Archive of Our Own

Minho liked to think that he was a simple man. He liked to watch Joseon-era period dramas for hours at a time, liked to eat jokbal on Tuesday night and get it again the following Friday, and liked the way his favorite Adidas track pants hugged his legs when he practiced in front of the mirror. He liked his cats, and how they minded their own business despite his best attempts to capture their attention. He liked the colors mint and pink and didn’t mind at all that too many of his belongings looked like Cosmo and Wanda. And he really liked the way his best friend Jisung had such bright and pearly eyes even underneath all that hair. Minho really liked that last part a lot.

Three years into the college struggle and Minho thought he was already better off than so many others in the same shoes. He had friends, and then he had friends ( “I mean…I guess Changbin and Chan count, right?” ). And then there was Han Jisung. As far as awkward and obnoxious freshmen go, Jisung was neither, and just two weeks into General Geology Minho knew that he was going to be less like a thorn and more like a recurring rash. Nonetheless, Jisung eventually found a friend somewhere in Minho’s heart, which was normally “covered in barbed wire and spikes kinda like Sleeping Beauty’s castle,” as Chan affectionately put it. Jisung became a regular fixture in all three of their lives, if mostly because he became attached to Minho by the hip. Not that he minded.

Things should be simple, and they have been for years now since fifth grade. Or at least, what he thinks he remembers of fifth grade.

It all started with his mom’s precious china vase in the very corner of his living room. How many times, he thought, could he play ball inside the house without knocking anything over? Not too many times apparently, as Minho gaped at the remains of the white-and-blue vase all over the floor. Right as the humming of his mom’s car in the driveway came to a shuddering halt. The haphazard swirl of emotions and consequence were too much for little Minho to handle, and before he had realized it, he was standing in front of the vase on its little pedestal again. Only this time, it was perfectly untouched and his round, red ball was still in his hands. Minho looked across the room, seeing that everything was completely normal and intact. At least, it hadn’t been the towering china cabinet that his mother told him never to touch.

This would set off a chain of events that were completely under his mercy and control. At first, it was minute, minuscule things like a scraped knee or a paper cut, but then it became forged report cards and punching someone in class just because they borrowed his pencil without asking. Minho began to lose track of how many times he was turning back the clock just to right something that went wrong the first run around. On the night of Christmas Eve, his curiosity caught the better of him and Minho found himself sneaking downstairs to check not only on his presents, but if Santa Claus really gobbled down the cookies he set out for him.

...The Christmas tree was so pretty, it really was.

So pretty that he backed up into the china cabinet trying to get a better view of the entire thing. Minho whipped around so fast upon bumping into the large cabinet, and the last thing he saw was his wide-eyed reflection in the glass windows before everything turned black. When Minho awoke the next morning, he was expecting to be bombarded with presents and kisses, not the warm rays of sun beaming right at him through his windows.

That day was not December 25th. It was June 13th.

His mother told him the accident left him hospitalized for almost three months, with Minho only returning to school in late March. Yet for some reason, Minho couldn’t remember anything beyond that night. The event had been so bizarre to Minho that he just convinced himself that he had dreamt up all those time-turning shenanigans. That his imagination was too much for him and that it was some silly story to be left behind before his venture into middle school. He pushed back these memories and fabricated new ones, innocuously denying that he had just skipped six months of his entire life. Since then, he’s had no reason to think about that quirk of his, no reason to remember why it was and how it happened. Since then, life had been simpler for Minho.

– 7:01 PM –

minwhore:

aish jisung

you have got to like stop taking these night shifts if you wanna like

i dunno, get some fucking sleep and pass your classes????

j1squirrel:

hyung its okay!!!!

i don’t even have classes on fridays so i just go home and like

slep zzzzzz

we still meeting up after your class gets out right?

minwhore:

yeah

probably not gonna walk you to the convenience store though

gonna go to the dance studios to practice for hip hop team tryouts

j1squirrel:

awwwwww you suck

jk do what u gotta do hyung

☜(˚▽˚)☞

minwhore:

stop dont do that

also lemme give you this energy drink i bought

cuz i think youre gonna need it more than me

j1squirrel:

youre the best hyung <3

Minho leaves it there, staring at his phone’s screen for a good second and a half before pocketing it so the professor couldn’t see him. He punctuated this with a deep sigh; these near three-hour classes were just things that he would never get used to, really. Granted, if he had the choice, he would have traded this for the chance to read a book or catch up on his dramas in the student lounge, while Jisung was snoring beside him. How the younger boy managed to take three back-to-back classes starting at seven AM , take a five-hour nap, and then go take a night shift from eight to four AM was beyond Minho’s comprehension.

And somehow this didn’t take a toll on Jisung’s naturally cheerful disposition. But if anyone or anything ever threatened that, they would be meeting a swift demise under Minho’s fists. Not that he would ever admit that anyway. Still, seeing the young man’s messages coaxed a gentle smile onto his face, and most importantly, gave him the second wind he needed to push through the last twenty minutes of his class.

A little less than twenty minutes later, Minho already had his backpack slung on his shoulder and he was dipping out of the classroom, making a brisk pace for the student lounge. True to their arrangement, Jisung was already standing outside the glass doors of the lounge, and he didn’t hesitate to flash that wide grin of his when Minho came into view. The older boy couldn’t help but return the smile when he approached the lounge doors.

“Ah, Minho hyung, you walk so slow ,” Jisung whined and Minho responded by jabbing him in the shoulder. “Ow!”

“And you shouldn’t talk to your elders like that, idiot.” Despite his naturally abrasive demeanor, Minho still managed to eke out a smile for the freshman. “Here, take this,” he followed, reaching into his backpack and taking out the energy drink.

“You know, maybe if you started buying me energy drinks every week, I wouldn’t have such an issue with taking night shifts.” Jisung continued to smile obnoxiously at him as they began walking in tandem.

Minho looked away and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. He should have been used to spending twelve hours a day with someone so cute. “And I’m pretty sure your parents didn’t send you here all the way from Malaysia so you could be wasting your life away inside a 7/11.”

“ My life , my choices. It’s just grunt work anyway. I’ll start looking for a better job during the summer, I promise. And you should join me too, hyung!”

“You’re funny.” Minho smirked and ruffled the top of his head. He really needed a haircut so Minho could see those sparkly eyes of his better.

Jisung pouted at him and swatted his arm away. “I thought you said you weren’t walking me to the store tonight?”

“You’re right; I’m not. We’re going to the same exit anyway.” Minho flashed him a cheeky grin as he decided to walk on ahead of him. Even in April, the nights were still chilly while the throes of winter were still tiring themselves out. Minho shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets before turning back to look at Jisung. “Make sure you drink that, okay? And keep me updated! Don’t want you falling asleep on the job!”

“Aight, bye hyung!” Jisung waved back at him, his bright grin still visible in the night.

As Minho made his way over to the sports and recreation center, he couldn’t help but feel odd to be walking alone for the first time in a while. Their little arrangement had occurred for the better part of a year now, and he usually punctuated his nightly escorts to the convenience store with some yogurt and japchae . But not this time. The absence of Jisung’s lilted voice dampened his spirits somewhat. Minho inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp, night air.

Jisung understands, however. If he turned around right now, he’d first tease Minho about not getting enough of him, and then whine that he’s not going to get into that hip hop team if he didn’t go practice tonight. Minho stifled a chuckle and continued walking toward the recreation center.

One…two…three… The sweat ran down his forehead in rivulets, and his hair was starting to stick to his skin. Minho breathed deeply and examined himself in the mirror, his earphones still blasting in his ears. “What time is it…?” He ran a hand through his slick locks and fished his phone out of his pocket. The bright screen (a picture of his cats) showed the time as 12:48 AM. “Ah, shit, they’re closing soon…,” he breathed out heavily. He felt sticky underneath his hoodie and he would give anything to be able to shower and head to bed.

Minho pocketed his phone again, picked up his backpack and water bottle, and started to walk out of the empty studio. Normally it seemed intimidating to be alone with only yourself looking back at you, but Minho found some solace in that specific situation.

By the time he had exited the recreation building, the chill of the night air had picked up even more and he shivered under his hoodie. His apartment wasn’t too far from the recreation center, but it was in the opposite direction of the convenience store where Jisung worked. The thought of the convenience store convinced him to pull out his phone again, remembering that he should drop a couple of texts on the boy just to make sure he was still alive and functional at work.

– 1:03 AM –

minwhore:

hey i just got out of the dance studio

youre still awake right? wink wonk

Minho continued to walk as he shoved his hands back into his hoodie for warmth. He hummed idly to the song playing in his earphones, which was now a softer and gentler track than the ones he’d been furiously dancing to for the past four hours. “…say I am fine but…don’t know what to do without you,” he murmured, his mind wandering all over on the short walk back to his apartment.

I am left alone in this trivial place; I picture your memories, they’re blue.

The young man was so engrossed with his music that he only realized Jisung hadn’t texted back when he was finally at the door to his apartment. How strange , Minho wondered when he pulled his phone out again after crossing the threshold into his living room. Three cats began pouring onto the carpet while he slipped his shoes off, their incessant meows for attention filling the silence of the room. He tossed his backpack onto the couch and flopped down next to it as he began typing another message.

