a different kind of crazy (2min)
TITLE A Different Kind of Crazy 28/?
SUMMARY Taemin's never been one to care about what's right or wrong. He doesn't think about things like what's accepted and what's not. He wants what he wants, but it's not always a walk in the park.
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS [SHINee] Taemin centric. Minho/Taemin, Jonghyun/Key. (f(x) & 2PM & etc cameos)
RATING/WARNING R. Mention and use of drugs. Mild violence. References to self-harm and mental disorders.
GENRE Drama/romance/coming-of-age
1 2 3 4 5 6 ♥ 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 minholude 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 mlude 2 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
a different kind of crazy;
"What kind of tea?" Hyoyeon holds open a palm for the extension cord and promptly plugs the kettle in, pulling the large bottle of water from under her arm and pouring its contents within the pot. "Green, oolong, or ginseng? I might have jasmine. Jasmine's always good."
"Oolong." Minho disagrees, sticking his hands in his pockets. There is a small awning encasing the air conditioning units for the top floor, just enough space left over for a raggedy looking beanbag, a foldable chair, and a lump of outcast and case-less pillows. Taemin opts for the pillows and Minho squats down beside him, flipping the kettle to its highest capacity.
"Shroom tea, huh?" Taemin's thinking out loud. "I bet it tastes like shit."
"Honey helps." Minho replies. "Have you ever tripped on shrooms before?"
"Do I look like I willingly do drugs for recreational purposes?"
"Did I really just hear that?" All heads turn when Krystal pops up from behind the grating of the fire escape, climbing over the railing and onto the roof to join them. "Who doesn't willingly do drugs for recreational purposes?"
"Hello? And correction. Caps are 100% au naturel." Hyoyeon jumps onto the beanbag before Krystal can get to it, which in turn causes her to roll her eyes and thrust a grocery bag haphazardly close to Minho's face.
"Honey and sugar at your service. I even bought milk and coffee filters. Praise, worship, and adore me."
"I refuse." Minho takes the goods from out of his face and drops them beside the kettle. "You invited yourself. This wasn't supposed to be a gathering."
"At least I brought peace offerings." Krystal pouts, plopping into the fold out chair and waving a booted foot at Taemin. "Hey you," she chimes. "I guess it's a double date tonight!"
"Just don't tell all your cohorts." Hyoyeon chuckles, lighting a cigarette from her repose on the beanbag.
Taemin puts his hands out over the steaming water to procure warmth as Minho focuses on the mushroom caps, chopping them rather finely for work done with a pocket knife. The whole thing is surreal, but something about the scene puts him at ease. It's way better than spending the evening cooped up in his room, wallowing in self-pity and anxiety.
"Taemin-ah," Minho looks up at him, and he hadn't realized he'd been zoning out, hypnotized by Minho's movements. "My cigarettes are in my left pocket, will you light one for me?"
Taemin reaches into Minho's coat and finds the crumpled pack, nearly empty. He puts one to his lips and lights it, inhales, exhales, and sits back. The smell and taste of Minho's cheap cigarettes are familiar to him, but he'd never actually let himself enjoy smoking one until now. Most of his cigarette experiences had involved Kibum, or stolen packs at insane parties.
Krystal laughs. "You look so badass."
Hyoyeon waves her own lit cigarette around. "Yeah, cancer is fucking hardcore."
"Shut up, all of you." Minho's tone is amused, however, and he turns his eyes back to Taemin. "Puff puff pass?"
"Maybe." Taemin considers denying Minho, but he can't win against him in a staring contest--Minho's eyes are too intense--and hands him the cigarette, which he takes between his lips with a grateful nod.
By now, the water has reached a full boil and the tea has steeped to the perfect conditions. Minho unceremoniously dumps the chopped caps into the brew just as Hyoyeon jumps up. "I forgot the mugs, be right back." she hops the railing like a pro and climbs back down into her flat, and even from the roof Taemin can hear her clacking around and the sink running, the sounds mixing in with the city's music. Car horns, leaves rattling, dogs barking, someone laughing, a siren way, way in the distance if Taemin listens hard enough.
