Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

bzzt.

bzzt.

Birds chirping.

Fucking birds.

Music playing- same song on loop from last night. Routine.

It’s his legs, first, that let Minho know he’s still alive. Unfortunately.

No, actually, it’s the feeling of falling backwards, even when he’s laying down and entirely unmoving.  Taking a shit-ton of meds will do that to you. They don’t seem to fucking kill you, though. Minho wonders if he’s building up too much of a tolerance.

bzzt.

bzzt.

A groan. Finally, Minho moves, but it’s slow and painful. Lethargic. His scar tissue burns, and his muscles are the scalding hot metal rods stoking the goddamn fire. He sits up…

…and in an instant, he’s back down, flat on his back. Raging headache, fuzzy brain. Fuzzy, burning body. Still feels like he’s falling backwards while he’s not moving. Wonderful.

bzzt.

He reaches for his phone, buzzing with little notifications. Probably just texts. Probably from one person.

He checks.

Yep.

SQUIRRELBOY: have you seen!!

SQUIRRELBOY: Venom has new music out

SQUIRRELBOY: can’t believe I beat u to a venom MV actually

SQUIRRELBOY: anyway, I need to be the fucking guitar body Bang Chan bends over

SQUIRRELBOY: I want his goddamn gender

SQUIRRELBOY: or to fuck him maybe

SQUIRRELBOY: havent decided yet

Good. Minho has a reason to be alive for thirty more minutes. 

Well, an hour and thirty minutes. He should probably throw up the contents of his stomach. Like, right now. He has work in two hours. 

Scratch that, Minho has a reason to be alive for roughly the next ten hours. Yay.

Okay. Toilet. Now.

Now.

He has a nice cup of coffee to extra fuck-up his stomach after mostly dry heaving in his prized (see; only) toilet bowl. He’d eat, but he honestly just doesn’t care enough to. He’d try to care, but…

Anyway, Venom looked hot, or something. Jeongin was great on bass, as usual. Minho likes his voice- he was the least annoying post-punk vocalist Minho could stand to play on repeat nowadays. He likes watching Changbin drum, and Chan pretend like he wasn’t engaging in a softcore porn sex-tape with his guitar for thousands to see. Minho connects his big speaker to his phone, wraps a sweater around it, and curls around that sweater. He turns up their new song and lets himself feel the beat. The melody.

Yeah. It’s a good song. He has a reason to be alive for at least… the duration of his shift. Maybe dinner. How ever long it takes for him to fully appreciate this piece.

Minho loves music.

(Once. He loved music, once.)

More than anything in this world.

(A long time ago. When Minho could love. When Minho could… anything, really.)

He grew up using his mother's janky portable music player until it no longer functioned. When he was old enough, he sold everything he could and pooled in all the money in his possession to buy himself an iPod classic. It was customized later- buffed to have almost quadruple the biggest amount of legal available space (by a friend of his brother who worked with stuff like this all the time. Apparently). It had been well loved, and it showed in its janky system and worn appearance. Minho still treated the thing like his baby. His bright red baby.

He plugs his baby into his computer slowly, letting iTunes load. Pop-up. He already pre-ordered their new album, in case he’d be alive to hear it. Maybe that’s the issue- maybe he has to stop doing shit like that.

He drags and drops Venom’s new single into the player like it’s nothing. It’s technically the most important thing in his life right now, keeping him alive for the next half-day.

Exhaustion already starts to wear at him. God, he doesn’t want to go to work today. Literally anything other than work. He’d rather get day drunk. He could try killing himself aga-

Slow blink.

Exhale.

Seriously? That’s his first one? Again? 

He pulls out his phone with shaky hands, glancing at the time. New note.

I wanted to kill myself for 1 minute in my bedroom. Thought about work again.|

Not too bad. It took him a few hours to get to his first one of the day this time- that’s progress. Or maybe Minho’s body is just finally starting to give out on him.

Anyway, work.

Black t-shirt over a black hoodie, black jeans. Work boots. Leather jacket. Bag that he really needs to replace.

iPod, now too. 

KITTIMMACULATE: it’s rlly good.  

KITTIMMACULATE: listening on way to work

KITTIMMACULATE: srry I didn’t respond earlier

KITTIMMACULATE: i fell asleep

SQUIRRELBOY: ur good dw!

SQUIRRELBOY: rlly thought I’d be getting some unhinged horny thoughts about. 

SQUIRRELBOY: yk. Jeongin’s sickly victorian man lookin’ ass.

SQUIRRELBOY: u good?

SQUIRRELBOY: luv u

KITTIMMACULATE: yh dw just having a bad day

KITTIMMACULATE: ily2 <3

SQUIRRELBOY: u seem to be having a lot of those recently :((

SQUIRRELBOY: I hug u and hold u close and tightly and tell u everything is going to be alright

SQUIRRELBOY: we should call soon k?

Minho sighs. New thing keeping him alive for an indefinite amount of time; calling Han, at some point. Whenever they’re both not busy and depressed and Minho has the energy to speak.

Maybe he should start making a list for that, instead.

KITTIMMACULATE: k

KITTIMMACULATE: gtg. omw to work now

The kitchens of Hala Hala are… loud, but quiet. Lively, but a life Minho doesn’t take part in. Like everything else in his life, he’s learned how to sit in his own corner, do his thing. Make the recipes and load them into the correct machinery, set the timers that let Wooyoung and Mingi know there’s something in there to begin with. Check the fridge for ingredients. Prep ingredients. Try to not think about his fingers being sliced and diced by the knife if he makes one wrong move. Cut carrots. What if the knife slipped and he can say bye bye to his middle finger? What if it hit right on his nail bed, and the nail peeled off too, and-

Inhale, exhale. 

“Minho, you got those shrooms ready yet for the soup refill!?” Wooyoung’s voice is loud. Just loud enough to disrupt Minho’s thoughts. He sets the knife down before he looks up, shaking his head. Wooyoung gives him a firm nod, points to the fridge, and says, “C’mon hyung, get those and the shit we need for the lunch menu too, we’re lagging today.”

“You can’t talk to someone who’s older than you like that,” Minho can hear Mingi behind him insist, but he’s already on his way to the big walk-in fridge, throwing on his hoodie as he exhales and steps inside. So much shit they’ll probably end up throwing out. Mushrooms. Down to the end, should be directly eye level with him.

…

…no mushrooms.

Great. 

He takes the other things he needs, setting them out on the counter across from his station, knowing he’ll make quick work of it. He grabs a pen and a paper from the little notepad on the counter they set out for him ages ago- miraculously untouched from grease stains or anything else that would render it unusable. Before he throws on another pair of gloves, he writes down- more like furiously scribbles, a quick message;

‘No mushrooms in fridge.’

He gently pushes the note against Wooyoung’s shoulder- Wooyoung, who takes it with ease, not letting it interrupt his motions as he picks it up, skimming it, then pocketing it, “I’ll check in a second, but if that’s the case… well, Hongjoong’s gonna have to deal with it. Not my clown, not my circus. Thanks, Min.”

“Min-hyung,” Mingi corrects for him. Wooyoung snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Do you care Minho-hyung? Be honest, I’ll stop if you do.”

Usually, Minho would give a simple nod, or shake of the head depending on his ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.

Do you care?

Ha.

He smiles instead, a faint smile. Barely a smile if you could call it that. Turns around and goes back to his station. Tries to not think about cutting off his fingers with the carrots.

His legs start to burn on the walk home. Which, there’s nothing new to that- they usually do. It’s probably made worse by the fact that he’s definitely been straining himself recently, doing more. Being more reckless. His brain tells him, ‘Maybe you should rest, or something. You know. Do things a not-dumbass would.’

And then he reaches the top of the stairs at his usual train station. He pauses. They’re long. 

He looks around. Nobody’s here.

‘Don’t be a dumbass.’

Do it. Do it.

His legs burn. He shouldn’t add to that pain. What if it doesn’t work again?

The death rate of people dying on stairs is startlingly high, Minho has in fact, looked it up in the past.

Okay. Okay.

He pulls out his phone, opening his notes app. If this doesn’t work… well, he guesses he’ll just be really pissed and in pain. So. 

New note.

Today I tried to kill myself at the train station.

Seriously hoping this is my last note.

He shoves his phone into his bag, in case it isn’t. He can’t afford to replace a phone like that. He grips the railing, holding the metal pole until his knuckles start to turn white. Positions himself at the edge of the steps, leans forward. Closes his eyes and grimaces, preparing for the pain that he’s sure going to hit him. If he goes head-first down three long flights of concrete steps, he’s sure to hit his head- or snap his neck or something, right?

He’s not gonna do it-

He does it. 

He releases his grip on the railing, letting himself fall. His body’s fight-or-flight kicks in all too late, although Minho’s surprised it still kicks in at all. 

Anyway, the first contact made with the steps is right below his knees, on the edge of concrete. Ow. Then his arm THWACKS against the metal railing holding the pole up, wrist twisting at an uncomfortable angle as he tumbles over it. Ow. Next, his legs are folded awkwardly while his head is unprotected, so a cut goes to his ear, a twist to his leg. Oh fuck his nose burns, ow, ow, ow-

…it’s like that the whole way down. 

Minho lies at the bottom…

…not fucking dead. Jesus Christ. 

Fuck. FUCK fuck fuck fuck fuck-

He did not think about how much it would hurt if he didn’t die, fuck. 

Minho lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a wail, pained and full of frustration. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and that familiar warm, sticky feeling absolutely dampens his shirt and jeans. Minho can feel it. He’s lightheaded. He’s in hell. It burns so bad, it doesn’t burn enough. His body is shaking again, it- oh, fuck-

It takes him an hour and twelve minutes to pick himself up and catch the train home. It takes him thirty-two to stumble back to his apartment, wheezing and groaning the whole way. Letting out small, pained whines that sounded so strangled. He forces himself to take the stairs back up to his apartment, because he deserves it. Because he has to return home, after another failed attempt, instead of successfully lying on the floor and returning to nothingness…

…nothingness…

Hm.

He wonders how his mom is doing. 

Fuck, anyway.

It takes him three minutes to get the key into the keyhole. His hand shakes the whole time, but his hands have always been shaky. Anxiety, nerve damage- name it, he probably has it. He drops his bag to the floor, and drops his body to the couch, exhaling as he lets himself settle. He gets too heavy to lift, again, limbs tingling as they weigh Minho down in place- and it’s no longer an issue of not wanting to get up- but rather not being able to.

It burns so fucking badly.

Oh well, guess he’ll sleep instead.

Scroll, scroll.

Refresh feed.

No new posts.

Why is Minho looking through this anyway? 

He doesn’t particularly care for anyone else, not in a mean way, he just doesn’t… really care. Period. He stopped fully caring a couple of months ago, when it was clear nobody else cared about him. Which, to be clear, he knew a lot of people violently swung in the opposite direction of caring when it came to Minho. In his case, he had a couple of people that wished he was dead, himself included.

When it came to the neutrals of it all, though- finding people who didn’t really give a shit, but would just feel bad not inviting Minho to things, or including him in certain circles or events? Well, he still came up painfully empty. He’s never particularly close enough to be considered a friend, but that’s okay. At some point, he started putting up the wall, too. 

He won’t put out either. He’s too exhausted.

Too exhausted, can’t sleep.

He glances to the half empty bottle of soju that sits next to his bed frame-less mattress on the floor, then back to his phone- the only thing illuminating him in the darkness right now.

He can’t sleep- he can never sleep for too long anymore. At first, it balanced between two things; he was either going to die, entirely alone, or, somebody was going to try and kill him. Again.

He read some sort of study that had said if you rest on your bed without sleeping for too long, your body has a hard time falling asleep in it, or something. He blames it on that instead. 

