minho/krystal | escape | drabble | angst

"It's the only way," he mumbles, half-drunk. His alcohol-scented breath forms visible white puffs in the cold twilight air as he stumbles along, leaning on a freezing Krystal who is so tired that she feels like passing out.

She doesn't say anything, and they pass the minutes in silence, save for the occasional grunt or incoherent whispers coming from Minho. It is the dead of the night, with almost-deserted streets lined with barren trees that have lost all their leaves.

As Krystal hastily searches for the key to their apartment, Minho mutters incessantly, "It's the only way, Soojung-ah, the only way..."

Her sunken eyes barely register the way his expression has turned dark, sinister, awake. They both shove open the door, practically falling inside. Shoes grudgingly fly off, multiple layers of bulky winter coats are disposed of, and they are left in only their sweaters and jeans and socks.

Into the run-down bedroom with the creaky floorboards, and they are instantly asleep.

As day breaks, the weak sunlight filters in through the torn curtains, bestowing light onto a crazed Minho clutching a blood-stained knife. He watches serenely as a pool of red blood soaks into the white bed sheets around her, forming the most beautiful formation he has ever seen. Her face is graceful and still.

He glances at the digital clock on his bedside table. Precisely 5:37 am. It is now or never, he thinks. This is the only way.

And he points the silver blade to his own chest.

1, 2, 3...

We did it, Soojung-ah.

pic credit | angelectic.tumblr