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Minho opens his eyes, feeling like he’s waking up from the world’s worst nap. Blinking away the haze of unconsciousness, Minho wills his eyes to focus, finding nothing but sleek, black in his vision. Sitting up, he leans back far enough to see the sleek black object in question is his steering wheel, bared of its usual fluffy covering and glaring at him, covered in dripping crimson at the top.
Panicking at the sight of blood on the wheel, Minho reaches a hand up to his forehead, bringing his shaky, crimson-stained palm down into his line of vision. That explains the headache. His head is pounding, an unbearable pulsing spreading through his frontal lobe and temples — a pain incomparable to any standard headache he’s ever had. It’s doubtful that a simple drink of water will fix this screaming ache.
Looking around his car, Minho finds the rest of the vehicle to be in a worse state than he is. The windows are smashed out, fragments of glass sprinkled onto his lap and into the empty passenger side seat. The windshield is cracked, looking on the verge of shattering as drops of rain pelt down onto the fragile surface. If the rainfall were any heavier, he’s sure it would send the windshield shattering down onto him in a flurry of sharp glass shards. The thought makes him shiver, looking away from the windshield and into the backseat.
Empty. Just like the passenger seat. Three duffel bags are all that occupy the backseat, sprinkled in glass and stained red. The sight makes Minho’s breath catch in his throat.
Where is everyone?
Minho is certain he was not alone in his car — the abandoned ballet duffel bags serve to prove that to him. He looks down at himself, finding his go-to ballet outfit of leggings and a loose shirt on his body, ballet slippers snug on his feet and laced up around his calves. That’s right, he’s on his way to ballet class — or at least he was on his way there. The sky is black and streaked with heavy, dark gray clouds that pour tears of rain down angrily at him, illuminated poorly by the lamps of the gas station he’s parked out front of.
It was Minho’s turn to carpool his friends to their ballet lesson today, but if their absence and the dark sky are anything to go by, they didn’t make it. Worry floods Minho as he realizes that he’s injured and his friends are nowhere in sight — not just his friends, but his boyfriend too. Hyunjin. Where is Hyunjin?
His boyfriend had been in the passenger seat, but he isn’t there anymore. Minho’s boyfriend and best friends aren’t in the car with him. He’s alone.
Are they okay? He has to know. The dimly lit gas station beckons him in with flickering lights and Minho finally moves, pushing the door of the driver’s side to get out. The door sticks for a minute, stubbornly refusing to open, dented in on itself. Minho has to pull the handle and kick firmly at the door before it finally pops open, allowing him to climb out.
Finally out of the passenger seat, he realizes his head isn’t the only injured part of his body. Dark red stains the white shirt on Minho’s body, bleeding through the thin fabric at the center of his abdomen, making the soft material cling to him. He moves a trembling hand to cover the bleeding spot, applying pressure over his abdomen and wincing at the contact. His whole body aches . It feels like he just got up from being thrown down multiple flights of stairs — or like he’s been beaten with solid bricks over and over. He’s certain that if he looked past the torn ballet leggings adorning his legs, he’d find prominent bruises. He wants to lay down on the asphalt. It’s covered in glass too, holding the remnants of his shattered car windows. That’s going to be hell to pay to repair, but he can’t be worried about that right now, not when he doesn’t know if the people he holds closest to his heart are okay.
With a noticeable limp, Minho makes his way toward the rundown gas station in front of him, eyes blinking hard to focus on the glowing red ‘open’ sign in the window. When he gets inside, a little bell above the door chimes to announce his entrance. The gas station appears empty and Minho sags against the wall heavily, deflating.
“Hello?” Minho calls out, hopeful. He’s going to break down right here on the gas station’s slushie-stained, sticky, un-mopped floor that clings to his ballet slippers if he doesn’t see someone soon. Anyone. He can’t take being alone anymore, not like this. The loneliness clinging to him feels inescapable and deeper than any loneliness he’s ever felt. Something about today feels wrong and he can’t figure out what it is — can’t see past the pain to figure out why everything seems so off .
As he begins sliding down the wall, prepared to cry, wedged between the broken slushie machine and a wall of chips, Hyunjin appears. Minho almost — no, he does cry out at the sight of his boyfriend, hurrying to scramble upright to face him. Hyunjin stands behind the checkout counter, the cash register in front of him as if he’s waiting for a customer. Minho can’t see his whole body, the counter hiding his lower half, but the top half he can see is enough to send another wave of worry through him.
Blood runs down Hyunjin’s temples, glass sticking out from an actively bleeding wound on his head. The loose, flowing shirt on Hyunjin’s body, White like Minho’s, is torn and bloodied too, mostly in the chest area.
“HYUNJIN!” Minho cries out — or at least tries to. He feels himself screaming for his boyfriend, but no sound comes out. Hyunjin just stares at him, his eyes cloudy and cold. It’s unlike his usual, warm, fond eyes that Minho is so used to. It makes his chest ache as he limps closer to Hyunjin. His mind is racing with a million and one possibilities for the strangeness he’s experiencing, but he doesn’t want to venture into that. He’s not so sure he wants to know what’s happening — scared of the reality of it all crashing down on him.
