♡ A story about learning to love, learning to hurt, learning to 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥 ― and most importantly, learning to be human. ♡
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 4x
Marino Hills, California in the mid-2000s is hypersensitive to the idea of change. It clings desperately t...
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THE SUMMER OF 2007 Actions & Consequences
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Jisung stares at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic sound of Minho's breath: soft bouts of nicotine-whipped air bursting from his mouth.
There's a soft breeze blowing through the window: a draft that leaves a trail of goosebumps up his spine. Minho is curled up into him, his head nestled on Jisung's bare shoulder. Jisung watches the shadows play tricks—the moonlight painting patterns across the bedroom walls. It's a bittersweet reminder of a past time: the two of them laying under the stars and promising themselves to each other no matter what. They were young, naïve, and hopelessly in love.
Jisung wishes he could turn back time to when his biggest worry was his Calculus grade and fantasizing about how he'll support himself if he and Minho were to run away to Massachusetts and never look back. He'd trade the world for that life. Anything. Just to go back and do it all over.
To love Minho like he deserved. To not leave him.
But for some reason, God hates him, and the stars have never aligned for him.
There's a slight shiver from the boy next to him, so Jisung glances down, watching the way Minho's lips quiver. He doesn't know what possesses him—whether it's the fact that he's half-asleep and not thinking clearly, or because the memories once had are playing in the back of his mind—but he pulls Minho in tighter. Minho whimpers softly, burying his head further into the crook of Jisung's neck, his fingers digging crescent moons into Jisung's skin.
The moonlight plays across Minho's body, outlining the colorful display of pale porcelain and tears of carmine—red slits dug into the most beautiful parts of skin. Memories flicker to life: whispered promises under starlit skies, ointment-oiled index fingers pressing a shushing finger to angry scars, and the shared dream of defying expectations for a life hand-in-hand.
Jisung tries not to think about how much they fit together. How easily they fit, puzzle pieces seamlessly slotting into place despite the jagged edges their fractured paths left behind. Isn't it foolish to indulge in this stolen warmth, knowing the coming dawn would shatter the illusion?
This isn't healthy.
Nothing about them is.
They're like an old, dying star: a supernova with the remnants of an imploded life.
Jisung should let go, should push Minho away and pretend that the night never happened; should put an end to this cruel cycle; should stop hurting the boy he loves more than the universe.
But he can't.
He's selfish, and he wants Minho to be his. Oh, how feeling loved is a dangerous drug. Fatal, even.
