Eight Minutes, Twenty-Three Seconds
Title: Eight Minutes, Twenty-Three Seconds
Fandom: SHINee
Rating: pg-13
Prompt used: "We’re frightened of what makes us different." -- Anne Rice, found here
Word count: 3,130
Genre: au!bandverse, angst
Warnings: It's very sad and rife with death.
Disclaimer: I own nothing herein.
Summary: Wherein Taemin's ability is more of a curse than a gift.
Author's Note: This is my first SHINee fic. ^^; I hope I've done them justice.
My sountrack while writing this was Big Bang's Haru Haru, U-Kiss's 0330 and U-Kiss's Take Me Away.
I suggest you play them while listening. Perhaps more of Take Me Away than the other two though.
***
“Mom?” The word is quiet, hesitant, almost not even there but his mother still glances away from the road. They are on their way back from the doctor’s office, a routine checkup because, at age six, he’s always been a little smaller than the kids his age, a little weaker, a little slower, never quite up the par when it comes to physical activities.
She’s smiling, that characteristic smile that reaches and curls her eyes into crescents, the brilliant expression he’d inherited from her at birth. “Yes, sweetie?”
Her son frowns, lips pulling down at the corners. “Mommy, why are there numbers above your head?”
His mother blinks, confused, then laughs, the sound light and airy in the interior of their car; if he’d known better, maybe he would have heard the slight tremor in the sound. But he didn’t; instead, all he heard was the comfort of his mother’s soothing laughter, and he is put at ease even before she answers. “It’s nothing honey, they’ll go away soon.”
They do, in fact, go away soon.
One week later, his mother is involved in an accident on her way to pick up her son from his elementary school. She dies instantly.
He doesn’t find out until later, when he accidentally mentions his mother and the numbers over her head to his father, that the numbers were bad and that, should he see the numbers again, he should tell someone. Immediately.
***
The next time he sees the numbers, they’re over his father’s head, and he’s eight.
His father had been out drinking, partying with his girlfriend, an older woman that he doesn’t particularly like but won’t speak up against because she makes his father happy. When they return, his father goes straight to bed.
He goes into wish his father goodnight only to see the number above his head, counting down to a date that is only a week away. Remembering his father’s words, he urges his father into awareness and tells him about the numbers. His father smiles, nods, and resumes sleeping. He tells the girlfriend as well in hopes that she’ll keep an eye on his father for him since kids do what kids and grownups do what grownups do; she laughs and nods in a way that makes him feel like a little kid, but when he finally goes to bed, it’s with a lighter heart, happy knowing that he’d done something right.
When his father dies a week later, the victim of an unfortunate robbery, the girlfriend blames him. She shrieks incoherencies in front of the officers -- he knows when we’re going to die! and he practically killed his father; why didn’t he stop him from leaving? and perhaps the worst being that boy is the devil itself!
And that is when he knows that this...ability....is more of a curse and a gift.
***
“Taemin!”
Hands find purchase on his shoulders, shaking them in a firm grip until Taemin blinks blearily, humming through the thick layer of sleep. “Wha’s goin’ on, hyung?”
Kibum beams down at him, entirely too awake, “Early day today, kiddo. Bit of practice, then school.”
Taemin groans, rolls back into the covers and tries to hide his face in the pillow --- but Kibum snatches it away with a laugh. “C’mon, get up. Things to do, places to be. Minho is already in the kitchen; go join him and eat while I get Jonghyun and Jinki up, okay?”
Taemin, reluctantly, nods and slides out of bed, padding down the hallway until he can all but collapse into a chair. Across from him, Minho laughs. It’s deep and rich and warm and so very Minho that Taemin glances up with a brilliant smile, a good morning, hyung ready on his lips --- only to falter, breath catching and seizing in his throat.
There are numbers above Minho’s head.
***
Taemin is on edge all day.
It probably doesn’t help matters that Minho and Taemin share a schedule for a majority of the day and that the numbers continue to count down, vibrant and unsettling against the backdrop of the world around them.