He also saw a post that mentioned depressed people have a hard time sleeping normally. He thought about blaming his insomnia on that- but that would mean he’s depressed, which he’s not, so.

Whatever.

He’s not particularly sad about anything, and isn’t that like, the whole point of depression?

He’s just… apathetic.

Angry, maybe, at himself, because he’s shit at getting the job done. 

Fucking irritated because now his body burns, that’s for sure.

He was sad at first, when he realized the weight of what happened- but then that slowly faded away too, and he just… stopped caring. After all…

…not even his own mom cares for him. So why should he?

Edited note.

Today I tried to kill myself at the train station.

Seriously hoping this is my last note.

It isn’t.

Ugly bruises blossom all around Minho’s body. Cuts reopened, so he had to spend an extra amount of time bandaging himself up and taking an ungodly amount of pain meds just to make it to work. Wooyoung asked if he’d been trampled by a bear or something. He laughed.

Wooyoung wasn’t laughing with him.

For the first time in five years since working this job, Minho took his lunch break. He kept it simple, just getting seaweed soup, rice, and meat on the side- if he’d be able to stomach it. His brother texts him while he’s at work.

LEE FELIX: mom wants to know 

LEE FELIX: why u have 

LEE FELIX: her blocked

LEE MINHO: she knows why lol

LEE FELIX: i know

LEE FELIX: lol

LEE FELIX: she wanted 

LEE FELIX: me to ask 

LEE FELIX: you 

LEE FELIX: if you 

LEE FELIX: were planning 

LEE FELIX: on coming home 

LEE FELIX: for the holidays

LEE FELIX: ?

LEE MINHO: r u?

LEE FELIX: im not sure yet

LEE MINHO: ur… not sure 

LEE MINHO: lol

LEE FELIX: its not like that

LEE FELIX: idk

LEE FELIX: ive been

LEE FELIX: thinking abt it all

LEE FELIX: a lot

LEE FELIX: i

LEE FELIX: dont miss her

LEE FELIX: but

LEE FELIX: i miss having

LEE FELIX: a mom

LEE MINHO: do u miss that or me more?

LEE MINHO: quick, answer

LEE FELIX: of course

LEE FELIX: you

LEE MINHO: great so then yk why im not going

LEE MINHO: and why u won’t be going either lol

LEE FELIX: yeah

LEE FELIX: ok

LEE FELIX: ill tell her

LEE FELIX: call soon?

He’s going to kill himself tonight. He’s going to do it. He’s actually going to properly do it. He’s not sure how. Maybe he’ll-

LEE FELIX: i miss u

Felix has hurt him too. But he misses Felix the most out of anybody he tangibly knows. 

LEE MINHO: sure

LEE MINHO: miss u too 

New note. 

I wanted to kill myself for 5 minutes during my lunch break at work. My little brother texted me lol|

He tries to go clubbing, to get his mind off his family. He’s not feeling it. The club is too loud and Minho forgot how much he fucking hates being touched. It just feels weird now- being touched over scar skin is so much different than being touched over… well, ‘regular’ skin. Guys who want to fuck stutter in feel and draw their hands away, and Minho tells himself it’s okay, because he didn’t really want to fuck anyway.

The club is suffocating all of a sudden, and then pain flares. His brain tells him he needs to leave before some small inconvenience sends him spiraling.

That’s okay. Again, he wasn’t feeling it, he’s not much of a club-goer anyway. 

He tries drinking. That makes it worse, actually. Like so much worse. He’s a sad drunk, and he forgets about it until he’s drinking himself over the line of what would be considered tipsy, into properly drunk. 

He scrolls through his iPod, because his music feels like the only thing anymore that’s actually, properly his, and listens to some stupid song Han recommended that he’s been obsessed with. Western Artists seem to hit his constant, consistent nihilistic dread right on its head. Honestly, it’s disturbing. 

KITTIMMACULATE: listening to that song u recced

SQUIRRELBOY: oooh which one? I rec a lot

KITTIMMACULATE: chained to the couch lmfao he’s so real. “I aint got those tears no more” idk when the last time I cried was

SQUIRRELBOY: why is that the part u relate to LMFAO

KITTIMMACULATE: don’t judge ur own great taste in music

The song repeats, Minho wandering so far from his familiar routes that he has no idea where he is now. He’s not close to the highway, or the expressway. He’s not close to any road he’d recognize. But he sees a convenience store. And his wallet is on him, so. More soju for him. 

It doesn’t take him long to become plastered.

Oh- no, Minho is drunk drunk. Like he should figure out where he is so he can try to get home drunk. Except. He’s walked so far he’s away from his apartment deep within the heart of the city and is instead, near the Han river, bridge illuminated by bright florescent lights.

The water looks so calm. He wishes he could be that calm. His brain is so immeasurably turbulent he’s gotten used to swimming through storms, and now, it seems, he’s drunk and he doesn’t know where he is. 

His body aches. He can’t turn his head right at all, or look down. It’ll be worse tomorrow- it’s always the third and fourth days that hurt the most. 

He peers over the edge of the bridge, squinting down below. Perfect- there’s a road. He takes a swig from the bottle in his hand for courage, before starting to make his way down.

He’ll try one more time, to kill himself. If he can’t do it, if he seriously can’t die… well, he’ll have to start changing some things in his life, maybe. It’s probably fate, or whatever- he’s not sure of the specifics of it yet, he hasn’t thought the plan or his belief system through. But, he’s tired, and really bad at turning his life around, so…

…yeah. If he can’t kill himself now, might as well not ever again. 

He slides down the rocks stopping right at the edge of the road. 

Puts his shitty iPod away. 

bzzt.

Puts his phone on do not disturb. Throws that in his bag too. 

The first car comes by so fast that Minho doesn’t even have time to step out in front of it.

That’s good, He thinks, I’ll die pretty instantly.

The next one comes, a little slower- but it’s still a car, so in the grand scheme of things, it should still be good enough. Minho mentally sends his apologizes to the driver as he lets himself fall forward, onto the road and-

-Ow, FUCK-

Not dead. VERY not dead, oh god, oh god, not dead. 

FUCK, not dead. Ha. Hahahah-

Shit, shit, shit-

Okay, new rule to killing himself, no more throwing himself down or in front of things holy shit.

Minho can’t even really lift himself it hurts so bad. The car’s stopped in front of him and the headlights are on, and he hears a car door slam, and he’s just-

He-

“What the fuck is wrong with you man?” There’s hands on his shirt collar, pulling him up, shaking him. Oh fuck, something is wrong with his arm. A laugh bubbles out of Minho against his will, tears involuntarily streaming down his face as he wheezes, giggles, wheezes some more. He must look manic, he can feel blood on his tongue. 

The other guy is yelling a lot of nothings at him, a lot of shit Minho can barely hear. He’s trembling like a leaf- adrenaline has started to kick in- it’s finally pumping through his veins, and for the first time in almost a month, Minho finally has the energy to speak.

“-Kill me,” He says, grinning. Fucking lunatic. He’s acting like a fucking lunatic right now.

“What?” The other man stops, but he still sounds pissed. Like he might actually listen to Minho. 

“Fucking kill me, shit head,” Minho pushes, “The fuck is wrong with yo-” He doesn’t finish his sentence before the stranger’s knuckles meet his jaw, Minho laughing again. It hurts so fucking bad. The pain is just reminding him he’s alive.

“You’re fucking insane, you’re insane,” The man says, dropping Minho back onto the pavement. FUCK, there is something so badly, insanely wrong with his shoulder right now. Why did the man kind of sound familiar?

“Jeongin!” Another man steps out of the car. He’s fucking shaking, looking frightened, “Jeongin stop! We could’ve, he could’ve- look at him-!” 

“He wants to fucking die, look at him!” Jeongin, Minho supposes, yells back, clearly angered. Seriously, where does he know him from?

Can’t be his Jeongin. Surely. That’d be real fuckin’ funny though. Just his luck, too. 

Minho laughs again, turning on his good arm- well, better arm. Fuck, everything hurts so bad. What if he kills himself?

Oooh, that’s going to be a fun one to add to the notes app. When he can reach for his phone.

He tries to get up. His head is swimming. He can’t even really see straight- okay, scratch that, he can barely see at all. He can feel himself tilting as he tries to stand upright, stumbling backwards. He wheezes with effort, groans with struggle. He nearly falls- and while he’s able to regain his balance, the small act knocks the wind out of him. 

In a moment, the second stranger is at his side, slinging his bad arm- also, ironically, his healed burnt arm- around him, Minho laugh-crying as his arm very clearly moved in a way it wasn’t supposed to. It felt like it was being ripped out of its socket.

“Shit, shit.” The guy said.

“Jeongin!” He called, “Jeongin please, we have to help him, we can’t, he can’t… I can’t…” He sounds extra pained at the last ‘can’t’, like Jeongin will understand something Minho won’t. Apparently he does, because there’s a sigh, and then Minho feels a new pair of arms on him, easily picking him up.

“Can you drive?”

No-

“Yeah.”

Oh. Of course he’s not asking Minho. Duh.

The earth is still swimming. Probably better that he doesn’t drive anyway.

When Minho wakes up, he’s in the hospital. Which, he didn’t even realize he passed out.

His body is heavy- but it’s not its usual ‘I can’t take being alive and going through the motions anymore’ heavy. It’s drug heavy. He’s drugged up, to hell and back. Oh, nice. For once, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t feel weird and tingly, he’s just… there.

This is crazy peaceful.

He glances down and- oh fuck, he’s in one of those ugly hospital gowns. Where are his clothes? Leaving here is going to be a million times harder now, fuck-

He tries to sit up- and it’s so hard- partially because he’s probably on many medications. Or just a couple really heavy ones, to be able to get his body to feel this nice and painless. 

“Hey, lay the fuck down.”

The voice makes Minho jump, head very slowly turning as he looks to his left to see-

-okay, no fucking way.

These meds are stronger than he thought.

Minho lets out a strangled noise- somewhere between a wheeze and a small babble of acknowledgement, mumbled out as he tries to blink his eyes open, “Mm- wh-”

“Did you not hear me suicide-boy?”

Did Yang-mother-fucking-Jeongin from the band Venom just call Lee Minho suicide boy? Did he just acknowledge and accurately summarize his existence in a single sentence? Oh. Oh god, Minho is going to fucking kill himse-

Jeongin seems irritated with Minho’s non-respond and takes matters into his own hands, pushing him back against the bed rather harshly. Okay, that hurt.

Minho can’t even bring himself to care. He’s partially mortified. He’s texted his friend a lot of absolutely abhorrent things in confidence about what he’d like those fingers to do to him. Yang Jeongin just pushed him back against the hospital bed.

Even with the face mask on, Minho recognizes his hairstyle from the most recent music video. His trench coat, which is a constant in press and paparazzi photos. Chipped nail polish, rosary ring. Piercings. Oh this is so embarrassing, Minho knows more about this man than he thought-

-Oh fuck, he just tried to throw himself in front of fucking Yang Jeongin’s car. Oh, fuck himself to hell and back. 

Where’s that other dude? Oh god, if he’s another band member of Venom… fuck what Minho said before, he’s going to actually kill himself. He doesn’t care what it takes. This is insane. Mortifying. 

“What’s your name?” Jeongin asks him.

Minho blinks up at him.

His mouth drops open, but he says nothing. “Ah- A-”

Yeah, he didn’t know why the fuck he’d thought he would be able to talk. Exhausted. On drugs. In the presence of Jeongin.

Very lethargically, Minho lifts his arm (ow) and makes a pen writing movement (double ow). It takes Jeongin a second, the man staring, and then squinting in obvious confusion and frustration- probably due to Minho’s slow movements, but eventually he gets it. It’s almost like Minho can visibly see the lightbulb go off in his head.

