the boy in the window {minsung} DISCONTINUED

one.

Sometimes life isn't all you want it to be. 

Things change, people change, the world moves on and everything ends. 

Life tends to be disappointing, and people tend to be even more disappointing, over and over again- an endless cycle of disappointment and anger and pain and sadness. 

Nothing is constant. Whether it be manmade or nature made, everything flows and changes and leaves you behind, every single time. 

The inconsistency in life can be frustrating, and it can be equally beautiful- frustratingly beautiful, one might say, or even beautifully frustrating, if there was any significant difference. 

And with inconsistency comes something that could be referred to as key moments- remarkable occasions or experiences that flow naturally with life's unpredictability, adding a bit of stability to the madness of existence. 

When one is faced with a key moment, it would perhaps benefit them to stop, to breathe, and to think. Because in a world where time moves faster than supposed and everything is always changing, a critical point in one's life can not only bring perspective to it all, but can also act as a small escape- or, even, a small revelation. 

Through key moments, one can unlock a small bit of the universe and its whispered tales that they didn't previously understand, whether it be something about themself that they didn't know, or perhaps a new person that they end up needing. 

Key moments can be anywhere. It all depends on the recipient's willingness to stop their own rush, their own busy life, and to take a moment to discover. 

Key moments can be beautiful. 

Minho looked up into the sky, snowflakes dancing towards him and landing on his cheeks and lashes, making him shiver. 

The world was white. People were inside, hoarding their own warmth like it was something to cherish, but Minho knew with conviction that he'd rather be out here, in the cold, alone. 

It was pretty. 

But he knew it wouldn't last. 

This beauty, this calm, it was the calm before the storm. 

Well, literally- there was thunder in the distance and Minho knew he should go inside before the weather turned. But he couldn't seem to pull himself away from this freezing, colorless silence. 

Until suddenly, it wasn't silence anymore. 

Minho's head perked up as he heard a little hum, which turned into a voice, which turned into a song. 

Not to mention a very pretty song. 

The voice dancing across the air was something that heavily contrasted with the weather- it was warm, colorful, bright and cheerful. 

Without thinking about it, Minho found his lips beginning to smile. 

He glanced over at the house next-door to him, since it was obvious that the voice was coming from his neighbor's home. He stood up and started walking towards the fence that separated their yards, but then he paused. 

He had only ever heard bad things about this house. 

Minho had moved into the neighborhood two months ago, too late into the school year to make friends- not that he cared. But even though he didn't have a social circle at school or anywhere else, that didn't stop him from hearing the rumors. 

"Drug dealers." 

"Escaped convicts." 

"Murderers." 

All Minho knew for sure was that it was a couple living next door. A man, a woman, and as far as he knew, no one else. 

So who was singing? 

Slowly, Minho took the few remaining steps to his fence, reaching up and placing his hands on the top of it. In one swift movement, he hoisted himself up, just enough so that he could see into the other house's backyard. 

As Minho supported himself so he was hanging in the cold, crisp air with his hands placed firmly on the fence and his body raised slightly above it, the old wood creaked loudly. 

The singing paused suddenly, and so did Minho. 

And then he looked up. 

A window on the second floor of the house was opened, and in the room stood a young boy, maybe one or two years younger than Minho himself. The boy had honey brown hair and large brown doe eyes, eyes that were staring right at Minho- well, it was more odd than that, really. They seemed to be looking at Minho, but something about them was off, as if they weren't quite focused. 

"Hello?" the boy called quietly, hesitantly. 

Minho stayed completely still, even though he knew the boy could see him. His face turned a furious shade of red as he realized how insanely foolish he was acting. 

The boy sat, motionless, for a second longer, then swiftly stepped forward and put both hands on the window, closing it quickly and smoothly. 

As soon as the window was closed, Minho dropped back down into his yard, blushing like a madman as he plopped down into a sitting position in the grass, embarrassed out of his mind. 

But he also found himself feeling curious. Really damn curious. 

He had spent the last two months lying low in school, and otherwise hiding away in his bedroom, but even outsiders aren't ignorant to the whispers that go around the school- the ones that are always there, floating along the air, as if people couldn't find a better way to satisfy their entertainment needs than to spread mindless things that didn't even pertain to them. 

But no one- not a soul- had mentioned a boy. 

And so Minho's curiosity was sparked. 

Minho had always been curious. Especially as a child, Minho's mind often wandered as he observed the trivial things that lived all around him in harmony with his own existence. Things that others would take as simple things, things to ignore and to not worry about. And Minho didn't worry about them, no, he only thought. Thought and pondered and wondered. 

As Minho got older, his curiosity faded somewhat, but it was still there, buried inside him- that intense need to think on everything around him, to marvel at the beauties in the details that would otherwise go unnoticed. 

And this particular detail, this particular unnoticed boy, brought that curiosity back up in Minho, until it was floating through his veins, to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair, filling him with a feeling of wonder that he hadn't been fully immersed in since he was an innocent boy, ignorant to the world and its dull nature. 

But this was real life. 

This wasn't Minho's eight-year-old fantasy dreams. This wasn't a place for him anymore where he could wonder. No, it was a place to merely exist, to get a mindless job and work each day for that damn paycheck. To go to school and go home and go to school and just be. 

This was a not a world for curiosity, not anymore. 

And so Minho swallowed his embarrassment along with his mild excitement and interest until it was all buried back under the layer of cold that lay within him, built up from the years of living in the adult world, of not having to intrigue when there was too much time having to grieve. 

And with the layer of cold that reformed around Minho's emotion, the snow continued to fall. 

And Minho's body, too, was layered in that same cold, in the snow that had been beautiful only minutes before. 

But the storm was rolling in, reality was rolling in, and it was time for Minho to shut the window, to shut out his childish curiosity, and to go on living again. 

And so, for a time, he did.