– 1:14 AM –

minwhore:

hey loser

answer your phone or imma punch you the next time i see you

Minho huffed and pushed himself off the couch, easily slipping out of his clothes before dipping into the bathroom for a shower. Maybe Jisung would text back while he’s cleaning up. Less than ten minutes later, he finished up in the shower, and goosebumps littered his arms as the cold air hit his skin. After briefly inspecting himself in the mirror ( “Damn…I look so good.” ), Minho entered his bedroom with phone in tow. The room was dim, with only the orange glow of the street lamps outside filtering through his window blinds illuminating anything.

“Weird…he hasn’t replied to me.” Minho cocked an eyebrow and typed on his phone.

– 1:38 AM –

minwhore:

okay ignore me i guess lmao

hope you dont get fired for sleeping on the job!!!!

told you to drink that energy drink, dumbass

anyway good night <3

He ruffled his damp hair and climbed into a bed with a deep sigh. Maybe some idiot teenagers were causing him trouble. Jisung’s been complaining about kids coming in late during his night shifts recently, anyway. Whatever it was, Minho was confident that he’d get a response in the morning if the idiot even remembered to text him back after his shift ended. Minho quietly set his phone down on his nightstand and pulled his comforter up to his chin. This April night was too chilly for his taste.

Minho woke up groaning into his pillows at the sound of his alarm, which was just his phone conveniently playing a random song from his playlist. Today’s flavor was everyone’s favorite pop song from the mid-2010s, and his arm shot out from underneath his comforter to blindly grasp the phone. From his bedroom, he could hear the loud yowls of his cats as they presumably also heard his phone blasting pop music.

“…boy…not talk too much…my waist and put that body on me…,” he muttered as he finally got a hold of his phone and squinted up at the brightly lit screen. “Where the fuck is the…”

Minho fell silent at the sight of the numerous notifications on his screen.

– 9:32 AM –

8 missed calls from Bang Chan

cloudy with a chan of meatballs (20m ago):

mminnnho

minho

minho ples asase

minho pleseaese answer your ph on e

minho. please.

In his confusion, Minho sat up from his bed, shivering and rubbing his bare shoulders as he did. He hesitantly swiped at Chan’s name and waited as the screen transferred to a phone call. No longer than two rings passed before his call finally went through.

“M-Minho?” Chan’s voice was familiar but it sounded…timid, troubled.

“…C-Chan?” Minho croaked. “I just woke up and saw your messages…what’s wrong?”

He heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end. And then the sound of a choked sob. Minho pulled away from his phone to glare at it.

“Chan. What is going on? What’s wrong?”

Chan held back a whimper. “…Jisung...he...”

His eyes felt like they were growing bigger by the second. “What. About. Jisung. Chan?”

“...Jisung is dead.”

“…No. You’re lying to me. Don’t fuck with me, Chan. This isn’t funny.” Maybe Minho heard him wrong. Chan needed to speak up. Maybe he wasn’t fully awake right now. “Chan?! Are you hearing me right now? This isn’t funny.”

“M- Min- Minho . I’m not…” Chan began to pant on the other end of the call, and Minho could hear him struggling to keep it together. “Jisung…” The older boy wheezed and finally started to cry.

Minho’s jaw tensed up and his throat felt dry. “…Chan, where are you?” He muttered.

“…East Hall, near the – “

“I’m coming.”

The boy jumped out of bed, throwing the covers off his body and stumbling onto the floor. He threw on the first set of clothes he could find, barely slipping on his jacket and shoes before he bolted out of his apartment. His cats cried out as he ran past them, and the door to his apartment closed shut with a slam, leaving the entire room shaking. There were no tears in his eyes, not yet, but the reason for that Minho was not sure of. He had never run this fast before, with the wind whipping through him so hard that his hood slid off his head and his hair was trailing behind him.

No. No. No. No, no, no, no, no, nononononononononono n o –

This was a mistake. This was a nightmare. Jisung didn’t text him back last night because he fell asleep at the counter. Or a bunch of rowdy kids came in during the middle of the night to mess with him. Yeah, that’s it. Right? The dull pain in his legs were the least of his concerns as he rounded the corner of East Hall and saw not only Chan’s familiar mop of curly blonde hair, but also the smaller, hunched figure of someone crouched on the sidewalk.

When Minho got closer to the two of them, it was then that Chan finally lifted his head to look at him. His face was paler than normal, and his pink-tinged cheeks were shiny with tears. Red and puffy were his eyes as they stared right back at him, and only then did the person on the ground look up as well. Changbin’s lips quivered with each sniffle that came from him. Upon looking down at Changbin’s tear-stained face did the reality begin to set in.

“No. No, no, no, nononononono…” Minho shook his head at the both of them, slowly taking steps backwards from both boys.

“…Minho, I…I’m sorry – “

His throat was so dry.

Jisung didn’t text back last night.

He should have walked him to the store.

“Minho, stop!”

His footsteps were carrying him again, backwards, forwards, and then towards the convenience store. Chan’s voice was but a remnant in the wind the farther he ran. His lungs were collapsing in on themselves, but he wanted to scream like he’d never screamed before. Jisung can’t be dead, Jisung isn’t dead, Jisung is –

Minho choked on his own breath. The yellow caution tape stretched across the front like a radioactive spider web. Those same steps he used to walk up just to get his kimbap fix, now covered in shattered glass. And right in front of the counter, the same counter Jisung would smile at him from behind, slathered in red. Such vivid, bright red. These police officers just walked all over the place like they owned it, like no human had just died there hours beforehand. As if they were sweeping Minho’s simple mistake under the rug.

When did I start crying? he thought, feeling the teardrops sliding down his cheeks.

Minho wanted to scream, but his throat was so, so dry.

Chan and Changbin caught up with him, staring blankly ahead at the shattered glass doors of the ransacked convenience store. Minho’s jaw lay agape, as if perpetually stuck in the process of formulating a word, but never actually getting to the end. His hands trembled at his sides while the alternated between tugging awkwardly at the hem of his hoodie and curling in on themselves. Changbin looked up at Chan with glassy eyes before the older boy placed a firm hand on Minho’s shoulder.

“Minho…we have to go.”

Minho blinked absentmindedly, before turning around to face him.

“I’m…I – “ He momentarily choked, face twisted with a pang of pain as the sobs threatened to spill over. “I’m sorry… I should have been there for Jisung. I’m sorry.”

He felt someone pressing their face into his shoulder blades, followed by stiff hands tangled in the fabric of his hoodie. “…Please. Just…just don’t. Please,” Changbin murmured.

Chan briefly looked away and inhaled deeply, struggling to recompose himself.

“…Let’s just go, Minho. There’s no reason for us to be here anymore.”

Classes were not on today’s agenda. Minho wasn’t going to his hip hop tryouts because no one would be there to celebrate with him afterward, anyway.

Somewhere in a hospital in Seoul lay the body of a Han Jisung, only nineteen years old and pierced with six gunshot wounds, five of which were fatal. Han Jisung, from what Minho could remember the earliest, was someone he thought should swallow some rocks. He butted heads with most of their classmates, jumping from partner to partner until he got to Minho, even if the reputation that preceded him should have been a deterrent. But Jisung was too much of a ray of sunshine for anyone to dislike him. The idiot stuck to Minho like dry rice, and it would take long after Jisung had met both Chan and Changbin before Minho even decided to admit that he was a friend.

Jisung had dreams bigger than himself. He dreamt of being a singer once, and Minho said that he’d rather sit shove a knife in his ears than hear Jisung’s voice on the radio ( “Hyung, that’s not very nice…!” ). He liked the color red and owned red sweaters, red hats, red markers, red shoes. He liked to doodle in his notebook instead of paying attention in class, the margins filled up with cute drawings of dinosaurs and caricatures of Changbin. He liked to order cheesecake whenever Minho treated him out for snacks, always smiling at the older boy across the table and wanting him to try it out “just once”. (Minho ended up eating half of the cheesecake slice and bought another one for Jisung to take home.) He liked to have playful, pretend rap battles with Changbin, diss battles that were silly and childish, and yet he claimed “would make us famous” had Chan just posted his recordings on YouTube. He had cheeks that Minho described as “perfectly punchable” but nowadays, he’d rather kiss them than bruise them.

In a hospital somewhere in Seoul lay the body of Han Jisung, nineteen years old, and taken too soon from a world that didn’t deserve him.

His hoodie felt sticky and gross on his body, soaked with too much of his tears. The fabric of his sweatpants was dark and damp; the knees he pulled up to his chest were now drenched from much of his crying. Minho had lost count hours ago of how long he was sitting on his living room carpet, surrounded by his cats who were all too curious at their owner’s sudden disinterest in them. Chan and Changbin walked him home before heading off themselves, not ready to face the world quite yet. Frankly, Minho would be just fine spending the rest of the semester locked up in his apartment…but he was certain Jisung would have hated if he did that.

Minho didn’t want to close his eyes any longer, because once he shut off the light, Jisung was there to bring it back, what with his bright smile, those bright eyes, and his –

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not the hyung that you deserved. I’m sorry.

The digital clock hanging on the wall of his living room read 8:12 PM when he finally pushed himself off the floor. Minho dragged himself to his room, slipping out of his sticky clothes and burying his aching body under as many of his blankets as he could manage. If he could wake up tomorrow and find that this was all just a silly dream, then wouldn’t that just be swell? And if he could wake up tomorrow just to relive his last moments with Jisung, to be the better person he knew Jisung deserved…

If only.