Minho is oblivious, not in the sense that he can’t see Taemin’s frustration - he’s all too aware of this, actually, asking constantly if the maknae is okay and whether he can do anything to help, and Taemin can only shake his head leaving Minho just as frustrated as Taemin is - but in the sense that he can’t see the numbers that hover over his head, and the sight is beginning to eat at Taemin’s soul.
This is not the first time Taemin has seen these numbers, he’s long since understood their meaning, but what he doesn’t understand is why - why is this happening again? why now, today of all days? but, and perhaps most important, why Minho?
But the numbers remain constant, unyielding of answers, and continue their countdown.
And Taemin watches, helpless to change the fact that, in just under a week now, his best friend will die.
***
Sleep evades him that night, and when morning rolls around, Taemin is forced to feign sleep so that Kibum doesn’t realize he’s been up the entire night. Kibum doesn’t seem to notice anything about Taemin’s sluggish behavior, or even the fact that there are dark circles under Taemin’s eyes, but Minho notices, and when he asks about it Taemin can only shrug his shoulders, eyes glued to the numbers that tick, tick, tick down.
That day is worse than the first. He’s distracted during the majority of his schedule, constantly trying to come up with a way to prevent the count down of the numbers, but nothing comes to mind. To cover for the maknae’s inability to concentrate, Jinki, who he shares the variety show with that day, makes a joke about how Taemin had been so nervous about appearing on the show that he hadn’t slept well the night before.
Taemin wants to laugh, because Jinki has no idea how close to the truth he really is.
He doesn’t eat well that night at dinner, picking at his food, eating only three or four bites, before asking to be excused.
That night when he is unable to sleep, Taemin sneaks into the other room and stands at the foot of Minho’s bed, watching his slumbering hyung with rapt attention. Minho’s face softens in his sleep, Taemin also notices with a vague sense of displacement. He’s younger, softer, more akin to childish tendencies than the stoic boy that they live with during the day. But the sense of almost grandeur illusion is, once again, shattered when the numbers flicker, stealing Taemin’s attention.
There are five days left now. Five days, seventeen hours, ten minutes, thirteen seconds.
***
The next two days pass in a flurry of movement.
Taemin hasn’t slept more than three hours in the past four days, a count that, should he actually pause to think about it, would be staggering. The others have begun to notice that he’s not as bright and upbeat as he used to be, and even Jonghyun, oblivious to all things relating to the morning, has noticed that Taemin no longer eats breakfast.
(He gave up the morning of the third day when he was forced to rush off the set of an interview he shared with Minho and Kibum so he didn’t vomit all over the floor.)
They are all beginning to worry now, not for Minho who remains blessedly oblivious to his own impending death, but for Taemin who grows steadily weaker, concern etched into their features and movements as they continue their daily routines.
But it is only when they see Taemin stumble during dance practice, ankle twisting and body colliding against the floor, that anyone begins to comprehend just how serious this situation is.
Taemin is stunned from the fall and can’t stand upright without swaying, but when Jinki suggests they ask their manager to call a medical personnel, Taemin violently protests. He ends up sitting to the side while the others work on the routine.
Ten minutes later, during a scheduled break, Kibum sits behind Taemin. They don’t talk until Jinki pulls Jonghyun and Minho from the room. Even then, it takes a moment and their words are muffled with exhaustion.
“What’s going on, Taeminnie?”
Taemin stares at Kibum blankly for a long moment before cracking a feeble grin. “I have a secret, Kibum-umma.”
Kibum tries to smile back but fails when he sees Taemin’s expression waver. “What kind of secret?”
“Minho’s going to die in three days.” Kibum is silent; Taemin pushes on. “He has these numbers above his head -- I can see them, and I don’t know why, and you guys can’t. No one can, just me. When they run out, he dies-”
“This had better be a joke, Taemin. This had better be a very bad joke.” Anger colors Kibum’s voice, sharp and acerbic.
Taemin falters. This is not the way he’d seen this happening; Kibum was supposed to nod and agree and help him save Minho. Kibum was supposed to believe him.
Instead, Taemin forces a smile. “Sorry, hyung. It’s a really bad joke - I didn’t mean to upset you or anything. I won’t try it again, promise.”