“Ah- fuck, wait a minute,” Jeongin pats down his coat pockets, then his jean pockets. He produces the most fucked phone Minho has ever seen- second to his own, of course. He unlocks it and opens the notes app, handing it over to Minho, who lets the heavy device drop in his lap.

God, he is so tired.

He types slowly, with one finger.

Lee Minho

“Okay, Lee Minho.” Jeongin peered over him, frowning, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Minho stared up at him, lips pressed together. 

“Rhetorical question,” Jeongin dismissed, “God, it has been such a strange motherfucking night,” he closes his eyes, rubs his face. Exhales into his hands. Runs his fingers through his hair.

“Okay Lee Minho,” He repeats, pausing for a moment, thinking, “Why’d you do that? Drop in front of my goddamn car?”

Minho stays staring at him for a moment, before letting his head drop. He types slowly;

To kill myself|

It feels strangely intimate writing that on another man’s phone. Is Minho insane for that?

Like, he feels he should make a lame, ‘take me to dinner first’ joke here, but he knows Jeongin wouldn’t get it. Even if he explained the context, he knows it would just seem fucked up. He needs a fucked up guy who understands his fucked-up humor. If he lives that long, that is.

“Yeah, of course that’s the kind of night I have,” Jeongin groans, “I almost die, I pick up a guy who-” He cuts himself off, quickly paleing- like he almost said something he shouldn’t’ve, “-and now you. What a strange night, what a strange motherfucking night.” He keeps repeating that. Honestly, he’s right. What a strange night.

Minho looks around blearily at the mention of the other, third man- realizing he’s not here. Jeongin seems to figure out what he’s doing, because he answers his silent question out loud, “He can’t come inside.”

Well. That just raises more questions.

Maybe he hates hospitals. Minho hates hospitals. The last time he was in a hospital was when-

…well…

Ha. Okay. Actually, that’s not very pleasant to think about.

He types something out, more fervent than before. Quickly. Panicked. 

I can’t stay here.

I have to leave|

“With your injuries?” Jeongin immediately disagreed, but Minho looked back up at him eyes wide. He was already shaking. Funny, how that happens. Jeongin noticed the mood change almost immediately, stiffening up. Panicking a little bit himself.

Jeongin seems to pause for a moment, looking at Minho. Sizing him up. Like he’s making a decision. 

What is he-

“Okay, okay, calm down- Jesus, just-” He looked away, closing his eyes. Rubbing his face again, “Okay, okay, we’ll get you discharged. Sorry. Forget I even mentioned it.”

A nurse comes in, almost as if on cue. Jeongin seems just as jumpy as Minho was earlier, turning to look at her. She’s grimacing- but it quickly turns into a smile as soon as she notices Minho’s awake.

“Oh, you’re-” She chuckles awkwardly, looking at the clipboard, frowning, “-we thought you would’ve been asleep for a lot longer.”

His med tolerance is… high, we’ll say.

“Well, since you’re awake let’s get right into it.” Okay. I’ll be honest, I don’t know how you’re alive,” The nurse said to Minho. A new achievement in his books, “Your shoulder was dislocated, we set it while you were asleep- you’ve got a ton of small fractures, most seemed to have healed by themselves, but I’m most concerned about your wrist- when’d you get that? And your bruising and cuts near, well, everywhere…”

She looked at Minho like she’d never seen such a case before. Ha. Nice. 

“Well, how’d you end up like this?” She looks between the two of them expectantly. Minho raises his eyebrows, looking to Jeongin. Mother-fucking Yang Jeongin. Well, he’s like 90% sure. This could still be a fever dream, or something.

“Ha-” Jeongin gives him a look. A definitive kind of, ‘oh fuck you,’ look, before he smiles at the nurse, “He uh- he’s a work colleague. We were walking near a road, and some jack-ass ran him over…”

He winces at his own implication of him being a jackass.

“Ah,” The nurse seemed unsure of the story, glancing between him and Minho, “I see… well, can we get any information from you…? A name, date of birth…?” 

“He’s Lee Minho,” Jeongin says, before pausing, “Date of birth though…” He nudges Minho gently, Minho making a new note.

While Minho types, the nurse talks to Jeongin, “Is he… did we miss something on the scans? Why isn’t he speaking?” Minho loves it when people treat him like he’s not in the room.

“I uh, no, probably not. He’s… always been a man of few words. I’ve only heard him speak like, once,” Jeongin scratched the back of his head, “Great news though, give him a minute, you can ask him. I just figured he’d tell me on his own if he wanted to.” He talks like he’s known Minho for awhile. It’s probably easier to deal with people this way, Minho figures- they’ll just do whatever with Minho if he and Jeongin admit they’re strangers to each other. It’s really strange that Jeongin went from wanting to beat him up to helping him, though. 

Jeongin’s right. What a strange motherfucking night.

The nurse seems a bit stunned by Jeongin’s forwardness on the issue, Minho pausing in his typing to look up. He’s stunned too- nobody’s ever-

Right, they’re waiting for him.

25/08/98

It’s a mental condition. Keep it vague. Sometimes I’m ok enough to speak.

Sorry for taking so long to type, fingers slow|

Jeongin takes the phone, crowding over the screen with the nurse so they can both read it. She glances to Minho before looking back at the phone, sighing. When Jeongin assumes she’s read it all, he passes it back to Minho, who presses the ‘ENTER’ key a few times, to prepare his fingers in case he has to type again.

“Alright,” She presses her lips together, needlessly annoyed by the small setback, “Thank you, for the information. We want to keep you under observation-” Minho’s eyes went wide and he sat up straight, immediately gasping from the pain. Wheezing. Jeongin was at his side in a second, hovering over him. His hands were shaky too- interesting. 

“We can’t do that,” Jeongin says to the nurse firmly. 

“We can’t-”

“-We can’t do that,” Jeongin repeats, cutting her off, “If we can get some kind of prescription, I can keep an eye on him. I see him every day, I’m his neighbor as well… he can’t afford to be checked-in for that long, I’m sorry.” He lies so boldly, like he’s a casual, regular liar. Minho would almost believe him too, if it wasn’t for the fact that his hands were trembling.

Yang Jeongin from Minho’s Best Friend’s favorite band is fucking lying for him. Oh ho ho ho, what the actual fuck. And he said they were co-workers-

Maybe Minho’s finally had his mental breakdown. Maybe this is it, this is his sign he’s lost it. He’s hallucinating this whole thing- or this is some insane, really convincing drug-induced dream, and he’ll wake up, flustered and strapped to his hospital bed, on suicide watch.

The nurse looks between the two unsurely, like she’s absolutely positive they’re lying to her, but she can’t really poke enough holes in Jeongin’s story to say no. They do look like co-workers, for what it’s worth. Minho’s piercings and tattoos are visible- and Jeongin is… well, he’s mother-fucking Yang Jeongin. Minho wants to curl in on himself and die, moreso than usual. 

Jeongin’s got his hand on Minho’s shoulder, and it feels oddly possessive for Minho being a near stranger that he’s just met.

It has been such a strange night. God, it has been such a strange motherfucking night.

The nurse lets out a strangled laugh, “Have you been to the hospital recently, Lee Minho?”

He shakes his head. And I don’t plan on coming back.

(She doesn’t really need to know that part, though…)

“Well, I’ll make sure to give you the heavy stuff then,” the nurse jokes, tapping her clipboard against the end of the bed, “Give me a second, I’ll get you a thirty day prescription for some pain meds. A seven day prescription for something to help the swelling. And uhm-” She seems flustered by the situation, like she’s unsure what to do, “Can I talk to you outside for a moment, Mr. Yang? Since he’ll be under your supervision, like you said?”

“Oh- uh…” Jeongin cleared his throat awkwardly, squinting. Like he forgot he just agreed to that, “Yeah, sure. You said thirty days…?”

He follows the nurse out into the hallway, glancing back at Minho. Minho can’t make out his expression at all.

He wants to laugh. What the fuck. Literally what the fuck.

He wishes Han was here to see this shit, because text is not enough of an effective method for him to communicate to his best friend that he is so fucking confused and he’s not even actually sure this is really happening, thank you very much.

He tries to strain himself to hear the conversation in the hallway, and he can’t really pick up too much of it, but he picks up the important bits.

“Some- well, I’ll be honest, most of his wounds look self-inflicted. I’d recommend that you be the one to hold onto his medication and distribute it to him, too much of a muscle relaxant can be fatal.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I can do that easy-peasy,” Jeongin’s voice sound strained. Minho’s head was spinning. A whole goddamn month?

They talk more, but at that point, Minho’s not really listening anymore. He doesn’t care to. He’s trying to wrap his head around the evening. It’s barely two in the morning. He’s for sure spending the rest of the night with this man. Possibly the rest of the day. Rest of the week. Rest of the month. His head hurts.

bzzt.

bzzt.

Minho sees his bag on the chair next to the one Jeongin had been previously sitting in, groaning. Fuck. What does he tell Han? That’s definitely Han. He doesn’t really get notifications from… well, anything else.

Jeongin comes back in, shoving a couple of papers into his jeans pocket, shedding his trench coat. He’d been wearing a graphic tee underneath that he clearly cut into a muscle-tee, Minho able to see where the cut-off sleeves became frayed over years of wear. 

“You don’t happen to have extra clothes in your backpack, do you?” 

Minho shakes his head.

“Didn’t think so,” Jeongin sighs, shaking out his trench coat, “It’ll smell a bit, sorry. We’ll get you something in the morning, when stores open.”

The nurse silently flushes Minho, then takes the IV out, “You’re good for a few more hours, but really, rest is so important, I can’t stress that enough. The pain meds only work if you rest. The first week will hurt the most, and I recommend some light stretches if you can’t afford physical therapy. Your co-worker might be able to help you perform them. It’s really simple, just bending the leg, stretching your back, neck, shoulders- lightly, treat your right arm especially with the most care…” She prattles on with instructions. Minho’s always had to treat his right arm with the most care, since it got fucked with burns. He supposes the wrist brace and sling is a nice reprieve for it, actually. God, he’s so lucky he’s so lucky he’s left handed.

As soon as she’s out of the room, Minho swings his legs over the bed. He’s about to stand up, but Jeongin raises his hand, as if to tell him to stop- grabbing his shoes.

“I know you got the socks on, but hospital floors are so fucking nasty dude.”

He crouches down and Minho instinctively draws his legs in on himself. His whole body is fucked and covered in scars but his legs are- well. A couple of large tattoos still don’t do enough to cover the damage. Jeongin pauses, clearly confused, furrowing his eyebrows, “I’m not gonna fucking grope ya, I’m just putting on your shoes, c’mon.”

Minho looks at him, clearly confused. It’s like Jeongin doesn’t even notice.

He- everyone notices. It’s one of the first things about Minho that they notice. If it’s not his burnt hand, then it’s the scar on his lip, or the weird, permanent nicks in his ear from the amount of times he’s landed on it. The chunk entirely missing from one from the time an earring got ripped out. 

Actually, now that he thinks about it… Jeongin hasn’t really… reacted to him at all. Not in the way most people have, like the nurse. Cautious, or like he isn’t even there. Needing to get used to him. It took Wooyoung half a year to actually be able to make eye contact with him. According to the other man, he was intimidating, or something. 

Jeongin’s just been. Rightfully irritated with him. Then he helped him out.

What.

What?

What a strange fucking night. 

Minho slowly lets his legs drop. 

Jeongin slowly works Minho’s work boot onto his left leg. Minho tries to point his toe to help him a little, but fuck it hurts so bad- Jeongin seems to catch the way his foot shakes, too, because he grimaces, “We’ll get bandages.”

‘We’ll’ this. ‘We’ll’ that. He keeps saying ‘we’ll’ and it’s making Minho’s head spin. He works his other shoe onto his other foot, and then, reaches for his trench coat with one hand. He lets Minho hold his other hand to balance himself as he stands. Minho’s so lightheaded and he can’t tell if it’s from how unreal this all seems, or the drugs still coursing through his veins. 

