A/N: 

This part is just an introduction to the story, which will be entirely a flashback starting from back in 2005, uff; this is very vague and I didn’t even mention Daesung once, what am I doing with my life, this is such a bad start for the story

Well, I hope you enjoy it anyway :)

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2020

He was feeling sentimental that night, and he didn’t know the reason; nothing was different than how it’d been for the past few weeks, but he couldn’t sleep and sometimes he couldn’t even breathe.
 
He hated getting lost into his thoughts and always had, because he knew his mind was a really dangerous place, it had some dark and unexplored spots he always preferred to keep away from; he was afraid he would find something he didn’t like there, he would find something about himself that would tear him down to pieces. Not that he could lie to himself; he knew that had already happened a few months before, and all he’d thought he knew had fallen and crashed on the floor before he could catch it.
 
The way he saw his life and himself had changed irremediably that night, when he’d realised that, even though he was eccentric, he was still like everyone else; he’d never thought he was better, he’d just always thought there was something broken inside him that couldn’t be fixed.
 
And there was, of course, there would always be, just not to the extent he’d thought; there wasn’t anything wrong with his emotions, everything that was wrong was in his head.
 
He’d been terrified of getting hurt his entire life and, trying to protect himself, he’d gotten hurt in the process, and had kept pretending that he didn’t care, or that he wasn’t even bruised; but now he knew he had deep scars he’d only pretended not to see.
 
He would never voice his worry aloud, but he was still scared; he was scared he would mess everything up and, in the end, he would be left alone, like many other times before, because he never let the people he cared about in, never let them get too close, afraid that they would see who he really was and run away.
 
Problem was, he already knew everything about him, even what he’d been trying to hide, and he always felt there was no one who understood him as well as him; maybe he couldn’t actually understand what was going on in his head, maybe he couldn’t understand why he acted a certain way or why he had certain interests, but he could feel the emotions he felt. It had always been like that, almost as if they were the same person and two different people all at once, for how strange it sounded.
 
He looked at him, observing the shadows that danced on his relaxed face; sometimes he was still in disbelief, he couldn’t actually believe he was there, sleeping next to him, and he always asked himself if he wasn’t an illusion created by his miserable and lonely mind.
 
He stretched out a hand, feeling the inexplicable need to touch his face, but stopping when his fingertips could barely reach his skin; he didn’t want to wake him up and bother him with the thoughts running around his head, even though he knew he would help him no matter what, no matter which hour of the night it was, like he’d done so many times before.
 
Sometimes he didn’t’ even realise how much they’d changed; he could still remember the first time they’d met, when they were just two children with a dream bigger than them, children who didn’t know where life would bring them, children who had yet to realize how cruel and difficult life actually was. It’d almost been fifteen years; he was starting to feel old.
 
In that moment, he had so many thoughts in his head, he knew there was no way he could fall asleep; sighing, he decided to get up, unsure what to do but sure he needed to clear his mind as best as he could, since he’d already allowed himself to think for too long.
 
He picked up a t-shirt that had inexplicably ended up on the floor and quietly walked out of his room and into the hallway while attempting to put it on; he didn’t even glance at the paintings that had had the ability to calm him down many times, knowing that, this time, they couldn’t do anything to soothe his heart from the pain it was feeling. A pain he’d felt many times, but he’d never realised what it meant before; now that he did, it seemed to be doubled, he felt almost physically hurt.
 
He wished it was easy, but it had never been, nor him nor for anyone else; he wished he could make the pain disappear and forget everything that was troubling him, because he wanted to be happy without having his mind thinking unpleasant and harsh thoughts.
 
‘You are unlovable, you are broken, you are crazy, and sooner or later he will realise it and you will be alone again, as you’re always bound to be. There’s no way somebody would stay with you knowing how messy you are, you don’t even know what you’re thinking or what you’re feeling most of the time; you’re just going to end up hurting him like you’ve hurt so many people before because you will never be able to tell him how you really feel because you are a coward and a liar, even if you claim you hate liars. You’re ugly, you’re disgust—”
 
He reached his kitchen and grabbed the packet of cigarettes he’d so stupidly left on the counter the evening before, before stepping out on his balcony, in the cold January air; the contact of his bare feet with the ground seemed to freeze the thoughts he’d been having on the spot and, for a moment, it seemed that everything was gone.
 
When he lighted his cigarette, though, he noticed that his hands were slightly shaking, but he blamed it on the wind, trying to convince himself that it was the truth; he observed the skyline for a moment, feeling like he was slowly calming down thanks to the smoke, blinking against the lights on top of the tall buildings in front of him, which shined in the distance like unreachable stars.
 
He couldn’t help but reminisce in that moment, even if he would’ve preferred not to; if he had to be honest with himself, he knew he wasn’t going to leave him, because he’d seen the ugliest parts of him and had never let go of his hand, but he was still scared something was going to happen, even if he didn’t know what.
 
Sometimes he felt like he’d ruined their relationship and that now everything that they were left with was the scattered pieces of their friendship, something that would never be again; but, after all, he hoped that was what would keep them together, the fact that they’d been friends, even brothers, before that happened.
 
He couldn’t help but remember everything they’d been through together, everything they’d survived, everything that had brought them in their current situation; remember how blind he’d been, how stupid he’d been and how desperate he’d been and still was.

Remembering everything they’d been, everything they were and everything they would never be.