Kibum appears to be convinced.
Taemin wonders when he became such a good liar.
***
Two days later, Taemin is dead on his feet. He hasn’t slept properly in close to a week and his stomach complains constantly about the lack of food, but nothing he eats will stay down. His muscles ache constantly, a violent and painful reminder of the days when he felt comfortable in his own skin.
The others are just as worried if not more so, downright terrified at the way Taemin can no longer stand upright without wobbling.
That morning, Kibum forces Jinki to tell their manager that Taemin is too sick to attend his schedule. Their manager, remembering how off the youngest has seemed lately, wants to call a doctor, and Kibum explodes when the idea is mentioned. It takes Jinki’s persuasive words to sweet talk the manager out of the idea and the combined strength of Jonghyun’s and Minho’s grip to keep Kibum’s temper and fists in check
Before they leave for the day, Kibum makes a vat of chicken broth and shoves a mug of it into Taemin’s hands. They share a look - Taemin knows he won’t drink it, Kibum knows this as well, but they play pretend anyway for the sake of the other members. Jinki kisses him on the forehead before they leave, promising to give him a shout out during the radio interview, and Jonghyun says he’ll say something obnoxious during one of his interviews so Taemin will have something to laugh over.
Minho merely smiles, murmurs, “I’ll be back later,” and leaves.
But that goodbye is what means the most to Taemin, because as he sips at the heated broth (he promptly throws it up not even five minutes later, stomach protesting loudly all the while) Minho’s words warm him all the way through to his bones, dulling the continuous ache he feels.
The day is spent in an endless cycle of semi-awareness; he’s neither awake nor asleep, but in that comfortable area in between where reality and fantasy mesh but never quite meld. His dreams, when he has and remembers them, are strange and fantastical and entirely capricious, but in these delusions he finds the answer he’s been searching for this past week.
When Taemin wakes up next, it is only four in the afternoon, but he knows now what he has to do.
He slinks out of the cocoon of blankets he’s been wrapped in for the majority of the day and wobbles down the hallway to his bedroom. When he exits the room just under two hours later, he’s exhausted and there are fresh tear tracks running along his cheeks, but he’s smiling, and Taemin has never felt this victorious before.
The blankets on the couch look inviting, and Taemin stumbles back toward them, legs giving out with a painful twist and jerk just as he reaches the edge of the couch. As he snuggles back up into the warmth, ignoring the pain jolting up his limbs, Taemin smiles, sweet and saccharine, and lays there, immortalizing the memories of these past few years.
Jonghyun and Kibum are arguing when they get back, and even though Taemin has just fallen into a very light doze, he jerks awake instantly, eyes wide. Where’s Minho? is poised on his lips, but before he can ask, Minho and Jinki trail inside after the bickering duo, their steps slow and sluggish.
“You’re back,” Taemin breathes, lips curling into a facsimile of a smile.
They glance his way and Kibum hesitates before asking in a quiet voice, “Did we wake you?”
Taemin shakes his head. The smile widens. “You’re back,” he stresses.
Minho steps forward, ruffling his hair. “Of course we’re back. Did you think we’d forget about you?”
Taemin shakes his head once more, leaning into the familiar warmth of Minho’s hand. “No,” he murmurs. “I was just worried, is all. Welcome back, hyung.”
Minho looks just the slightest bit shocked before he smiles. “Thanks, Taeminnie.”
Taemin nods and pulls away, curling back up into the blankets. Jonghyun says something to him, but the words are muffled and garbled, and they Kibum’s yelling again - but it’s okay, because there’s a warmth by Taemin’s side, fingers tracing patterns across his back.
Taemin dozes off within minutes.
When he awakes again, it is to the feeling of panic, his heart hammering a cadence against his ribs. The familiar warmth from before is gone, and as he lifts his head to scan the room, he knows Minho won’t be there. But, upon closer inspection, his shoes still sit by the table and his coat is strewn across the stand by the door - Minho may not be in sight, but he hasn’t left. And a glance at the clock confirms that Taemin still has about fifteen minutes left before Minho’s numbers run out.