Minho rations out the tea and fashions it simply: a generous helping of honey, a dash of sugar, and a dollop of milk. He stirs the ordeal with his knife, which sort of ruins the beauty of it, puffing out the last hit of his cigarette before flicking it over the edge of the roof with practiced fingers.
The cups steam and smell unfamiliar, but sweet. They're hot to the touch, and the temperature difference reminds Taemin of just what he is about to do.
The rational side of his brain argues, they're natural. It's like marijuana, it's no big deal. The irrational urges him to drink it all in one go, burnt tongue and all. Clearly nothing in Taemin's mentality is on his side any longer.
"Cheers!" Krystal holds her mug up, and they all clank cups before taking heavy gulps. Hyoyeon throws hers back without stopping, lets out a impressive burp, and closes her eyes.
"Lovely." Krystal remarks, "Don't enjoy it at all."
"And after I went through all that work to prepare it." Minho plays along. "What do you think?" he turns to Taemin.
"It tastes weird." Taemin replies, sticking his tongue out. "How long until it's supposed to hit you?"
"For you?" Hyoyeon chuckles. "Probably less than five minutes, since you've got no fat reserves anywhere on that stick body of yours."
"Rude!" Krystal pushes Hyoyeon with her foot, and she just goes with the flow, falling deeper into her beanbag throne. "Don't set the tone so harsh."
"Don't help her, either." Minho raises a brow, setting his cup down. Taemin has to admit the taste kind of grows on him, and he finishes the last of it feeling warmed inside, as if he'd been taking shots.
Needless to say, he loses track of the time--or rather, time just slips through his fingers. Actually, what is time? Taemin's not so sure anymore.
Maybe it's laughter, because there's a lot of that--though there's never a lot of time, never enough of it.
He can feel Minho's fingers grazing the back of his neck, spiking down his shoulder, arm, and to his hand, which is warm and cold and fuzzy all at once. Minho's grip is grounding--Taemin feels like without it he might just float away.
"Oh my god," Hyoyeon exclaims, though she sounds seriously hysterical. "I just saw like five shooting stars."
"I think it was just one." Taemin squints up at the sky, oddly talkative. "Unless you've got bug vision?"
"Better than tunnel vision." Minho huffs. All of them are laying on their backs and staring up at the murky sky--it's eerily clear of city smog, and Taemin counts that as a blessing because it is fucking beautiful.
Krystal's in her own world, lucid and yet somewhere else entirely. Taemin's okay with the hallucinations, the trip seems to be a good one, though he's not really focused on the existential crisis of the effect in and of itself anymore. She's glowing, and her eyes look black and kind of not there, but it doesn't deter Taemin at all. He just laughs.
"Relaxed now?" Minho asks him, sitting up and pulling Taemin with him.
"I'm not sure you can call tripping balls relaxing." Taemin responds, but even his words feel lighter and less laden with antipathy; less stressed, less meaningful. Right now, language isn't really necessary.
"I could live up here." Hyoyeon sighs. "I wish space travel was legit."
"Technically it is." Krystal hums. In contrast to her usual demeanor, she is calm and collected and possibly extremely stoned. Taemin knows he sure is.
"Bitch." Hyoyeon replies, chuckling.
Taemin's losing focus on them, though. The feeling of Minho's hand on his is almost like reading an open book--or that's how he sees it, at least, and it's making it hard to breathe.
"I'm seeing all these colors." Taemin exhales slowly, leaning into Minho. It's cold, but the air feels like clouds and it's brilliant. "And tasting sounds."
"Welcome to the oneness." Minho jokes. "Can you read my mind yet?"
