you are the only exception

and I'm on my way to believing

Just a few more inches forward, and he’d be free of everything. No more screaming, no more beatings— maybe just a world of white and nothingness. That’d be much more preferable.

‘YAH!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!’

Taemin jolts, hands flying backwards to clutch at his windowsill’s sides. His left foot was already on the sill; all that was left to do was to give himself a push off the floor with his other and let gravity do what it would. He snaps his head up, glaring. Furious.

‘What do you care?!’

‘UMMA UMMA!! THE NEIGHBOUR KID’S JUMPING OFF HIS WINDOW—’

‘YAH! SHUT UP!! MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!!’

‘YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF AND YOU TELL ME TO MIND MY OWN BUSINESS?! YOU THINK I’M STUPID?!’

‘Will you stop shouting?! My parents might hear you!!’ Taemin’s fingers press into his windowsill’s cement as he frantically steals glances at the door behind him.

‘THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYING TO MAKE HAPPEN, PABO.’

‘WHY YOU LITTLE-’

‘WHO YOU CALLING LITTLE, MIDGET?’

‘MIDGET?!’ Taemin screeched, enraged.

Minho makes a satisfied jab at Taemin’s high-pitched voice, and Taemin retaliates— and this goes on and on, until Taemin erupts with a sound of frustration and stomps away from his window after slamming it closed with much, much force.

Taemin was too busy burying his face in his pillow in his annoyance for the random kid who had ruined his plans to see when the said kid sighs in relief and slumps over his own windowsill.

‘Thank god,’ Minho had breathed, only relaxing when he saw the faintest silhouette of the neighbour kid lying face down on his bed, probably sulking from being called a midget. He had looked quite enraged at that particular word.

Minho smiles at the memory as he mindlessly stares out the window in his classroom, not bothering to converse with anyone at the moment. After that day, Minho had been surprised to have opened his window the next morning to the sight of the kid he knew to be called Tae-something staring at him with the rest of his face hidden behind his folded arms. Minho had and asked him if the widdul midget waited long for him, and the kid had only glared, but did not leave. Minho remembered sniggering at his neighbour’s silent fuming before he made to grab his own chair and sat himself down in front of his own window, mirroring Tae-something’s position.

They did not speak a word that day— not a single utterance. They had only stared, blinked, watched each other— for how long, Minho still had no idea to this day. Not even a goodbye was uttered when Tae-something had shakily stood up from his chair with his head bent down when he was called to come downstairs by a loud, angry voice that Minho had no intention of asking questions about.

The next day, Tae-something had come back to his slumped position on his windowsill decorated with purpled bruises and small scratches across his cheek that Minho still saw even as the kid hid half his face behind his folded arms. Minho remembered harshly biting at the inside of his cheek then, reminding himself that as curious as he was, he wasn’t supposed to ask. When he had felt calm enough not to ask the questions begging to spill from his lips, he had leaned forward, propping his cheek on the palm of his hand.

‘My friends call me Minho,’ he had absently said. He wasn’t really expecting a reply then. He had only wanted to have something to say, something to distract the both of them with. Tae-something had blinked at him, and Minho’s smile turns a tad sour when he remembers the large brown eyes that had shone with something that resembled guardedness and fear.

But the kid had replied, and Minho’s world had changed since then.

‘I’m Taemin.’

After that, they hadn’t spoken another word for the rest of the day. They had fallen back to their staring, just watching each other and taking in the other’s features. (Or at least, that was what Minho was doing. He still had no clue what Taemin was thinking back then.) Minho was the first to leave then, having been called downstairs for dinner. He remembered frowning and considering telling his mother he wasn’t hungry even if he really really really was because he had already skipped on lunch in favour of sitting by his window; but then he didn’t have to, because Taemin had stared at him with unreadable eyes and had murmured,

‘Just go.’

Minho hadn’t bothered to hide his distress as he frowned and looked from Taemin to his door, where his mother was still incessantly knocking. ‘I’ll be back,’´ he had said, and then pointed at Taemin. ‘Stay right there.’

When he came back with a barely-full stomach mere minutes later, Taemin’s window was closed, and he was gone.

But he had come back waiting the next day. And the next, and then the next. He had held no explanation for having left, but Minho had decided he’d be the mature on and let it slide. On some days the purple bruises would be present, and on other days, there wouldn’t be any. Minho could not have helped sounding a lot more cheerful on those particular days.

