Archive of Our Own

Dear Seungmin Kim.

Jisung Han has had Minho Lee erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again.

Thank you.

3rd Eye Inc.

210 E Grand St, New York NY.

💭

He wasn’t supposed to find the letter.

Seungmin had done his best to hold him back from making his way to the clinic, muffling his screams of agony and wiping away his tears on a blotchy, red face. Minho couldn’t be bothered to make a single good decision, not after the Wednesday where Jisung had left him. 

Dr. Chan’s office is a twenty minute walk from his beat-down apartment in New York City. Jisung’s record store is a thirty minute walk from down-town, nestled between the floral shop and the 7/11. He won’t go there, not until he’s matched the misery his now ex-boyfriend has put him through. 

He’s always hated any kind of doctor’s office. The smell of sterility and isopropyl alcohol, the atmosphere of death and despair. Even with the friendly assistant at the front desk— Felix Lee — Minho still feels like he’s drowning impossibly fast, wading his way through unimaginable calamity. He saw the patients sitting in the front, holding cherished items of their loved ones, soon to be forgotten with a quick zap of irreversible brain damage.

Dr. Bang Chan, renowned for his work on erasing painful memories, breaking through science with the incredibly controversial method of wiping someone from their thoughts— scrubbing away the possibility of ever recalling their face again, the things they said, the things they destroyed, the things they mended. 

It’s cold in the room where Minho is seated, wrapping Jisung’s hoodie around his body, inhaling the scent of citrus and spice. There are traces of his own cologne weaved into the fabric, forever  intertwining their memories together. After this session, he won’t be able to recall a single bit of them.

Minho found the letter after tearing it away from Seungmin’s hands. He’d barged into his apartment in tears, demanding to know why his boyfriend pretended not to know him— why his boyfriend paraded another man on his arm at the record store, looking Minho dead in the eyes and picking apart his heart with sharp fingernails. He’d known him so intimately just the day before, the day they fought until they couldn’t breathe, until they chased one another off. Seungmin begged him not to get the procedure done, told him that it was impulsive and evil. But he’d made his way to the clinic, anyway. 

“We’ll need the hoodie you’re wearing.” Dr. Chan gives Minho an apologetic look, holding out his hand. Minho shakes away the debilitating nerves and peels off the hoodie, reluctant to let go of the comfort it brings him. Dr. Chan grabs it and folds it neatly, putting it on the tray beside him. 

“Do me a favor and take a deep breath,” Dr. Chan says, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and gently bringing down the contraption hovering above Minho’s head, securing it around his temples. It’s unpleasantly cold, but Minho pays it no mind. His body aches with pain, a mix of fervent sadness and overwhelming fury. He wants it to be over already, wishes to spite Jisung until the day he dies.

“What, you’re mad because I was out late? And in your little stupid brain you’re trying to figure out— did I sleep with someone? Was I unloyal to you?” 

“No. You see, Jisung, I assumed you WERE unloyal. Isn’t that how you get people to like you?”

Minho clenches his fists together and squeezes his eyes shut, chasing away the tears. He shouldn’t have said it, just like all the other things he shouldn’t have said. His Jisung, all wrapped up in a bundle of hurt and horrific agony, wailing with his fingers curled in Minho’s shirt. His Jisung, who’d looked at him at the record store with a blank smile and a cold, curt customer-service voice. His Jisung, who he’ll never see again.

“Relax your body, Mr. Lee. The procedure isn’t meant to last more than an hour or so.”

Minho unclenches his fist and shoves them in his pockets instead, swallowing down more of the memories. He wants them gone so fervently, wants to bite back in the same way that Jisung had.

“You were driving home drunk. It’s pathetic.”

“I wasn’t drunk, I was a little tipsy. Don’t call me pathetic.”

“Well it is pathetic. And fucking irresponsible. You could’ve killed somebody. And who knows, maybe you did kill somebody.”

He hates him, he truly does. How could Jisung do this to him over a single night of screaming? Like they hadn’t done that a million times before, like they’d ever been healthy for one minute of their three year-long relationship. Maybe it was the breaking point for the both of them: Jisung and his undiagnosed bipolarity, Minho and his inability to understand.

“Mr. Lee, I need you to close your eyes and tell me your name as well as who you’re here to erase. This session will be tape-recorded.”

Minho nods and closes his eyes again. “My name is Minho Lee, and I’m here to erase Jisung Han.”

“Very well. Tell me about Jisung.”

Minho purses his lips. “Like what?”

“Everything. As much as you know.”

“Three years ago I was living with this man Hyunjin— we were on and off again partners but mainly just roommates. My friends invited me to a party on the beach. I hate parties, but I went anyway. But Jisung was there, in his orange sweatshirt and his orange hair. And he was…really special,” Minho starts. 

“The hair— such bullshit. Being so old and dying your hair ridiculous colors,” the anger speaks for him instead, crawling back into his system like a disease. Minho can’t seem to shake it away. “But I really liked him for some reason. I fall in love with any man that gives me a shred of attention, and he gave me so much attention.”

Dr. Chan nods and scribbles down a few notes. “Continue.”

“We fought a lot— or did fight a lot. Nothing I ever said was listened to. He…” Minho tapers off, swallowing his anger. “He elevated things, he made them worse. But he also made them better.”

Dr. Chan hums. “We’ll start with your most recent memories and work backwards. When you wake up, all of these will be eradicated. When you’re finished with the session, you likely won’t remember getting home, either. It’s part of the process.”

“Is there any risk of serious brain damage?”

“Essentially, the procedure is a form of brain damage, but on par with a night of drinking. Nothing you’ll miss.”

The doctor’s words begin to fade out as Minho feels his body grow inexplicably light, like he’s floating away from where he sits. And eventually he does float away from where he sits, astral-projecting feet away from the body still seated with the horrible contraption on his head.

“Wh…what’s happening?”

“I’m creating a mind map.”

“I’m…I’m already in my mind, aren’t I?” Minho says woozily, reaching out to brush fingers over his physical form, shuddering when they go right through. 

“You are. The procedure is beginning now. Here—” Dr. Chan hands him the hoodie again. “Study this object, if you will.”

Minho watches the sight in front of him as his brain feels fuzzy, the mapping on the screen getting larger and larger as his physical form thumbs the hoodie. All sorts of emotions bundled into the clothing, tearing at his soul. 

“We’ll get rid of the mementos you’ve brought after this session, that way you’re not confused when you go home and see them there.”

The room remains wispy and distant, Minho clawing at the blurry face of the doctor. He’s stumbling to his knees with nausea, corporeal form hitting the floor with a thud. Then he hears the first traces of his name—

“Minho.”