Taemin regards him with a try at a serious expression, seriously attempting. He furrows his brows and purses his lips, deep in thought--or fishing for thoughts in a solid person with a floating soul that Taemin can't see, but he can hear it--and oh, maybe that's how it works.
"Is that really all you can think about right now?" Taemin replies.
Minho chokes out a guffaw. "What am I thinking?" he insists, leaning most of his weight onto Taemin, who cants over with the force.
"Fuck if I know." Taemin grins at him from the grimy roof, heedless to destination, destiny, who the fuck knows anymore. "But you can kiss me if you want."
Taemin's pretty sure that's what Minho had been thinking, if his eyes didn't speak it clearly enough, if his body didn't comply it readily enough. Distantly, he can hear Hyoyeon crowing about Junsu and probably important things and Krystal suggesting she consider the consequences, but that stops soon enough and their lights are drowned out and all Taemin can see are the fuzzy stars and all he can feel are the freezing pads of Minho's fingers finding their way up his sweater.
Kissing feels like walking on air, but not flying; though Minho's hair brushing against his forehead is kind of like diving into a pool of crystal clear water. It's dizzying, even when Taemin closes his eyes. Visions of memories he can't remember card past his mind's eye and he thinks maybe he's dying. He gasps in a breath of air and opens his eyes to find Minho hovering above him, laughing.
"Did you forget to breathe?" he asks, highly amused.
Taemin puffs out his cheeks and deigns no response, propping his head with his arms. Minho rolls beside him, flipping off Hyoyeon and her iPhone when she tries to snap a picture of them.
Taemin turns to Minho's ear and whispers. "Are you sober enough to drive?"
"No, but I'm fucked up enough." Minho replies in just as quiet a tone. "Want to get out of here?"
Taemin should probably be questioning Minho's logic, but when he insists he's always been a safe drunk driver, Taemin figures he's willing to put his life on the line. He's not too concerned about it right now, regardless.
Krystal and Hyoyeon could care less about their exit, which is hilarious in the sense of climbing over and down the fire escape as quietly as possible only to hear Hyoyeon shout, "Show the rookie a good time, Minho! He's a catch!"
Well, that's exactly what Taemin hopes will happen. This is still Minho's try at a proper date, after all, and if he wants to redeem himself, then he has one last chance.
It's a tacit expectation; nothing really needs to be said between them. Minho makes it home without killing them, surprisingly congruent in his navigation, and while Taemin has trouble even getting up the steps past the disruptive and distracting pulling at sweatshirts, scarves, unbuttoning of pants and forgetting about shoes, Minho seems to anchor the both of them even when Taemin lands on his ass at the top step, half undressed and, for lack of better terms, laughing his ass off.
He's probably never had this much fun in his life. Minho tries to get him up, but Taemin's feeling ornery and mischievous and he acts like a deadweight, forcing Minho to drag him by the hands into his bedroom, complaining through his amusement the entire time.
He lumbers up to kiss Minho, who has plopped down on his bed. Taemin is on his knees on the floor before him, pants riding low and underwear half scooted off his ass. Minho's hands are all over his back and ducking lower, and the thrills its sending up Taemin's spine is making him courageous.
He's never done this before, but he feels like its worth a try. Fingers pry at Minho's zipper, his erection already pressing against cotton restraint.
Minho stiffens, ever so slightly, when Taemin releases him, hand curling around the base of his cock with practiced ease. He looks up at Minho, a question he doesn't really have to ask, and takes him into his mouth. Draws back, lets his tongue linger--it's not difficult to have Minho unwound, and he understands it now, the feeling of making someone else shake with pleasure.
Maybe it's because he's under the influence of a hallucinogen, or maybe it's because this is all so new and yet not, or maybe--Taemin's mind is distracted and fluttering; Minho's soft grip of his hair, the slackness to his jaw--maybe Minho's been trying to show him something this whole time.
"Shit," Minho stops him, leaves him licking his lips expectantly. "Get up here."