Sometimes Minho wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t decided to air his room out on that one day, opening the window he never bothered to since the day they had moved into the town. He never would have caught Taemin. He never would have met him, much less known him as he does now.

He recalls what he had felt when Taemin had unwittingly stepped down from his window and stomped away back into his room. He was relieved, more than anything. Because if he hadn’t been the nosy child he was then, then he probably would have missed out on his and Taemin’s hushed conversations on the evenings where Taemin needs someone to talk to after another harsh beating from his father. He probably would have missed out on the half-hearted glares that Taemin all-too-often directs his way, or the flustered expressions and sounds that he most probably wasn’t aware he makes whenever Minho compliments him. He would have missed out on—

"You look weird smiling like that, Choi."

"Yeah, you look too happy. It's kinda freaky."

Minho just smiles at his friends as he stands from his desk. He hadn’t even realized that they were dismissed until the sight of the almost-empty classroom and the absence of a teacher registers in his head. The duo who had snapped him out of his thoughts follows after him out of the classroom, still inquiring on the idiotic grin on his face. Minho could only laugh and shrug as they walk along the hallway, because with the thoughts that had been running through his head just minutes ago, he wouldn’t be able to wipe the smile off his face even if he tried.

Passing by the stairwell meters away from the cafeteria, he spots a couple heading upstairs hand in hand. He halts in his steps and his friends bump into him from behind.

"Yah, what's the hold-up?!"

At the sound of his friend’s rather loud voice, the couple turns toward them. Minho tenses when he sees that it is Taemin. He doesn’t let his eyes linger lower, at the hands he already knew were intertwined.

Taemin meets his gaze, and Minho considers looking away and pretending as if he didn’t see them, as if he doesn’t care. But Taemin is ahead of him, already turning away much too soon and climbing up the steps, pulling the squealing girl up with him. Minho can only sigh. Guess he’s still upset with me. He had thought that Taemin’s response to his apology was a sign that they were on speaking terms again, but apparently, it wasn’t. He hadn’t taken down the piece of paper he had stuck onto his window that day, and Taemin still hasn’t either.

His friends are beginning to sound worried now, tapping him on the back and asking him what was wrong.

"I-It’s nothing. Sorry."

"O-oppa, where are we going?"

Taemin grits his teeth. It’s the third time she’s asked that, and her whiny voice is really, really, really starting to grate on his nerves. He climbs faster, pulling her along with him. "Rooftop. Hurry up."

She makes some sort of squeal, and Taemin can only imagine that she was beaming with delight. Apparently, it was a known piece of information around their school that Taemin never brought anyone up to the rooftop with him, with the exception of Minho. The excitement radiating from the girl makes his chest feel kind of heavy.

They reach the rooftop soon enough, and when the cool wind greets him upon opening the door, Taemin feels a bit calmer. He inhales deeply, and then exhales before letting go of her hand. He hears her make a questioning hum when he walks to the rooftop’s side’s metal railing and leans against it.

He crosses his arms as he watches her watch him from a few feet away. He didn’t rehearse anything for this; he just wanted to say his piece.

"If you saw me trying to jump off this building," he says, letting the wind carry his voice, "what would you do?"

"W-what?!” Her eyes are wide and she looks like she’s trembling. It’s how Taemin expected her to react, but her fragile looking state does nothing to wane his coldness. “Oppa, why would you ask me that—"

"Answer me."

"I- I'd ask you to come down,” she starts to say, seemingly frozen in place as she meets Taemin’s blank eyes with her frightened ones, “I'd tell you that I love you and everyone else around you does too and you shouldn't—"

"And what if that doesn't work? If I don't listen to you?"

"I'll keep trying! I'd tell you everything you want to hear! Everything you need to hear!"

"And if it still doesn't reach me?"

Even from the distance between them, Taemin can see the glassiness that was appearing in her eyes. "I... I wouldn't know what to do, Oppa.”

She has her head bent down, drops of tears falling to the ground beneath her. He’d be lying if he said that the sight of it didn’t make him feel more of a jerk than he already did.