💭

“I wrecked your car,” Jisung says, throwing the keys on the table. Minho grimaces and holds himself together, feeling sick as he replays the events of the night before. He doesn’t like it, looking at the love of his life as he remembers him— disheveled, under the influence, angry. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to feel.

“You were driving home drunk. It’s pathetic.”

“I wasn’t drunk, I was a little tipsy. Don’t call me pathetic,” Jisung pushes past Minho, slamming him against the wall of their cramped apartment.

“Well it is pathetic. And fucking irresponsible. You could’ve killed somebody. And who knows, maybe you did kill somebody.”

“I didn’t kill anybody, don’t be dramatic.”

“Jisung— what did I do this time? For you to go out like that? Leave me alone— not even page me.”

“What, you’re mad because I was out late? And in your little idiotic brain you’re trying to figure out— did I sleep with someone? Was I unloyal to you?” 

“No. You see Jisung, I assumed you were unloyal. Isn’t that how you get people to like you?”

Minho clamps a hand over his mouth, as if he could have stopped this part of his memory from happening. He watches as the love of his life immediately shuts up, impossible pain written on his face, lips parted in shock. In minutes, he’s gathering his belongings strewn about the apartment floor and making his way out the door while Minho desperately follows.

“I’m sorry— okay? I didn’t mean that. I just felt…abandoned…and annoyed, I guess!” Minho screams out from behind, stumbling down the stairs and into the cold New York air. Jisung runs feet ahead of him, dashing through the melted snow and refusing to look back.

“Fuck you, Minho. You asshole!” He screams behind him, tears streaking down his face. Minho stops in his tracks and feels the resentment cloud his judgment again. 

“Look at everything— it’s falling apart, Jisung! I’m erasing you, and I’m happy I’m erasing you,” he shouts as Jisung continues to widen the distance between them. “You did this to me first! I can’t believe you did this to me!” He pants, stopping to catch his breath. Jisung doesn’t respond.

“In the morning, you’ll be gone! Hah! A perfect ending to our shitty story, a story doomed from the fucking start. I’ll be glad to have never met you.” He doesn’t believe the words as they spill from his lips, but he shouts them, anyway. 

Minho feels the memory begin to fade away, caving from every side of his body, a behemoth curtain falling over his eyes. He panics, hating the way Jisung begins to leave his vision, becoming a small dot and morphing into a ghostly figure. 

“I won’t regret it! I…” he stumbles over his words. “I…won’t regret it. You’ll…” he coughs, sinking to his knees to catch his breath, the blackness shrouding his peripheral vision. Minho grabs his heart and ignores the snow soaking into his jeans. 

“Jisung!”

Minho finds himself stumbling into the next memory, the darkness being replaced by a blinding, shining sun. He takes a quick look at his surroundings and immediately  remembers where he is. Within seconds, he feels an arm slip into his.

“Jisung, I’m s—”

“Those are pretty,” Jisung pays him no mind, pointing to the wares in the flea market, a frown on his face. Minho knows exactly what this conversation looks like in his head, and desperately tries to stop it.

“Jisung, no. We’re not going to have this conv—”

“He’s pretty, too? Isn’t he? Hyunjin?” Jisung’s eyes are glossy and red. Minho had always felt so tired of seeing the same sight over and over again. He wrestles with his past self but finds that it’s no use.

“We’re not talking about this here.”

“What? Afraid of what people will think? I don’t care, Minho. It’s not like you answer these questions when we’re alone,” Jisung’s voice steadily rises, earning a few looks from curious passerbyers. Humiliation burns on Minho’s cheeks.

“Why do you always bring him up?” Minho hisses, yanking on Jisung’s hand. “We ended years ago.”

“You lived with him for months. You’ve never asked me to move in with you.”

“We’re not ready, Jisung.”

“You’re not ready,” he cries, eliciting a glare from a nearby vendor as he whips around. “I’d make a good fucking roommate. I’m clean and tidy and for god’s sake I love you more than that asshole could love you! And you’re lucky for it.”

“I said we’re not talking about this now.”

“You don’t get to say shit like that and then not talk about it. We’re talking about it, I don’t care!” Minho watches as Jisung bolts off ahead of him, pushing himself through the crowded market and crying even harder than before. 

“It doesn’t matter if we talk about it!” Minho shouts, making no effort to move any further, lightly trailing behind Jisung. “All the hurt and the pain and bullshit we put each other through, it’s all being wiped away. This won’t matter in the morning!”

Jisung turns around, clutching onto his jacket. “Then let it be wiped away. That’s what you wanted, right? To get rid of me? You’re standing here in this memory being erased, aren’t you? Why are you still standing here?”

Minho gulps and glances toward the sky, looking for any indication that Dr. Chan is hovering above him, recording his trauma into the bulky computer. It looks peculiar, bright but artificial, something a little too unnatural with the wafting scent of a sterile room. He looks back down to find Jisung inches away from his body.

“You’re a coward, Minho.”

“Don’t call me that, you’re the one who did it to me first. And for the record, I never loved Hyunjin the way I loved you. You should know that by now. We lived together because we weren’t ready to live together. Don’t you get it? I wanted to take my time with you, Jisung. If you had just fucking listened to me this day…if you hadn’t ran off.”

Jisung’s lips tremble as he looks at Minho with a crushing pair of eyes. Minho hates how much he still desires him.

“You really loved me more than him?” Jisung’s voice quiets down as the faces around them blur into the background. Minho can feel himself fading away. 

“Of course I did. I do. Why is that so hard to understand? How much reassurance do you need? Every single day, every single waking minute. All the time. How many times did I have to tell you the same things over and over again?” Minho pants as Jisung wipes his eyes.

“You just don’t get it.”

“Well maybe I don’t. And maybe it’s a good thing I’m erasing you because then I wouldn’t have to get it.”

“Fine,” Jisung sniffs. “Then I’m glad.”

“I’m glad, too.”

Jisung pivots on his feet and huffs back through the market, leaving Minho to watch as the atmosphere bleeds into a thick, blueish color. It doesn’t feel right, his heart palpitating in an uncomfortable way as he feels his body convulse in all sorts of directions. He stumbles into a vendor and gasps when they immediately disappear from his view, a gust of wind throwing him to the side.

“Godammit— Jisung, wait for me!”

Jisung is so hard to catch up with, flickering through the dizzying onslaught of vignettes like his life depends on it— in which it probably does. Minho heaves in exhaustion before finding himself wedged in-between a flurry of people, pressed up against his body in a way that immediately makes him heat up. 