Taemin obliges, yanking Minho's shirt off and giving him a daring glance. "I'd say you better hurry."
Minho shoves him over, challenge accepted with a heady grin. "Shut up." he tells him, and he means it, kissing Taemin before he can come back with something snide.
Taemin's breathing is erratic and his heart pounds against his chest; fleetingly, he wonders if he's having a heart attack, if he is, he doesn't care--the feeling is divine. "Is this what Wonderland feels like?"
It's the last thing he really remembers, before the rest is lost in a stream of nonsensical laughter, mindblowing sex, and intense sky searching for UFOs out of Minho's half-barred window.
Taemin wakes up cramped and uncomfortable, body half squished between Minho's arm and the couch back--how he'd gotten to the couch is a fuzzy recollection--and the sun is high in the sky; it's at least noon.
Time is back in action.
Taemin groans, freeing himself from his entrapment and sitting up, squinting and hating reality. But his breath comes freer, his body feels relaxed. Minho stirs beside him, blinking up at him lazily.
"What?" Minho says.
"I just realized something." Taemin says, "That's all."
"Realized what?" Minho might as well be half asleep still; his eyes are barely open.
Taemin stretches, bones popping in his back as he yawns. "Well," he thinks he might as well say it out loud. "I'm going down a darker path than I was before," he says. "But I don't think it's the wrong one."
Minho hums noncommittally. "Is that your post-trip revelation?"
"Those happen?"
"Clearly." Minho mirrors his yawn, ruffling hair out of his face. "Want to know mine?"
Taemin tilts his head, signaling him to go on.
Minho smiles up at him, a truly dazzling piece of truth--a bit lopsided and entirely real and Taemin almost forgets to breathe. Again.
Minho's voice is low from sleep when he laughs, a frustrated amusement. "Dammit, it was there, and then I lost it."
Taemin can accept that answer, for now, at least--he's not so sure Minho had needed to say anything anyway.
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note; THANKS SO MUCH TO cosipotente FOR ALL HER HELPS. ♥ ♥ ♥
SUMMARY Taemin's never been one to care about what's right or wrong. He doesn't think about things like what's accepted and what's not. He wants what he wants, but it's not always a walk in the park.
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS [SHINee] Taemin centric. Minho/Taemin, Jonghyun/Key. (f(x) & 2PM & etc cameos)
RATING/WARNING R. Mention and use of drugs. Mild violence. References to self-harm and mental disorders.
GENRE Drama/romance/coming-of-age
1 2 3 4 5 6 ♥ 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 minholude 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 mlude 2 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
a different kind of crazy;
"What kind of tea?" Hyoyeon holds open a palm for the extension cord and promptly plugs the kettle in, pulling the large bottle of water from under her arm and pouring its contents within the pot. "Green, oolong, or ginseng? I might have jasmine. Jasmine's always good."
"Oolong." Minho disagrees, sticking his hands in his pockets. There is a small awning encasing the air conditioning units for the top floor, just enough space left over for a raggedy looking beanbag, a foldable chair, and a lump of outcast and case-less pillows. Taemin opts for the pillows and Minho squats down beside him, flipping the kettle to its highest capacity.
"Shroom tea, huh?" Taemin's thinking out loud. "I bet it tastes like shit."
"Honey helps." Minho replies. "Have you ever tripped on shrooms before?"
"Do I look like I willingly do drugs for recreational purposes?"
"Did I really just hear that?" All heads turn when Krystal pops up from behind the grating of the fire escape, climbing over the railing and onto the roof to join them. "Who doesn't willingly do drugs for recreational purposes?"
"Hello? And correction. Caps are 100% au naturel." Hyoyeon jumps onto the beanbag before Krystal can get to it, which in turn causes her to roll her eyes and thrust a grocery bag haphazardly close to Minho's face.
"Honey and sugar at your service. I even bought milk and coffee filters. Praise, worship, and adore me."