As Taemin is convincing his legs to hold his weight so he can go grab his shoes, Kibum stomps out of the room Jonghyun and Minho shares. His face is redredred and his breathing is erratic, and there are pale streaks that shine down his cheeks. Kibum has been crying and, if the way he’s fleeing Jonghyun’s room is any indicator, he and singer are still arguing.
Kibum falters, coming to a slow stop when he sees Taemin watching him from the couch with wide eyes. The elder tries to grin as he steps around the edge of the couch, dropping down beside the maknae with a weary sigh.
“I’m going to go get coffee with Minho in a few minutes. I need to get out of here before I deck Jonghyun. Do you want anything?” Kibum smiles, but it’s tiny and bitter and Taemin’s heart breaks just a little bit at the sight. Moments later, Taemin swears he sees a set of numbers flicker above Kibum’s head, and panic digs into Taemin’s gut. He swallows hard, biting back tears.
“Hyung,” Taemin’s voice doesn’t quiver, and he’s so proud as he nestles into Kibum, face tucked against the older man’s neck. “You should really go make up with Jonghyun.”
Kibum laughs, more than a little shocked, and perhaps just a tiny bit annoyed. “Really, Taeminnie? We’re in the middle of an argument. What’s Jjong done to deserve my forgiveness, hmm?”
Taemin blinks, lips twisting into a wry smile before he says with certainty, “You love him hyung.” Kibum freezes and Taemin presses closer into his elder’s side. “You love him, and he loves you. Isn’t that reason enough?” When Kibum doesn’t answer, Taemin smiles and pulls away. “When you love someone, you’d do anything for them right? Whatever it takes to make them happy or keep them safe, or even just to be with them, even if you have to give up something - right?”
After a terse silence, Kibum smiles, the expression sad and sweet and maybe just a little bit nostalgic. “You’re right, Taemin.” Kibum stands with a languid stretch, leaving Taemin on the couch. He gives the youngest boy a very subtle wink. “I’ll be back later, okay? Gotta go talk with dino boy.”
Taemin smiles and nods as Kibum moves toward the bedroom. The numbers, whether they were there to begin with or not, have disappeared for sure now, and Taemin feels a swell of pride.
Minho steps out just as Kibum is going in, and Taemin can hear his hyung’s almost inaudible, “I won’t be going with you to get the coffee, Minho. Jonghyun and I-”
Minho merely smiles, pushing the elder boy into the room. The door shuts with a soft click and Minho moves into the main room, humming something beneath his breath. He slips his shoes back on, grabbing his keys and shoving them into his pocket. Taemin eyes Minho with a sense of desperation as the older male turns to grab his coat. “I’m leaving now - does anyone want anything?”
Eight minutes, twenty three seconds.
“Hyung!” This is what Taemin has been waiting for, and he rises from the couch, reaching out with unsteady hands, grabbing at Minho’s arm. “I’m feeling much better, so I’ll come with you instead, okay?”
Minho blinks. “I’m just going to get something to drink, Taemin.” When he moves to push Taemin back to the couch, Taemin clutches his arm. “I’ll only be gone ten minutes or so, Taeminnie, honest.” But Taemin is adamant and Minho gives in.
They leave the dorms a minute later and the walk is spent in silence. Taemin savors these last few moments, taking comfort in the way Minho’s hand fits so snug around his own.
They’re down to four minutes now, and Taemin’s heart is shuddering painfully in his chest. Ignoring the ever present countdown, Taemin looks up at his hyung. His face shines, all pale planes and sharp angles, and his heart begins to ache. In that moment, all he sees in Minho, and all he wants is another day, another hour, another minute.
The numbers run out as they are crossing an intersection. The pedestrian sign is green, but Taemin knows, instinctively, that this is it, but he doesn’t hesitate to step off the sidewalk with Minho, matching the older boy stride for stride. As they near the middle of the intersection, Taemin tightens his grip ever so slightly.
Minho glances down at him then, a question in his eyes. Taemin can only smile even as the headlights of a speeding vehicle bear down upon them.