“Here, put your arm through here,” Jeongin instructs, holding up the left side of his coat for Minho. He’s so nice to Minho. No one is ever just this nice to Minho without Minho being the butt of the joke, or just doing it out of politene- ah, that’s it. He must feel awful because he fuckin’ hit him with his car.

Shit.

Guilt and embarrassment hits Minho like a train. What the fuck is Jeongin still doing here, actually? Minho should apologize. Hightail it out of here. Go home. 

“H- Ha-,” Minho tries to speak, but it’s no use. Jeongin’s already buttoned up the top button of his coat, slung the older’s bag over his shoulder. He’s got his hand on his back and he’s leading him out of the hospital with a thin stack of papers in hand.

“Hmm?” Jeongin tilts his head, like he’s genuinely listening.

“…” Minho can’t get the words ‘I’m sorry for wasting your time and probably traumatizing you,’ out, so he simply looks to the floor, ears red. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck. He didn’t even think about how fucked this must be for Jeongin. 

The bassist leads him out to his car- which, not to have a fan moment, but god, Minho did not think he’d ever see Jeongin’s hearse in the flesh. He’s so morbid and cool. 

Minho’s so morbid and. Not.

Jeongin opens the door to the backseat- first off, pushing the seats up, to which Minho realizes there’s another man in the car. Of course there is. Minho feels bad he keeps forgetting about him.

“Yeah, he’s uh. He’s joining us,” Jeongin replies to something the guy said, “I’ll introduce you in a sec.”

Jeongin practically carries Minho into the backseats, bridal style. He feels lightheaded. Literally what the fuck.

“Wh-” Minho’s ears are burning, he’s so glad the darkness covers how embarrassed he is right now. 

“Who is this?” Jeongin asks the other guy. He’s hovering over Minho still, having dropped his bag next to him, but distracted by the soft music wafting through the car. Of course he is. It’s nice- old definitely, but nice. Jazzy, slow trot-style vocals.

“What?” The man responds.

“That you’re playing. I haven’t heard her before.”

“You don’t know Jung Hoonhee?” The guy whose name Minho still doesn’t know gasps, shifting in his seat, “but she’s like. Literally so good. How the fuck are you a musician. Apparently. According to you.”

Jeongin gapes like a fish at that comment, eyes wide, clearly stunned and unsure how to respond. He looks down at Minho, as if to go, ‘what’s with him?’ Like Minho knows him. 

“I bet Minho likes my music, fuck you.”

“You wish,” Hyunjin scoffed.

“Which one?”

“Both fronts,” Oh the irony in that statement. Hyunjin fully twists in his seat so that he can look at Minho- holy shit he is fucking gorgeous. Jeongin’s gorgeous too. Minho has never felt more self-conscious, and he usually does by default. He’s hit a new low, “His name is Minho? Hi Minho.” 

Hyunjin’s hair is black and long- styled in one of those wolf-cuts that’s trending nowadays. He’s got smoky eyeliner all around his eye. He uses it as eyeshadow, and it works. It looks like he hasn’t washed it off in days. It’s clear he’s been crying, and eyeliner and mascara runs down his cheeks, and it works. He’s pretty, and weird too, and he knows it.

He smiles at Minho like the hearse is a taxi, and Minho’s just a temporary passenger.

“H-” Minho’s going to fucking kill himself.

Another for the notes app. What time is it now? Two in the morning? How many times has he had that thought tonight? He knows there’s some he missed. Maybe it should just be one big note.

“He doesn’t talk much,” Jeongin patted his leg gently, “I guess our initial… meet was an adrenaline rush induced-speech, or something.”

“Oh, you can use big words,” Hyunjin likes to fuck with Jeongin a lot, Minho noticed. Jeongin’s allowing it, even though it’s clearly annoying the shit out of him. Minho wonders what happened to Hyunjin for Jeongin to be allowing it. 

“I’m a poet when I want to be,” Jeongin pauses talking to reach awkwardly behind him and close the back door, “Move over, Hyunjin.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Cool, you’re gonna get kicked then,” That’s the only warning he gets before he’s shrieking- Jeongin using the passenger and driver’s seats to lift himself above the console, sliding back in front of the wheel. He doesn’t actually kick Hyunjin- in fact, he barely touches him- but Hyunjin slaps his arm anyway, yelling at him.

“Asshole!”

Jeongin’s grinning, “Who’s hungry? When’s the last time any of you ate?”

Minho had… lunch last. He had lunch at work. His stomach growls for him, to which Hyunjin laughs, “A man of many words, I see.”

Minho pulls the trench coat tighter around himself.

“Let’s see what’s open this late, it’s probably going to be some convenience store bullshit, but we’ll make do for now,” Jeongin murmurs, pulling out of the parking lot.

“There’s gotta be a drive through open. One of those places near a gas station, you know?” Hyunjin pipes up, before turning back to Minho, “What were you doing near the outskirts of the city, by the way?”

Minho stares at him, and Hyunjin takes that as an incentive to keep talking to himself, “Right. Killing yourself. Sorry, I forgot. I mean- I didn’t forget that you’re suicidal or anything, I was worried, but like- it’s just such a weird place to do it, you know?”

…what.

Jeongin seems just as flabbergasted too, eyes wide as he glances back at Minho in the rearview mirror.

“I’m so sorry about him,” He says, eyes back on the road, “I’ve only known him for like, a few hours, but holy shit, I’m so sorry about him.”

“It’s okay,” Minho croaks out, because he’s finally able to say something. He shocks both the men in the front seats, Jeongin glancing in the rearview again- this time, a small smile on his lips.

“Not just adrenaline after all, huh?” Hyunjin pipes up, grinning wide, “If I keep saying insane shit, maybe I’ll get a few words out of you.”

“Okay, don’t push him,” Jeongin interrupts, “We get his prescription tomorrow morning, then once he’s on pain meds and… that other one she said I already forgot about, it’s a mostly free for all.”

“Okay, don’t push him,” Hyunjin mimics, “You were pushing me a minute ago.”

“That’s different, you didn’t intentionally try to leave a you sized dent in my fucking car,” Jeongin grumbled, tapping on the steering wheel anxiously, “I don’t have strangers in here like this either, I hate this.”

“I can tell,” Hyunjin says, “You’re rambling.” 

“I’m not-” Jeongin sighs, “Fuck you. I can’t even-” He glances back in the rearview mirror again, exhaling, “-no offense Minho, you’re killing like, half of my vocabulary here,” A pause, “Sorry, you’re… fucking with, half of my vocabulary here.”

Minho snorts.

“No fuckin’ way,” Hyunjin snorts with him, “You would be one of those. You tell people to kill themselves every other second, don’t you?”

Jeongin grips the steering wheel, inhaling. Exhaling, “I don’t like you. Or the you-sized dent in my car.”

Hyunjin laughs, “The irony of you driving a hearse,” he says.

“Kill yourself, she’s my baby,” Jeongin defends without thought. Then he pales, glancing in the rearview mirror, “I did not mean that. Stay alive, she’s my baby. Stay very alive. Please.”

It’s Minho’s turn to laugh now, the sound abrupt and strangled. It sounds unpleasant- and ends with a series of coughs that make his ribcage hurt, but, this is the most amused he’s been in…

…years, probably. Honestly. 

“Don’t worry,” Is all he says, and it’s enough to make Jeongin visibly relax. 

Minho drifts off for about forty-five minutes until he’s gently shaken awake by gorgeous man- sorry, Hyunjin. Hyunjin smiles at him gently, and Minho faintly smells fast food.

“We’re in a drive through,” He speaks so softly, “Want anything?”

“Mm ok,” Minho mumbles, “Don’t… break the bank.”

He lets his head drop back down to the seat and closes his eyes, and hears a snort from Jeongin, “Trust. That will not be an issue.”

Fuck. Right.

Minho’s awake again, properly, in a second, blinking owlishly as he tries to sit up.

“We should at least try to get some sprite in you,” Hyunjin says, hovering. They hover a lot. Why are they doing that?

“Ok,” Minho’s too tired to argue, “Can I have fries. Please.” His stomach grumbles loudly. He’s hungrier than he thought.

“Do you want chicken tenders?” Jeongin asks, one hand on the wheel, the other out the window. He glances back at Minho, who takes a moment to register the question. He’s pushing food on him, just a little bit. Minho will allow it.

“Sure.”

Jeongin and Hyunjin fight over control of the car’s music. They’re all weirdly awake for it being four in the morning, but as Hyunjin and Jeongin have lamented multiple times; It’s been a strange fucking night. 

Hyunjin, Minho’s learning, needs distractions. A lot of them. Minho has zero idea what’s going on with him, but whatever it is, it’s bad. Minho’s not sure how he should feel about the other going from trying to feed him his food, to arguing with Jeongin about the music playing, to trying to convince them to play some sort of strip game once Minho actually has clothes- and he’s not sure how he does feel about it all, honestly. He plays along with what Jeongin’s doing. Indulging Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin seems to… deserve to be indulged. Even if it’s just for the duration of their trip together. However long that may be.

“Show me your music videos loser,” Hyunjin pelts a fry at Jeongin.

“You’ll fall in love with me,” Jeongin says. He cringes as soon as he says it. Minho grins, pulling out his own cracked phone with a shaky hand, dropping it on the console.

“You fucker!” Jeongin’s expression changes, man gawking as he looks between the two, “You tricked me! You-”

“Oh, Minho loves me!” Hyunjin makes a dramatic show of wrapping his arms around Minho. He doesn’t pull away. 

He doesn’t pull-

When he does, he doesn’t seem affected, or grossed out in the slightest. It must be Jeongin’s trench coat. Too thick. Hyunjin can’t feel the texture of Minho’s skin. Yeah. Yeah.

The warmth was nice.

For a moment, he freezes, forgetting what he was doing. He was hugged. When was the last time he was hugged?

“Do you not like-?” Hyunjin swallows, frowning.

No. Nonono- Minho wants him to do it again. Minho wants him to do it again and not let go.

“S-Sorry,” His ears were red, he could feel it, “Surprise, ’s all.”

The car light is on, shit. He lets his hair cover his face as he focuses on the phone screen in front of him, pressing play, moving it forward, silently. Jeongin’s music fills the car as Minho sits back in his seat. Hyunjin can feel the change in the air, and so changes topics with it, wanting to uplift the mood again.

“Look at that, maybe you are actually a rockstar. I’ve always wanted to be a rockstar’s girlfriend, the song’s good enough that I’ll allow it with you.”

Jeongin chokes on his fry, “I’m fucking sorry?”

“You heard me,” Hyunjin giggles, sipping on his soda, making a show of it. Tilting his head, “You seem sweet enough, you’ve dealt with me all night,” he’s flirting, Minho thinks. He wouldn’t really know, he’s never been flirted with.

Jeongin’s face is red, similar to Minho’s- and then he’s out of the running too. Singlehandedly, Hyunjin’s made two men go silent. Well, to be exact- one man silent. He made one man go silent, and had the other speak. Minho can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a bad one. Jeongin sips his own soda so he doesn’t have to respond, looking anywhere other than Hyunjin. He settles on the phone. 

“It’s an okay song,” He says. 

“Tired,” Minho interrupts, sipping at his sprite. His stomach is probably thanking the other two right now- this is the first time in a long while he hasn’t absolutely destroyed it with caffeine or something else.

“Yeah, me too.” Jeongin sighs, looking around for something. He turns the car off, the light turning off with it, before lowering his seat back. Enough to lay down, or crawl back. Not enough to hit Minho. Hyunjin follows suit, giggling when he realizes his head is only slightly above Minho’s.

“Hello beautiful!” He hums.