His phone’s blaring alarm was disturbing his entire apartment, and the loud noises of the pop song ringing from beside his bed was intermingling with the yowling of his cats from the living room.

I don’t know what to do, don’t know what to do –

An arm shot out from underneath the blankets, blindly slapping around his nightstand until he got ahold of his phone. Minho brought the offending device to his face so he could properly turn off his alarm. He squinted up at the bright screen, narrowing his eyes at whatever he could focus on.

“Off, off…off,” he murmured, eyes wandering around the interface.

“Why the fuck did my alarm go off on a Satur – “

Minho stopped himself.

There, at the top of his screen, in thin, white letters:

Thursday, April 4th .

His eyes suddenly felt too heavy for his head and he closed them, trying to will the waterworks away.

No.

Today is April 6th . Today is Saturday.

Han Jisung died yesterday and I couldn’t do jack shit about it.

Minho unlocked his phone and swiftly navigated to his text messages, wanting to confirm the fabrications of his own twisted imagination.

Nothing. There was nothing. No missed calls or text messages from Chan, and neither were there his messages of mild contempt against a Jisung that was never going to reply to him again. Out of concern, or perhaps out of fear, Minho glumly typed out a message to the younger boy. He could feel his pulse rising under his skin as he hoped for only the best possible outcome.

– 9:34 AM –

minwhore:

…hey

The young man held his breath, whispering litanies of please answer me, please answer me, pleaseanswermepleaseanswermepleaseanswerme under his breath. His phone buzzed not a minute later.

– 9:34 AM –

j1squirrel:

…hey…….hey what?

no

don’t tell me

youre skipping class again arent you? shame!

(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

Minho dropped his phone and let it hit his chest as he pressed his fingers into his scalp. Jisung, Han Jisung, Han Jisung was alive. He breathed out heavily as that familiar ache from what was supposed to be last night started to flood his senses once again.

– 9:36 AM –

minwhore:

relax idiot hyung is coming to class today :)

say

how about we go to that café again after class

cheesecake on me

j1squirrel:

…i was literally just about to suggest that

but you know im a slut for cheesecake, hyung g ggg

what’s going on????

minwhore:

nothing

nothing’s wrong

hyung’s just feeling generous today that’s all :)

j1squirrel:

okay weirdo LMAO

see you in class!!!

Once again, Minho found himself rebounding out of bed, moving as fast as his legs could take him. He trembled with each step on his way to campus, willing himself to calm down and that nothing bad would happen to Jisung before he even got to class. In truth, Minho wanted nothing more than to see with his own eyes that the younger boy was safe and sound .

But why? Why did he wake up again to a Jisung that was alive and normal? This was so strange and yet –

His footsteps came to a slow halt.

This has happened before. The very concept of turning back the clock, just so he could save his own sorry ass. When he was barely twelve years old, when he broke his mother’s vase, when he punched out his classmate’s tooth, when that china cabinet… Time to Minho was as easy as flipping an hourglass upside down. This should have been child’s play for him, but now he remembers. It really was that simple.

Today was April 4th, 2019, the day Han Jisung died. Today was the day Minho discovered how he could save him.

Minho tried not to let the discomfort show on his face as Jisung sat in front of him, savoring each and every bite of his cheesecake. It was the discomfort that came with the realization that even the little, mundane things everyone did around him – it was all happening exactly the way he remembered them. He remembered the way Jisung sat next to him, focusing all his energy into coloring the red fangs on his doodle of Changbin. He remembered the way he dropped his pen and bent down to pick it up in his hurry to stuff his backpack and leave class.

Here Minho sat, blankly watching Jisung stuff himself on sweets as the cogs struggled to turn in his head. It was stifling for him, having the knowledge that Jisung was supposed to die tonight.

“Hyung? Minho hyung? Yoohoo?”

Minho blinked profusely and looked back up at the younger boy. Jisung chuckled and smiled at him.

“What?”

“You’re acting funny, hyung. Am I being too boring for you?” The older boy grimaced and flicked him in the forehead. “Ow!”

“Shut up and eat your cheesecake.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes at him before his face lit up like a lightbulb. Minho looked away momentarily, staring pensively out the window of the café, and only returned his attention to Jisung when he heard the other boy clear his throat. The younger boy was smirking directly at him with his fork poised right at his face, a piece of cheesecake balanced on the prongs. Minho shot him a glare before taking the bite of cake between his teeth.

“…Ya, you’re being gross, Jisung.”

“Hyung, you’re the one who’s talking with his mouth full.”

Minho sighs deeply, lowering his head so that his bangs fall in front of his face. For Jisung’s sake, he was going to need to play it off as if the boy’s final hours weren’t slowly ticking down.

Not too long after the both of them made a combined effort to finish the cheesecake, they walked back to campus side by side. While Jisung quickly engaged him in conversation, Minho zoned out after just a few minutes as he tried to rack his brain for a proper course of action.

The rest of the day plays out the way he remembered it going. He and Jisung would curl up in a corner of the lounge, and Minho would start watching one of his dramas before his afternoon classes started. Jisung would initially be engaged in the episode, only to fall asleep after about thirty minutes. (Such was his talent to eventually fall asleep on any flat surface he’s laying on, be it a couch or the floor.) Yet, as he sat there with Netflix running on his laptop and Jisung snoring away next to him, that all-too familiar sense of dread started to overtake him and his nerves.

Around three-thirty in the afternoon, he quietly excused himself from Jisung and went about packing his things up so he could get to his class on time. In his self-inflicted daze, he realized he had subconsciously gone to the student store to buy himself an energy drink – the same energy drink he gave to Jisung to help him stay alert during his shift. His hand trembled as his fingers curled around the chilled aluminum, and he had half the mind to just crush it in his hands. Instead, he relented and opted to shove the drink inside his backpack.

Why the fuck am I even here? he inwardly spat, immediately regretting stepping inside the spacious lecture hall. Maybe he should have stayed back with Jisung, just to watch over him, and not have to sit in here for three hours with the cesspool that his mind had now become. The class was already a pain to sit through, but now it was like waiting for a bomb to explode with no way to defuse it.

Between taking notes and rapidly losing focus every other minute, Minho was pulled back to reality upon feeling the vibrations in his pocket. He blinked a couple of times and looked around before pulling his phone out.

– 7:01 PM –

j1squirrel:

hyung i js ut woke up zzzzzzzz

we still meeting up after your class gets out right?

We still meeting up after your class gets out, right?

Minho trembled in his seat.

– 7:03 PM –

minwhore:

yeah hyung is gonna meet you dont worry

lemme walk you to the convenience store tonight too

j1squirrel:

oh are you not going to practice tonight?

youve been talking about the hip hop team auditions for weeks now

minwhore:

nah i still need to go but

hyung wants to walk you to the convenience store

besides i have this energy drink i bought that i dont want anymore

you probably need it more than i do lol

j1squirrel:

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

youre the best hyung <3

Jisung means well, and Minho knows he means well, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Maybe if he walked him to the convenience store, he could find out what exactly happened to him. Maybe he could save him from whoever it was that wanted to hurt him. Maybe in this timeline he’ll still be alive when Minho woke up tomorrow.

The dark-haired boy shoved his things into his backpack the moment their professor dismissed the class and quickly made his way to the student lounge. Minho stopped himself for a moment, ducking off to an empty corridor to catch his breath. His heart was pounding like a drum and there were too many horrible thoughts running through his mind at the moment.

What if – no. Nothing’s happening to him. He’s gonna be fine. We’ll both be alright and we’ll continue to go out for cheesecake and –

Minho inhaled sharply, letting the air fill his nostrils for a second.

– 7:36 PM –

minwhore:

hyung will be there in a bit

needed to take a quick bathroom break

“Ah, Minho hyung, you walk so slow .” Minho looked up at Jisung as they began walking together from the student lounge. The older boy’s first instinct was to raise a hand and smack him upside the head, but Jisung let out a playful yelp as he recoiled away from him. Minho just huffed and opted to ruffle the top of his head instead.

“You’re right...I do.”

Jisung squirmed under his touch. “God, you treat me like a kid,” he whined, punctuating his sentence with a chuckle.

“Well, I treat you the way you act, so don’t be surprised.” Minho returned his laugh before patting him on the shoulder. “Since you complain about going slow, let’s get going so you’re not late for work.”

And slow did Minho want them to go, as he wanted to delay...whatever it was that was supposed to happen to Jisung tonight. On this beautifully chilly night that had him shivering, so much that the younger boy even slung his arm around his. Minho looked next to him to find the boy grinning cheekily, and he scoffed in disgust.

“Gotta respect my elders, right? Help them cross the street?”

“I hate you,” Minho laughed in response, his voice light and gentle in the night air. They looked like a couple, walking on campus linked at the arm like this. To Jisung it might have been an innocuous gesture, but with every step they took, it felt like Minho was sending him to his death – literally.