“I love you, hyung. I’m so sorry.”
Fandom: SHINee
Rating: pg-13
Prompt used: "We’re frightened of what makes us different." -- Anne Rice, found here
Word count: 3,130
Genre: au!bandverse, angst
Warnings: It's very sad and rife with death.
Disclaimer: I own nothing herein.
Summary: Wherein Taemin's ability is more of a curse than a gift.
Author's Note: This is my first SHINee fic. ^^; I hope I've done them justice.
My sountrack while writing this was Big Bang's Haru Haru, U-Kiss's 0330 and U-Kiss's Take Me Away.
I suggest you play them while listening. Perhaps more of Take Me Away than the other two though.
***
“Mom?” The word is quiet, hesitant, almost not even there but his mother still glances away from the road. They are on their way back from the doctor’s office, a routine checkup because, at age six, he’s always been a little smaller than the kids his age, a little weaker, a little slower, never quite up the par when it comes to physical activities.
She’s smiling, that characteristic smile that reaches and curls her eyes into crescents, the brilliant expression he’d inherited from her at birth. “Yes, sweetie?”
Her son frowns, lips pulling down at the corners. “Mommy, why are there numbers above your head?”
His mother blinks, confused, then laughs, the sound light and airy in the interior of their car; if he’d known better, maybe he would have heard the slight tremor in the sound. But he didn’t; instead, all he heard was the comfort of his mother’s soothing laughter, and he is put at ease even before she answers. “It’s nothing honey, they’ll go away soon.”
They do, in fact, go away soon.
One week later, his mother is involved in an accident on her way to pick up her son from his elementary school. She dies instantly.
He doesn’t find out until later, when he accidentally mentions his mother and the numbers over her head to his father, that the numbers were bad and that, should he see the numbers again, he should tell someone. Immediately.
***
The next time he sees the numbers, they’re over his father’s head, and he’s eight.
His father had been out drinking, partying with his girlfriend, an older woman that he doesn’t particularly like but won’t speak up against because she makes his father happy. When they return, his father goes straight to bed.
He goes into wish his father goodnight only to see the number above his head, counting down to a date that is only a week away. Remembering his father’s words, he urges his father into awareness and tells him about the numbers. His father smiles, nods, and resumes sleeping. He tells the girlfriend as well in hopes that she’ll keep an eye on his father for him since kids do what kids and grownups do what grownups do; she laughs and nods in a way that makes him feel like a little kid, but when he finally goes to bed, it’s with a lighter heart, happy knowing that he’d done something right.
When his father dies a week later, the victim of an unfortunate robbery, the girlfriend blames him. She shrieks incoherencies in front of the officers -- he knows when we’re going to die! and he practically killed his father; why didn’t he stop him from leaving? and perhaps the worst being that boy is the devil itself!
And that is when he knows that this...ability....is more of a curse and a gift.
***
“Taemin!”
Hands find purchase on his shoulders, shaking them in a firm grip until Taemin blinks blearily, humming through the thick layer of sleep. “Wha’s goin’ on, hyung?”
Kibum beams down at him, entirely too awake, “Early day today, kiddo. Bit of practice, then school.”
Taemin groans, rolls back into the covers and tries to hide his face in the pillow --- but Kibum snatches it away with a laugh. “C’mon, get up. Things to do, places to be. Minho is already in the kitchen; go join him and eat while I get Jonghyun and Jinki up, okay?”
Taemin, reluctantly, nods and slides out of bed, padding down the hallway until he can all but collapse into a chair. Across from him, Minho laughs. It’s deep and rich and warm and so very Minho that Taemin glances up with a brilliant smile, a good morning, hyung ready on his lips --- only to falter, breath catching and seizing in his throat.
There are numbers above Minho’s head.
***
Taemin is on edge all day.
It probably doesn’t help matters that Minho and Taemin share a schedule for a majority of the day and that the numbers continue to count down, vibrant and unsettling against the backdrop of the world around them.