“What the f— where—”

 “Minho! Nice to see you!” Seungmin appears in his view next to his boyfriend, Jeongin. His heart sinks as Jisung reappears at the bar across from him, his face three different shades of red and his shirt hanging slightly off his shoulders. He’s drunk.

“Jisung, wait—”

“You know, after what happened with him last week, I wasn’t really certain you’d find yourselves out again,” Jeongin says, throwing back a shot. There’s a bite to his voice that Minho doesn’t really remember, though he notes it frustration, clawing his way to his estranged lover. He rips the shot glass out of Jisung’s hand and slides it away.

“Why are you so comfortable with running away from me?” He exclaims.

“Don’t you see how Seungmin is with Jeongin? He doesn’t call him a whore,” Jisung retorts, exactly how he remembers. He stops for a moment to ask the bartender for another drink while Minho immediately gives him a warning glare.

“Seungmin doesn’t have to say those things. You always come here when we fight,” Minho growls while Jisung throws his hands over his neck. Minho shoves them away. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re such a dick. My boyfriend is a dick! ” Jisung screams out to the bartender, causing heads to turn his way. “Speak up. All you ever do is stare at me like I’m your biggest disappointment.”

“Maybe you are.”

“I hope you die.”

Seungmin watches them from afar, clearing away the crowd of people that have formed around the unhappy couple. Regrettably, Minho doesn’t even remember what prompted their fight— all he can recall are the blurry faces that trailed behind him when he left the pub that night. He takes a shaky breath and bunches Jisung’s shirt in his hands.

“We’re leaving.”

“You’re leaving.”

Minho shakes his head with fervor. “No, Jisung. The memory is dying. This isn’t real, get up,” Minho yanks his boyfriend off the stool and pushes past Seungmin and Jeongin, fighting against the figures dissipating from his view. He makes it outside the bar and briefy turns around to see it cave in upon itself.

Jisung chuckles. “You’re acting like you can change the end of this memory.”

“I hate you.”

“You called me a whore on this day. I know you don’t want to remember, you hate taking accountability. I danced with the next man that called me pretty and you didn’t talk to me for a week. You always hated when I made a scene, didn’t you?”

“Jisung,” Minho says calmly. “You loved the attention.”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t help the outbursts, not when you made me so angry,” Jisung says quietly, his hands drifting to the side in the cold air, condensation flowing from purple lips. “You always made me so angry.”

“Why couldn’t you have told me how you felt before letting it build up?” Minho breathes, fighting back the urge to reach out. “We could have predicted these moments. And now look where we are. Now look at what we’ve done.”

Jisung turns his head to the view of cars floating away. “Maybe you would have called me more names if I had told you how I really felt.” 

Minho feels a sting of regret unfurl in his chest. “I wouldn’t have.”

“You had no issue slut-shaming me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are.”

When Minho grabs Jisung’s hands, all he can feel is the chilled air. He screams out for an umpteenth time, grasping at the scene as if it will stop it from leaving his thoughts. His boyfriend gives him a weak smile before taking off down the street and into a dark, brooding tunnel. Minho follows with a stumble.

Suddenly, Minho is warm again, his body encased with Jisung’s as they lay impossibly close in bed. Minho chokes out as he realizes where he is, his limbs remembering every curve and divot in Jisung’s skin. He breathes in a sigh of relief, though he knows it will be brief.

“Why am I always the one initiating things? Talking?” Jisung says in a sleepy voice, tracing shapes onto Minho’s skin. “It’s hard to talk to you when you’re so quiet.”

“I’m not that interesting,” Minho responds, lacing his fingers with Jisung’s. “I’ve told you everything. You’re the most interesting part of my life.”

“Or,” Jisung heaves out. “You don’t trust me. I tell you every little horrific thing, every little embarrassing detail, every little win I have. You don’t tell me any of those things.”

“It doesn’t have to do with trust. Besides, we talk all the time, don’t we?” Minho gently says.

“Talking isn’t necessarily communicating. We always end up yelling.”

They’re silent for a moment, the sounds of raindrops hitting the worn-down window as a breeze brings their shuddering bodies inches closer. Minho takes a look at the clock hanging above their bed and notices how the hands do not have an end, frozen in movement. He traces the features of Jisung’s face and presses a hand to his cheek, drinking in the softness. 

“Maybe if we had always talked like this instead,” he tapers off, swiping his thumb underneath Jisung’s eye.

“Yeah. Maybe if we did.”

Minho waits for a moment before opening his eyes once more. “Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

“I think this would be a good memory to keep.”

“Well you can’t.”

“I know.”

“So think about it for a few more seconds and let go.”

Minho takes a deep breath and kisses the tip of Jisung’s nose, ignoring the feeling of impending doom slicing up his stomach. He hears the sounds of bells from outside of the window and waits for the vignette to swallow them whole, forcing the two of them into the next section of his brain. Someone is talking above them, the smell of a doctor’s room wafting in his nose. He sharply inhales.

Moments later, they’re sitting at a restaurant down-town. Old, cheap, loud. Jisung looks disinterested as per usual, wearing Minho’s sweater that’s one size too big. He rests his face on his fist while Minho takes a panicked look around the room.

“We’re one of those doomed, on-screen couples, aren’t we?” Jisung speaks up. Minho gives him an irritated look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re pathetic, aren’t we? Fighting on our anniversary, moving in together when we’ve barely gone a week without telling one another to shut up and die.” 

Minho pushes at a piece of broccoli on his plate. “Good to know that’s how you see us.”

“It’s true. We’re bored, aren’t we?”

“How could I be bored? All you ever do is cause trouble,” Minho says lowly, dropping his fork. 

“You’re lucky that someone like me is even into you.”

Minho glares, shoving his plate to the side. “You always said things that you regretted. You even apologized for saying this when we went home.”

Jisung sighs and watches a customer leave the establishment, their body being reduced to a speck. “It was satisfying at the time. I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me. But I always hated the way it made me feel afterwards. And you never held it against me,” he admits, eyes sad and glossy.

“Truth be told,” Jisung continues. “You were always so patient. You knew I said things I didn’t mean, you always differentiated between angry me and normal me. I probably didn’t deserve that kind of forgiveness.”

Minho nods his head in agreement. Normal Jisung was sweet Jisung— angry Jisung didn’t last for too long, always full of drawn-out apologies and meaningful acts of service that didn’t make him any more redeemable. It was exhausting.

“I wasn’t an angel, either.”

“You weren’t. But you were closer to one than I was.”

