It was fine really, their relationship. It was close to perfect even, at one point. Both Minho and Taemin were happy, were content. Were. And there was something wrong with that word, they both think. Four years of being together, in each others arms, in their own apartment space that was home, was -they were happy. They were comfortable around each other and it was nice, it felt good and they felt like they understood what love was, but maybe they actually didn't. Four years was too long -things got a little boring, feelings started to stream down, away from their hearts (like the occasional tears at night when they fought a little too much.) Like a drawn picture left on a desk to be forgotten -the colors start to fade until it's only just a blur on a rotting canvas. The 'they' was beginning to become just 'him' and 'him'. They both felt that, and much to their comfort, it didn't hurt as much as they thought it would -they hardly felt anything ;they were numb.
Until of course, when a month after autumn had passed, when winter was rolling by and creeping on their windows with its cold breeze, Minho brings it up. Because Minho was the older one. Because Minho can't stand it anymore. Because Minho knows Taemin would never say anything -he was a coward, a damn coward. And the man didn't like that, not at all. He was sick of it, because he thinks of himself as a brave man. The businessman that had just turned twenty-eight a week ago says what's on his mind -and he thinks that why he's brave, not a coward like Taemin.
Not Taemin.
But he stutters a little, so maybe not as much as he had hoped.
"D-... Do you think... we're drifting apart, Taemin-ah?" His voice was soft, it was almost a whisper. He looked down at his food, and not at Taemin's eyes. Maybe he was a coward after all. Maybe in all honesty, he was scared. Scared of what he'll see in Taemin's eyes -not what they once were. That spark, those eyes full of love and emotion. Those eyes that spoke to him even with no words. Those eyes he had loved. Had.
It takes Taemin a few minutes to sum up an answer.
"So you've felt it too," he says. He's playing around with the kimchi left on his plate. His rice bowl was empty, and with the current atmosphere suffocating him, he didn't feel like eating anymore. His eyes were also cast down, his hair had grown in the last four years, it was a little longer than before, but it didn't really reach anywhere near his shoulders. Just past the ears -the roots of his hair were black and chestnut brown going down.
Minho nods, and the conversation ends there.
They both know why, they just didn't feel like talking about it at that moment.
They were afraid they wouldn't be able to breathe anymore, because it's taking their breath away. That feeling. That really tight feeling in their chest and the twisting of their guts. Their fingertips felt like it had been stung, and it was beginning to come over their senses. The pain. It was seeping inside of them, taking every breathe, every emotion and everything that they ever had up to that moment. They both knew too well, that it had been there for quite awhile. To be honest, with everything they've done for the past two years of fighting and drifting away -they just fed this monstrous feeling of pain, and now it had bloomed. It had bloomed into poisonous vines, wrapping them up with its thorned skin.
The dreaded pain they never imagined would come -at least, for the first two years of their relationship is now killing them bit by bit. They were experiencing a slow and painful death.
Minho and Taemin slept on seperate beds that night -backs turning away from each other. Winter is freezing and harsh -but that's not the only reason why they're cold.
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At that moment
قصص الهواة"Because at that moment, Minho's a grey , dull , stupid Business man , Salesman or whatever - man and Taemin's a bundle of frustrated teenage angst that smelled like home ."