“Hyunjin.” Minho’s words are still soundless, his voice ignored by the open air. But Hyunjin looks at him like he hears him. Minho reaches for his boyfriend over the gas station counter, cupping his face. Hyunjin’s skin is cold, ice cold. He’s freezing, and Minho’s own cold hands fail to add any warmth. He tries to wipe away the blood that trails down Hyunjin’s temples, but the wound continues to spill red, adding more and more as Minho tries to frantically wipe it away.
Did I do this? Minho wonders in horror as he stares at his beautiful lover, bruised and wounded, bleeding and cold. A sob wracks through Minho as he tries desperately to communicate the words that come out silent no matter how hard he tries.
“I’m sorry. Hyunjin, I’m sorry.”
He hears himself in his head, but not out loud. It seems as if Hyunjin understands anyway, leaning in close to Minho and pressing a chilled kiss to his lips. It’s chaste and over before Minho would like it to be, but an echo of Hyunjin’s voice rings through his head as Hyunjin pulls away and Minho feels himself crumbling.
“I forgive you.”
Minho chases after Hyunjin as he pulls away, jumping over the counter with all the fluidity and grace of a ballet dancer. Minho can see his lower half now. It’s similar to Minho’s own state, leggings torn and bruises peeking from the openings. One of Hyunjin’s ballet slippers is missing and Minho wants to look for it, he wants to put it back on Hyunjin’s foot for him, but he doesn’t get the time to.
Hyunjin disappears out of the gas station’s back door, a glowing red exit sign blinking above the door as another bell chimes. Without hesitation, Minho limps out after him, wincing as the cold rain pours down on him. His hair clings to his face as the rainfall seems to increase, drowning him in the sky’s tears. He remembers when rain used to be something so sweet and romantic; kisses under the clouds with Hyunjin’s hands on his face. Now the rain is cold, unforgiving, and harsh. It feels like acid on his skin, every drop burning him as he approaches four silhouettes under the streetlights illuminating the back alley behind the gas station
There they stand; His boyfriend, Hyunjin — and their best friends: Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin.
Despite the rainfall, they stand looking untouched as the rain drops fall past them, leaving them dry and staring in Minho’s direction. They’re dressed for the ballet lesson they were heading to, all assuming fifth position in sync, and all Minho can do is watch as fifth position opens to fourth position, leading into a plié followed by a spin. The four of them dance in tune, moving together fluidly, graceful as they spin, kick, and jump through the heavy rain. Their beautiful ballet attire is ruined by rips and stained in varying stages of red. There’s bruises on his friend’s faces, but that doesn’t make them look any less beautiful as they dance with everything in them, putting on a show for the empty darkness around them. The dim streetlights are their spotlights as they perform as if on stage.
The choreography they dance to is one they’ve been learning in their ballet class. Today would have been the day they did a practice performance for their instructor to evaluate. They would have been assigned their roles for the upcoming recital. They’ve worked so hard for this.
Music is playing from god knows where and Minho’s eyes water as his friends pause dancing, looking at him expectantly — gazes cloudy and dull — waiting for him. Hyunjin stands there, front and center, a hand outreached to him.
A voice echoes somewhere in the back of Minho’s mind:
“One last dance.”
Minho feels a sense of acceptance as he steps forward and takes Hyunjin’s hand. They all resume dancing, all in sync the way they are in their recitals. Brahms’ Lullaby plays from an unidentifiable source as they dance, Minho and Hyunjin sharing their solo as their friends pause dancing behind them once again. With every spin, Minho sees his friends fading until it’s only him and Hyunjin in the rain. Tears stream down Minho’s face, washed away with the burning rain as he watches Hyunjin dance breathlessly beside him, passionate and strong. Hyunjin looks so tired, though. After one last turn and one final leap, Hyunjin stops dancing, hands on his knees.
“Keep dancing!” Minho wants to scream at him, but his voice is lost, falling on deaf ears. No one can hear Minho but himself.
“Dance with me,” Minho screams in silence. “Don’t stop just yet. Finish this last dance with me!”
But it’s no use. Hyunjin fades away slowly, just like their friends had and now it’s just Minho again, sobbing, and chest heaving as he does slow spins in the rain. His body goes through the slow dance routine on its own, from practiced memory. He wants to stop too, but this is his last chance. This is his last dance — faced with darkness — he performs until the very end. His limbs ache, his wounds scream for treatment, and the rain continues to burn against his skin as he sobs into lonely silence. He begins fading as the music comes to an end. He finishes his performance in first position, taking a bow as he fades into the stormy darkness.
Minho can see himself fading, disappearing from the back alley and blinking his eyes open to find himself back in his car. When he looks around this time, he isn’t alone. He sees everything as it is now. His friends are in the backseat, bruised and bloodied, bodies fallen onto each other. His boyfriend is in the passenger seat, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, head laid bleeding onto the dashboard. His friends all stare away at nothing, eyes glassy and lifeless.
Tears continue to fall down Minho’s face as he mumbles one last silent statement. “I’m sorry.” And then he fades out of consciousness, his head dropping onto the steering wheel.