There’s a loud noise coming from the sides of both of them, a deafening clamor that has Minho flying out of his seat and encasing Jisung in his arms. He drags him out of the restaurant and stops dead in his tracks when he sees the road crumble into a black hole.

“Stop this! Just give us a few more minutes!” Minho calls to the sky, Jisung giving him an inquisitive look.

“You can’t change the memory, Minho. I already told you this. It’s not going to stop now.”

Minho angrily drags his hands down his face. “I can just wake up— can’t I? Can’t I tell him to stop?”

Jisung leans his head on Minho’s shoulder. “You had so many chances to do that when you were awake.”

And in seconds, the sky is whooshing again, their bodies traversing the plains of chaos together. Minho almost vomits from the whiplash, finding himself within a flurry of trees absent of Jisung at his side. He presses his back up to a large cedar and hurriedly drinks in his surroundings.

“God— where did you go?” He screeches, nearly tearing his hair out from frustration. “This is sick, how could anyone do this? I need to get out of h—”

“Boo!” Someone says from behind, causing Minho to flail his arms and crash into the brush in front of him. He’s ready to strangle who it is before realizing that it’s Jisung. 

“You asshole, why can’t you just stay in one place at a time? Are you enjoying this?”

Jisung shrugs his shoulders and circles around him in excited skips. “The hike just started, aren’t you going to get up?”

“Sungie, I hate hiking.”

“I know! Which is why I took you with me.”

Minho allows himself to be pulled off the ground, Jisung dusting the debris off his windbreaker. He looks so happy, like the trees in the distance aren’t rapidly dying into a sickening shade of slated grey. 

“This was a good day,” Minho mumbles to himself, watching as Jisung tugs his hand along the trail.

“What was that?” Jisung inquires, whipping back around. Minho waves it off. 

“Nothing, I said I love you.”

Jisung breaks out into a large smile as he speeds up, causing Minho to groan after him. It’s serene for a few moments, Minho enjoying the lasting view of his boyfriend chasing away a squirrel and tossing rocks into a nearby pond. The memory of him looks so peaceful— like he wasn’t suffering, like he wasn’t blowing up their conversations every other day. Minho smiles to himself before noticing the unsettling details of their environment, slowly being sucked into the surface.

“Jisung. We need to move faster.”

“Huh?” Jisung says, nearly falling over as his boyfriend grabs onto his waist. “Oh— you’re so big and strong and s—”

A tree comes crashing down right above them, Minho immediately yanking Jisung out of the way. He stares at it in horror as the ground eats it up with a sickening crunch. 

“Whoa. Didn’t know your mind could do that,” Jisung whispers.

“Shut up and run!” Minho pants, ignoring Jisung’s boisterous laughs. They don’t make it very far, the two of them crashing to the ground as another massive tree gives out inches away. Minho curses to himself as he scroops Jisung up in his arms.

“Maybe if you scream loud enough, the procedure will stop,” Jisung sing-songs, throwing a loose arm around Minho’s neck.

“It won’t, even you said it won’t. Why are you telling me this? Weren’t you the first person to go through it?”

Jisung lets his head fall back as he whines. “You know me. I’m impulsive.”

Minho gasps as he hops over a tree branch. “I know. That’s what I love about you.”

Jisung looks at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I know.”

Minho screams as a final trunk comes barreling down directly over the two of them, hitting them straight on. Minho doesn’t feel a lick of pain, body convulsing in fear as his screams are muffled by a distant melody and a slurry of discomforting sounds.

He jerks away in horrendous fear, Jisung still curled around his hands. Things are quiet for a moment until he feels sheets against his skin once more.

“Open your eyes, dummy.”

Minho slowly opens his eyes to Jisung poking at his cheeks. They’re naked under the covers, the looming threat of trees no longer hovering above their bodies. Minho takes a second to ease into the memory.

“I hate myself sometimes,” Jisung says, his hands trailing over Minho’s back. “It sucks to be someone that’s ugly on the inside and the outside.”

“Jisung— no , that’s not, you’re not—”

“My ex told me that a lot. He told me that I was unlovable— and maybe I am unlovable, but it really sucked to hear that out loud, y’know?” Jisung continues while Minho strokes his hair.

“That isn’t true.”

“It’s true.”

“It isn’t.”

“You always knew what to say to me when I felt like this,” Jisung chuckles, bringing Minho’s fingers to his lips. “You were really good at that.”

“You were good to me when I was vulnerable, Jisung. You were good at it, too.”

Jisung breaks into a gentle smile. “God, look at me. I’m already crying again. Humiliating.”

“Jisung,” Minho starts, repositioning his body to hover over Jisung’s. He wipes away a stray tear on Jisung’s pretty, sullen face. His curly hair is splayed against the white pillow in a way that frames him like a renaissance painting, the beauty of his bare skin a treat to Minho’s eyes. He looks beautiful like this, he looks loved down to his bones.

“You’re pretty,” Minho whispers, pressing a kiss in the crook of Jisung’s heated neck. “You’re pretty. You’re pretty ,” he continues, trailing wet kisses down Jisung’s collarbones, enjoying the trembles underneath his fingers. “You’re pretty,” he chokes out, sucking a purple mark into Jisung’s stomach before making his way further down. He can feel the cries that come from his boyfriend, wracking through his body like they’re tearing him apart.

Minho presses his face into the softness of Jisung’s lower stomach and whispers against it. “ Please let me keep this memory, please let me keep just this one.”

Minho can feel the blankets rip away from his body, exposing his skin to the cool, crisp air. He claws at the mattress, fingers digging into the fabric before they’re digging at nothing at all, the expanse of air filling the void. He screams in agony as the feeling of his boyfriend dissipates from underneath his body. 

“Godammit— Dr. Chan! Please !” He calls out, feeling himself be pushed back with an immeasurable gust of force. He’s never screamed quite this loud before, his muscles aching with pain and his legs kicking out from underneath him. His body is weightless as much as it is suffering, floating through the sickening breadth of his cluttered mind.

“I want to stop this now! I want it to stop, I change my mind!” His voice echoes through the hallway he’s suddenly in, the whiteness clouding his view with a dizzying brightness. Minho splays his palms against the wall and struggles to catch his breath, panicking when he realizes Jisung is no longer in his hands.

“Jisung!” 

To his relief, Jisung comes waltzing in from the corner of the hallway, swaying this way and that with headphones on his ears. “What? You’re so loud sometimes.”

Minho wastes not a second before engulfing him in a hug. “Stop running away.” Jisung pouts, gently hitting Minho on the chest.

“Don’t act like I can help it. Plus— we’re here for our friends, remember?” Jisung nods his head to the hospital room where Seungmin momentarily sits outside, twiddling his thumbs. Minho sharply inhales as he recalls the exact memory they’ve just entered. 

