Seungyoon is my home.

Minho makes this realization in the deep, dark hours of the night; his thoughts scrambling on a treacherous line between reality and the intangible. 

* * *

Outside, a storm is brewing. Raindrops trickle across the glass panes of his window. He can hear the roar of water cascading down roof pipes and the low rumbling of thunder in the distance. Somewhere a couple rooms away, Jinu-hyung snores in his sleep. 

The neon digits of his alarm clock read 2:10 and he knows he should be sleeping right now - he has an early schedule and he knows just how much Seungyoon will nag him for waking up with purple shadows underneath his eyes. 

But his thoughts are relentless, waltzing and spinning in spirals, keeping him trapped in an abstruse grey field between dreamless sleep and wakefulness. 

His thoughts have been keeping him up lately.  

As always, they revolve around Seungyoon. 

(How he looks, how he sleeps, how he walks.

...

 How he smiles, how he laughs, how he talks)

 His bewitching fox-like eyes taunt every second of sleep lost as Minho tosses and turns helplessly in his bedspreads, trying in vain to understand - 

What do I feel for you? 

How do you feel about me?

Wha