1 Work by isucjk
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Summary
Minho takes and takes and takes.
The last time he acknowledged his own reflection was a long time ago. At least, the last time he saw something he liked. Concepts of self are too delicate to be thrown around into one frame, Minho thinks. He read it somewhere, in a quote a friend taped to their graphing calculator.
Anyways.
Minho can't keep track of himself, much less the people around him. What a waste of a life.
or:
Minho leaves home.