“This is—” he starts, eyes looking between the nurses that push past him and the sight of his innocent-looking boyfriend, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Jeonginnie was so sick this day. I remember being jealous at how much Seungmin cared,” Jisung giggles, swinging his hands. “And then you—”

“And then I told you I loved you for the first time,” Minho cuts him off, nearly bringing himself to tears. Jisung nods with a blinding grin. 

“And then I told you I loved you more!”

Minho shakes his head. “Why are you becoming increasingly more hyper aware of what’s going on? Aren’t we supposed to be reliving through the memories first?”

Jisung shrugs and hops into his boyfriend’s arms. “It’s not me, silly! It’s your mind! Don’t you get it? I’m not real— well, I mean I’m real enough . You’re double-triple sure that the real me would say the same things as I’m saying now, right? You know me that well.” He presses a chaste kiss to Minho’s cheek.

“Maybe if I try hard enough I can get out of here,” Minho says, taking a step back and throwing his forehead against the wall in the most violent way he can manage. He doesn’t feel any kind of pain, making him growl in frustration.

“Minho baby! You’re missing the best part! You tell Seungmin how good of a boyfriend he is to Jeongin…and then he tells you that you’re lucky to have me. I didn’t tell you until later that I heard the entire conversation,” Jisung giggles to himself. “You told me you loved me out of nowhere…but then it made so much sense.” He slides himself between the wall and Minho. “This is so cruel, Dr. Chan— stop the procedure!” He points to the ceiling in a playful way.

“I’m not…” Minho starts, defeated. “I’m really not going to remember any of this, am I?”

“Nope!” Jisung pops the p and pats the right side of Minho’s cheek. “But don’t be so drab about it. It’s not like I’ll disappear from the world. I’ll just disappear from your mind.”

“That’s worse, isn’t it?” Minho cries, hating the way Jisung grins. “How did you feel when you woke up after erasing me?”

“I don’t know, silly! You didn’t know me then, so this apparition of me can’t answer the question!”

Minho’s mouth parts in distress as he turns his head just in time for a surgical tray to crash into his body, sending him flying to the other side of the hallway. Jisung follows, skipping around with glee. 

“I’m sure I subconsciously hated it,” Jisung laughs. “But you’ll never get to know that for sure, will you?”

“Jisung— stop. Don’t say that, I—”

The pure-white walls fade away again, this time taking the two of them together. Minho doesn’t quite understand where he’s running to, but he’s running until his lungs give out. Jisung trails behind him as he giggles with fervor. The contrast is making Minho feel sick again.

He runs directly into his living room, facing the broken window with chimes hanging on the other side. It’s pouring again, and he realizes that a book has materialized in his right hand. He takes one good look at it before his gaze softens and his heartbeat slows.

It’s a copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Minho’s voice falters as he speaks. “God. I love this book. And I love this memory. I loved us like this,” he says, turning around to see Jisung cuddled up on the couch. “I finished reading this and I couldn’t stop crying. But you were next to me, reading it with me,” he makes his way over, sinking to his knees and peering up at Jisung. “You always felt what I felt, you always cried with me.”

Jisung wipes away Minho’s tears and pulls him onto his lap. “You were so dramatic with these damn classics. But how could I not love you even more?” He whispers gently, giggling as Minho cries into his hoodie. “You were so easy to love.”

Minho cries even harder if possible, wrapping his arms impossibly tight around Jisung’s torso. He knows that the memory will disappear even if he begs not to, so he savors the feeling of Jisung grabbing onto him instead. 

“I have an idea,” Jisung says from above him, raking his hands through Minho’s hair. Minho takes a moment to stop sobbing and pulls away.

“Anything. I’d do anything at this point. Hell— maybe if you just killed me.”

“Shut up for a moment,” Jisung rolls his eyes, though there’s no bite to his words. “Take me somewhere they wouldn’t find me.”

“What do you mean by that?” Minho hiccups. 

“Take me to a memory that exceeds the mind map. Take me somewhere deep and dark and gross and unsettling and something you never wanna remember again.”

Minho’s eyes light up. “Yes! I mean no— I don’t wanna put you through that! It’s embarrassing!”

Jisung doubles over in laughter. “You’re an idiot, Minho. I’m not going to remember it, am I? This version of me isn’t even real.”

“But it’s real to me ! I can’t bring you somewhere like that!”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “You said you’d do anything. This is something .”

Minho doesn’t speak back for a moment, eyes lined in shock. Jisung is right, unfortunately. Even if he sees the expanse of his childhood trauma or all his rejections and self-doubts, he won’t remember an inkling of it in the morning. The thought both comforts him and rips him to shreds. He inhales a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, fine . But you have to promise me that you’re not going to laugh.”

“Why would I laugh? I love every part of you.”

“That sentiment isn’t going to help my humiliation!”

“I’m trying to be optimistic! God— you’ve always been terrible at that!”

Minho collects himself and puts his hands firmly on Jisung’s shoulders. “Okay, stop it. We can’t fight in a memory like this. Just— fuck , just come with me,” Minho sighs, peeling himself off Jisung’s lap and entertwining their fingers together. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

“Just think about it really, really hard! Picture it in your mind, and then picture me right next to you.”

Minho squeezes his eyes shut and begins searching for a memory, already embarrassed. “God, I don’t like this.”

And then he finds one— hidden at the back of his mind, tucked away from the light with a shameful blanket thrown over its body. Minho opens his eyes to a school playground, complete with the view of a dozen middle schoolers caging him in.

“Oh god,” he swallows, taking a step back. He looks at his hands— adolescent and smooth, his body short and young, too close to the ground. Jisung is behind him, still presented as a full-grown adult. “Oh god .” 

“What memory is this? Minho?” Jisung squawks from behind, stifling a laugh. “Gosh, you were so cute as a kid!”

“Shut up, Jisung—”

“You kissed a boy ,” one of the middle schoolers abruptly cuts Jisung off, stepping closer to Minho with an evil glint in his eye. All of Minho’s pre-pubescent fears and nightmares crawl back into his system in a mere second. He stumbles backwards with a gulp.

“N-no I didn’t!”

“You did!” Someone else comes forward— a boy with blond-dyed hair and a pair of black earrings. It’s his middle school crush Changbin, the boy he had kissed.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re the one I kissed, you moron!” Minho spits in his face, watching in horror as Changbin’s eyes grow dark.

“He’s lying now! Trying to bring me down with him! What a freak,” Changbin says and rolls his eyes, shoving Minho to the ground while Jisung yells behind them.

