him that he knows (Minho tells him that he knows it, too, that he has overheard them chatting and that all the meanie stuff he has thrown to him meant nothing, that he can’t let go of his feelings because they are rooted inside his chest and his core).

“If you can’t hate me and I can’t make you hate me, then there is nothing left to do” he comments, dissatisfied.

“You can always love me” he suggests, a whisper on the wind. But Seunghoon catches it and smiles, sadly, at him.

“I would like that” he confesses, eyes drench in tears that are threatening to fall and, under the pale light of the living room he has never looked better. Minho is captivated by his features.

“At least, kiss me once,” he asks.

It’s only a simple peck on his lips that taste like summer on the beach but it stirs something, it changes something.

Next morning Minho wakes up without coughing. He doesn’t cough for the next month; Seunghoon pressed close to his side, sneaking hands, sliding under shared blanked to intertwine fingers while watching that movie that he wanted. Seunghoon kisses his forehead before going to sleep and tells him that he loves him. Minho feels content, Minho feels like he is going to survive.

Minho feels alive again when Seunghoon kisses him fully under the flashing lights of his private studio. Minho pours his love into it and raps his feelings only for him to hear. He writes a diss track about hateful flowers trying to bring him down, yellow like butter, sweet like poison; Seunghoon is left wondering what flowers are they, the meaning behind them; they stand for “your charms dazzle me”.