Stately uniforms hauled a young man in, quieter than usual, not making many heads look to their forceful stride. One of the officers halted at a seemingly empty space and tapped his fingers on the clear glass, making the glass display a neon blue emblem. Short moments later, the glass began to flash statements in the same icy colour, and the officer’s fingers gently brushed against a few options. The next the man knew, the glass walls began to slide and he was roughly pushed into the cell that had opened.

The officer entered behind him, pressing the button on the man’s handcuffs to undo them with a buzz, “A piece of advice.” He whispered, “Use your efforts to keep yourself sane.” He pushed the man further in, “Best of luck, Choi Minho.”

Minho stood where the officer had left him at, his dull eyes slowly examining his surroundings. He was trapped in glass walls, thick glass walls, and he walked to one of them, his footsteps resounding louder than he could tolerate. He ran his fingers on the glass, feeling its cool finesse and sighing when nothing happened at his touch. He dropped his arms and saw through the walls that had him trapped, finding figures trapped in their own glass walls all around him.

He walked away from the wall he was examining, his eyes falling on a small rectangular opaque glass enclosure which had a fibrous steel door. He pushed the door open, finding basic toilet necessities along with a change of clothes. Walking to the basin, he turned the tap on to freshen himself, only to flinch at the cold water that met his hands.

He shut the door softly after he was done washing up and walked away, feeling the sound of his footsteps pierce his ears. He sat in a corner, and shifted himself in the angle between the two walls, sighing yet again.

It was scary.

Scary how the only sounds he could now ever hear were his own struggles of being alive.

But now he had a roof to sit under, a wall to lean against- a security of some kind...and he closed his eyes, deciding to forget the fact that all this belonged to an icy cold, glass prison.

Minho did nothing but observe the next day.

A low ranked officer would come to the cell allotted to him twice a day- once in the morning, holding a tray of compressed food and a bottle of ice cold water- and the second time before the lights were dimmed, to take the tray away. Minho noticed how he couldn’t see the neon blue flashes from his side of the wall when the officer pressed a few spots to send his food in and he felt the remaining hope within him fall.

He chuckled sadly to himself a moment later on.

Because it was funny...how he still thought himself to have hope...when he was sure he possessed none.

It was the second day and Minho was already bored of all that met his vision. He stared at the tray of food pills and bars lying in the middle of the cell. He had no will whatsoever to get up and take it, or to drag his own self towards it, and he rested his head in the crook of the two glass walls, staring hazily at the opaque glass roof above him.

He sensed a faint vibration short moments later, but he decided to ignore it. He regretted his decision when the vibration came again, this time stronger and he turned to his right, finding the inhabitant of his neighbouring cell pounding harshly on the wall that separated them.

He straightened up, looking at the figure which sat cross legged right opposite to him, covered in a black jacket, whose hood covered the face till the nose.

Minho let his face question, after all, being trapped in soundproof walls had wasted his possession of good communication.

The question was understood because the hood was dropped down, revealing a boy, not much younger than himself.

Minho stared at him, watching his neighbour ruffle his hair and smile a bit nervously. The boy waved and Minho blinked, deciding to not entertain such gestures. Turning way, he snuggled into his cold corner, but the vibrations came again, making him look to the boy, who sat contemplating.

Minho was going to look away again, but he spotted the boy letting his breath fog the glass. He followed the frails fingers which hesitatingly formed a question in the fog.

Cold, isn’t it?

Minho read the reversed words another time and rolled his eyes in response. The boy chuckled, almost losing his balance while doing so. Minho felt uneasy watching him laugh, because he was not yet accustomed to watch something like that with no sound at all.

The boy raised his palm, in an attempt to make Minho wait, before sitting up properly and fogging up his side of the glass again.

You should eat.

Minho shrugged in disinterest and turned away finally, relieved that no vibrations came to disturb him again.

What did you do?

Minho just watched the question fade, ignoring the curious eyes of the boy who sat cross legged right opposite him yet again.

Minho did not answer, like how he hadn’t answered all the other questions the boy had asked all week. He was just waiting for the boy to get tired, but it annoyed Minho the way the boy kept fogging up the glass walls to write a couple of questions everyday with no signs of giving up at all.

So he decided to answer.

He raised his middle finger at the boy, who stared at it with wide eyes, his stare slowly turning into a glare.

Satisfied, Minho smirked, raised his brows in victory on watching anger take over the boy’s mien. Minho made himself comfortable in his corner and closed his eyes, but opened them ever so slightly again when he spotted the boy fog up the glass again.

I was just trying to keep you sane.

The boy left that spot and headed to the farther corner, turned away from Minho’s sight as he wrapped his jacket on himself tighter.

Minho sat up and watched the sentence fade- each fading letter tinging his self with guilt.

A week passed by and the boy did not fog up the glass wall again.

Minho watched him behave just like all the other prisoners behaved. He stayed in the farther corner, turned away from him. The hood of his indigo sweatshirt and the dark hair that escaped it was all that could be seen of his face.

The boy spared him not even a glance, and somehow that angered Minho, making him glare at his sleeping figure at times.