“Leave him alone! Bully! You idiot— you’re both gay,” Jisung calls, yanking Minho’s small frame from the ground and pulling him against his body. “Jeez Minho, when were you going to tell me about being bullied?”

Minho groans and wipes the dirt off his clothes. “I didn’t want you to see that part of me. Plus, I was like 13 and Changbin apologized when we got older.” 

“It doesn’t matter! This is an integral part of your history!” Jisung exclaims. “Maybe I could have understood you better! Is this why you were always so hesitant around me?” 

Minho sighs and watches as the bullies freeze in time. “Something like that. It’s not the full story, Jisung. I can’t just unpack everything right here and now.”

“Well for christ’s sake! When else are we going to have the chance to do that?!” Jisung throws his hands to the sky, causing middle-school Minho to flop to the ground again. He doesn’t see the trees disappear from his vision and assumes Jisung’s tactic is working.

“Okay. Boohoo. We’ll talk about this lat— I mean, nevermind. Whatever. Maybe I should bring you to the next place,” Minho squeaks, lifting himself from the ground and giving a good kick to Changbin’s ankle before the memory continues and the bullies are gearing up to chase him down the road.

“You little shit!” Changbin calls out as Minho immediately grabs onto Jisung, feeling his body morph back into its normal form. He breathes out a sigh of relief and yanks them together, wasting not a single breath of air.

“Where are you taking me now?” Jisung almost sounds excited, playing with Minho’s fingers.

“Don’t ask me like that— it’s unnerving.” 

Jisung giggles maniacally. “You’re no fun.”

It doesn’t take long before Minho is exactly where he wants to be— in his freshman year college dorm, inches away from a horrified roommate. His face is flushed in a deep, crimson red as he looks down at his hand buried underneath the blanket.

“Oh my god,” Jisung clamps a hand over his mouth. “Your roommate found you masturbating ?!” 

Minho glares at him in horror. “It was the most embarrassing memory I could think of! Don’t laugh at me! You said you wouldn’t laugh at me!” Minho growls, retracting his hand from underneath the covers and cringing as he watches his roommate gasp and slam the door shut. He lets his head fall onto the pillow with a drawn-out groan.

“Maybe it’s better to just die now than to wake up.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Minho. We all do it. Plus— this was a great memory to choose. I bet you Dr. Chan won’t be able to find me here.”

Minho groans again and covers his face with his hands. “Maybe we can just stay here and I’ll wake up and Dr. Chan will tell me the procedure went wrong.”

“First of all,” Jisung says, peeling Minho’s hands away from his face. “Wash your hands first. And yes, maybe that’ll work. Why wouldn’t it work?” He looks at him so intently, like he won’t be the first thing gone in the morning. Minho gives him a smile and leans up to peck his lips.

“You’re right. You had this idea in the first place. That clever little mind of yours.”

Jisung giggles and kisses him right back, crawling onto Minho’s body and straddling himself over his legs. “Look at you, regretting everything. You loved me so well.”

“Stop saying in past tense. We can stop this, Jisungie. We can,” Minho’s hands hold tight to his boyfriend’s waist as they share a prolonged kiss. It’s saccharine and sweet, just as Minho remembers their touches to be. But it lasts not only a minute, the blaring cracking of the ceiling ripping their bodies apart.

“God fucking dammit. It was working! Why did it suddenly stop?” Minho screams, watching in horror as the room begins to crumble to ruins. “This isn’t fucking fair!”

Jisung hurriedly places his palms against the wall beside them and pushes as hard as he can. “Dr. Chan has a degree, Minho! Do you think he hasn’t run into this before?!”

Minho joins Jisung in pressing against the wall, trying desperately to keep it from crushing their bodies against the mattress. “It was your idea!”

“Yes! An idea!” Jisung screams back, dodging a spare piece of drywall that comes barreling at him. Minho catches it before throwing it away in anger. 

“I’m taking you to one more place.”

“And you think it’ll work?!” Jisung cries out as the light fixture crashes to the dorm floor.

“Who fucking knows! Do you think I have any sort of choice?”

Jisung lets his hands fall away from the wall, instead diving towards Minho’s body. Blackness overtakes Minho’s vision as he falls out of the bed and into a dark, damp room. It’s freezing cold inside, the icy temperature clawing at his skin and erasing any kind of warmth Jisung’s body gave him. He can feel his boyfriend’s presence directly behind him, weakly hanging onto his pinky finger.

“You’re talking to someone, aren’t you?” Hyunjin’s voice is crisp and clear, haunting and dire. Minho’s throat immediately becomes hoarse as he feels Jisung tighten his mere grip.

“Hyunjin. I’m not. I just don’t think we’re working o—”

“I’m not stupid, Minho. You lost interest in the last guy, that’s how you found me, right? I know it’s another man. You can just be honest with me,” Hyunjin’s voice is hurt, packed with pain. Minho doesn’t remember this moment feeling so particularly awful.

“Jesus Minho…you never told me about this,” Jisung whispers from behind.

“I’m sorry. You’re wrong. It’s not true. I just don’t like you anymore,” Minho blurts out as Hyunjin presses his lips into a thin line.

“You’re such a coward, Minho. A cold, stupid, mean, coward. That’s all you ever were,” Hyunjin spits, shoving Minho into Jisung’s chest and turning on his heels. Minho watches in shock as his ex-boyfriend leaves their old apartment in fury. Jisung snakes his hands onto Minho’s waist.

“You left him for me, didn’t you?” Jisung whispers, his cheek pressed up against Minho’s back.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, defeated. “I did.”

“No wonder,” Jisung chuckles. “I guess you really liked me that much.”

The memory shifts into something a little more tender— with Jisung’s hands on Minho’s body, smoothing over the anxiety in his chest. It feels a little bit like heaven, a little bit like he’ll wake up there, too.

“You could have told me, y’know.”

“If I told you, you’d have worried I’d leave you in the same way.”

Silence. Jisung nuzzles into Minho’s back. “You’re probably right. I would have.”

“Hyunjin wasn’t right for me,” Minho says, pressing his fingers over Jisung’s. 

“And I was?”

Minho fights away another onslaught of tears.

“Because if I was, you wouldn’t be erasing me right now. You wouldn’t have even thought about it.”

His voice is so distant, so unlike his own. Minho wishes that it was the real Jisung, tucked by his side and leaving lingering kisses on his skin. The ground rumbles again, splitting beneath their shivering bodies and sucking them inside with a whoosh. Minho doesn’t fight it this time, instead flipping his body to where he’s directly facing his lover.

