No More
Pairing: 2min
Genre: Grab-some-tissues depressing.
Rating: PG-13/R, I’m not sure where I want to put it.
Length: Oneshot.
Inspired by the song “Sugarcane” by Honeyhoney, though not based on it. But still go check them out if you’re interested, they're a wonderful band. :D
Taemin woke up to the sunlight streaming in through the window. His naked form walked toward the venitian blinds, as he peered through the small openings between them. He proceeded to walk across the room to put on his clothes, light skinnies with a loose blue shirt, slit horizontally across the back. Watching the dust caught in the rays of brilliant orange light, a melancholy feeling settled over him, and the tears began to well up, but he held them back, as he noticed his lover stir without waking.
The realization had finally hit him. The one he loved was going away. For two, dreadful, potentially lethal years. Even though their relationship wasn’t in the best state at the moment, the simple fact that the two had spent so many years together, they never wanted to be apart, even if they had their arguments. They were going to get away together, get married, settle down when their final note had been sung, their last steps danced, their last curtain fallen.
But what if Minho wasn’t to make it back? What if he was killed on the active lines? Sure, they’d try and hold him back. He was a celebrity, after all. But what if something happened, they were bombed, or charged, or something else horrible? What if they kept him prisoner, and tortured him?
Don’t think about these things, he reminded himself. They’re not real, they won’t happen. He’ll be back in your arms soon enough.
Taemin had wanted to serve alongside Minho. But an injury sustained long ago was holding him back from duty, though SM still wanted him to dance and sing. So, dance and sing he did, if it kept him out of harm’s way, then so be it. But deep inside, he desperately wanted to fight alongside his lover.
The older boy finally began to stir in his bed, propping up on his elbows, the fake dogtag necklace draped over his toned chest. Taemin turned away, as the tears couldn’t be held back any longer. Without warning, Minho’s strong arms clutched around him tightly, enveloping him in warmth from the older’s naked body.
“I don’t want to do this.” Minho sighed deeply, his black hair obscuring the sadness in his eyes from Taemin’s view.
“You have to, dear.” Taemin’s voice quivered, the tears flowing freely. “You have to serve your country. But…I’ll be waiting when you come back.”
Minho’s heart skipped a beat, his mood always lightened by the thought. “Promise it to me.”
“I do. As long as you promise you’ll do everything you can to come back alive.”
“I promise.”
-
It had been a year since Minho had left. Taemin had gotten over the months of crying himself to sleep, always sending letters back and forth with his lover, truly thinking his lover could make it back. The war was becoming tough on his emotions, though. Neither side yielding, every day he needed to know his lover wouldn’t come back in a casket.
Until that day.
It was a nothing sort of day. Taemin hadn’t received a letter yesterday. It had been five days since the maknae’s last letter was sent. He had begun to worry, but kept telling himself little things to make sure he didn’t break down. Maybe he had a busy day. Maybe he couldn’t get paper. Maybe he just didn’t have the time.
The doorbell rang.
Taemin wasn’t quite sure who it’d be. He didn’t think the other members would be getting a package, and no one was expecting a guest. Unassumingly, he answered the door, opening up to a man in a suit, alongside their producer.
“Taemin, could you gather the members?”
Taemin’s interest had suddenly spiked. “Who is this man?”
“Just get the other members, please.” The producer made the command, avoiding all eye contact with the boy.
Taemin quickly surveyed the apartment for the other three, gathering them down in the entryway. As they got comfortable, sitting on counters and leaning on walls, waiting for some lecture or something for a new album concept, the man in the suit began to speak.
“I’m…from the government.”
Taemin’s body slid down the wall, his knees suddenly unable to support the weight of his suddenly heavy heart. He prayed to god that the next words wouldn’t come.
“Your friend, Min-” The suited man couldn’t get any more out of his mouth as Taemin was suddenly reduced to tears, clutching his knees close, muffled wails emerging as he buried his head. The future he had waiting with him, the wonderful memories to be made, the house they had planned to one day own, suddenly every last shred of hope was washed away in that instant.
-
Taemin hadn’t slept all week. Taking the last drag from his newly acquired habit, he stamped it out on the bathroom floor. His bloodshot eyes, lined with a bit of black eyeliner from the previous performance, stared back at him in the mirror.
You have nothing. The eyes mocked him from behind the glass. Your group is almost done for, your love is dead, you have nothing left at all. Quit while you’re ahead. Maybe you can finally sleep easy.
Without warning, his body began to heave, as he headed for the toilet and threw up. His entire body refused to cooperate, ever since that day, the day that he wished never happened, almost half a year ago. His body became weaker as the days passed, his bones showing prominently against skin, he had lost almost all appetite, and threw up what little he ate. He slept less and less, and the makeup could only hide so much of the black bags beneath his reddened eyes. Where the makeup lines ended, his skin had a slight yellow tinge from the level of dehydration he had reached. His lips chapped, his nails chipped, Taemin was a complete wreck. But no amount of physical pain or disfigurement could compare to the eternal pain he carried in his chest.
Opening up the mirror with a weak hand, he peered into the pill cabinet, searching for the only relief he’d get. Eyeing the bottle of sleeping pills, he paid close attention to the warnings and side effects.
He poured out the pills, counting them out.
One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…
Downing each one in succession, it was more than he had ever taken. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he needed to make sure it was done right. Walking into the kitchen, he grabbed for the bottle, and managed a good amount. His eyes began to droop, his body slumped in the chair. He knew the last moments were coming. Those happy memories would be his once again. Seeing the life flash before his eyes, he wanted so desperately to surrender to sleep. The memories began to slow, as his eyes closed further, the blood pumped less and less, until the images behind his eyelids finally darkened, his heart stopped, and he was at peace.