The morning had come. Sun shone softly against the window, reflected upon the thin curtains and directed straight into the brunette’s room to light it up in streaks of warm, yellow rays. Taemin felt the heat they emitted against his exposed lower abdomen, so he pulled his pyjamas top down and rolled over with a muffled groan.

Five more minutes, Taemin pleaded in his slumberous state. Five more minutes and I will wake up to work on the project without procrastinating–

The knock on the door halted his thought processes abruptly. But just like the early sunlight, however soft and diffuse,  Taemin didn’t budge from this one too. Instead, he retained his position, sprawled and unmoving on the bed while waiting for more hints from the person on the other side of the room.

“Son?” His mother’s voice woke him up completely. “Awake yet?”

“Yes, mom,” Taemin replied, half of his words absorbed by the pillow without reaching the receiver.

“Kibum is here, honey. He’s looking for you.”

Taemin blinked and pushed himself up to sit, rubbing the grogginess away from his eyes. That was very unusual of Kibum. Why would he come over so early in the morning? They had no classes to attend that day which means Taemin didn’t need a ride. Weird.

“Okay, mom. Thank you, and good morning,” Taemin said.

Though what approached him back was his best friend barging into his room, a foxy grin stretched from ear to ear as he exclaimed, “Good morning to you too, Taeminnie!”

That was common. Squinting his eyes in a judging manner, Taemin pointed at the door in a silent request for it to be closed before beckoning Kibum to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What is it, Kibum? So chippy for someone who’s not a morning person. It’s the weekend, to boot,” Taemin commented while piling up the duvets on his lap, oblivious of the other’s dramatic reaction to his words.

“It’s the weekend,” Kibum emphasised strongly. “You know what the weekend is for.”

“For what, sleeping? That one I know.”

Kibum made a face and threatened to pull the duvets, shaking his head ardently as he spoke, “Cello practices, remember? Hello.”

Oh. The practice.

Much to Kibum’s utter confusion, the man in front of him became quiet. He gave it a few more minutes, thinking Taemin might’ve woken up inappropriately by his sudden arrival, but nothing changed. The reaction prolonged.

“Oi,” Kibum poked Taemin’s jutted out knee. The younger grunted in return. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t you want to come and watch them practise?”

“Nope.”

“Why?” It wasn’t Kibum’s intention to be a busybody. If only Taemin didn’t change overnight after the ensemble, maybe he wouldn’t delve into his personal life so much.

In fact, this was the second weekend that Taemin refused to join him for cello practice. When asked about what happened during the ensemble, Taemin said nothing. He always resorted to that answer that drove Kibum insane most of the time.

“Are you two fighting?” Kibum threw himself onto the mattress. “You know, you and the man I shall not name.”

“Nope,” again. Same answer as always.

“Then? I thought you liked him.”

Taemin shrugged and rubbed down his legs. “I guess we’re just not meant to be? I mean, it takes more to fall in love with someone than just attending mere practices, don’t you think?”

“But it could be the start,” Kibum replied, the apparent concern coating his tone thickly the latter could even taste it on his tongue. “Like how it happened to Jinki and me.”

“Right,” Taemin’s chuckle was non-committal. “Wouldn't it be great if everyone’s love story is as easy and beautiful as yours, Bummie?”

The answer shocked Kibum to the point of turning soundless, and he wondered if he could make his friend open up a bit; just a little peek and maybe, then, he could offer a hand.

But the truth bomb was that the world never gave anybody a break.

If Taemin had to battle his thoughts and Kibum’s constant frown in response to each of his statements that morning, Minho was forced to attend the private Sunday service despite being an atheist. His family was aware of it, and he’d made it clear since forever. But did they bother?

Of course not.

And that was how Minho found himself sitting on the last pew, pretty much leaving empty space in front while fighting the constant urge to roll his eyes at the pastor. He gave this homophobic sermon, saying stuff about the demonic nature of being gay and how they are almost worthy of death for being different, and he stared at Minho all the while as if he knew Minho was pissed and annoyed and daringly gay to deserve every piece of the degrading threat.

“One way to welcome devils in life is by having so little faith in the religion,” he said. Minho could see his father nodding from his seat. “And these devils are the ones who egg so many of us to indulge in homouality. When a man desires to lie next to another man, when a woman—”

“Then what about you?” Minho intervened, and the pastor faltered for a sec.

“Sorry, what about me?”

“You go around preaching things like this, calling gay people—me—freaks. You spout vile things about us. What about you?” Minho could feel his parents' eyes on him, but his spine remained straight and well-collected, talking in no hints of creating a dispute in the church. “What about you?”

“Minho,” Soongyeom called sternly, though the subtext lying underneath was more of ‘Keep quiet, you’re embarrassing me’.

“Mr Choi, it’s okay,” the pastor reassured, standing firmer on the ground and exhaling steadily. His eyes met Minho’s fearless ones, and he continued. “I’ve dedicated my life and career to the belief that home is where our religion truly is, hence why I’m preaching the Bible. To a certain degree, it may offend the society, and if it does, it does.”

“And you feel entitled enough to wish harm upon us, just because you’re the Baptist preacher?” Minho leaned back and crossed his arms. It felt like only two of them were in the same place by then.

“I never mean to wish harm. It’s the devil’s work that sets us, you, apart, so best if we embrace ourselves for who God has created us to be and believe in the holy—”

“Ironic, really,” Minho chipped in again and laughed. His dry guffaw resonated through the apse. “Ironic how you keep on pretending to know so much about people but say otherwise while speaking up against my society. I may not share the same belief as you, or any belief for that matter, yet I know that Christ taught you to love one another. I thought you were preaching the word of God? Perhaps you’re not doing any better at that.”<