"I refuse." Minho takes the goods from out of his face and drops them beside the kettle. "You invited yourself. This wasn't supposed to be a gathering."
"At least I brought peace offerings." Krystal pouts, plopping into the fold out chair and waving a booted foot at Taemin. "Hey you," she chimes. "I guess it's a double date tonight!"
"Just don't tell all your cohorts." Hyoyeon chuckles, lighting a cigarette from her repose on the beanbag.
Taemin puts his hands out over the steaming water to procure warmth as Minho focuses on the mushroom caps, chopping them rather finely for work done with a pocket knife. The whole thing is surreal, but something about the scene puts him at ease. It's way better than spending the evening cooped up in his room, wallowing in self-pity and anxiety.
"Taemin-ah," Minho looks up at him, and he hadn't realized he'd been zoning out, hypnotized by Minho's movements. "My cigarettes are in my left pocket, will you light one for me?"
Taemin reaches into Minho's coat and finds the crumpled pack, nearly empty. He puts one to his lips and lights it, inhales, exhales, and sits back. The smell and taste of Minho's cheap cigarettes are familiar to him, but he'd never actually let himself enjoy smoking one until now. Most of his cigarette experiences had involved Kibum, or stolen packs at insane parties.
Krystal laughs. "You look so badass."
Hyoyeon waves her own lit cigarette around. "Yeah, cancer is fucking hardcore."
"Shut up, all of you." Minho's tone is amused, however, and he turns his eyes back to Taemin. "Puff puff pass?"
"Maybe." Taemin considers denying Minho, but he can't win against him in a staring contest--Minho's eyes are too intense--and hands him the cigarette, which he takes between his lips with a grateful nod.
By now, the water has reached a full boil and the tea has steeped to the perfect conditions. Minho unceremoniously dumps the chopped caps into the brew just as Hyoyeon jumps up. "I forgot the mugs, be right back." she hops the railing like a pro and climbs back down into her flat, and even from the roof Taemin can hear her clacking around and the sink running, the sounds mixing in with the city's music. Car horns, leaves rattling, dogs barking, someone laughing, a siren way, way in the distance if Taemin listens hard enough.
Minho rations out the tea and fashions it simply: a generous helping of honey, a dash of sugar, and a dollop of milk. He stirs the ordeal with his knife, which sort of ruins the beauty of it, puffing out the last hit of his cigarette before flicking it over the edge of the roof with practiced fingers.
The cups steam and smell unfamiliar, but sweet. They're hot to the touch, and the temperature difference reminds Taemin of just what he is about to do.
The rational side of his brain argues, they're natural. It's like marijuana, it's no big deal. The irrational urges him to drink it all in one go, burnt tongue and all. Clearly nothing in Taemin's mentality is on his side any longer.
"Cheers!" Krystal holds her mug up, and they all clank cups before taking heavy gulps. Hyoyeon throws hers back without stopping, lets out a impressive burp, and closes her eyes.
"Lovely." Krystal remarks, "Don't enjoy it at all."
"And after I went through all that work to prepare it." Minho plays along. "What do you think?" he turns to Taemin.
"It tastes weird." Taemin replies, sticking his tongue out. "How long until it's supposed to hit you?"
"For you?" Hyoyeon chuckles. "Probably less than five minutes, since you've got no fat reserves anywhere on that stick body of yours."
"Rude!" Krystal pushes Hyoyeon with her foot, and she just goes with the flow, falling deeper into her beanbag throne. "Don't set the tone so harsh."
"Don't help her, either." Minho raises a brow, setting his cup down. Taemin has to admit the taste kind of grows on him, and he finishes the last of it feeling warmed inside, as if he'd been taking shots.
Needless to say, he loses track of the time--or rather, time just slips through his fingers. Actually, what is time? Taemin's not so sure anymore.
Maybe it's laughter, because there's a lot of that--though there's never a lot of time, never enough of it.