The boy had no obligation to pay him attention, nor did Minho want any...yet it was out of his understanding capability…why...just why was he far more disturbed than the time when he was actually being disturbed?

The frigid semblance, the nonchalant way his food was slided to him, the infuriating, deriding patrolling uniforms, the silence that ached his ears, and the fear of breathing his last in this pathetic place- there was a lot more than the boy’s disregarding behavior that had his mind in tight, irate knots.

“I am going insane or what...” He whispered to himself, rubbing his head. His eyes widened the very next moment when his spoken words made complete sense to him.

I was just trying to keep you sane.

Minho fisted his palms, his brows tensing in realisation.

He glanced at the boy in the opposite corner on the other side of the glass walls, who sat with his head his knees, tapping the opaque glass floor in a tune Minho could not hear.

He sighed, feeling inanimate weight being pushed upon himself, yet he did nothing to push it off him and closed his eyes, deciding that, maybe...he no longer needed to be sane.

Minho was in his usual corner, staring aimlessly at the line of prisoners opposite him, trapped in their own glass walls.

Another week had passed by and he had spotted a few leave- where, he knew not- and had spotted a few come- why, he wished to know not.

It was sad, to be able to look around, to be able to feel that everything was within reach, to raise your hand to grab it, but to meet a cold, clear surface instead, reminding you that you were trapped in a cruel prison, where hope was crushed with every fleeting notion.

Minho’s anger had begun to calm; he had realised that it wasn’t just him going through a living hell, and he reminded himself...that it was truly tormenting for the others, because they hadn’t chosen to be trapped, unlike him.

He sighed and swivelled his gaze, jumping slightly on finding the boy sitting crosslegged right by his side, his head resting on the wall that separated them. Minho shifted a bit behind, unsure of why the boy had chosen to return to that corner after such a long while. He could not see his face, nor could he read what his posture said- he was motionless, just the slow rise and fall of his body hinting that he was still alive.

Minho’s face softened, for he decided, that this boy was not like him- he hadn’t chosen to be trapped, and...maybe...the reason he had fogged up the glass was to keep his own self sane.

Minho shifted ahead the distance he had retreated and let out his warm breath, making himself a foggy canvas on the clear surface.

Yes, it’s cold.

The boy seemed to have noticed and sat up, pulling his hood away and pushing his hair back, revealing his constricted brows as he began to read the fading words.

Minho had averted his gaze, in order for his gesture to not seem prideless or too eager. He slowly turned his gaze back, and he was taken aback on finding the boy smiling wider than he had seen anyone ever smile.

Minho sighed, smiling back slightly before fogging up the glass again.

Illegal immigrant.

The boy’s lips formed an “Oh” and he fogged up the glass after a hesitant moment.

You should’ve been careful.

Minho caught the fading words in time and breathed on the glass to scrawl a reply.

I didn’t want to.

The boy let his face ask the question this time and Minho fogged up the glass yet again.

This is better than

He breathed on the glass again to write the rest.

Sleeping on the streets.

The boy nodded and sighed before resting back into the crook of the two glass walls.

Minho watched him a while and fogged up the glass another time.

Why me?

The boy turned to view the words.

Why me what?

Why talk to me

and not to others?

You are not like others.

Meaning?

You are not guilty.

Minho watched those words fade, an amused smile coming over his face.

But I am.

The boy sat up, covering those words with his hands for the short while they lasted, before frowning and fogging up the glass.

Surveillance.

I confessed already.

The boy let go of his frown and shifted closer to his side of the glass.

Finding a new home

is not a crime.

Minho was taken aback at his words, and found his lips curl up into a big, genuine smile.

If only everyone

thought like you.

The boy smiled back, putting his hood back up, but not covering his face this time. He yawned and mouthed a good night, but Minho raised his palm to halt him, before fogging the glass.

Minho

The boy’s sleepy smile turned a bit sheepish and he breathed on the glass.

Taemin

Minho mouthed a good night and Taemin waved at him, before making himself comfortable in that very corner, falling asleep right away.

Minho watched him sleep a while, feeling himself let go of the unease that he had collected over the days. He decided that it was fine to be a little prideless to earn this ease...and true, he didn’t feel the need to be sane...but maybe...he just wanted to be sane while he could.

What did you do?

It was Minho’s turn to ask that question and he waited for Taemin to reply, who sat staring at the fading words, his face fading along with them.

Minho panicked and shook his hands, but Taemin had already fogged the glass wall.

Framed for robbery.

Minho blinked and Taemin fogged the glass again.

It’s the truth.

Minho nodded, smiling because the face Taemin wore did not refute the gravity of the words he had spoken. He noticed relief take over Taemin’s mien and he fogged the glass:

Thank you

for believing me.

Minho cleared his throat, maybe because he felt a little embarrassment seep into him and he ended up nodding before Taemin fogged the glass again, scribbling down words with excited eyes.

What do you do?

Minho thought a while.

Nothing.

Really?

That is why I got

myself here.

Was it that hard?

Yes.

Please Subscribe to read the full chapter