Taemin leans against the railing, a distantness making its way to his voice as he mutters, "Wouldn't know what to do, huh?" He remembers, vaguely, when he was inches close from jumping off his window those few years ago. But he recalls, so, so clearly, that obnoxious, intruding voice. He is quite certain that he would never be able to forget it, no matter how hard he would try.

“Yeah,” He nods to himself, “I guess no one else would."

"Oppa?"

"Sorry. I can't do this.” Purposefully, he meets her gaze that turns frantic at his words before he takes a deep breath and continues. "I don't—” He shakes his head. “no— I can't like you." not when he's been waiting for me.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'm breaking up with you. It's over. I'm sorry.”

Pushing himself off the rooftop’s side, he walks past her and makes for the door behind her. She seems to jump out of her shock just when Taemin’s hand was at the door’s handle.

"Why?! You said- you said you'd give us a shot!"

"I did, didn't I?"

"For one day?!"

Taemin runs his hand through his hair in frustration, turning to her and scowling at her own frustrated mien. "I'm covered in bruises and I'm broken. Think you could handle that?"

"W-What are you saying? I don't understand—"

He cannot help but roll his eyes despite his annoyance before he tears his school shirt open by the buttons, lifting his inner shirt and showing her the spots of sickly colour decorating his torso.

Her eyes widen and her hands rise to hover over her lips, "O-oppa! What happened?!"

Taemin makes an annoyed tch sound, somewhat annoyed that she was this ignorant and clueless about him and yet she still offered to involve herself in a relationship with him. But then again, he couldn’t blame her for not knowing anything about him. He had to admit that he has only and will only ever let one specific person know anything and everything about him.

"My family is ed up,” he says, strangely satisfied at hearing himself finally say it out loud, “My dad used to hit me since childhood and he hit my mom too. Sometimes he beats me 'til I collapse and sometimes just when I'm bloody enough. I cut when it gets too much, and sometimes I actually like it and it's still hard for me to stop."

As he closes his polo over himself, he lets her see a glimpse of his wrists, of the gashes at the inner side of his arms. She's shaking, looking horrified and about to cry all at the same time. “And right now, I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to know what to say, but I'm already pretty sure that you wouldn't know, because no one else ever does.”

He digs his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to say something. Her eyes are jumping from up and down Taemin’s arms to his face and to his torso that was already covered by his polo. is opening and closing, as if she’s floundering for something to say, but no sounds, no words come out.

He nods, running a hand through his hair before making to open the door. "That's what I thought."

He’s sitting by his window again, and when he sees that the sky has already turned to a deep purple and black, he realizes that this is probably the longest that he’s waited for Minho. He’s been staring at the piece of paper Minho had stuck onto his window’s glass, and as amused as he was by the drawing of the pleading frog, he still, more than anything, wants to speak with the real thing. He has to prevent the immense sigh of relief that threatens to escape him when the window in front of him is pulled open.

When he meets Minho’s gaze, the other looks breathless, as if surprised to see Taemin there. Taemin keeps his face hidden behind his arms but he lifts his hand to make a small waving gesture. Minho’s expression relaxes, his eyes softening and his face breaking into a tired smile before he sags onto his windowsill, chin propped on folded arms.

“Hi,” he says, a tone of something like relief colouring his voice.

Taemin bites his lip, and then mirrors Minho’s position, chin on top of folded arms. He watches Minho watch him, letting his eyes skim over Minho’s own before he speaks— quiet, but certain.

“I told her I didn't like her back.” It feels like a weight of a thousand loads is lifted from his shoulders. It feels a lot easier to breathe—

“What about me?”

-and then his breath hitches. He knew what Minho was going to ask him. He knew as much.

“I like you,” He mumbles, and the situation feels very bizarre for Taemin because at the moment, Minho’s the one hiding behind his arms, looking positively sulky and wary and honestly, what was he even afraid of? “Do you like me?”

Taemin’s eyes crinkle the slightest bit and his lips lift at the corners— gentle and slow, and it takes Minho’s breath away.

The bruises don’t hurt as much anymore.

“I'm getting there.”

FIN.

I hope the subtlety that I was going for worked for this fic. I basically wrote this whole 3-chaptered fic just so I can use that last line from Taemin, so I’m glad I got to finish it and achieve what I wanted to do~ I appreciate all of the comments you guys left for me in the previous chapters, and I hope to hear what you think about this last one! :)