Oh.

Minho can’t hide the frown on his face. Maybe in the darkness, Hyunjin can’t see it.

Jeongin reaches behind Minho, in the trunk- for a couple of thin blankets. He grimaces, looking to Hyunjin, “They’re all I have, sorry.”

“Don’t Apologize, I’m surprised you have any at all,” Hyunjin scoffs, grabbing one. He kicks off his shoes- Minho can hear it, and moves around in his seat until he’s curled up under his blanket. 

“You good with the trench coat, Min?”

“Fine.”

Minho’s exhausted, honestly.

“‘Kay, just… yell if you need anything I guess. We’ll get your meds in the morning,” Jeongin says, nodding, “Night.”

He gets comfortable, laying in the driver’s seat for a moment. It’s clear he’s still awake. It’s clear they all are, really. 

“It… sucks you guys are sleeping in the car that almost killed you,” Jeongin says suddenly, “My bad.”

 It sounded like an apology, kind of. Like he wanted to say I’m sorry, but knew Hyunjin and Minho wouldn’t let him.

Hyunjin snorts, reaching over the console with his foot, kicking Jeongin in the thigh.

“You’re a shit driver.” He says.

“Yeah.”

Minho wakes up in immense amounts of pain. It burns. The burn shoots up his veins, his muscles, his goddamn nerves- like it’s holding a street race in his body.

“Ah- ahh-” He’s sweating, how long had he been sweating for? He’s wheezing again, tears rolling down his cheeks. He tries to hold it in, he doesn’t want to be too much of a bother but.

Fuck, fuck, it hurts so bad.

“Ah-!” He’s trying so hard to not scream, he squeezes his eyes closed, bites down on the thing closest to him. Jeongin’s trench coat, of course. Of Course. 

His neck and shoulder can’t take the awkward angle and weight dynamic of resting in the backseat of a car.

Pop!

Jeongin is the first to wake up to his muffled wails, confusedly shooting up almost instantly. He nearly hits his head, actually- narrowly avoiding his rearview mirror.

“Wh-” 

Hyunjin’s next to wake up, groaning softly as he turns. Then turns again.

“Fuck,” Jeongin’s panic gets Hyunjin semi-awake finally, man groaning.

“What?”

Minho’s completely still. He doesn’t want to be a bother. At least, not moreso than he already is. It hurts to move a muscle- it hurts to not move at all. It hurts to breathe. 

“Minho-” Jeongin’s panicked- searching his car for anything that could help him until he could get the prescription. He comes up with a couple of Motrin pills he fished out of his glove compartment and a blue pill Minho doesn’t recognize but Jeongin swears works.

He lets Jeongin feed them all to him, opening his mouth to sip from his sprite straw.

For thirty bizarre minutes, the three sit in a weird sort of silence- or, Minho tries to. He really doesn’t want to be a bother. The other two are watching him like hawks. Hyunjin seems scared to say anything. Jeongin keeps checking the time on his watch, exhaling. Jogging his leg. He fidgets a lot.

Minho’s gnawing on his coat to relieve the pain- he’ll apologize later. 

Finally, the burning calms down enough, that Minho can comfortably lick dried spit from the sides of his mouth, and look up at Hyunjin and Jeongin apologetically, “…sorry.”

Hyunjin exhales, dropping his face into his hands. Jeongin looks only slightly relieved, frowning. 

“I’m getting his prescription. Stay with him.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Door slam.

Jeongin left his keys in the car, so Hyunjin gets into the drivers seat and starts it, just to play some music. 

It’s more of that woman he was playing last night, but this time, the song is a little more playful, even if still toned down. 

“I’m just gonna, talk- is that okay?” Hyunjin asks, glancing to Minho, who gives a slow nod.

“Cool,” Hyunjin lets out a small breath, “Sorry, I just- god- I can’t stand the silence. Really does me in. My personal hell is probably space. Or some similar void of an echo-chamber, you know?”

Not… really, no.

“I don’t know why I asked if you know, you don’t know,” Hyunjin corrects himself, “Sorry, my bad, I’m a yapper, what can I say?” 

Minho smiles tiredly while Hyunjin continues, “Well, okay, weirdly enough, not usually this talkative- it’s weird to talk about talking, isn’t it? That’s not even what I meant to do- I was just gonna say if my music gets really fucking annoying, I can like, change it or something. I’m sure there’s probably an artist we both like. I listen to a whole lot of nothing. Everything. You know what I mean.”

Minho… thinks so. He shakes his head, smiling again. The music is fine. It’s nice. 

Hyunjin seems- annoyed with his response? Like he was trying to do something. Clearly, Minho does not know what he means then.

“Okay, let me try again,” He rubs his face with his free hand, squishing his cheek nervously, “I want you to chose something. I want to know your music taste.”

Oh.

Why?

Hyunjin seems to sense his confusion, starting to over-explain, “I just like getting a read on people. Music is a good way to do it, you know?”

…yeah, okay.

Minho’s head is pounding as Hyunjin passes the phone over. He thinks for a moment, what song would he listen to right now?

Well, he knows the exact song.

It’s.

Okay, hold on.

He opens Hyunjin’s notes app, typing out a small message.

It’s a long song. And weird.

Hyunjin reads the message, raising his eyebrows, “Oh, so it’s gonna fuck, you mean.”

Minho lets out a small laugh, switching back to Hyunjin’s music app. Typing in the song he wanted. It didn’t even really sound like music, at first. Rhythmic creepy atmospheric noises, maybe. Minho shrinks in on himself, a bit mortified at how different his favorite song sounds when he’s playing it for someone else. Hyunjin seemed to lighten up a little, recognizing the song.

“Shit, you like Bauhaus? I’ll be damned.”

Oh, okay. Maybe this is kind of nice.

Minho switches back to the notes app;

Favorite song based off of favorite movie.

Hyunjin grins, slapping the console in excitement, “Oh you’re so cool. So much cooler than Jeongin. We gotta watch all the Classic Universal Monsters now.”

So much cooler than Jeongin!? Surely Hyunjin is joking. 

…but Minho is not going to pass up on binge watching some of his favorite old-movies. So he nods.

(-even if he’s very skeptical as to what Hyunjin finds ‘cool’ or ‘not-cool’. What’s Hyunjin’s instrument of measurement? His spectrum?)

(Minho is a grown man, he needs to stop fixating on this so badly.)

Jeongin opens the car door suddenly, making them both yelp. He stands there for a moment, Hyunjin staring up at him.

“I wanted to play music,” Hyunjin suddenly sounds small. A little afraid, even. All of a sudden, Minho’s nervous too. 

“Okay,” He can hear Jeongin’s voice, as equally unsure and anxious- just a little more clipped. A little more… curt, “Who the fuck plays Bauhaus at ten in the morning?”

Minho immediately relaxes. He’s starting to understand that Jeongin just sounds like that. Hyunjin takes a moment longer than he does, grinning, slapping Jeongin’s thigh. Scooting back into the passenger seat.

“Fuck you, I was right, Minho’s music taste is great, he’s above being interested in your puny little band, right Minho?” Hyunjin looks back at him. 

Jeongin’s slid into his seat and thrown the medication on Hyunjin’s lap as he puts on his seat belt, shaking his head, “It’s okay, I already know Minho’s at least a casual listener. I can turn him into a fan, give me time.”

Minho can’t tell if it’s the probable head injuries making him feel woozy. Why are they fighting for his praise? Probably because he’s the only one in the car. They want him to feel included. Yeah. There we go, yeah.

Jeongin reaches over to Hyunjin and grabs the prescription again, eyeing it. Reading the instructions. He takes out one of each pill and sets them on the console slowly, before throwing the pharmacy bag in his glove compartment. Then, he turns back to Minho. 

Minho, whose eyes were wide.

He was serious about that!?

“Where’s your sprite?” Jeongin makes an expression that’s halfway between a grimace and something indescribable- like he’s thinking. Anxiously, “Flat, probably, but it’ll do. We’ll pick up more food and snacks, don’t worry.”

He eventually locates the sprite from earlier, lifting it to Minho’s mouth again. Letting him take a pill, then a sip. Swallow. Pill. Sip. Swallow.

“Nice,” Jeongin smiles, and it seems so weirdly genuine- Minho’s not sure what to make of it.

“O-kay, let’s get this party on the road,” Jeongin clears his throat, “Any objections to getting Minho clothes?”

Minho’s entire fucking body is red, at this point.

Hyunjin thwacks Jeongin’s arm again.

“You know that’s not what I fuckin’ meant, dude,” Jeongin whines.

Right, of course not. Why would he?

“I mean…” Hyunjin glances back at Minho, raising his eyebrows. Smirking, “Lookin’ mighty fine there, even after a night of hell.”

“What,” Minho blinks.

Hyunjin laughs a bit, covering his mouth, then his face, “Oh fuck- sorry, I didn’t expect you to respond to that one.”

He laughed. Must’ve been a joke. Happens all the time. Joking with Minho, joking at Minho… a lot of people seem to not be able to tell the difference. 

Happens all the time. It’s fine. Minho will enjoy what he can of this. Ignore the parts he’s used to. After all, it’s not every day a gorgeous dude gives him the time of day anyway.

What a strange fucking day.

Minho wants to die so bad. Reacting to things is exhausting, and keeping up with the flow while trying to record it all is even worse.

Last night’s suicidal events are summed up into one big note;

Didn’t succeed again. Jumped in front of car. Dude hit me, got out, hit me again. Then took me to hospital. Was the nicest dude I’ve ever met. There’s another guy too. Very sweet. Both very pretty.

Wanted to kill myself 13 times that I could keep track of. On pain meds, road-tripping with the two guys now. I guess. 

Then, he opened another note. A separate one, just for today. Right now;

(Time check.)

I wanted to kill myself for 17 minutes. I hate looking at clothes. So many textures. So uncomfortable. Some grab at your skin, too.

The hospital said my old clothes were too destroyed to give back. Idk. Blood stained clothes are cool, or something.

“Whatcha doing?” Hyunjin peers over his shoulder, and instantly Minho drops his phone, gasping.

“Shit, sorry!” Hyunjin backs up, bending forward, “I didn’t mean to-“

“No- no-!” Minho’s panicked now, unable to bend over and pick his phone up at nearly the same speed Hyunjin can. Hyunjin looks up at him as he reaches for the phone, and all Minho can feel is relief.

Hyunjin hands it back to him, confused, “‘No’ what?”

Minho’s hands are shaking. New note.

Never mind. Sorry. I’m jumpy. What’s up?

Hyunjin looks at the note, and then at Minho sizing him up. As if trying to decipher whether or not he’s telling the truth.

“Okay,” He’s decided pushing Minho clearly isn’t worth it. So, Minho at least has that to be thankful for. He seems muted anyway in the store. Paranoid too. Constantly looking over his shoulder, face mask on and baseball cap on lower. It’s not entirely unnatural, especially with their getups. If they get lucky, someone’s just going to think Hyunjin and Jeongin, at least, are a part of some Idol group on break. Minho still looks like a mental hospital patient that escaped. 

“We’re getting you a lot of sweats,” Jeongin tells him. Minho doesn’t argue, “I want you to be as comfortable as possible, is there anything else you want bottoms wise?” Minho shakes his head. The entire time it feels like Jeongin’s been distracting himself, not letting his eyes wander too long. He lets his jeans become his own personal scratching post as he follows Minho around, carrying things- something he seems perfectly content to do, while Hyunjin pulls them out and asks if Minho wants them. They’re getting him a lot. Jeongin says it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. He’ll probably get him more.

Minho’s head spins.

Jeongin lets him chose tops and sweaters, but he doesn’t change in variety too much, getting plain tees- a couple of band hoodies the store provided. He still had his jacket, thankfully. The one thing the hospital had decided he could keep. 