Per the usual, Jisung managed to talk his ear off on the relatively short walk to the convenience store, and because Minho didn’t walk him there the previous night, he paid attention to every new bit of information Jisung was feeding him. The younger boy spotted a girl with a red cardigan in class today, and was tempted to go online and order a red cardigan. He suggested that they go back to the café again with Chan and Changbin, and he might even invite some kids in one of his study groups. Jisung mentioned wanting to visit Minho’s apartment if only to see his cats ( “Okay, just fuck me then, right?” “Hehe.” ).

They had been so engrossed in conversation that Minho didn’t realize they’d arrived at the convenience store until Jisung stopped in his footsteps.

“Ah, we’re here. That walk felt too short, huh?”

Minho looked at Jisung as he removed himself from the older boy’s arm, before staring up at the front of the convenience store. The last time he was here, there had been broken glass everywhere, thin strips of caution tape stretched across the sidewalk...and far more blood than there should have been. Minho stood paralyzed at the sight, until a firm hand reached for his shoulder and squeezed.

“You okay there, hyung? You’ve been acting weird all day,” Jisung asked.

Minho shook himself from his stupor and regarded the younger boy. “I...it’s nothing. Here,” he started, before reaching into his backpack. “Here’s the energy drink I said I would give you. Drink it.”

Minho handed the can over to him and shivered as their hands made contact. It felt like a goodbye. Jisung accepted the drink and nodded. “God, you spoil me too much, hyung. Still...thank you.”

The older boy smiled modestly and reached up to ruffle his hair again. “Make sure you text me on shift so you don’t fall asleep. I don’t care how poppin’ the store is at nine, I wanna hear from you.”

“And what if I get caught texting on the job?”

“Even better. I’ve been bagging on you to quit this stupid job for weeks now, anyway.”

Jisung reached up and punched him playfully on the arm. Minho swiftly raised his hand to retaliate, but Jisung was already squealing and recoiling at the same time.

“...Seriously, though. Keep me updated, okay?” The older boy’s gaze hardened as he returned his eyes to Jisung. The freshman could only return his look with a tender smile and another firm hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t you worry about me. Now go, I’m gonna be late for my shift and you need to practice for that dance tryout tomorrow.”

Only if that tomorrow has you celebrating with me.

“Ya...I know, I know. Bye now.”

It felt more like goodbye forever. Minho hoped Jisung didn’t notice the way his fists clenched when he turned away from the storefront.

It was admittedly difficult for Minho to focus on his dancing, when thoughts of Jisung and all the glass and blood flooded his very senses. He made plans to leave the studio early just to check on him, but that didn’t deter the overwhelming temptation to run all the way back to the convenience store just to find out who was planning on hurting Jisung. Should he even call the police? What if there was no gunman tonight and he just ends up making a fool himself? How can he explain that to Jisung?

Minho tripped on his own foot and found himself bracing against the mirror for impact. He growled and stripped off his earphones before slumping to the floor in frustration.

“Calm down, Lee Minho. You’re losing it.”

And you’re going to lose him –

He pressed his palms into his eyes, pressing so hard until he was seeing stars. He inhaled sharply through his nose, trying so desperately regulate his breathing and not start crying to himself in this empty studio. Suddenly, his phone vibrated and Minho was furiously digging it out of his pocket.

– 11:14 PM –

j1squirrel:

aish theres so many people tonight

why do they all want soju

its a fucking thursday

ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)

minwhore:

oh yeah?

maybe ill cut my practice short a little bit

visit you and annoy you by rearranging the ramen packages

j1squirrel:

ofc you wanna be a pain in the ass too hyung

ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)

minwhore:

eh eh eh nO

im actually gonna buy something

kinda in the mood for jajangmyeon

j1squirrel:

whatever you say :))))

ah shit a customer walked in

jisungie’s blasting off ag a i n n n n n n n

Minho’s nostrils flared as he exhaled deeply. Despite being unaware of the imminent danger that could befall him, Jisung still managed to elicit a smile from him. He already felt much less tense just from that minor exchange with the younger boy. Minho pushed himself off the floor and dusted off his pants. He could go for another run with his music; not good to leave the dance studio without ironing out some of his wrinkles anyway. Hopefully, Jisung can give him a discount on some of their jajangmyeon …

In no time at all, Minho was out the door of the recreation center with his backpack slung high on his shoulders. The outdoor air had only gotten chillier, especially now that he was warm and covered in sweat. He shivered and shoved his hands into his pockets as he began to put some speed in his step.

– 11:22 PM –

minwhore:

aight i just left the dance studio

hyung is on his way :)

Minho continued to stare at the screen as he walked in the cold, waiting for those three familiar dots to start appearing at the bottom of the screen.

Thirty seconds.

One minute.

One minute thirty.

Two minut –

– 11:24 PM –

minwhore:

jisung?

jisungie?

Minho’s pace went from brisk to a full-blown sprint in seconds, and soon enough he was pushing his legs to their fullest capacity. The familiar feeling of dread was now pooling in his stomach, threatening to spill over like a dam with a crack at its weakest point. Something was wrong. Something happened to Jisung. Faster...faster, goddammit, faster…! he thought to himself with every step that he took. The convenience store wasn’t far, but it was starting to feel like every single step he took had him sinking deeper and deeper into quicksand.

To think, the last time he was running like this to the convenience store, it had technically been the next day, when all that was left for him to see was the shards of glass on the floor and Jisung’s blood strewn across the front counter. Pumping his legs like this now, the wind coursing through his hair, and his blood rushing through his veins, Minho hoped –

the light at the crosswalk is green now

– that he wasn’t –

the neon sign of the store, i can see it, hurryhurryhurry h u r r y

– too –

around the co r n  e r

– late.

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of the glass of the floor, the same angular shards in the same exact positions as he remembered them. They shone like tiny little stars against the dark concrete of the sidewalk. If stars could fall from the sky and be nothing more than crystal. Minho followed the trail of glass slowly, eyes shaking underneath his eyelids while the glass crunched underneath his sneakers. The first thing he saw was that stupid yellow hat Jisung would wear; how he managed to fit all his hair underneath that was beyond him.

Next to that stupid hat was the rest of the ugly yellow uniform, sprawled on the floor like an accident, but the six bullet holes in Jisung’s back said otherwise. The red looked so ugly against the stark yellow, and Minho would have told him that himself, but…

He crumpled onto the floor, his knees digging uncomfortably against the glass, but he wasn’t in any position to complain. Han Jisung was lying in a pool of his own blood just five feet away from him, and Lee Minho was inexplicably too late.

His throat felt so dry. The sirens in the background were getting louder with each second. The sight of Jisung’s lifeless body becomes blurry under the film of tears washing over his eyes.

Can someone stop time for a bit?

I feel like a big mistake just happened.

Minho’s eyes shot open and he reached over to silence his phone. The bright screen blinded him momentarily as he stared at the date.

The time was 9:30 AM. It was April 4th, 2019. Han Jisung was going to die today, and Minho had been powerless to save him.

The young man let the phone slip out of his fingers, the device sliding off his covers and hitting the floor with a thud. He buried his face in his pillow, his eyes stinging not from waking up, but from the tears that wanted to spill forth one more time. There was crying over spilled milk, but could he cry over milk that hadn’t even hit the floor yet? In less than twenty-four hours, Jisung was going to die again.

Just as he thought, everything was repeating itself again. He texted Jisung for good measure, and they agreed to go out for cheesecake together again. Jisung drew the same picture of Changbin in his notebook, red fangs and everything, and later picked up the pen he dropped in his hurry to pack up after class. They sat across from each other in the same café, in the same table Jisung picked out next to the windows. The waitress attended to their table not too long after, with her plastic smile and the bright pink scrunchie in her dyed hair.

Jisung noticed his lack of engagement and quickly stuck his fork out, a piece of cheesecake balanced on the silver utensil. Minho entertained him and took the bite, and later bought him another cheesecake just because he wanted to.

Minho couldn’t focus on the drama he was streaming on Netflix later in the lounge, when he’d technically seen the episode twice by now and could easily spoil it for Jisung if he was paying attention. Leaving Jisung behind to go to class felt more like a walk to the gallows, and each step became heavier the closer he got to the lecture hall. Minho sat motionless at his chair for the entirety of the class, only awaiting that text message from Jisung.

– 7:01 PM –

j1squirrel:

hyung i js ut woke up zzzzzzzz

we still meeting up after your class gets out right?

minwhore:

yeah

let’s walk together, okay?

Jisung died sometime between 11:00 and 11:22 PM, Minho surmised, judging from what he remembered of his texts in the last loop. The older boy didn’t even go to the dance studio, instead choosing to walk back to his apartment to wait out the remainder of the current loop. Not even the comfort of his three cats snuggling up to him on the couch was enough to placate and displace the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Soonie purred and slinked into his lap, before pawing away at his arms in an effort to get his attention. Minho sighed deeply, staring at the digital clock ticking away on the opposite wall. Why was this happening? Could he really save Jisung? Or was he supposed to wake up every day now with the knowledge that his best friend was dead?

Time was nothing. He would wake up again and again until he got this right. The question now...is when?

Minho looked back up at the clock. Five minutes to eleven. He gently lifted Soonie out of his lap and stood from the couch. He quietly crossed the expanse of carpet between him and his front door, before exiting the apartment with not a single sound other than the soft click of the door lock. The first thing Minho noticed once he had closed the door behind him was the lack of lighting in the outside corridor. His eyes darted up to the ceiling and down the hallway; not a single light was on. No matter. The amount of light pollution was enough to illuminate his way.