“Godammit! What’s happening now?!” Jisung screams, swatting away the blackness beneath them. “It was working! It was just working!”

Minho shakes his head and ignores the nauseating feeling of being whisked away by some kind of overarching force. It’s almost comical, being thrown around like a ragdoll in a cartoon. Jisung looks at him like he’s the biggest moron on the planet.

“So you’re just giving up? That’s just like you!” 

“I can’t do anything else, can I?” Minho says with a sad grin as they plummet into the next memory side by side. “What else am I supposed to try?” 

Jisung frowns as they fly back onto a cold, hard surface. Minho’s chest twists in discomfort as his vision of a dark room is replaced with a vast, twinkling sky. He’s bundled up in a coat, gloves on his hands and boots on his feet. Jisung is right underneath his arm, resting his head against his chest. He watches a plane make its way past the stars while Jisung giggles.

“You were so careless all the time. It was so much fun,” Minho admits, raking his fingers through Jisung’s hair.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it? The stars?” Jisung says, entirely ignoring Minho’s crestfallen statement. “We came here a lot after we fought. This was the first time, wasn’t it?”

“I’d do anything to keep this in my heart.”

“You did everything you could to push me out of it.”

Minho feels the tears prick at his eyes, trailing down his frozen cheeks as their breaths sync together. He turns his head to see the ice they’re lying on, cracking at the surface and threatening to plunge them into the freezing cold waters. He pays it no mind, gripping onto Jisung with fervor as the wind rushes through their hair.

“We’re getting closer to the end. I hate this,” Minho chokes out with a sob, pounding his fist at the ice. Jisung encases his fist with a warm hand.

“Just close your eyes for a moment,” Jisung whispers, pressing a kiss to Minho’s chest. “Just…feel.”

Minho listens, closing his eyes as more tears make their way down his face, floating off into the air as they reduce to nothingness. The sniffles turn into full-body sobs, only being calmed by the sweetness of Jisung’s comforting presence. In seconds, they’re being lifted into the New York air, carried somewhere else. Minho allows it to happen this time, surrendering to the feeling of being dragged around by his own mind.

Street lights, cheering, laughter, all kinds of happy noises— parading around them in an instance, erasing the tear streaks on Minho’s cheeks and making him snap his eyes right open. 

It’s New Year’s Eve again. Jisung is on his back, pointing at the jovial sight of a celebratory float making its way down Times Square. The happiness within Minho’s chest is debilitating, eating him up from the inside. He can’t help but smile as his boyfriend squeals in excitement.

“Look, Minho!” His boyfriend points to a child setting off a sparkler. “I want one!”

Minho chuckles. “I’ll get you one. And then we can set it off together.” He watches as a band performs from across them, uplifting lyrics spilling from the main lead’s lips. Jisung bounces on his back in glee.

“This is it, Minho,” Jisung says, though his voice doesn’t lose a tad bit of joy. “It’s all gonna be gone soon.”

Minho swallows, too distracted with bliss to remember his reality. “I know.”

“What do we do?” Jisung sighs.

“Enjoy it.”

Jisung cranes his head to face Minho’s, grabbing his cheek with a single hand. “Goodbye, Minho! You’re the best— but also the worst. And you look really pretty right now.”

“So kiss me,” Minho whispers, too tired to cry. And Jisung does, closing the distance between their faces and kissing him underneath the lights of the city. Maybe Dr. Chan takes pity on them, or maybe this memory takes longer than the others to erase— because time truly stops for a moment, the sounds and views being drowned out by two broken people irrevocably in love. Minho can already taste the tears on his tongue, swallowed down in seconds as he feels the weight of Jisung become lighter and lighter on his back. He holds on for as long as he can before the sounds morph into something frighteningly familiar.

Waves crashing onto the sand, a bonfire crackling feet away. The sea salt is stinging his cheeks. Minho gasps in horror.

“No.”

“So, you live with someone?” Jisung comes crashing from behind, bumping his shoulder with a giggle. His hair is bright orange— flopping up and down as he kicks around in the sand. Minho follows him with a stumble.

“I do. But…well—”

“What’s his name?”

“Hyunjin.”

“Oh, so your boyfriend?” Jisung wiggles his eyebrows.

“No. Well— yes. Sometimes. We’re not really—”

Jisung cuts him off with a hearty laugh. “Save it. I don’t really care. All I care about is you,” he says, making his way to a distant beach hut further down the trail. He tramples after it like he owns it, motioning Minho to follow him there. He stops before the front door and gives Minho a mischievous look before knocking the lock right off.

“Jisung! Why would you— do you even know who lives here?”

“Course not!” He says with glee. He takes one look at Minho’s panicked expression and bursts into laughter. “Oh stop it, they won’t be here tonight. I swear. Come in, the water’s fine!”

Minho takes a hesitant step into the creaky hallway, pitch black and dusty. “This is trespassing.”

“It’s our house, Minho. Just for the night!” Jisung laughs, watching in amusement as Minho desperately tries to find a light switch. He recalls the memory with overwhelming pain simmering in his chest.

“I didn’t want to go home this night. But I was so nervous around you. I thought that maybe you were just insane— but you were just exciting,” Minho says into the void, listening as Jisung dashes up the stairs while a part of the house begins to crumble. “I told you I wanted to go.”

“So go!” Jisung calls from above.

“I did! I walked back to the bonfire with Seungmin. But you found me.”

Silence for a few moments. Minho watches in sadness as the front door collapses inward upon itself.

“I wish you’d stayed,” Jisung suddenly says.

“I wish I’d stayed, too. Now I wish I’d stayed.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Minho presses his back against the wall, watching as an entire wine case topples to the ground. “You were so intimidating. I couldn’t handle someone like you. I was scared.”

“You were scared ?” Jisung giggles so hard the house shakes.

“I was! Didn’t you know that? You were always so much braver than I was.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you so much. But god, if it isn't endearing.”

Minho nods his head as the disembodied voice of Jisung cackles from above. He makes his way back to the front door and steps over the rubble, walking away from the hut in tears. Jisung calls out from the upstairs window, his face chilled from the wind.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“What if you stayed this time?”

Minho sadly smiles to himself. “I didn’t.”

“Then come say goodbye then. It’s the least you can do.”

Minho watches as Jisung clambers down the stairs as the rest of the house disintegrates. He kneels down as Minho makes his way over, matching his level. 

“Bye Minho,” Jisung whispers with a smile, leaning in to give Minho a sweet kiss.

“I love you,” Minho chokes, a stray tear falling down the side of his cheek. Jisung wipes it away, pressing his lips to his ear. “I love you so much.”