On the way out, Minho eyes some sunglasses. Hyunjin offhandedly comments how cute the three of them would look with matching ones.

“Like couples sunglasses?” Jeongin asks, scrunching his nose.

“It’s only a couples item if you make it a couples item,” Hyunjin shrugs, “It could just be a… symbol, or whatever, of our month together, I guess.”

They’re month together. Right.

They make it to the parking lot before Jeongin says he forgot he wanted to get some snacks. Asks them if they want anything. Minho shakes his head. Hyunjin prattles off a list and tells Minho to not be a loser. Well. 

It takes Jeongin a minute to return to the car, but he seems more relaxed, sitting in the drivers seat. Excitedly tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, like a child. He turns towards the two, staring at them wide eyed. It’s the most expressive he’s been this whole… trip, beyond anger. 

“Where’s your bag-” Hyunjin starts, Jeongin cutting him off instantly.

“Okay, I lied,” He grins. Lying is something he seems to do a lot of, “but, we will be getting those snacks. And- on a separate note, got ya something.” He hands the two the sunglasses Minho had glanced at. His own were sitting, already perched on his head, keeping his hair out of his face. 

Hyunjin gasped, smiled, taking his pair and trying them on. He looks pretty, of course. He always looks so pretty. 

“You’re so sappy. Whoever you end up with is gonna have a fucking field day with you,” He comments, looking at himself in Jeongin’s side mirror. Jeongin laughs, but it’s weirdly strained. 

“Don’t think that’ll happen anytime soon,” Jeongin says, passing the other pair back to Minho. Well, he starts to and then grunts out a, “hold on a second,” and reaches over to gently slide them onto Minho’s face, raising them to his forehead, to keep his hair out of his face too. 

Oh god his face is exposed.

“There we go,” Jeongin’s hands are shaking again, man pulling away as he sits back in the drivers seat, “Okay, let’s actually hit the road. Min, if you feel good enough, I’d say start changing now, you know?”

Right. Right right right.

Minho nods, a little dazed as he gets himself slowly sitting, Jeongin’s trench coat sliding off of him. He searches through the bags for a pair of gray sweats, and a NIRVANA hoodie. Good enough.

Hyunjin’s kept content by controlling the car’s music again, loudly announcing he’s taking music recommendations, from anyone who isn’t Jeongin. Then he gets reckless and starts to search Jeongin’s car, the action clearly bringing Jeongin some anxiety as he asks, “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“You’re a musician, don’t you have… I dunno, CDs or something?”

“That’s…” Jeongin pauses, “Musician-ist. Or something.”

“Well, do you?” 

“In the trunk, somewhere. They’re all- you wouldn’t like them. I don’t like them.”

“You don’t know what I’d like,” Then Hyunjin pauses, “What do you mean you don’t like them?”

Jeongin sighs, taking one hand off the wheel to scratch the back of his neck, to run his fingers through his hair, “It’s not that important. I dunno, stopped giving a shit about music at some point.”

What!?

“Isn’t that like, your whole job?”

“Actually, fuck you, I’ll have you know I have an education degree,” Jeongin then mulls it over, eventually talking, “-but yeah, I guess. I like performing more than playing. I think. Sometimes I like playing, just… when I’m like, shit faced drunk and nobody else is around. I dunno. Why are we talking about this?”

“Your music collection,” Hyunjin reminds him, “The… the CDs… but it’s not-”

“-no, sorry, I’m just being,” Jeongin’s weirdly tense again, has been this whole trip, “It’s a me thing, I’ll get them out our next snack and gas refill, how about that?” 

He can hear Hyunjin smile as he answers with a simple, “Okay.”

Weird. 

Weird, weird, weird. 

They take periodic breaks. Jeongin uses those breaks to fill up on gas, to buy snacks and drinks. To spoil Hyunjin a little. To try and spoil Minho where he can. It seems to be some kind of weird stress relief for him, because when he’s not doing that, he’s chain smoking. 

He actually, seriously stretches Minho- and Minho has to close his eyes for the duration of it because he simply can’t believe someone else is touching him, let alone Yang mother-fucking Jeongin. 

His hands are calloused, but he touches Minho so gently. He moves his limbs carefully, with a thousand “I’m sorry”’s falling from his tongue. Minho feels like he’s going to die. He thinks he’s had a dream about this once. He doesn’t even really feel the pain when it shoots up his side, he’s too distracted by how many times in the past couple of hours they’ve just…

…been, in his proximity.

When they hit the road again, Minho finally gets around to texting Han back. Responding to older messages. Responding to new ones.

SQUIRRELBOY: I need to see venom in my dreams

SQUIRRELBOY: like. Idk .

SQUIRRELBOY: idk how I want them in my dreams but I just know I need to see them there

SQUIRRELBOY: ill work on this im getting sleepy lol, text me when u can, btw I want ur thoughts on the mv u never properly responded :( 

KITTIMMACULATE: sorry

KITTIMMACULATE: crazy night

KITTIMMACULATE: long story short I was at the hospital

KITTIMMACULATE: BUT IM OK dw like im fine I’m just under orders to rest for a bit lol

KITTIMMACULATE: met the strangest dude ever tho, so kind. 

KITTIMMACULATE: unrelated but im like really sad

KITTIMMACULATE: or smth

KITTIMMACULATE: the whole time I was in the hospital my brain just kept going “wow, I rlly don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere” and like

KITTIMMACULATE: idk why I sent that bit lol sorry ignore that ily<3

KITTIMMACULATE: im being taken care of so dw haha. I’ll try to rewatch and send u screenshots like I usually do when im not so fuckin tired, yk? We can Yell Together

SQUIRRELBOY: I mean this in the nicest way possible baby

SQUIRRELBOY: your baseline is like. Six feet under

SQUIRRELBOY: like Bela Lugosi IS dead, and somehow ur still alive

SQUIRRELBOY: we joke about being severely depressed but sometimes im so genuinely concerned for u

SQUIRRELBOY: I’m glad ur ok tho <3 hugs and kisses

SQUIRRELBOY: if u don’t mind me asking, what were u in the hospital for?

KITTIMMACULATE: i fucked my arm up at work. Fractured wrist. I’m assuming it happened when I was carrying some of the heavier equipment during closing. I’m just in a brace for awhile, nothing too bad.

SQUIRRELBOY: fuck dude :(

SQUIRRELBOY: heal soon

SQUIRRELBOY: youve been having so many bad days man

SQUIRRELBOY: seriously wish I could just swaddle u up fr like this is so insane

SQUIRRELBOY: I know ur usually a cook but I’d take care of u just to make sure you’re ok bc. Shit man. Just… shit. Lol. No other words for it ur life just sounds like hell rn and I can’t hope ur ok bc I know ur not, yk?

KITTIMMACULATE: im on it yessir

KITTIMMACULATE: that sounds so nice :(

KITTIMMACULATE: ill hold you up to that!!!

Then, he naps. He wakes up from a nap. He naps again. He tries to sit up to stay awake, but both Jeongin and Hyunjin protest, and he’s slowly pushed back down on the seats. At some point they got him a pillow. When’d that happen?

He falls asleep again. Wakes up again. Wakes up to them talking.

“…I think I just like,” Hyunjin’s voice, “Doom spiral about so much bad shit happening that when it actually happens, I’m numb.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin’s voice, “Wait, you doom spiraled about murder?”

“Fuck,” Hyunjin lets out a weird choked- honestly ugly sound (that reassures Minho, honestly. Because for a moment there, he wasn’t sure Hyunjin was capable of making them), and then he sighs, sniffing, “-about the other thing. I just. I knew it was going to happen. It’d- other guys wanted to- I’m not fucking stupid, you know?”

A silence. 

“Yeah,” This time, Jeongin’s regular response seems raw, like there’s pain behind it, “I know.”

Hyunjin laughs again, but it’s humorless- clearly trying to cover up a sob, “And… fuck, sorry. I just. I don’t get it. I don’t fucking get it. Maybe if I mangled myself this shit wouldn’t be fucking happening you know? Instead, now, it’s… fuck, what if I’m on the news?”

“From what you told me, there’s a chance you might not be,” Jeongin’s clearly trying to calm him down. He glances in the rearview mirror, sees Minho’s awake. Then looks back on the road, “I don’t think mangling yourself is… particularly smart. You just want me to take care of you too, huh? You jealous?”

Hyunjin actually laughs that time, sniffing and wiping away his tears. Minho closes his eyes, right as he can hear Hyunjin look back.

“Yeah, what the fuck happened there?”

“Asshole,” Jeongin’s the one to slap him now, Hyunjin dramatically crying out as he slides back into his seat.

“I didn’t mean it like that, fuck you,” Hyunjin comments, “Just meant like, why would a dude so pretty do… all that? You know?”

Oh, he must be joking.

“Maybe he accidentally killed someone who tried to-”

“-Okay, okay, shut up,” Hyunjin soured. Not in a joking mood about whatever happened to him. Clearly though, he’s killed somebody. That much is obvious. Makes sense why he couldn’t come into the hospital now. 

“At some point we’re gonna have to switch off by the way. I need a smoke. And a nap,” Jeongin grimaces, “I’m losing my fucking mind, and your awful taste in music is making it worse.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Silence.

“Innie, you don’t mean that!”

“Uh-huh.”

When Minho wakes up again, he’s being- moved. Which- immediately has him panicking, the man starting to flail as he looks around.

“Shit Min-” A panicked yell, a tighter grip on him. Ow, “-Calm down! Calm down, dude, it’s just me!”

Just…

…Jeongin. 

Okay. Minho’s not sure Jeongin understands the meaning of the word ‘just’ in that context, but, sure. Okay. 

“You’re not one to wake up nicely, are you?” Jeongin asks. Minho shakes his head.

Jeongin laughs- he laughs at a lot of things Minho does, especially when he’s answering honestly. He doesn’t understand why. Maybe he should ki-

He writes that note down when Jeongin gets him situated on one of the beds. The one closest to the bathroom.

I thought about killing myself being carried inside the motel today.

Why are we at a motel? My head is hurting. 

Anyway, I feel like I’m slowing the other two down, or something. I feel like I’m…

I dunno. Everything hur|

“Huh?” Jeongin misunderstands his memory-recording note taking, as him trying to tell the other something. Rookie mistake. He’s snatched the phone out of Minho’s hands before Minho can really say anything, muttering the words, then blinking, then frowning.

“I don’t think this was for me.”

Minho has to speak now. Fuck.

“No,” His throat is dry. Lips cracked, “…sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Apologizing.”

Well, Minho would type up a paragraph why in his goddamn notes app, if they wouldn’t stop picking up his fucking phone-

“Can I?” Jeongin’s thumb is hovering over the back button. He wants to see more.

“Uh…” Minho blinks, “Sure.”

Jeongin scrolls. He scrolls a lot. His brain is clearly processing the contents while his thumb scrolls. He scoffs, but it’s not out of malice. Rather, disbelief. He’s still scrolling.

“This is a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“One hundred and thirty-seven notes today,” Jeongin scrolls back up to the top.

“Two of those are about songs,” Minho clarifies, “That you guys mentioned. That I wrote down.”

“One hundred and thirty-five then.”

“-and three are from me talking to you.”

“…One hundred and thirty-two,” Jeongin’s eyebrows are raised. He sits on the edge of the bed, creating a dip in it. Minho looks down at his fingers. At his burnt hand. His cast for his wrist fracture. His new sweatpants. Then back up to Jeongin, who’s just… clicking. Reading. This is the most relaxed he’s been since they met, Minho thinks.  He wants him to be this relaxed all the time. Is that bad? That he’s having these thoughts while Jeongin’s looking at his personal record of his suicidal thoughts? 

Maybe he’s fucking crazy. Maybe he should fucking-

(…Maybe. Just maybe. Here’s a spectacular idea. He should try other things first before he jumps to that one.)