The boy stepped over to the nearby stairwell leading down from his floor, choosing to ignore the sinking feeling rising from his stomach. Minho failed to spot the toy ball tucked underneath one of the steps, innocuously left there by one of his neighbors. His eyes widened as he stepped down on the foreign object, his weight giving out from underneath him and his body sliding forward.

“ Ack – ! ”

Lights flashed across his vision on the way down the stairs, hitting each step on the way down just like a domino. Pain here, there, everywhere. Finally, he hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, his head aching and his nerve endings feeling like they’d been set on fire. Minho let out a choked gasp as he lifted his face from the concrete beneath him, loose gravel pressed into the skin of his cheek.

An ear-splitting cry ripped itself from his throat.

Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshitshit fucking shit s h it sh it s h   i t

Minho began to cry, shaking on the floor as he struggled to move his limbs. His body screamed at him as the realization began to set in that his arm and leg were broken, and that he could not push himself off the ground. The tears were flowing freely from his face, searing his skin like rubber burning on asphalt.

He pressed his bruised cheeks into the ground, sobbing openly into the night.

I’m sorry, Jisung. I’m sorry.

Minho remembers a conversation they had after dinner once, when Chan and Changbin bid them both goodbye after going out for gogi-gui . It was only the both of them alone but Minho didn’t mind the company. They stopped at a store on the way back to campus, where the older boy bought them both banana milks and then camped out on the sidewalk. Minho remembers clearly what they were talking about, as they stared up at the dark sky beyond the rooftops of the concrete jungle that is Seoul.

Minho remembers how Jisung was humming to himself on the curb, swaying side to side as if the music surrounded them like a symphony. Remembers how Jisung’s shoulder kept bumping into him, until Minho finally relented and swayed back and forth with him.

“What’s it like to be a functioning adult?” Jisung asked him, punctuating his question with a sip of his milk.

“Which part? I’m still a student, like you.”

“You know what I mean, hyung…” Jisung sighed and rocked backward, bracing his arms behind him on the concrete. His eyes twinkled as he stared up at the sky. “You’re gonna graduate in a year, right? Surely, you know what you’re all about.”

Minho quirked his lip and copied his stance, pretending to find interest in the starless sky above them. “Yeah...I’m gonna be raking in hundreds of thousands of won. That’s funny.”

Jisung snickered beside him and Minho opted to elbow the younger boy.

“...I dunno, really. I’m still young. I have time to think about it.”

“Hyung, twenty-one is old –“ Minho elbowed him again. “Ow!”

The older boy clicked his tongue in annoyance. “ Anyway ...I’m still young. I would advise you not to worry about it since you’re still a freshman. You still got a long way to go.” Minho returned his gaze to Jisung, who was already smiling at him. “Besides…”

“We have all the time in the world.”

Can someone stop time for a –

Minho grabbed his phone and threw it at the opposite wall. The music continued to play from the device, and only after a minute or two did he finally drag himself out of bed to turn off the offending alert. A nasty crack ran down the center of his screen, cleanly dividing a picture of him and Jisung in half.

Today was April 4th, 2019. Minho tried not to think about the image of the freshman’s bloody corpse, fresh as it was in his memory.

The college junior arrived late to class, sparking the immediate concern of Jisung. Despite that, Minho tried his best to hide his discontent from the younger boy, instead choosing to stay placid for the entirety of their class.

What’s wrong? Jisung had written on the corner of his notebook in the middle of class, and Minho looked up to see him staring at him with those big, doey eyes of his. Minho responded by shaking his head in defiance, quietly gesturing to him that the cause for his uncharacteristic tiredness was lack of sleep. Jisung nodded and smiled at him, before reaching over and squeezing Minho’s hand.

Minho slipped his fingers between his and didn’t let go for the remainder of the class.

The day repeats, down to the very minute details that he didn’t realize he would remember.

Minho goes about his business for the day; he and Jisung quietly watch Netflix on his laptop until Jisung falls asleep. He later leaves for class and receives the text message from Jisung about meeting up before his shift.

He walks Jisung to the convenience store.

He waits in silence outside the recreation center, bearing the cold and hoping that it will keep him awake and alert.

Not much longer later and Minho was now running toward the convenience store. The cold air was biting at his skin with each step he took. He wasn’t warm at all, skipping out on practicing in the dance studio even though he promised Jisung he would try his best for those hip hop auditions he’d been mentioning for the better part of the last month. His throat felt so dry. The light ahead of him at the crosswalk was green, now flashing red, and red, red, red, red.

I can make it , he thought. I’m coming, Jisung .

Minho didn’t see the car approaching, let alone hear its frantic honking over the blast of his earphones.

How many times had he woken up now? The same song grated at his ears every morning, and Minho had half the mind to rewind back an extra day just so he can turn off that alarm once and for all. His phone taunted him, almost like it was reminding him that hey, your friend is still dying and you haven’t once succeeded at saving him .

His body ached of ghost pains, of his bones breaking and his skin bruising, of his heart being torn in half every time he opened his eyes again and found that, yes, it was still, April 4th. Minho was starting to lose track of how many Thursdays he was waking up to, only knowing that some days he stayed in bed and ignored all the calls and messages that disturbed his distress. He lost count of how many mornings he woke up with tears already brimming at his eyes, and the mornings where he simply woke up, opened his bedroom window, and jumped.

But Minho could never, never , be bothered to divulge all this information to Jisung. Sweet, sweet Jisung, who didn’t deserve the tragedy that keeps taking him down, keeps boring him with bullet holes and keeps Minho from living on his tomorrow like anyone else on Earth. All because there would be no point in tomorrow if Jisung wasn’t there to greet him where the sun shined. But he was always late . Minutes, seconds, fractions too late. Always arrived when Jisung’s shiny, red blood was already seeping through the crevices in between each floor tile. Always arrived when the blood was sputtering from his lips, and Minho watched in horror as his eyes moved to match his eyes, silently pleading please please please please .

His blood was so warm. So warm on his knees when it seeped into his sweatpants. Warmer than the tears dripping from his face and blinding his vision. So much warmer than the laugh that was stemming from his throat. Minho laughed loudly, laughed himself sore, laughed until he was doing nothing but staring up at the ceiling amidst the blur of his eyes. He laughed until he couldn’t hear himself over the sound of sirens behind him.

Why me?

Why Jisung?

Why?

Jisung was so warm. So much warmer than the cot at the precinct that he stayed at.

That was fine. Because he was going to wake up again anyway.

I say I am fine but

don’t know what to do without you.

I am left in this trivial place

I picture your memories, they’re blue.

Minho’s hand reached out from under the covers to press at the alarm, before retreating back underneath his blanket. Seconds passed until he finally dragged himself out of bed, knowing that sleeping in wasn’t going to do anything substantial for him anymore. Today was Thursday, April 4th. It was 9:30 AM. He had a geology class at 10:30 AM with his best friend, Han Jisung. They liked to get lunch and chill together in the student lounge while watching period dramas before Minho’s afternoon class started. Minho liked to walk him to the nearby convenience store, only one block over from the opposite side of campus because Jisung worked the night shifts on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And tonight, a gunman was going to rob that convenience store and Jisung would die trying to defend himself because he was too stupid and too proud to save his own hide.

Minho paused in the middle of pouring water into his glass. A scream erupted from his mouth, followed by the sound of breaking glass, exploding into hundreds of shards. The boy clutched at his head, with his fingers digging so hard into his skull that he just might break skin. He staggered backwards until his back hit the countertop behind him, and slid down to the floor in a heap. His body trembled like he was neck deep in seawater, and his eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. His cats yowled incessantly from the living room, startled by all the noise.

He could feel the all too familiar sting of his eyes again, could feel how hard he was clenching his fists, could feel how fast his heart was pounding. His knuckles were turning white, and he knew if he’d pressed his fingernails harder into his palms that they just might start bleeding. Minho wanted nothing more than to give up. Maybe there was no way for Jisung to be saved, and maybe he was just as stupid as him for trying...but he could never forgive himself for letting go like that.

He didn’t notice the numbers on the digital clock on the wall going from nine to ten to eleven to twelve, and he didn’t hear the soft click of his front door opening and Jisung calling his name, that voice echoing through his living room and startling his cats down the hallway. He didn’t hear the soft padding of his socks on the floor as he tiptoed around the broken glass.

Minho didn’t see him until he lifted his head from his knees and found the younger boy crouched in front of him. Jisung’s mouth opened as if he wanted to speak, but the sight of Minho’s gaunt face and bloodshot eyes swiftly shut him up.

“...Minho –”

The older boy embraced Jisung tightly, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his hoodie, and he cries. Minho cries, sobs, screams into the crook of Jisung’s neck, cries so much that his body is trembling with all the anger, frustration, and humiliation he’d been bottling up for so long. Jisung remained silent, his arms wrapped tightly around the older boy’s frame like he was trying to keep a broken sculpture from collapsing in on itself.

The ghost pains returned like monsters in the night; he could feel the bruises and the broken bones everywhere, could see his reflection in the broken glass on the floor, could smell the iron of Jisung’s blood in the air, and yet it all dissipated the longer he remained in Jisung’s arms. They sat in silence together as Minho rode out the rest of his fit, finding solace in the way Jisung stroked his fingers across his back like a guitar. The felines returned to the kitchen, tiptoeing deftly around the broken glass on the floor before curling up next to the pair.