Minho is oblivious, not in the sense that he can’t see Taemin’s frustration - he’s all too aware of this, actually, asking constantly if the maknae is okay and whether he can do anything to help, and Taemin can only shake his head leaving Minho just as frustrated as Taemin is - but in the sense that he can’t see the numbers that hover over his head, and the sight is beginning to eat at Taemin’s soul.
This is not the first time Taemin has seen these numbers, he’s long since understood their meaning, but what he doesn’t understand is why - why is this happening again? why now, today of all days? but, and perhaps most important, why Minho?
But the numbers remain constant, unyielding of answers, and continue their countdown.
And Taemin watches, helpless to change the fact that, in just under a week now, his best friend will die.
***
Sleep evades him that night, and when morning rolls around, Taemin is forced to feign sleep so that Kibum doesn’t realize he’s been up the entire night. Kibum doesn’t seem to notice anything about Taemin’s sluggish behavior, or even the fact that there are dark circles under Taemin’s eyes, but Minho notices, and when he asks about it Taemin can only shrug his shoulders, eyes glued to the numbers that tick, tick, tick down.
That day is worse than the first. He’s distracted during the majority of his schedule, constantly trying to come up with a way to prevent the count down of the numbers, but nothing comes to mind. To cover for the maknae’s inability to concentrate, Jinki, who he shares the variety show with that day, makes a joke about how Taemin had been so nervous about appearing on the show that he hadn’t slept well the night before.
Taemin wants to laugh, because Jinki has no idea how close to the truth he really is.
He doesn’t eat well that night at dinner, picking at his food, eating only three or four bites, before asking to be excused.
That night when he is unable to sleep, Taemin sneaks into the other room and stands at the foot of Minho’s bed, watching his slumbering hyung with rapt attention. Minho’s face softens in his sleep, Taemin also notices with a vague sense of displacement. He’s younger, softer, more akin to childish tendencies than the stoic boy that they live with during the day. But the sense of almost grandeur illusion is, once again, shattered when the numbers flicker, stealing Taemin’s attention.
There are five days left now. Five days, seventeen hours, ten minutes, thirteen seconds.
***
The next two days pass in a flurry of movement.
Taemin hasn’t slept more than three hours in the past four days, a count that, should he actually pause to think about it, would be staggering. The others have begun to notice that he’s not as bright and upbeat as he used to be, and even Jonghyun, oblivious to all things relating to the morning, has noticed that Taemin no longer eats breakfast.
(He gave up the morning of the third day when he was forced to rush off the set of an interview he shared with Minho and Kibum so he didn’t vomit all over the floor.)
They are all beginning to worry now, not for Minho who remains blessedly oblivious to his own impending death, but for Taemin who grows steadily weaker, concern etched into their features and movements as they continue their daily routines.
But it is only when they see Taemin stumble during dance practice, ankle twisting and body colliding against the floor, that anyone begins to comprehend just how serious this situation is.
Taemin is stunned from the fall and can’t stand upright without swaying, but when Jinki suggests they ask their manager to call a medical personnel, Taemin violently protests. He ends up sitting to the side while the others work on the routine.
Ten minutes later, during a scheduled break, Kibum sits behind Taemin. They don’t talk until Jinki pulls Jonghyun and Minho from the room. Even then, it takes a moment and their words are muffled with exhaustion.
“What’s going on, Taeminnie?”
Taemin stares at Kibum blankly for a long moment before cracking a feeble grin. “I have a secret, Kibum-umma.”
Kibum tries to smile back but fails when he sees Taemin’s expression waver. “What kind of secret?”
“Minho’s going to die in three days.” Kibum is silent; Taemin pushes on. “He has these numbers above his head -- I can see them, and I don’t know why, and you guys can’t. No one can, just me. When they run out, he dies-”
“This had better be a joke, Taemin. This had better be a very bad joke.” Anger colors Kibum’s voice, sharp and acerbic.
Taemin falters. This is not the way he’d seen this happening; Kibum was supposed to nod and agree and help him save Minho. Kibum was supposed to believe him.
Instead, Taemin forces a smile. “Sorry, hyung. It’s a really bad joke - I didn’t mean to upset you or anything. I won’t try it again, promise.”