“Has anyone ever told you that you need therapy?”

“Jokingly, or seriously?” Minho asks, “because the answer is yes.”

Jeongin huffs out a laugh, and his eyes do a thing where, for a moment, they seem to turn into tiny moons. 

Minho likes that they do that. He needs Jeongin to do it more, now.

“You’re so depressed and you can’t even take yourself seriously,” Jeongin’s tone is weird- like he’s not sure if he should laugh at, or be sad for Minho. 

“Okay,” Minho pauses, blinking for a moment, “I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

“Are you always this strange?”

“Not sure how to respond to that one either. It’s been a strange day.”

Jeongin huff-laughs again, because of course he does, closing out of Minho’s phone, “Fine. Then don’t respond, that’s okay. Just, here, come here.”

Minho opens his mouth, then closes it. Tilts his head in confusion. 

“W…What do you mean come here?”

Jeongin scratches the back of his neck again. Minho still can’t figure out if he does it as a nervous tick, or just as a fidget.

“What, you’ve never heard of a hug?”

“I mean, I’ve heard of hugs-” Okay, now Minho’s just being a little shit. He’s not sure where he got the confidence from. Maybe Hyunjin. He yelps as Jeongin suddenly pulls him closer, letting out a strangled noise- of surprise, of mild pain. Of whatever. 

“Well now you’re experiencing one,” Jeongin murmurs, sighing, “Dunno why you haven’t been hugged before.”

Minho stills, laughing a bit. He can think of a lot of reasons. They’ve all been said to his face.

“It’s not that I haven’t- I just-” He pauses, “-the,” Ooooh, how does he phrase this without it sounding bad. They’re better now. Their relationship is better. They get along, “At the time, it was different. We uh. Weren’t big on physical affection. Unless shit got bad, you know…”

“We?” Jeongin seems interested in Minho, all of a sudden. This is the most he’s gotten him to talk. Maybe it’s because of the hug.

“…some family,” Minho tries to avoid sharing too much, “That’s all.”

Now it’s Jeongin’s turn to still. 

“Well fuck.”

“…yeah.”

They stay at the motel just for the week- so that Minho’s not in excruciating pain every time Jeongin drives over a bump. Over that week, Minho’s pampered. 

He doesn’t wake up like he did that first day again, in so much pain he could barely move- because Jeongin makes sure he gets his meds at the same time, every day. He gives him some extra painkillers when he needs them. Hyunjin keeps him busy by talking a lot about nothing, walking around the area and coming back with something stupid that will entertain the both of them for a little bit. He finds good channels to watch movies and dramas on, and the two make fun of stupid characters and they’re even stupider decisions.

Jeongin’s a little more restless. He can’t stay inside too long. Can’t stay outside too long. Spent a few hours of one of the days holed up in the bathroom, to the point that Hyunjin checked in on him a couple of times. He said he was fine, but, well…

…if any of them were fine, they wouldn’t be on this stupid fucking trip. Thing. Whatever it is. 

Eventually, on the fifth day, Jeongin’s so restless he moves in his bass, and a notebook.

Minho’s going to be an idiot.

“Not to be a fucking nerd,” Minho starts, “but can you play something?”

He feels awful for even asking. Of course Jeongin’s not gonna run away from his fucking band and fans to play some suicidal idiot a little tune on his Ibanez. 

“Yeah,” Jeongin shrugs, smiling, clearly thankful for the distraction, “What’s a song you like?” 

“Am I cheesy if I say Lovesong?” Minho’s a lot quieter than before, crossing his arms. 

Jeongin laughs, “The Cure always fucks, no matter the occasion. Lovesong coming right up.”

He spends a couple of seconds plucking individual strings- making sure everything’s in tune. He doesn’t even need a tuner. His fingers glide across the thick metal easily, Minho able to watch the bass’s strings vibrate when they make sound. 

Jeongin clears his throat, “That one’s pretty easy for me- I mean, pretty easy in general, but call me a bit of a fucking nerd, I guess, it’s one of the first songs I learned.”

“Hot,” Minho says simply.

Jeongin blinks, knuckles turning white as he grips the fretboard, “Fuck…” he exhales, clearing his throat again, “-Anyway.”

Since the bass really is the main part of the song, it’s easy for Minho to follow along once Jeongin starts singing. Minho has an inkling of a feeling that Jeongin doesn’t even really need to look at his hands- he just does because he has nowhere else to look. He sings, and-

Wow.

It’s one thing to hear his voice through headphones. It’s a whole other thing to hear it in the flesh. Minho feels… at home, listening to Jeongin’s voice. Nostalgic, almost- but for what, exactly- he has no idea.

Whenever I’m alone with you…

…you make me feel like I am home again.

Whenever I’m alone with you…

You make me feel like I am whole again.

He sings so sincerely, like he means every word of it. Minho can pretend.

Minho can dream.

This is the most relaxed he’s seen Jeongin- no sudden tensing at a passing comment. No reflexive apologies, or careful pre-planning in case things go south- no random lying just for the sake of lying. Jeongin said a bit ago he stopped giving a shit about music, but Minho doesn’t think that’s true. So much of their conversations revolve around music. Jeongin always seems to have something to add whenever it comes up.

Minho thinks he hates his memories around music- the things he’s done for music. But he can only speculate…

However far away, I will always love you

However long I stay, I will always love you

Whatever words I say, I will always love you

I will always love you, I will always love you…

His voice is so… soothing. Minho could fall asleep. He won’t, but he could. Maybe it’s just how relaxed Jeongin is. Maybe he should get Jeongin to play more, to practice more. 

Maybe Minho’s being selfish, and he just wants to see Jeongin like this all the time. Have these moments all to himself.

He’s staring he offhandedly realizes, when Jeongin can play the melody of the song’s chorus on his bass.

(Minho’s never actually wanted someone before now- whatever that entails, exactly- but Christ, Jeongin’s just so…)

(…Anyway.)

When Jeongin finishes, he still can’t make eye contact. For a moment, Minho feels like Jeongin’s trying to impress him- which is so silly and stupid it nearly immediately, and violently, slaps him back to reality.

Hyunjin chooses this moment to come back, Minho nearly jumping at the sound of the door unlocking. 

“Okay, don’t be mad, I found these really cute sweaters that I know you two will think are ugly but- hey!” Hyunjin’s got a smoothie in one hand, but his mouth gapes open and the straw drops out of his mouth, “Oh my god, you are not serenading him without me here! Fuck you!”

Jeongin chokes on air- because Hyunjin makes him do that, a lot, and he starts to turn red. Immediately starts defending himself, “I’m not- not serenading anybody-“

Minho gives him a look. A playful one. He knows Jeongin wasn’t serenading him, no matter how much it hurts to hear out loud. 

“-oh please, that’s what they all say. Next you’ll be writing lyrics about us.”

Jeongin’s gone oddly silent.

Hyunjin lets out a laugh, but it’s strangled. His eyes are wide and he doesn’t seem to be able to actually comprehend Jeongin’s omission by silence.

“Fucking artists,” he finally mutters, eyes settling on Minho, “He’s trying to romance us without paying.” 

Minho wheeze-laughs, because how is that the conclusion you come to from the musician’s habits?

(Hyunjin’s trying to distract from his feelings on the matter. Minho’s learning their behaviors. He gets it now.)

Jeongin furrows his eyebrows, petulant, like a child, “haven’t I been romancing you with money, too?”

“You’ll woo me when you indulge me in dress-up, pretty boy,” Hyunjin comments, dropping the bag to the floor, setting his smoothie on the counter, “Oooh, you and Minho want me to dye your hair so bad.”

Minho needs to not be in the same room as these two. If they ask him to do anything nicely enough, he’ll genuinely consider it.

(That night, before bed, Hyunjin waves a box of hair dye in front of Minho’s face. Like he’s trying to hypnotize him. Minho silently slaps his leg, rolls his eyes.)

They sleep weirdly. Jeongin seems insistent on letting the two have their own beds, and it’s always a thirty minute argument as to figuring out the individual sleeping arrangements for the night. Jeongin honestly seems like he’d be a lot more comfortable sleeping out in the car than sharing a bed with someone else; Minho and Hyunjin just wouldn’t let him. He’s just… so weirdly careful around Hyunjin- to the point where it seems to annoy Hyunjin. 

“You’re not gonna fuckin’ do anything to either of us, just chose a bed and sleep in it,” Hyunjin thwacks him again, for the nth time that night.

“I just don’t want-” Jeongin tenses up, un-tenses, looks around, “-I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable.”

“We’ve already shared a bed, at this rate, the only one who’s uncomfortable is you.”

“You don’t know that, Minho hasn’t said anything-”

“-Don’t drag me into this,” Minho interrupts, “This is stupid.”

He’s been getting a little bolder, recently. Stating his mind, or whatever.

“Fine,” Hyunjin huffs, “I’ll share with Minho again, and you can be a loser with a bed all to yourself.”

Jeongin gawks, “Why are you acting like you want me to sleep with you!?”

“Maybe I do!” 

That makes sense, Hyunjin’s a cuddler. Minho himself honestly likes the warmth from when someone else is in his bed, whether it’s Hyunjin or Jeongin. They’re both nice.

“This argument is stupid,” Minho repeats, “We could just push them together.”

Hyunjin and Jeongin both stare at him. Jeongin still seems to be processing the fact that Hyunjin said he likes sleeping with him. 

Minho stands, and takes the opportunity to walk around the room- the complex- for awhile while Jeongin and Hyunjin now argue about how to push the beds together. His flip slops thud quietly against the cement as he tucks his hair behind his ear. It’s so long now.

“Mreow,” Cat. Where’s the cat? 

Minho scans his immediate surrounding area, crouching down with a small groan, “Hello?” He calls out softly. If there’s one thing he loves, it’s cats. Maybe he’s not entirely apathetic. He’d kill for a cat. Die for a cat. Maybe even go as far as to live for a cat. Jeongin can’t know that though, otherwise he’d get him, like, three.

“Mreooooow,” A gray tail swings out from behind the tire of the hearse, Minho sniffing as he looks around for anything to catch the cat’s attention with. He finds a pretty long and thin stick, and drags it across the ground gently.

The cat’s attention is got easily, the tiny thing letting out more tiny mewls as it gets ready to pounce on the end of the stick. Then again, chasing the stick. A louder meow, getting closer to Minho’s hand now. He hears what sounds like footsteps behind him, vaguely, but they were so faint and quick that maybe he imagined it.

“Meoooow,” he softly imitates. The cat comes close enough for Minho to pet it. To scratch behind its ears. To give it little side rubs. Even when it paws at him, gives him a tiny little scratch because he accidentally got too close to its belly- he only laughs, overwhelmed by the cuteness of the stray, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

The cat looks up, at something, and Minho follows its gaze, startled by Jeongin and Hyunjin staring at him. His little jump made the cat jump too. It was enough for it to run off, Minho watching it leave with a quiet resignation. 

“Sorry,” Hyunjin speaks first, “It was uh… cute, didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Minho stares at him owlishly, quickly trying to stand. Gasping because of how fast he got up. 

“Shit, Min,” Jeongin starts forward, but Minho holds out a warning hand.

“I’m okay- I’m- sorry,” He’s okay, it was a cheap shot his pain took, shooting up his side like that. 

He joins the others back in the motel room, looking at the new set up. The blanket situation is- well, they’ve just dumped Jeongin’s car blankets over the motel room’s covers. Minho’s not sure what to make of that.

“We did it,” Jeongin says, “Ta-da. It’s my smoke break now. Go put on your PJs, or decide who’s going to be in the middle, or whatever, because it’s not going to be me.”

Minho looks at Hyunjin.

“It’s not going to be me,” He says.

It’s him.