Minho slipped away from his arms to rub at his eyes with his sweater sleeves. He inhaled so deeply, letting the air flood his lungs and the oxygen run through his veins. His fingers trembled underneath the cuffs of his sweater, but his nerves came to rest when Jisung’s hands reached to curl around his.

“I’m right here, hyung. Let’s take it slow,” he whispered. He gently rubbed his thumb on the back of Minho’s hand, prompting a deep sigh from the older boy. Jisung’s hands pulsed around his, squeezing gently in an effort to get his breathing back to normal.

“...I’m going to tell you everything.”

And he did.

The conversation started at the beginning, where his memories converged and when he first learned of his ability to manipulate the events that happened around him. The fantastic stories of his mother’s vase, the kids he liked to punch in his class, the china cabinet that robbed him of six months of his life. Minho explained how many times he had lived through this specific Thursday, detailing every single event that would have happened, from the moment Minho woke up to the very moment Jisung would die.

Minho described the way Jisung would have wanted to go out for cheesecake, and how Minho would have bought him another cake to take home because he finished Jisung’s slice for him. Explained the way Jisung spent the entire class drawing cartoons of Changbin in the margins of his notebook, and the song lyrics he’d been meaning to show Chan for a while now that he’d worked so hard on. Minho told him about how Jisung would text him at precisely 7:01 PM because he’d woken up from his nap groggy and cold and in need of a person’s warm touch.

He spared no detail on the last moments of the night, starting with the exact time Jisung arrived at the convenience store, which foot stepped past the sliding glass first, and how long it took for Minho to run from his apartment, the recreation center, the other side of the street. And yet every time, he never made it in time .

“...You must think I’m insane. That I’ve lost it, huh?” The older boy muttered, his voice barely a whisper above the silence of the room. “Because I think I’m losing it. I don’t feel like myself anymore.” His bottom lip quivered as he raised his eyes to look at Jisung.

Jisung looked at his face, noted the way his eyes had sunken in and the color had drained from his skin. “...Hyung...I could never think that way about you.”

Minho clicked his tongue in slight irritation. “This is stupid...this is all so stupid. I’m just going to wake up tomorrow and you’re not...you’re not gonna remember any of this. I’m so stupid, I’m so fucking stupid…!”

“No. Don’t say that. I believe you, hyung.” Jisung frowned at him and squeezed his hands even tighter.

Minho looked at him amidst his teary eyes.

“I just...if this has been going on for so long, you’re hurting because of it. Because of me. And I don’t want that for you.” Jisung bit down on his lip and stared into his eyes. “...You have to move on.”

A choked gasp slipped from Minho, and he lowered his gaze as the tears started to wash over him once again. “I can’t. I don’t want to move on.”

“Hyung...if you love something, you have to let them go.”

Stupid, beautiful, naive Jisung .

Minho raised his head to look back at him, his tousled bangs partially hooding over his eyes. He moved his lips in a gentle whisper, so gentle that Jisung almost couldn’t hear him.

“...I don’t want to let go.”

He pulled Jisung closer to himself and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy tightly. Jisung always smelled like fresh oranges and pine needles. The scent always comforted him, but even now that he needed it the most, he wasn’t sure if it was enough to placate the creeping dread that was weighing down on his shoulders. Minho felt Jisung embrace him in return, his small hands coming around to grasp at his sweater and stroke the back of his head.

“...D-don’t leave for work tonight. Just stay here with me,” Minho murmured against his neck, just enough that Jisung could hear him. “I’ll protect you. You’ll be safe here. A-and maybe, just maybe…” He pulled away from the younger boy so that he could gaze into those bright, beautiful eyes again. “Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll be there beside me for once.”

Jisung opened his mouth to speak, but decided to keep them shut. Instead, he reached up to caress Minho’s face, with his thumb slowly wiping away the damp streaks his tears had left. Jisung finally leaned in and pressed his lips to his forehead.

“I’ll stay.”

Sleep had felt less like relief and more like purgatory to Minho as of late. But he couldn’t help but feel at ease for the first time in such a long time, just lying in bed next to Jisung. The younger boy smiled warmly at him, his cheeks still so round and rosy even in the dimness of his bedroom. Minho told him he wanted to stay awake and watch over him, and so did Jisung, but the younger boy won in the end as that familiar scent of pine and orange lulled him to sleep. Minho dreamt of cheesecake and smiles and Chan and Changbin joining them for lunch to eat jajangmyeon . If he really broke the cycle, then the only way to find out was to –

I’ve been holding onto you for so long

But now I must

let

go

Minho awoke to the heaviness of his body, followed by the scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol. He pushed himself up off his sheets and immediately turned to Jisung – who was not there anymore. The ceiling was specked with random stains and spots that he didn’t know were there in the first place. Minho’s pulse began to quicken.

“Jisung? Jisung!” he yelled out, twisting his body to look around the room. This was his room, but everything was suddenly much messier than he remembered them being. The floor was covered in empty glass bottles, and it seemed like the walls were much duller and browner than they originally were. He blinked frantically and turned to his phone on the nightstand. Minho hesitated for a moment, seeing a phone sitting right on top of the dusty nightstand, but it wasn’t his phone. Nevertheless, he picked up the foreign device, and the screen immediately lit up in response to the movement.

It was 10:23 on the morning of April 4th, 2029. He had just slept through ten years of life.

Minho’s eyes glazed blankly over the screen. What the hell is going on , was the thought running through his mind as he pulled himself out from underneath the covers and dragged himself into the bathroom. The lights momentarily blinded him and it was then that he became shocked at what he saw in the mirror. His hair was longer, almost long enough to tie into a ponytail, and it curled around his head like a crown of thorns. The dark circles around his eyes made him look like a raccoon, and his chin felt scratchy with his five o’ clock shadow.

“God, I look like shit…” he muttered as he began to rummage around for a razor. After a few moments of sifting through his cabinets and drawers and only coming up with one single rusted razor, Minho gave up and braced his hands against his bathroom sink. The question kept returning to the very front of his mind. He was thirty one now and just missed out not only the latter half of his college career, but a whole decade of his life.

Minho shrugged on a ratty old sweater he’d found sitting on a chair in his room and walked out to the living room, hopefully to find a sign of the missing boy. He felt calm, but not at peace, as he walked down the corridor and was not even greeted by his cats. The entire apartment just felt like an empty ruin without anyone in it.

Still, Minho wanted some answers. This wasn’t the future he had envisioned when he thought he finally saved Jisung from his fate. He returned to his bedroom and picked up the phone on the nightstand. The odd new interface made him grimace but he didn’t let that deter him from finding his way around the device. He launched his texting app and quickly typed out a message to Chan.

– 10:49 AM –

Minho:

chan hyung

are you there?

Silence passed for a whole minute and Minho began to worry that he’d done something wrong in the ten years that passed him by. The three telltale dots suddenly appeared at the bottom of the screen.

– 10:50 AM –

Chan:

minho?

i

what’s up?

The hesitation in Chan’s text messages was enough to convince Minho something was not right.

– 10:51 AM –

Minho:

are you free rn?

Minho watched as the dots quickly appeared at the bottom of the screen, and alternated between appearing and disappearing in just a matter of seconds.

– 10:52 AM –

Chan:

i’m at work right now

but i can meet you during my lunch break around 11:30

where do you wanna meet?

Minho:

the old cafe near campus?

Chan:

sounds good

meet you there?

Minho:

yeah

see you

Minho quickly set about making himself look presentable again and getting a better hold of his surroundings. The future was so different, but he already had a feeling that he wouldn’t be staying here for very long. He decided to jump in for a quick shower just to get the lingering stink of cigarettes and alcohol off of himself. Just staring at the empty glass bottles littered across his floor made something turn in his stomach, and he quickly averted his gaze to make sure nothing else happened. Despite his best attempts, he just looked like a drowned animal after cleaning up in his shower. He threw on a clean set of clothes and made his way to the old café.

Seoul hadn’t changed much in the ten years that Minho completely slept through, and it was even easier for him to trace his footsteps back to the café considering he was literally just twenty one years old the previous day. The café was still as quaint and rustic as Minho remembered it being, and the now-thirty one year old man found himself standing just outside the building, staring in through the giant glass window.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Minho turned his head to come face to face with someone familiar.

“C-Chan.”

Chan looked visibly different now that he was ten years older. His unruly blonde curls were now short and black, trimmed neatly and properly. He had traded in his casual hoodies and ripped jeans for a pair of slacks and a pressed lavender dress shirt, paired with a navy blue tie. The wrinkles around his eyes were much more noticeable now than they did ten years ago, but Minho could recognize that crinkly face anywhere.

The older man flashed him a soft, yet restrained smile. “Minho. Let’s head inside, yeah?”

It wasn’t until after the waitress returned with Minho’s order of cheesecake that the both of them finally decided to clear the silence.

“...So.” Minho’s voice was timid and small, as if he was still the quiet college junior that he was supposed to be. “What’s going on with you?” he feigned, slyly trying to gauge the situation at hand.

Chan lifted his eyes from his cup of coffee. “...Work’s been stressful, but I’m managing. As always. My boss is pressuring me to think about switching to another district, but that means packing up my things and moving, even if I got a raise.”