Kibum appears to be convinced.
Taemin wonders when he became such a good liar.
***
Two days later, Taemin is dead on his feet. He hasn’t slept properly in close to a week and his stomach complains constantly about the lack of food, but nothing he eats will stay down. His muscles ache constantly, a violent and painful reminder of the days when he felt comfortable in his own skin.
The others are just as worried if not more so, downright terrified at the way Taemin can no longer stand upright without wobbling.
That morning, Kibum forces Jinki to tell their manager that Taemin is too sick to attend his schedule. Their manager, remembering how off the youngest has seemed lately, wants to call a doctor, and Kibum explodes when the idea is mentioned. It takes Jinki’s persuasive words to sweet talk the manager out of the idea and the combined strength of Jonghyun’s and Minho’s grip to keep Kibum’s temper and fists in check
Before they leave for the day, Kibum makes a vat of chicken broth and shoves a mug of it into Taemin’s hands. They share a look - Taemin knows he won’t drink it, Kibum knows this as well, but they play pretend anyway for the sake of the other members. Jinki kisses him on the forehead before they leave, promising to give him a shout out during the radio interview, and Jonghyun says he’ll say something obnoxious during one of his interviews so Taemin will have something to laugh over.
Minho merely smiles, murmurs, “I’ll be back later,” and leaves.
But that goodbye is what means the most to Taemin, because as he sips at the heated broth (he promptly throws it up not even five minutes later, stomach protesting loudly all the while) Minho’s words warm him all the way through to his bones, dulling the continuous ache he feels.
The day is spent in an endless cycle of semi-awareness; he’s neither awake nor asleep, but in that comfortable area in between where reality and fantasy mesh but never quite meld. His dreams, when he has and remembers them, are strange and fantastical and entirely capricious, but in these delusions he finds the answer he’s been searching for this past week.
When Taemin wakes up next, it is only four in the afternoon, but he knows now what he has to do.
He slinks out of the cocoon of blankets he’s been wrapped in for the majority of the day and wobbles down the hallway to his bedroom. When he exits the room just under two hours later, he’s exhausted and there are fresh tear tracks running along his cheeks, but he’s smiling, and Taemin has never felt this victorious before.
The blankets on the couch look inviting, and Taemin stumbles back toward them, legs giving out with a painful twist and jerk just as he reaches the edge of the couch. As he snuggles back up into the warmth, ignoring the pain jolting up his limbs, Taemin smiles, sweet and saccharine, and lays there, immortalizing the memories of these past few years.
Jonghyun and Kibum are arguing when they get back, and even though Taemin has just fallen into a very light doze, he jerks awake instantly, eyes wide. Where’s Minho? is poised on his lips, but before he can ask, Minho and Jinki trail inside after the bickering duo, their steps slow and sluggish.
“You’re back,” Taemin breathes, lips curling into a facsimile of a smile.
They glance his way and Kibum hesitates before asking in a quiet voice, “Did we wake you?”
Taemin shakes his head. The smile widens. “You’re back,” he stresses.
Minho steps forward, ruffling his hair. “Of course we’re back. Did you think we’d forget about you?”
Taemin shakes his head once more, leaning into the familiar warmth of Minho’s hand. “No,” he murmurs. “I was just worried, is all. Welcome back, hyung.”
Minho looks just the slightest bit shocked before he smiles. “Thanks, Taeminnie.”
Taemin nods and pulls away, curling back up into the blankets. Jonghyun says something to him, but the words are muffled and garbled, and they Kibum’s yelling again - but it’s okay, because there’s a warmth by Taemin’s side, fingers tracing patterns across his back.
Taemin dozes off within minutes.
When he awakes again, it is to the feeling of panic, his heart hammering a cadence against his ribs. The familiar warmth from before is gone, and as he lifts his head to scan the room, he knows Minho won’t be there. But, upon closer inspection, his shoes still sit by the table and his coat is strewn across the stand by the door - Minho may not be in sight, but he hasn’t left. And a glance at the clock confirms that Taemin still has about fifteen minutes left before Minho’s numbers run out.
