The air was thick, stagnant with the stench of alcohol and sweat.  Minho sat, alone and brooding.  His eyes trained on the slim figure across the room. Taemin's body as smooth and flawless as he remembered.  His slender arms wrapped securely around the thick bicep of another.

The first emotion Minho felt was anger.  The possessive need to punch something, or more accurately someone, was almost over powering.

Taemin was his.

At least he used to be.

But now his Taemin was draped over some new guy without a care in the world.

And Minho hated him for that.

Hated that Taemin was fine.

That Taemin was strong.

That Taemin was moving on.

His mind picking out every flaw of this mysterious man who had his arm wrapped comfortably around Taemin's waist.

His features were generic, bland. His face too round, too soft.  His smile too big and his personality too inviting.

He was everything Minho was not.

He was all wrong for Taemin.

Taemin was too pretty.

Too perfect.

He deserved better.

Minho raised a finger to the bartender, signaling for another drink.

He relished the fiery burn of alcohol sliding down his throat, numbing his senses and distorting his reality.

He watched silently from his secluded corner as the two intertwined on the dance floor.

Taemin's grace was unparalleled, as always.  His moves fluid and sensual as his slender figure kept with the beat effortlessly.

The oaf he was with looked awkward and out of place next to something so perfect.

Minho seethed a bit longer, watching as Taemin rolled his body against this stranger, grinding relentlessly.

His irrational anger only grew as the hollow ache in his chest deepened.

The look of happiness, of contentment and joy that flashed in Taemin's eyes when this new guy kissed him softly, dare say lovingly, before leading him out of the club, killed Minho inside.

His hands shook with rage and blinding pain as he force himself to move, exit, leave this horrible place.

Taemin was no longer his.

Despite his best effort and iron will, a tear slowly slipped past his closed lids, followed closely by another.  As his fist collided with the solid brick building he didn't feel a thing.

How could he when he was suffocating, numb and starved for a breath from the painful clinch of his heart?

How could he possibly go on when Taemin was no longer his?
 

I hate angst

And I hate Minho - how dare you say those mean things about my Jinki?

Jerk

I have no idea where this came from or why.

It just happened this morning at work.