Hyunjin’s facing him for some reason- Jeongin at least has the dignity to turn away from them. 

He’s trapped between the two, he realizes. He’s not sure if he likes this arrangement.

“This is a great idea,” Hyunjin whispers, “You’re a genius.”

“Go the fuck to bed,” Jeongin grumbles.

“He’s mad because you’re smart and he’s not,” Hyunjin’s smiling so wide, Minho can see it in the dark. He’s happy, so Minho’s happy. 

“I’m mad because it’s bedtime and you’re fuckin’ yappin’,” Jeongin sounds like he’s one second away from getting into an actual fight with Hyunjin.

“It’s your smart brain mixed with the prettiness, he can’t handle it,” Hyunjin’s holding his hoodie. When’d that happen?

Minho can’t handle it. He curls in on himself instinctively. Jeongin’s gone silent too. Silence by omission- oh god, he must think Minho’s the ugliest man in the wo-

“You curl up every time I say you’re pretty,” Hyunjin says, “I don’t like that.”

Minho exhales. Stretches. Crosses his arms in an attempt to not curl up.

“It’s a thing, I do…” he tries to excuse lamely.

“Yeah?” Jeongin’s voice, from behind them now, tired, but listening. So he’s still awake.

“Yeah,” he exhales. They’re not doing this. Please don’t do this. He’s already been an insane drag on their… everything with his pain, and he just started to feel okay. Jeongin turns over in the bed, wraps an arm around Minho. 

Goddamn it.

Shaky exhale.

“Or you do it when we touch you,” Hyunjin follows Jeongin’s lead, slinging his arm over Minho’s waist too, right above Jeongin’s.

They make it impossible for Minho to curl in on himself, now, so instead, he has to make do with sliding his hands under his head. Easy access to cover his face if needs be. He can already feel tears forming from how overwhelmed and guilty he feels. He can hear his own erratic breathing, despite his best attempts to calm it down. He should be better about hiding it, they shouldn’t have to feel like it’s something to fix, he’s already put too much on them-

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Jeongin comments, moving closer. Laying his palm flat against Minho’s stomach and burying his face against his back, inhaling, “It’s okay, Min.”

Is it?

Because what has he done, to make them notice, and worry so much that-

“You’re overthinking this too much,” Hyunjin says. It feels like ice water has just been poured over Minho’s head. How does he-

“You look fucking frantic when you think, like a deer caught in the headlights.”  Hyunjin says.

This is so fucking crazy, so creepy. When’d they get to know him so well?

“I’m sorry,” Minho finally utters, “Fuck, I’m-“

Hyunjin sighs, like that’s not the answer he wanted either. Minho feels worse. 

“Stop apologizing, I don’t appreciate it,” Hyunjin’s on the edge of snapping now- Minho can hear the irritation seeping into his tone, “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for, half the time?”

…

…but-

“I- I’m…” sorry for apologizing. 

Hah, okay.

Minho clears his throat, embarrassingly. Closes his eyes. He’s trying so hard not to fucking cry. His head hurts.

“So, anyway,” Hyunjin starts over, exhaling. Wiggling in place, out of frustration or awkwardness, Minho’s not quite sure, “You curl in on yourself when I call you pretty- when we call you pretty. You do it when we touch you, but you clearly like touch. You barely let us care for you unless it’s out of necessity, like you don’t deserve it, and I don’t know what happened in your life to make you think you think that, but-”

“My mom tried to kill me.”

He utters it before his brain can register he’s said the words out loud.

“Shit,” Jeongin exhales.

“Yeah,” he sounds empty. He feels empty. His brain is trying so hard to crawl back to pathetic little apathy, to keep some aspect of his memory frozen. So that he doesn’t have to think about it- so that he doesn’t have to feel it, “Sorry to interrupt.”

A pause. 

Then, a sob.

He hates that they make him feel things.

“I don’t-“ he inhales, exhales, “-sorry, fuck-“

This is not something you just talk about. This is not even something Minho sorts out with a therapist over a few years, even if he could afford one. It’s so big, the weight so heavy- it afflicts his every action, his every movement, and all he can come up with as a remedy for it is, I’m sorry. A bandaid so that he doesn’t bother others with the fun fact; his mother tried to kill him with his stupid fucking nut allergy, there was nothing when he passed out- and he remembers nothingness so vividly sometimes it’s hard to fall asleep. Nobody checked in on him after, because according to his mother, he was ‘too mean’ of a person, or something.

Except for his brother. His little brother did. His brother nursed him back to health, and made sure he was okay enough to move out, finally.

(His brother, who was the reason behind the massive scar on his torso. But it’s okay- it’s not his fault. Right? He didn’t mean that.)

Minho tells them this through loud cries and sobs. He tells them this between “I’m sorry”’s and “Fuck, I don’t mean to cry”’s and buries his head into Hyunjin’s chest, because maybe it’s a little less embarrassing to talk about it. 

Ha, the irony, now, of going to Hyunjin to comfort- someone who’s murdered. Maybe Minho finds comfort in him because he knows why. Because Hyunjin didn’t mean to kill, and he wouldn’t do so baselessly. His life was in danger.

He wanted to live.

(Minho… still wants to die.)

It’s not just that Minho’s an ‘ugly person’ on the outside. Sure, his appearance has something to do with it- but if his fucked up body was really the only issue, he’d probably be more prideful he can single-handedly get people to fuck off by just having them look at him. 

It’s the fact that he’s perceived at all that throws him off. He doesn’t like being looked at, because it feels like he’s being looked through. The outside appearance is a distraction- and reflection- of who he must be on the inside. Something other people seem to be able to see- something that’s been repeatedly drilled into his head despite his own inability to be on the same page. He doesn’t question that he deserves the scars, he just knows that he deserves them.

He deserves the scars, and the burn marks, and the chunk missing from his ear, and even the shit that’s not self-inflicted, right? Because why else would his own fucking mother try to kill him?

Jeongin holds him tightly. He’s not planning on letting go any time soon, and Minho doesn’t really want him to. Hyunjin cards his fingers through his hair, telling him it’s going to be okay. That he doesn’t deserve that, he’s sorry he ever experienced that. Jeongin offhandedly comments a lot of things that sound like threats towards his family in general- but he’s muffling them via Minho’s back.

Minho thinks this is the most anybody’s ever held him for, in one sitting. Definitely the most anybody’s ever comforted him. The most anybody’s ever cared, truly cared- and it wasn’t out of a weird, stupid feeling of obligation because they were the only person in the room, or because of shared blood- or some other, equally moronic reason. He cries until he can’t cry, until he feels like he’s hyperventilating into Hyunjin’s shirt. He cries until he falls asleep sandwiched between the two men, and tonight’s confession will become tomorrow’s problem.

It’s weird. He’d usually feel guilty for putting this on anybody else, for admitting what happened.

Instead, he just feels…

…relieved.

The  next morning- the day they leave- Jeongin’s the one mostly packing their shit into the car. He said they’re getting bags at some point too, because the amount of pure stuff they’ve amassed is crazy. 

Minho’s sitting in the passenger seat this time. He checks the glove compartment when no one’s looking. Jeongin moved the meds. Course he did.

He closes it when Hyunjin slides in the back with the last of their stuff from the motel, smiling, “How are we feeling this morning campers?”

“Great,” Minho deadpanned. His face was all swollen and icky and red. He’d washed his face, sure, but it wasn’t doing anything to help the headache he got from crying, either.

He’s so stupid, why does he open his big fat mouth? They’re going to see all the reasons his mother doesn’t like him, too, and-

“That’s great!” Hyunjin smiles. Either he doesn’t pick up on tone, or he’s intentionally not picking up on it for the sake of Minho, “When I’m sad, a shit ton of food makes me better. I’m sure if we ask Jeongin politely, he’ll buy us some baked goods or something?”

“He’s spending all of his money on us,” Minho argues back, right as Jeongin pokes his head into the car. 

“Funny story,” Jeongin says, “Was waiting for that to come up. ’S totally not my money, by the way.”

The two stare at him.

“We’ve just been spending random cash?” Hyunjin asked, clearly a little freaked out at the implication. Jeongin gets comfortable in the driver’s seat, sighing as he stretches. Cracks his neck. Cracks his back, “No, I know where it came from. Just didn’t want you to engage in criminal activities alone.”

Minho slaps Jeongin’s arm for Hyunjin that time, scowling. 

“Hey- hey! Not you too!” Jeongin whines, shrinking in on himself.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Hyunjin’s clearly panicking, “Who’s is it?”

“Trust me,” Jeongin grimaced, “They wouldn’t have been spending it entirely legally. At least we’re just buying stupid shit.”

“I’m not sure I can actually trust you on this one, thanks,” Minho responded, blinking a couple of times. Sitting back into his seat. Clasping his arms together and setting them on his legs. Letting out a little huff laugh of disbelief.

Jeongin groans, rolling his eyes, “You’ll get over it, you already live life on the edge.”

That gets a proper laugh out of Minho,  the man sputtering as his face turns red. Fucked up joke. That was unfortunately, really funny.

“You guys are so fucked up,” Hyunjin complains, “We’re all criminals now, and you’re joking about his suicide attempts! People call the national suicide hotline over that shit.”

“We have a national suicide hotline?” Minho’s wheezing. He doesn’t mean to have Hyunjin take his issues more seriously than he does. It’s just… funny. It’s an awful joke, and a real, good response, and-

“We have a National Suicide and Mental Health facility in Seoul that you can check yourself into,” Hyunjin affirms.

“That’s crazy,” Minho responds- then, without missing a beat, “The only people who’d know about that are the ones who want to kill themselves.”

Jeongin’s the one to laugh now, rubbing his face. Minho can’t tell if it’s out of stress or disbelief. He even gets a little laugh out of Hyunjin- but one of those awkward ones, where Hyunjin clearly feels bad for laughing.

“You guys suck, fuck you,” Hyunjin settles on, crossing his arms and pouting.

“So… what was that about a bakery?” Jeongin asks as he pulls out of the parking lot.

Minho is swinging like a pendulum between Hyunjin and Jeongin.

He can’t even begin to explain it- it’s not fair, actually, the way they get to live their lives in and he suffers trying to observe- to understand. He watches them like one watches a TV show. Tries to read them like one does a book, tries to annotate. Tries to pretend like he’s skimming the synopsis. 

Nobody is as apathetic as Minho. Nobody has not-cared as long as Minho has. He keeps having to remind himself of that. So many things wouldn’t have happened if people didn’t care like Minho didn’t fucking care.

And yet, he’s finding himself- he’d- he’s-

He wants to know what’s up with Jeongin. Why he tenses so much. Why he second guesses everything he does- why he’s constantly anxious, on edge- and the only way he seems to relieve it is insane spending, or smoking, or other some other vice he’s probably trying to be discreet about. He wants to know why Hyunjin is confidently unconfident. Why Hyunjin is intent on keeping Minho around. Why Hyunjin would rather swap places with Minho of all people, than be himself. Why he needs to be distracted when he’s freaking out. Why he’s willing to let Jeongin spend so much on him.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because at the end of the day, Minho’s going to kill himself. Or something. Maybe.

He just hasn’t decided how yet. Or when. He has a general timeline that he’ll do it when he can’t bear the pain anymore. He’ll do it when he can’t handle being distracted by physically feeling anymore, and his disproportionate emotional responses to it all is finally too much. He’ll end what his mother started and just actually just do it and-

-Anyway.

Notes app; open.

New note.

I wanted to kill myself for|

Delete. Rewrite.

I wanted to|

No. Still not accurate. Delete.

 I thought about killing myself today. I don’t think I actually wanted to do it|

Exhale.

He tried, three times, a week ago. Must be his lucky number or something. What a strange fucking night that had been.

What a strange day.

What a strange week- and now…

…a strange rest of the month, he supposes.