He can feel Minho's fingers grazing the back of his neck, spiking down his shoulder, arm, and to his hand, which is warm and cold and fuzzy all at once. Minho's grip is grounding--Taemin feels like without it he might just float away.
"Oh my god," Hyoyeon exclaims, though she sounds seriously hysterical. "I just saw like five shooting stars."
"I think it was just one." Taemin squints up at the sky, oddly talkative. "Unless you've got bug vision?"
"Better than tunnel vision." Minho huffs. All of them are laying on their backs and staring up at the murky sky--it's eerily clear of city smog, and Taemin counts that as a blessing because it is fucking beautiful.
Krystal's in her own world, lucid and yet somewhere else entirely. Taemin's okay with the hallucinations, the trip seems to be a good one, though he's not really focused on the existential crisis of the effect in and of itself anymore. She's glowing, and her eyes look black and kind of not there, but it doesn't deter Taemin at all. He just laughs.
"Relaxed now?" Minho asks him, sitting up and pulling Taemin with him.
"I'm not sure you can call tripping balls relaxing." Taemin responds, but even his words feel lighter and less laden with antipathy; less stressed, less meaningful. Right now, language isn't really necessary.
"I could live up here." Hyoyeon sighs. "I wish space travel was legit."
"Technically it is." Krystal hums. In contrast to her usual demeanor, she is calm and collected and possibly extremely stoned. Taemin knows he sure is.
"Bitch." Hyoyeon replies, chuckling.
Taemin's losing focus on them, though. The feeling of Minho's hand on his is almost like reading an open book--or that's how he sees it, at least, and it's making it hard to breathe.
"I'm seeing all these colors." Taemin exhales slowly, leaning into Minho. It's cold, but the air feels like clouds and it's brilliant. "And tasting sounds."
"Welcome to the oneness." Minho jokes. "Can you read my mind yet?"
Taemin regards him with a try at a serious expression, seriously attempting. He furrows his brows and purses his lips, deep in thought--or fishing for thoughts in a solid person with a floating soul that Taemin can't see, but he can hear it--and oh, maybe that's how it works.
"Is that really all you can think about right now?" Taemin replies.
Minho chokes out a guffaw. "What am I thinking?" he insists, leaning most of his weight onto Taemin, who cants over with the force.
"Fuck if I know." Taemin grins at him from the grimy roof, heedless to destination, destiny, who the fuck knows anymore. "But you can kiss me if you want."
Taemin's pretty sure that's what Minho had been thinking, if his eyes didn't speak it clearly enough, if his body didn't comply it readily enough. Distantly, he can hear Hyoyeon crowing about Junsu and probably important things and Krystal suggesting she consider the consequences, but that stops soon enough and their lights are drowned out and all Taemin can see are the fuzzy stars and all he can feel are the freezing pads of Minho's fingers finding their way up his sweater.
Kissing feels like walking on air, but not flying; though Minho's hair brushing against his forehead is kind of like diving into a pool of crystal clear water. It's dizzying, even when Taemin closes his eyes. Visions of memories he can't remember card past his mind's eye and he thinks maybe he's dying. He gasps in a breath of air and opens his eyes to find Minho hovering above him, laughing.
"Did you forget to breathe?" he asks, highly amused.
Taemin puffs out his cheeks and deigns no response, propping his head with his arms. Minho rolls beside him, flipping off Hyoyeon and her iPhone when she tries to snap a picture of them.
Taemin turns to Minho's ear and whispers. "Are you sober enough to drive?"
"No, but I'm fucked up enough." Minho replies in just as quiet a tone. "Want to get out of here?"
Taemin should probably be questioning Minho's logic, but when he insists he's always been a safe drunk driver, Taemin figures he's willing to put his life on the line. He's not too concerned about it right now, regardless.
Krystal and Hyoyeon could care less about their exit, which is hilarious in the sense of climbing over and down the fire escape as quietly as possible only to hear Hyoyeon shout, "Show the rookie a good time, Minho! He's a catch!"