“I see,” Minho tepidly muttered. His slice of cake continued to remain untouched, but if Jisung was here it’d be half-done by now.

“Y’know...I was really surprised when you texted me this morning,” Chan replied. He was hunched over his cup of coffee as he looked up at Minho.

“What’s so surprising about that?” Minho asked him as he glumly picked up his fork.

Chan raised an eyebrow. “The last time I called you was six months ago. You seemed to just...not want to talk with anyone anymore. Especially after Jisung left.”

Minho paused in the middle of raising his fork to his lips and quickly set the utensil down. He could feel the anger boiling in his stomach, but he refused to let it out of control. “Jisung...is he…?” he muttered, his voice coming off much lower than he wanted it to.

The older man was now narrowing both of his eyebrows at him. “You don’t remember? You really don’t remember?”

Minho returned his incredulous look but he couldn’t muster anything of substance to say.

Chan regarded him with disbelief and grimaced at his own reflection in his coffee. “...Jisung said you changed, Minho. After you saved him from the robber at that old convenience store.” He clicked his tongue and scratched the back of his head. “He got fired from his job for failing to show up for his shift. And then you became so...so obsessed with him and making sure he was always by your side. Jisung felt suffocated , Minho. Do you not remember that?”

Minho’s jaw fell slack as he stared at Chan. “I…”

“You never let Jisung out of your sight and you always got mad at him because he didn’t tell you about his plans, where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do, the jobs he wanted to take… What was I supposed to do, Minho? That you were being an asshole and one of own my friends wanted out?” Chan let out a defeated sigh and stirred his drink to fill the tense silence. Minho averted his gaze and instead chose to glare into his lap.

“...T-Then where did –”

“Jisung went back to Malaysia five years ago, if you’ve already forgotten. Changbin hasn’t forgiven you for driving him away, either. I’m sure he’s still mad you made Jisung leave, and I don’t think he has any plans of making amends with you anytime soon... That’s why I’m surprised you messaged me this morning.” Chan dropped his spoon onto the table, the small silver utensil hitting the surface of their table with a clink. “I really tried to get you to talk again. I really did. But you pushed me away, just like you did Changbin and Jisung.”

“What happened, Minho?” His voice wavered just the slightest, but Minho still heard him. Minho swallowed thickly, the lump in his throat so thick that he thought Chan might have heard him in that instant. The café’s cozy atmosphere suddenly became so, so stifling.

“It’s okay, hyung,” Minho spoke after a moment of silence. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

Chan watched as the younger man promptly stood from his seat and pushed it in, before calmly making his way to the exit. He cocked his eyebrows at Minho before twisting his body to look at him. “...W-Wait, where are you going, Minho? Minho!”

Minho stepped out of the café and onto the sidewalk, walking as close to the edge of the curb as possible. He could hear the ding of the café’s bell ringing behind him as well as the sound of additional footsteps.

“Minho, wait!” Chan called out after him.

He turned his head to the left, to the right, and to the left. The light at the far end of the intersection just turned green. Gotta be careful , Minho thought to himself.

“Minho, where –”

Minho took the first step onto the asphalt.

“ Wait –”

Left. Right. Left. The truck down the street was going rather fast. Chan’s voice was nothing but a whisper through the trilling sound of the truck’s horn. Minho turned just in time to see his reflection in the truck’s front grill.

The sunlight is streaming in through his blinds when Minho awakens. He inhales deeply and notices that the deeply entrenched smell of burnt cigarette ends and empty soju bottles no longer pervades his room. For good measure, he rolls around in bed and stretches an arm out to grab his phone off the nightstand. The bright screen is familiar but blinds him nonetheless as he watches the clock go from 9:29 to 9:30.

Can someone stop time for a bit?

I feel like a big mistake just happened.

He swipes at the alarm that shows up on his screen before letting the phone drop to his chest. Today is Thursday, April 4th, 2019.

– 9:30 AM –

minwhore:

ay jisung

let’s get cheesecake after class

my treat :)

j1squirrel:

…i was literally just about to suggest that

but you know im a slut for cheesecake, hyung g ggg

what’s going on????

minwhore:

hyung’s just being nice is all :)

see ya in class

j1squirrel:

alrighty~~

At first, Jisung was nothing to him if just a loud kid who lacked a bit of social graces, whose knees knocked together like blades of grass in the wind because he couldn’t keep his legs from swinging whenever he sat in his seat. But as the year passed, even Jisung’s misgivings and faults became quirks that were so deeply intertwined with Minho’s existence.

Like his intense, passionate love for cheesecake, and his attraction to the color red and anything that resembled a strawberry or a firetruck or a tomato. Minho thought about his thousand-kilowatt smile and the way his eyes twinkled like a child’s whenever he wanted to ask for something from the elder but couldn’t muster the proper words or courage to do so. Minho liked the way his hair bounced when he walked, ran, swayed side to side while humming his favorite songs. Minho especially liked the way his jackets were always too big for him, the way his fingers only poked out an inch from the hems of his sweater sleeves.

By the time spring rolled around, Minho thought his passing interest in the boy was nothing more than wishful thinking. It was a crush that he was certain he would never act on, and yet with every single loop of this day he was passing through, it was becoming more and more apparent to him just how important to him Jisung really was. After each and every reality that he lived through so far, the thought of an existence without him seemed...unrealistic.

Where time used to feel so slow to Minho, it now felt so fast. The entirety of April 4th breezed past him, and he once again found himself standing in front of the mirror in the dance studios. As the clock ticked down to that moment once again, Minho tried his best to remain calm and think about what it is that he wanted to do this time around. What can he do to ensure that Han Jisung’s death would ultimately be averted?

Minho closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the air stream in through his nose and flush the oxygen through his body. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. 11:01 PM . It was time for him to make a move.

The air outside the recreation center made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but it was nothing to him now. He kept his phone steady in his hands as he pressed a few numbers on the keypad, before bringing it up to his ear. His phone hummed against his ear as he waited for the other line to answer.

“ Dongdaemun Police Station, what’s your emergency? ” A stern woman answered.

“There is a gunman on the way to the convenience store down the street from the university,” Minho calmly spoke.

“ Uh...will you give me your name and your current location, sir? ”

“...Lee Minho. I’m in Seoulsiripdae-ro. Please…” Minho stopped to breathe in deeply. “Please hurry. Someone could get hurt.”

“ ...Alright. Police have been dispatched and are en route. ”

As soon the dispatcher hung up on Minho, his frantic speed walk out on the sidewalk quickened to a full sprint. The route to the convenience was nothing but muscle memory to him at this moment in time. The cold wind rushed through his hair as he dashed through the empty streets. With each step he took, his confidence swelled and his spirit soared. Minho was not going to let Jisung down this time. Just like he had remembered in each loop, the neon sign in front of the store greeted him like a beacon. Minho couldn’t keep his heart from pounding as he rounded the corner and quickly looked up to the sliding glass doors. There at the front counter was Jisung, attentively and obliviously looking at the hooded man standing in front of him.

All he saw was red the moment the man reached for the glint of silver metal in his belt.

Minho charged past the sliding glass doors and lunged at the man, knocking the both of them to the floor. The man grunted and scrambled to get away from Minho, but the boy was already launching his fists at him. Jisung jumped in surprise and stumbled out from behind the counter.

“M-Minho?! What are you doing?!”

The older boy briefly ignored him as the man shoved at him and tried to roll them over. “J-Jisung, get away, he...has...a gun!” Minho groaned as he mustered all of his strength in trying to keep the man pressed to the ground.

At that moment, the man took advantage of Minho’s lapse in attention and jabbed him in the jaw. The boy was sent rolling onto his back and the gunman grunted as he grasped for the gun in his belt. He swiftly moved to aim the firearm at Minho, but Jisung was faster, and clasped his hands around the weapon to try and direct it away.

“Not…in...my store…!” Jisung growled while he wrenched the man’s arms away, trying to point the gun in any direction but him or Minho. “Let...go…!”

“ Get off me, you shitty brat…! ” The man’s face flared like an angry bull and jerked his body against Jisung. His body was shoved to the side like a sack of rice, slamming right into a shelf and getting showered with instant food packages. Minho stared in horror as the gunman pushed himself off the floor and aimed the gun at Jisung.

“No!”

Minho rose from the floor and tackled the man, sending them tumbling across the floor right into the drink dispensers. He dug his fingernails into the man’s wrist in an effort to make him drop the firearm, but he was squirming too much in Minho’s grip. Soda and juice splashed all over them as the man tried to pin him against the soda machine, the various dispensers now spilling liquids onto the floor.

Through the glass windows of the store, Minho could see the flashing red and blue lights. The blood was ringing in his ears. He could hear his heartbeat pounding above the roar of the sirens. He was going to do it. He was going to save Jisung. Hundreds of loops culminating in this very moment.

Click.

Press.

Bang.

Jisung flinched and pushed himself from the ground at the sound of the gunshot, choosing to ignore the sensations of his fresh bruises to look up at Minho. The older boy stared at the gunman with wide eyes, before looking down in between them, where the red was already starting to seep through his sweater and stain his fingers. His hands came away dark and wet and so warm.

