"One day, Minho," Jinki said wistfully, looking out the window at the passersby. "One day, I’ll be famous, and I promise… I’ll take care of you."

Minho looked over at Jinki in his suit and tie, laughing and joking with the kind of people they used to make fun of, and his heart ached fiercely at the memory of that day. He took a deep breath quietly, trying to quell the sudden urge to cry.

Those seemingly-out-of-reach spoken dreams used to be all they had, sharing a bed in a too-small apartment and living paycheck to paycheck. Surviving on the leftover food that Minho brought home from work.

He and Jinki both would’ve completely agreed that their lives if anyone had ever asked them, but Minho’s memories of that era had somehow obtained a romantic glow. Even the rough parts didn’t quite leave the unpleasant impression he remembered.

Jinki had felt real, back then. A solid support pillar for whenever Minho raged about how his boss refused to give him a raise. But of course, Jinki wasn’t like that now. The parts of him that had made him Jinki had been sanded down into near complete nonexistence. Like his feelings and emotions had been replaced with copies of copies of copies. Irrationally, there were times where Minho even hesitated to touch Jinki for fear of his hand going right through.

Minho turned his head away from the sight of Jinki laughing, unable to face the road his thoughts had chosen. He walked out of the party and wandered around the company building, his curiosity peaked when he heard a bass-heavy Skrillex song being blasted in one of the practice rooms.

He opened the door a crack, and peered inside, seeing a trainee dancing and dancing, the sweaty sheen on his skin evident even from where Minho was standing. He envied the way the trainee was dancing his heart out, like he didn’t care if anyone was watching. Minho walked inside, startling the teen out of his routine.

"Hey kid," Minho called out, smiling wryly at the dirty look shot his way. "I’ve got a piece of advice for you. If you love your life the way it is now… Don’t go any further. Turn back. Fame and money isn’t worth the pain it causes. It… it changes you."

He laughed a little at the wary expression on the kid’s face. “I’m not some nutcase e, I promise. I’m just offering you a bit of advice I wish someone had told me.” His momentarily bright eyes dimmed. “A piece of advice I really wish someone had told my best friend.”

The teen trainee edged closer, still clearly wary.

"Well, uh," the kid stumbled over what he wanted to say. "Thanks for the advice, sir. But.. Honestly, I’m not doing this for the money, or the fame. All I want is to dance," the spark of passion in the kid’s eyes made Minho’s own eyes water. It reminded him so much of Jinki… It was the last straw.

He abruptly turned and marched out the door, leaving the bewildered trainee standing in the middle of the room.

Minho ran and ran, finally finding his way to the entrance of the building and leaving without a glance backwards. He took a taxi back to his and Jinki’s now too-big apartment, and started packing. None of the nice, expensive things Jinki had bought him made their way to his suitcase. Just the things he’d bought with his own money. Once he was through, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders and sighed in relief.

He waited for Jinki to come home, to tell him the things that needed to be said. The clock chimed 1am. Then 2am. Then 4am.. At 5am, Minho decided that Jinki wasn’t coming back and walked to the desk in the living room. He sat down and began to write.

—

When Jinki came home that night, it was past 11pm. The house was quiet. A little too quiet. Jinki frowned, walking through the dark rooms, his anxiety increasing when he couldn’t find Minho.

He almost didn’t want to open the door to his bedroom, afraid of what he’d find.

With his eyes closed tightly, Jinki threw the door open and switched on the light.

"Minho?" he called out and his heart pounded when there was no answer. He snorted, feeling ridiculous for being so nervous. "Look, Minho, if this is some kind of trick, just…," he trailed off, finally opening his eyes. Minho wasn’t there. "Answer me."

Everything looked just as he’d left it when they went to the party yesterday, except for one thing. There, propped against his pillows, was an envelope. And underneath it lay the phone he’d bought Minho not even a month ago.

Jinki’s breathing quickened. He walked swiftly to the bed, nearly ripping the letter inside the envelope he opened it so forcefully. He read the short message with mingling disbelief and sadness.

Jinki,

I’m sorry, but… I had to leave.

This life was smothering me. And eventually, Jinki, I think it would’ve killed me. I just wasn’t cut out for this kind of life, I guess. It seems now like we had it all back then. That crappy apartment felt like home more than I realized. I miss it so, so much, Jinki. But you can’t go back, can you?

I didn’t take any of the things you bought for me. Feel free to do whatever with it. Donate it to charity or something.

Good luck with your career. I’ll be cheering you on, always.

Sincerely,

Minho

P.S. - Please don’t try to find me. I don’t want to see you anymore. Again, I’m sorry. But I have to do what’s best for me.

Numbly, Jinki sat down on the side of the bed. He looked at the letter, staring intently but not absorbing the words or their meanings.

8 years. He’d struggled for 8 years, and this was the end result. All the fame and the glory and the money… It meant absolutely nothing to Jinki without Minho there.

At least Minho had said something Jinki could easily identify with.

You can’t go back, can you?

Hope you enjoyed? ^^;

~~

Til next time, loves. ^O~