Fear

The rain roars outside, drops smashing against the window pane like broken tears, the sky dark, hopeless like his own heart, scattering leaves and blinding lighting bolts like flashes on a shoot, hurting his fleeting eyes. It is cold where his forehead touches the glass, following the patterns drawn on the surface, tracing it with shaking fingertips, allowing the tempest to settle inside of him – to become a part of him. He stares at the city below, the span of buildings battered by cold rain, the colours washed away, diffused, a mismatched patchwork of greys and navies and the icy, itching feeling at the end of his nerves, the place that connects his heart to his fingers, that allow for the storm to storm inside of his head - and he closes his eyes, his cheek resting on the window, lashes fluttering, jolting open to the sound of the emptied streets, the blackness from outside melting into the hollow spaces of his mind. 

It’s raw, the clamour that rang outside, matching with the thunder inside his chest, the fears that palpitate through his veins, across his bones, down his spine, soaking him as if he were standing under the rain.

It is not fear of the storm but of the gale of his own thoughts, his own emotions. He has been there before, he has dealt with them many times – knows that it is all only in his mind, - but hurts the same, makes him shatter down, scatter the pieces of his own person to the grown, - down and below, there is nowhere to go, nowhere to escape and run away, not when what chases you is embroidered under your flesh, beating at the same pace as the blood streaming inside your veins. There are scars placed over his skin but they still can bleed, still haunt him like gossamer of nightmares tangling around his head – voices that sound like his own telling him all that he fears, - the anguish of not being enough, to be replaced, deleted, his existence cancelled – and it is a feeling that time can't drown down, can’t control, that appears suddenly like summer rain.

Insecurity, uncertainty, he can tag them, pinpoint them, pin them on a wall to analyse but today he lets go of all his rationality, sinks into the rage that is going out on the streets, and feels it deep down - feels it soaking his bones. 

In times like this, he misses the sun. He misses the touch of it spreading like a promise over him, pulling the strings of his heart just back to the right place – calming, soothing, a whisper of his name that puts him to ease again, that erases the fears and the screams that hallow his head. The sun breaking through clouds, golden rays of assurance, comforting him from between - shine against the terrors that carry the rain: the sky split up,  light pouring amidst the dark, shedding a blaze, scattering gleams of glares. But the sun has set, dissipating its colours in the distance,  dying slowly at the far end - where the rainbows wait. 

He knows he is sufficient.

He has proved himself able to succeed, to be better – that he is more than just a pretty face. He has fought to demonstrate it to the world – had battled against phantoms and shadows to prove himself, to demonstrate what he is capable of. And, yet, it is still dragging him down, consuming him in flames, a bonfire of sadness and regrets, of missed opportunities, lost dreams, lost chances and every day it burns higher, fiercer, suffocating, numbing, shutting him down. Demons haunted him, followed him around - fright and dread, trepidation regarding a future without him (a future where they were better off without him at all). 

Until him - until the moment he appeared: warm hands tangled around his fingers, honey lips pressed against his collars, kisses and words and promises of getting better, of being better - not just for him, for them both (for the whole team they are now). 

He, the light that gleams amid the clouds, dissipating any doubt, any fear, everything that isn’t the shine that he emanates that can melt him – ice to a fire, only he can understand him, sing the song he needs to hear. The rainbow after the storm, a ray of sunshine, the summer of his life – the endless dream of his heart.

Minho, always Minho, coming home to make it a home for him – to make it all bearable, to talk him down of his own opinions – to assure him of his worth, of his love, his value of much more than just what is seen in a screen (that he deserves the world). And he clutches to the memory of his lips pressed against his forehead, lets the drops wash away the sins he thinks – wipes away the tears that mesh with the rain, blending over the glass, smearing it with gloomy radiance. Minho, a flower that blooms in winter, that grows in snow and mud, never breaking down – never let fears show up.

And, if they do, he is there for Minho, too. To hold him tight, to hush him, to brush away his worries with knotted fingers on straw-like hair.

And so he puts himself together, gathers the strength that comes from knowing that he will be soon here – and the mere idea is strong enough to tear the bonds that tied him to the rain, and puts a smile back on his face.

Because, of all the things that Jinwoo is, Minho loves him regardless of his flaws, his lack, the fears that haunt him, and the gossip of his past; he thinks him perfect – the only piece that fits inside his heart. Even when he can not see it - when the clouds swarm over him when the rainy season hits him, - Minho is there for him, the umbrella sheltering him, the roof that keeps him at bay, calm, tranquil - his core. 

And he takes his hand and smiles up at him, runs to the door when it clicks, forgetting the weight on his shoulders, the worries that have been weighing on him - the pressure of fame, the scars that never fade, the ache that is a constant inside his heart and that thumbs disappointedly for all he dares to do, for every step he takes and that he has to pounder, to considerate. With his lips on his, there is nothing to wonder about: it is a certainty, a steady pledge of foreverness even when Jinwoo knows that forever doesn't exist - it doesn't matter because Minho has promised, has committed his love to him and he believes every word that he says - he makes them come true, has never dismayed him, his love has always been guaranteed (has never diminished, has never relapse, not in darkness or in light, relentless, perpetual).