Well, that's exactly what Taemin hopes will happen. This is still Minho's try at a proper date, after all, and if he wants to redeem himself, then he has one last chance.
It's a tacit expectation; nothing really needs to be said between them. Minho makes it home without killing them, surprisingly congruent in his navigation, and while Taemin has trouble even getting up the steps past the disruptive and distracting pulling at sweatshirts, scarves, unbuttoning of pants and forgetting about shoes, Minho seems to anchor the both of them even when Taemin lands on his ass at the top step, half undressed and, for lack of better terms, laughing his ass off.
He's probably never had this much fun in his life. Minho tries to get him up, but Taemin's feeling ornery and mischievous and he acts like a deadweight, forcing Minho to drag him by the hands into his bedroom, complaining through his amusement the entire time.
He lumbers up to kiss Minho, who has plopped down on his bed. Taemin is on his knees on the floor before him, pants riding low and underwear half scooted off his ass. Minho's hands are all over his back and ducking lower, and the thrills its sending up Taemin's spine is making him courageous.
He's never done this before, but he feels like its worth a try. Fingers pry at Minho's zipper, his erection already pressing against cotton restraint.
Minho stiffens, ever so slightly, when Taemin releases him, hand curling around the base of his cock with practiced ease. He looks up at Minho, a question he doesn't really have to ask, and takes him into his mouth. Draws back, lets his tongue linger--it's not difficult to have Minho unwound, and he understands it now, the feeling of making someone else shake with pleasure.
Maybe it's because he's under the influence of a hallucinogen, or maybe it's because this is all so new and yet not, or maybe--Taemin's mind is distracted and fluttering; Minho's soft grip of his hair, the slackness to his jaw--maybe Minho's been trying to show him something this whole time.
"Shit," Minho stops him, leaves him licking his lips expectantly. "Get up here."
Taemin obliges, yanking Minho's shirt off and giving him a daring glance. "I'd say you better hurry."
Minho shoves him over, challenge accepted with a heady grin. "Shut up." he tells him, and he means it, kissing Taemin before he can come back with something snide.
Taemin's breathing is erratic and his heart pounds against his chest; fleetingly, he wonders if he's having a heart attack, if he is, he doesn't care--the feeling is divine. "Is this what Wonderland feels like?"
It's the last thing he really remembers, before the rest is lost in a stream of nonsensical laughter, mindblowing sex, and intense sky searching for UFOs out of Minho's half-barred window.
Taemin wakes up cramped and uncomfortable, body half squished between Minho's arm and the couch back--how he'd gotten to the couch is a fuzzy recollection--and the sun is high in the sky; it's at least noon.
Time is back in action.
Taemin groans, freeing himself from his entrapment and sitting up, squinting and hating reality. But his breath comes freer, his body feels relaxed. Minho stirs beside him, blinking up at him lazily.
"What?" Minho says.
"I just realized something." Taemin says, "That's all."
"Realized what?" Minho might as well be half asleep still; his eyes are barely open.
Taemin stretches, bones popping in his back as he yawns. "Well," he thinks he might as well say it out loud. "I'm going down a darker path than I was before," he says. "But I don't think it's the wrong one."
Minho hums noncommittally. "Is that your post-trip revelation?"
"Those happen?"
"Clearly." Minho mirrors his yawn, ruffling hair out of his face. "Want to know mine?"
Taemin tilts his head, signaling him to go on.
Minho smiles up at him, a truly dazzling piece of truth--a bit lopsided and entirely real and Taemin almost forgets to breathe. Again.
Minho's voice is low from sleep when he laughs, a frustrated amusement. "Dammit, it was there, and then I lost it."
Taemin can accept that answer, for now, at least--he's not so sure Minho had needed to say anything anyway.
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note; THANKS SO MUCH TO cosipotente FOR ALL HER HELPS. ♥ ♥ ♥