A cry ripped itself from Jisung’s throat as he scrambled up from the floor. He shoved past the gunman, who opted to immediately back away from the scene and make for the exit. Minho crumpled to the floor amongst the scattered boxes, with his face scrunched in pain and his hand clutching at his stomach. The gunman was completely forgotten, and the sudden gunfire outside the store only served as more background noise amidst the sound of the sirens.

“No, no, no, nononono …” Jisung fell to his knees beside Minho and hesitated to touch him, too shocked and too afraid to do much else. He whimpered as he surveyed the scene before him, with his fists clenched hard at his sides until his knuckles were white. The tears were already welling up in his eyes, and it wasn’t long before they were sliding down his puffy cheeks. “H-Hyung...I…”

Minho looked to the ceiling and tried to control his breathing, despite the intense pain shooting through his veins. His hands were getting slippery with blood, and no amount of clutching at his stomach was going to stop the bleeding.

And yet, the only thing that came out of his mouth was laughter.

A soft chuckle harkening to less hectic days of shared jokes and sunshine smiles.

Minho laughed, despite the tears flooding his vision. He finally closed his eyes as the laughter continued to rack his body amidst the pain.

“Jisungie...I-I did it…” He breathed out. “I...I saved you.”

“B-But hyung...what about you?! What the hell are you talking about? W-What about…?!”

Minho’s mind seemed foggier the longer he kept his hands pressed against his stomach. The wound burned and stung underneath his fingers, so much that he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. His blood was so hot, and it was everywhere; on his sweater, on his hands, on the floor. He shut his eyes and slumped against the shelf behind him.

“Hyung...hyung is...tired…”

Everything was so blurry, and everything was so loud . His vision spiralled into hues of red and yellow and blue and white. The sirens outside on the street and the police officers marching into the store and Jisung’s timid cries in his ear – it blended into everything and nothing all at once. Minho was so...tired. We have all the time in the world , Minho once told him. And perhaps, he would now find out if that statement was true.

I say I am fine

but

The lights were far too bright, Minho immediately thought as he roused himself into consciousness. The scent of antiseptic invaded his senses, and his first instinct was to groan and roll over to bury his face into his pillow. However, a sudden ache all throughout his body forbade him from doing so, and it was only then that the realization hit him.

Jisung. The gunman. The store…?

Minho raised his hands to try and rub at his eyes, only to notice the thin tubing attached to him at the wrists. It was deathly silent in the stark white room he was currently in, and the droning and beeping of machines were the only things he could hear. As he sat there trying to reorient, the memories suddenly came flooding back to him. Memories of the phone call, the pistol, the gunshot, and...Jisung. He craned his head to look around the room and instantly noticed the boy sitting next to his bed. The older boy couldn’t help but crack a smirk at the way Jisung’s head was drooping over his lap in his sleep.

“Aish...wake up, Jisungie…!” Minho croaked, and he watched in amusement as the younger boy stirred from slumber. His bouncy hair floated in front of his eyes for the brief moment before he rubbed at them.

“M-Minho…?” Jisung opened one eye and immediately spotted Minho’s smug visage. “Hyung!” Jisung clambered out of his seat and crouched next to the bed. Softness instantly glazed over his features the moment he locked eyes with Minho. “You’re finally awake… God, I was so fucking worried about you.” The younger boy cracked a lopsided grin at him, and Minho felt his heart swell at the sight.

“Well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” Minho retorted.

Jisung’s smile stretched across his cheeks. “You know...your parents were so upset when they came down from Gimpo. Well, I mean...we were all pretty upset, but it was just the biggest miracle when you finally made it out of the ICU. You’ve been asleep for three days now.” He reached up and dabbed at the corners of his eyes with a stray finger as a soft chuckle left his lips. “Ah, shit, you got me tearing up again… I owe my life to you, hyung. Thank you so much, but please never do that again.”

Minho shifted closer to the edge of the bed and reached up to ruffle my hair. “Like I’m gonna let some asshole take my geology partner away.”

Jisung laughed and swatted his hand away. “How did you know that was going to happen, anyway?”

Time travel . “I just...had a feeling, I guess,” Minho replied nonchalantly.

“Geez, I thought you were going to tell me you were psychic. But I still call bullshit, hyung.”

“Do you want me to punch you? Because I totally can.”

“Aish…! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t hurt me, hyung…!” Jisung laughed and raised his hands in defense.

Minho sighed and stretched his arms over himself like a cat. “...Don’t call me that anymore.”

Jisung looked back at him and blinked momentarily. “Hm? Don’t call you what?”

“Hyung.”

“Eh?! What am I supposed to call you then?”

The older boy just turned to him and gave him a look. “ Minho .”

“I mean...I guess...” Jisung stammered and averted his gaze from his elder. “Isn’t that kinda...intimate, though?”

“And what if it is?” Minho shifted even closer to the edge of the bed, within reason of his injuries of course. So stupid and cute and amazing , he thought to himself.

The younger boy cautiously looked back at him, instantly eyeing Minho’s signature cheshire smile a little less than a foot away from him. “Wouldn’t it be weird? People might think we’re –”

“Dating? Boyfriends?” Minho raised an eye suggestively, and Jisung was now completely unable to control the warmth that was rapidly spreading across his cheeks.

Jisung let out a sheepish chuckle and was starting to sink into his shoulders out of shyness. “Well, hyung –”

“ Minho. ”

“M-Minho...I’m gonna do something a little crazy. If that’s okay with you,” the younger boy asked in a small, timid voice.

A brief sigh slipped from Minho’s lips. “Can’t be worse than getting shot.”

Jisung grinned up at him, his shiny eyes brimming with mirth. “Close your eyes.”

Minho did as he was told, and he sat in silence once again. There was nothing, and suddenly, there was the feeling of someone else’s lips gently pressed onto his.

Oh.

He opened his eyes to see Jisung’s face painfully scrunched up right in front him. His lips were pursed like a duck as they kissed, maybe because the younger boy thought Minho might shatter if he wasn’t a single bit softer. Minho simply smiled against his lips and applied more pressure onto Jisung.

Suddenly, the beeping of the heart rate monitor beside his bed began to rapidly increase in frequency. Jisung pulled away with a gasp.

“Oh! Uh…! Minho hyung…!”

“Relax, idiot, that’s just me getting excited.”

Minho’s tongue slipped out to swipe at his bottom lip, and Jisung blushed at the gesture.

“You know, I’ve been waiting to do something like that for a while now,” Minho admitted, moving back to lay on his pillows. He smirked at Jisung like a fox, while stretching his arms behind his head and letting them settle there.

“W-Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.”

“I’m glad about that too. And stop calling me hyung; it makes me feel old.”

“At least I have a great idea of what to call you now!”

“And that is?”

“ Boyfriend .”

“God, you’re so gross.” Minho laughed and leaned over to kiss him again.

The kitchen had never felt this alive, even when he had his cats meowing around him asking for food. Minho rarely invited people over, much less threw dinner parties just because he couldn’t stand being in the presence of more than five people at a time. However, getting a new lease on life (and a really cute boyfriend at that) meant that Minho could afford to budge and cut some corners here and there. Minho, in all his kindness, decided to host a dinner at his apartment to celebrate his release from the hospital and beautiful recovery ( “Aren’t you so glad my handsomeness was spared?” “Sucks about that personality, though.” “Fuck you, Changbin.” ). And while he was cutting corners, said corners were pretty small. Chan and Changbin could survive on Minho’s delicious tteokbokki . Though Jisung said he may have impulsively invited his friends from his other class over, and suddenly Minho was running to the store to buy more fish cake...enough for nine people.

“Aish...fuck...!”

His knife clattered to the floor and Minho began waving his hand in the air as the pain shot through his arm. A thin red slit had formed on the side of his left index finger, and it wasn’t long before blood was starting to seep out of the wound. It seemed that he cut himself because he was too busy daydreaming.

I can fix this. Lemme just rewind –

Minho stopped himself. No more time traveling. None of those shenanigans had a place in his life anymore. He shook his head and inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Aye, what was that noise? Are you okay?” Jisung came padding into the kitchen to check up on the ruckus, and immediately yelped when Minho presented him with his bleeding finger. “We just got out of the hospital and you’re out here trying to check yourself back in. Where do you keep your bandaids?!”

“Bathroom. Mirror cabinet,” Minho replied with a chuckle.

“Sheesh...don’t smile at me like that, you’re creeping me out. Stay right here and don’t touch anything.”

“Love you,” the older boy called out after Jisung as he exited the kitchen.

Life had never been better for Minho until now. Maybe reliving the death of your best friend over and over again was just the wake up call some people needed in life. Speaking of wake up calls, Minho’s long since stopped using the random selection setting on his phone alarm, instead opting for a recording of Jisung’s obnoxious but cheerful giggling. The mint green toothbrush with the frayed bristles now had a red counterpart sitting next to it on his bathroom sink. There was even an overly large red hoodie somewhere in his closet, because sometimes Minho liked to step out of the house smelling like oranges and pine needles.

Life with Jisung had taught him that, yes, it’s totally okay to make mistakes because he can always pick himself up off the ground. And failing that, someone was always going to be there to lend him their hand. Minho is young, life is simple, and people aren’t perfect. But that was never going to be good enough reason for him to give up. Even if he messed up today...at least there was still tomorrow to look forward to.