Cause it's only in the quiet that I that I feel some relief.

And it's only in the quiet that I can hear myself breathe.

Cause it's only in the quiet that I know what to feel.

--

We

--

I

“Let’s talk of November,” he says when things are quiet and no one else dares to speak (no one cares to, either). Over the thick and heavy silence and the tension that is ever so evident, they stare and no one says anything. They ignore the person talking because it’s too soon to notice how there’s only six in the room and not seven—too soon for emptiness that shouldn’t have quite settle in yet.

“November was when I met all of you,” says a boy, blond hair trailing over his pale face.

“November is lonely.” Another person speaks up.

“November is the month we’re in.” A sniffle breaks through the circle and a man with bright purple hair runs out of the room. He was always the weakest—always.

“What now?” Hesitation is something none of them are used to. There had always been a voice to guide them, always impulse that drove their life and controlled their gears. There had always been one person (out of the six remaining) that knew how to talk and how to take lead. But now he’s gone and there are six. Only six and the numbers are daunting. Less and less will it go, until there is zero, and maybe that’s for the best, but none of them know that. Without a voice to speak for them, they are voiceless. They have lost their voice.

--

are

--

II

“What will we talk about this time?”

“Purple—let’s talk about purple.” One of them suggest, with jet black eyes and blankness that makes him almost outlandish. But he fits here.

“Purple was his favorite color,” the blond whispers, eyes glancing uncertainly across the room and back.

“Purple was the one thing he owned too many of.” The oldest run out again, the air inside was too sickly sweet and he was the weakest out of all of them, emotionally. But when things fall apart, he’ll be there to mend it.

“I hated purple, hated the fact that he didn’t get it, didn’t get any other color than purple.” Perhaps the tallest shouldn’t have said it, but there was a slight chuckle that emits from everyone momentarily. And that’s how they cope. With laughter and humor and happy thoughts about lit stages and uncomfortable stage outfits. That’s the way they lived, the way the moved, the way they breathed, but it was no more. What there is left of, however, are crumbled Earth and disease, and hunger.

“Purple was the color he wore when he died.” The laughter stops and everyone stares at the man who had just spoken.

“It’s true.”

--

all

--

III

The air is stale with silent and they age with the moment because their youngest was gone. The oldest doesn’t run out because he’s ill too, too ill to have noticed what was happening.

“About teddy bears, let’s talk of those.” Without being asked, the tallest throws out a random subject, because that’s what they do. They talk best when they talk about nothing and they desperately need something to distract them.

“He always punches them, names it after us, doesn’t he?” There were murmurs of agreement and sometimes the black haired man didn’t even look like he was there. But that’s alright—he was somewhere much safer than here.

“The fans used to give them to us—lots of them.” The tallest says. No one is really listening because they’re losing them all too quickly. It isn’t supposed to be like this—never.

“Teddy bears are only stuffed with cotton and sewed cheaply.” The second oldest mutters and the tallest suddenly feel the fear they all felt. The oldest coughed and their faces went pale. Another one will be lost, all too quickly.

--

one.

--

IV

“Dinosaurs—let’s talk about dinosaurs.”

“We called him a dinosaur. He’d act just like one, too.” Heads nod and there’s only three of them left, but that’s alright. They can hold a conversation just fine by themselves, even if the raven haired boy look like he wasn’t listening.

“Dinosaurs became extinct through their apocalypse. Do you think there will be evolved creatures living on Earth after this ends?” He dares ask, staring straight into the soul of the oldest.

“How would I know?”

“I believe in you and I believe that you know everything.”

--

We

--

V

There are only two of them left and they talk about bamboo pillows.

“They’re uncomfortable.” The tallest says. “But he loves it anyway. He would’ve clung onto it if we hadn’t tossed it away.”

“He drools on it when he sleeps.” The oldest smiles, something the other hadn’t seen him do in forever.

“That’s right.” The silence falls heavy around them and they’re stuck in a dirty bunker, water bottled littered across the floor. The light sways back and forth, dangling on a single cord and the tallest wonders why electricity still works.

They don’t say much because their legs touch. They lean against the opposite side of the wall and their legs intertwined in the center. Bodies piled high in the corner—both of them unwilling to toss them away.

--

are

--

VI

“There’s Infinite. It used to be a thing—when the world wasn’t hanging on a squeaky hinge, that is. There were seven of us, all of us that completed infinity. It’s alright, though, because even though we were young and hardworking and innocent, we survived in the industry because we had something special. Something our fans (inspirits, my girlfriends, our girlfriends) saw and none of us did. We had a bond. And that bond is currently being broken. So thank you, Earth, for ing up when we’re just starting to experience the real life. Thank you for being cruel and ing toying with us. Thank you for nothing and everything because you couldn’t have just let us live our lives and blown out on someone else. Thank you stupid world, for giving us nothing in return for the things we’ve never given to you. Infinite—bull.”

--

Infinite.

--

VII

Silence is all you hear when seven dead corpse fill an empty bunker and angry tears slip down the fresh bodies of a young man named Nam Woohyun who wouldn’t married a young girl named Kim Soohee and had a daughter and son, twins, of whom were named Nam Hyunwoo and Nam Hani. There was a body lying not far away, of a person named Lee Sungyeol, who would’ve married and set up a farm filled with cute little grandchildren running around and a successful business man of a son named Lee Jungwoo and his two daughters, Lee Sunhwa and Lee Bomi.

Kim Myungsoo was handsome, but decomposition doesn’t suit him, and neither does death. He would’ve moved to France where it was legal to marry any person, and married a tall handsome actor named Cho Jongin and had adopted a little French girl called Ana Marie.

There would’ve been Sungjong who would’ve run a successful outlet with his own designer labels and a girlfriend of six years, beautifully named Kyunglim.

There was Hoya, Lee Howon, who never moved around to anywhere but Busan, where his heart fell for an attractive fisherman’s son, Minhwan, not daughter, who had confessed under a canopy of stars and in the deep, blue sea. Where he kissed passionately and bloomed red. Where love was never disrupted and where no one would know besides them two.

There was Kim Sunggyu who would appear on T.V. and became a famous MC, hosting shows and traveling the world, later asking for Jung Minah, who wholeheartedly agreed and about his small eyes all the time (the small eyes she so dearly loved).

But that was if the world hadn’t ended and Infinite had kept its promise to be forever.

--

We are all one. We are Infinite.

That’s the truth.

a/n i am churning out oneshot after oneshot after oneshot. blame all the prompts i'm being bombarded with (i am so speaking about you, you're such a bad influence srsly). HERE IS ANOTHER ONE REQUESTED BY MY NOT-SO-SUBTLE FRIEND. lol. you wanted broken infinite and here is infinite as broken as ever. you're welcome. i swear you're the biggest anti ever, either that or you enjoy all this pain. whatever.

thanks for reading everyone else who isn't guilty for making me have a billion little plot bunnies growing. i luvs u. <3 (take all my coherency and hopefully you'll end up somewhere bettter than i am currently.)