As Taemin is convincing his legs to hold his weight so he can go grab his shoes, Kibum stomps out of the room Jonghyun and Minho shares. His face is redredred and his breathing is erratic, and there are pale streaks that shine down his cheeks. Kibum has been crying and, if the way he’s fleeing Jonghyun’s room is any indicator, he and singer are still arguing.
Kibum falters, coming to a slow stop when he sees Taemin watching him from the couch with wide eyes. The elder tries to grin as he steps around the edge of the couch, dropping down beside the maknae with a weary sigh.
“I’m going to go get coffee with Minho in a few minutes. I need to get out of here before I deck Jonghyun. Do you want anything?” Kibum smiles, but it’s tiny and bitter and Taemin’s heart breaks just a little bit at the sight. Moments later, Taemin swears he sees a set of numbers flicker above Kibum’s head, and panic digs into Taemin’s gut. He swallows hard, biting back tears.
“Hyung,” Taemin’s voice doesn’t quiver, and he’s so proud as he nestles into Kibum, face tucked against the older man’s neck. “You should really go make up with Jonghyun.”
Kibum laughs, more than a little shocked, and perhaps just a tiny bit annoyed. “Really, Taeminnie? We’re in the middle of an argument. What’s Jjong done to deserve my forgiveness, hmm?”
Taemin blinks, lips twisting into a wry smile before he says with certainty, “You love him hyung.” Kibum freezes and Taemin presses closer into his elder’s side. “You love him, and he loves you. Isn’t that reason enough?” When Kibum doesn’t answer, Taemin smiles and pulls away. “When you love someone, you’d do anything for them right? Whatever it takes to make them happy or keep them safe, or even just to be with them, even if you have to give up something - right?”
After a terse silence, Kibum smiles, the expression sad and sweet and maybe just a little bit nostalgic. “You’re right, Taemin.” Kibum stands with a languid stretch, leaving Taemin on the couch. He gives the youngest boy a very subtle wink. “I’ll be back later, okay? Gotta go talk with dino boy.”
Taemin smiles and nods as Kibum moves toward the bedroom. The numbers, whether they were there to begin with or not, have disappeared for sure now, and Taemin feels a swell of pride.
Minho steps out just as Kibum is going in, and Taemin can hear his hyung’s almost inaudible, “I won’t be going with you to get the coffee, Minho. Jonghyun and I-”
Minho merely smiles, pushing the elder boy into the room. The door shuts with a soft click and Minho moves into the main room, humming something beneath his breath. He slips his shoes back on, grabbing his keys and shoving them into his pocket. Taemin eyes Minho with a sense of desperation as the older male turns to grab his coat. “I’m leaving now - does anyone want anything?”
Eight minutes, twenty three seconds.
“Hyung!” This is what Taemin has been waiting for, and he rises from the couch, reaching out with unsteady hands, grabbing at Minho’s arm. “I’m feeling much better, so I’ll come with you instead, okay?”
Minho blinks. “I’m just going to get something to drink, Taemin.” When he moves to push Taemin back to the couch, Taemin clutches his arm. “I’ll only be gone ten minutes or so, Taeminnie, honest.” But Taemin is adamant and Minho gives in.
They leave the dorms a minute later and the walk is spent in silence. Taemin savors these last few moments, taking comfort in the way Minho’s hand fits so snug around his own.
They’re down to four minutes now, and Taemin’s heart is shuddering painfully in his chest. Ignoring the ever present countdown, Taemin looks up at his hyung. His face shines, all pale planes and sharp angles, and his heart begins to ache. In that moment, all he sees in Minho, and all he wants is another day, another hour, another minute.
The numbers run out as they are crossing an intersection. The pedestrian sign is green, but Taemin knows, instinctively, that this is it, but he doesn’t hesitate to step off the sidewalk with Minho, matching the older boy stride for stride. As they near the middle of the intersection, Taemin tightens his grip ever so slightly.
Minho glances down at him then, a question in his eyes. Taemin can only smile even as the headlights of a speeding vehicle bear down upon them.
“I love you, hyung. I’m so sorry.”