He’s fifteen, dreaming and he’s willing her to stay just for a moment longer (just until infinity’s end); he’s sixteen, dreaming and he is lost in planes of thought telling him she was never there to begin with.  He never needed her before, or maybe he always did; relying on a phantom that never wanted him.

stop dreaming.

He’s seventeen, grown out of dreaming and a biochemical haze seems like a second home. Warm eyes and a soft voice tell him that monotone suits him; sticks to him like a second skin. He doesn’t believe those words, though he doesn’t believe in much.

He’s twenty-two, barely grounded;he tries to remember colours, but it’s hard to remember something you never knew. He tries to pinpoint where he lost himself. He likes to think it was somewhere between monotone and technicolour, so he seeks out a familiar face.

He’s twenty-two, and his first colour presents itself in the form of a broken syllogism. A syllogism that was really just an anomaly named Lee Sungmin. Lee Sungmin smiles and says to call him Min, and he can’t say no because that word simply doesn’t exist in the world of refracted light that inhabits Min’s eyes.

He’s twenty-three, and Min calls him Kyu for the first time. He never holds on to anything tighter than that name, because it’s proof he exists; all he has, and even so it’s second hand.

He’s twenty-four, emerging from the rabbit hole; shaking away washed out colours and stepping into the starlight for the first time in his life and it’s not dark because there’s a small hand in his. The sky above seems so close he’s breathing in constellations and expelling them from his lungs on clouds full of smoke.

He’s twenty-six, and he remembers dreaming when Min’s lips flit across his for one small tiny unreal moment; his silhouette fades briefly, and dreaming is the only thing that seems to bring him back – even if he fades each time.

He’s twenty-six, he makes a promise and he swears on a name that was never his that he’ll wait for eternity; even if eternity never comes.

i’ll wait for you min, until the sun eats us up alive; i’ll wait for you until eternity’s end. until eternities end.

He’s twenty-seven, the seat next to the empty hospital bed spirals out of his memory; that face is gone now too, and taken all the colours of the world along with it but he holds on because he promised; even in a broken world, his nameless world where he believed in nothing – a promise was all he had left.

He’s ageless, and infinity is waiting.

A/N: I’ll just be… trying to make sense of this.