It all starts in that one morning, Minho gets up and realizes he doesn’t love Taemin anymore.

It feels weird. And somewhat right.

Minho and Taemin aren’t soul mates, high school sweethearts or even boyfriends. They just hang out, sometimes stealing a quick kiss here or a soft caress there, and even . No, they are not friends with benefit. Minho loves Taemin and Taemin loves Minho. It’s just that they can’t bring themselves in a serious relationship.

Commitment issue, Minho guesses.

It was one of the summer days, with Taemin lying on Minho’s couch, with his head on Minho’s laps, playing games on his phone while the elder running his hand through the dark and soft locks of Taemin’s. Minho smiled sweetly at the boy on his lap, inhaled the scent emitted from the boy’s hair. Maybe it was just shampoo but Taemin smelt like vanilla and new books and rain and orchids and fresh morning dews on the leaves, and Minho was so intrigued by that fragrance, so he leaned forward and pressed his lips on the boy’s soft hair, earning a curious look from the younger. And boy was Taemin beautiful with his big and confused and somewhat glossy orbs of eyes, so beautiful that Minho moved his lips from the boy’s scalp to reposition them against the younger, managing to whisper between kissed.

“Let’s date, Taemin.”

As he was met with Taemin’s mix of confusion and unreadability casted eyes, Minho dedicated one warm smile before continuing his speech.

“I love you, Taemin. Let’s date.”

“Okay.”

It still surprises Minho to this day as how fast Taemin could respond to his proposal like that, almost like he answered out of instinct and somehow automatically like a machine, but Minho prefers to think that it’s because Taemin, like Minho, has been waiting for the other to initiate the further steps first. So Minho decides that he will always be that one.

Whether it’s their first kiss, their first date, the first time they have , it’s always coming from Minho. And Taemin does no protests, no arguments, and even eagerly to follow with the flow. Minho can even use the word ‘obedient’ to describe Taemin, and it’s as if Taemin gives him permissions to do whatever Minho wants with him.

“Taemin, let’s kiss.”

“Okay.”

“Taemin, I found a new movie, wanna watch?”

“Okay.”

“Taemin, I bought you some clothes. Try it on.”

“Okay.”

“Taemin, there’s new restaurant on my friend’s neighborhood. I want to try. Come with me.”

“Okay.”

“Taemin, I want you.”

“Okay.”

It’s suffocating.

And Minho needs a break.

So he wakes Taemin up. The boy still curls up in a ball with their thick blanket around his bare body, bare as the day he was born, his milky white and soft as a baby’s skin glows in the sunlight, his thick hair sprawls freely on the pillow, his eyelashes rest peacefully above his cheeks and his plump lips purse out a little in a motion of breathing. He looks so innocent, so ethereal, and so illuminating. Like an angel. And the sight always catches Minho breathless, it’s always a guilt to wake up that peaceful creature. Minho was so madly in love with that sight, like he was in love with Taemin.

But Minho doesn’t give a damn about that today. He has fallen out of love with Taemin. The sight he worships so much has become so tasteless.

So Minho wakes him up. Roughly. Shoving the blanket out of Taemin’s grip until the boy opens his eyes in disturbance.

“Taemin.”

“Hm?” His voice is thick of sleep and hoarse from their three sessions last night. The usual Minho would find it adorable, but the current Minho just cringes.

“Let’s break up.”

“What?”

“I’m tired of you, tired of your denseness, tired of your obedience, tired of your everything. I need a break.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. So. Let’s break up.”

There is a pause.

“Okay.”