“Meet me in Levanter.”

💭

Minho’s body feels heavy on his sheets.

He tosses in his bed, kicking away the blankets in annoyance. The wind chimes are waking him up, the bells violently ringing in his ears. Minho groans and leans up, yanking off his shirt and throwing it to the ground. 

It’s a Friday, no work— but something feels entirely different. 

He takes a good look around his room and notes that a few of his journals have fallen to the floor, open single pages torn to shreds. He gives them an inquisitive look before deciding that it must be something he gave up writing the night before. Sighing, he tucks his sheets back into place before freshening up in the bathroom.

For some reason, Minho hates the way his skin feels. Tight, taut, crawling. He lives alone— he’s always lived alone. Hyunjin moved out ages ago, though he doesn’t quite remember how they ended. 

Without thinking, Minho takes one look at the jacket hanging off the bathroom handle and snatches it, slipping into it immediately. He watches himself in the mirror, scruff on his chin and a slit in his eyebrow. He looks how he did the night before— unassuming, boring. But something feels entirely off.

Minho doesn’t ever go to the beach. Admittedly, he isn’t really fond of it.

Levanter is an hour train ride out from where he lives, tucked into the coldest parts of New York where nobody goes during the winter. But it’s a nice thought— one that pulls him from his downtrodden apartment and onto the bustling train, full of morning commutes.

He likes trains and the sound they make against the metal tracks, lulling him into a slumber. He dozes off to a U2 song and presses his cheek to the cold window, rain slipping down the other side. When he awakens, the train has halted once more. Minho lifts himself off the seat and steps outside the stop, squinting his eyes at the sign in front of him. 

" Levanter ,” he whispers under his breath as the train screeches away. Minho takes the headphones off his ears and tucks them back into his shotty backpack. “I don’t know why I’m here. I hate this place.”

But he steps off the train, anyway, throwing the bag over his shoulder and kicking his feet through the sand. It’s terrifyingly cold, but he pays it no mind. He watches the waves crash upon the sand with tired eyes, tracing the shapes of sand crabs peeking out through the surface. He looks to the right of him and scoffs, a beach hut lonely in the distance.

“Who in their right mind would buy something like that?” He grumbles underneath his breath, scooting the bag underneath him. He takes a moment to peel off his shoes and bury them in the sand. “ God , I hate the way it feels.”

“Then why on earth are you sitting there, then?” A voice booms from behind, immediately frightening him to the core. Minho jumps back with fervor, the backpack sliding across the sand as he screams in surprise.

“Who— why are you—”

“Don’t ask me why I’m here when you look like that ,” the man says, plopping down next to Minho. He has brilliant, pink hair and sports a torn-up plaid shirt barely hanging off his shoulders. Minho gives it one look before swallowing down the immediate attraction. “And don't look at me like that, either.”

Minho gulps, calming down. “Like what?”

“I know that look. That gross look. Tell me you think I’m cute and move on.”

“I didn’t say a single thing.”

The man rolls his eyes. “But I know what you were thinking.”

“Why are you even here?” Minho blurts out, clearly irritated. The pink-haired man gives him a sly grin.

“What? You don’t ever feel like going to the beach sometimes?”

“No. I hate the beach.”

“Boy. You’re just peachy , aren’t you?” He says, though it’s with a smile. A moment passes in silence; Minho blows away the bangs hanging in his face and the curious man next to him watches him with a raised brow.

“I’m Jisung, by the way.”

“I don’t recall asking.”

“Already a dick— phew. What a temper. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Minho turns to Jisung with a glare. “I’m not a dick, I just don’t know you.”

“Then tell me your name or you’ll just be a dick.”

Minho sighs before squeezing his eyes impossibly tight. “Minho. My name is Minho.”

“So, Minho ,” Jisung draws out his name, trailing his eyes down Minho’s body with a smirk. “You don’t look very happy to be here. So why are you here?”

Minho breathes out and stares at the waves in front of him, watching as they crash into one another. “Just felt like it. You?” Jisung giggles.

“Just felt like it.”

“Do you normally go to the beach and harass strangers?”

“Only pretty ones,” Jisung smiles impossibly wide. A grin tugs at Minho’s lips.

He is so beautiful.

“I like the pink hair. It’s unconventional.”

“Really? You strike me as someone who’d really hate it.”

“I don’t. It suits you.”

“How so?” Jisung cocks his head, looking akin to a puppy. Minho wants to know what his curly locks feel like.

“You seem outgoing. Brave. I don’t remember the last time I’ve encountered a man with pink hair.”

“Because you haven’t.”

Minho nods, finally letting a smile take over his face. “I haven’t.”

“So I’m special already?”

“You are,” Minho slowly says, watching as Jisung plays with the rings on his fingers. “Do you…are you…here for long?”

“Me? Nah. Was hoping someone cute would take me away.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“Do I look serious?” Jisung grins.

“You…don’t. Not with that pink hair.”

“Well— I wasn’t planning on going anywhere else. But you are cute. And I’m bored. And my shop is closed for another hour because I can’t bother going back right now— too full of energy to sit around.”

Minho hums in response. “You trust a stranger to take you away from here?”

“A pretty stranger. Why not? Impulsivity is integral to a good time, no?”

And Minho can’t really argue with that.

Getting on the train with a pretty boy with pink hair isn’t necessarily what Minho had expected his Friday to go. But he enjoys it nonetheless, watching as Jisung excitedly looks over the seat in front of him, staring him down with a wide smile.

“Are you impulsive like me?” He asks, his hands dangling over the seat. Minho shakes his head.

“Not really.”

“I must be really special then,” Jisung giggles. Minho gives him a smile.

“Yeah. You must really be, then.”

Not a single man has been to Minho’s apartment since Hyunjin, though he can’t exactly pinpoint when the last time that was. He finds himself suddenly embarrassed at the mess, hurriedly picking his journals off the floor and throwing them beside his bed. It happens all too quickly— Jisung is sitting on his couch with a widening smile playing on his lips, staring up at Minho as if they’ve known each other for a decade. Truth be told, Minho really wants to kiss him. But that would be inappropriate and terribly impulsive— which Minho has already told Jisung he is not.

He watches him with careful eyes and studies the rest of the features he didn’t get a chance to look over on the beach. 

His eyes are wide and big in a way that frames him like a golden retriever, mouth slightly parted with a perpetual inquisitive look on his face that’s endlessly adorable. His lips sharply dip down into a perfect cupid’s bow, pink and pretty, slightly parted and showing a sliver of glossy teeth. The pink hair is fading away, the dark brown roots visible at a closer level. He’s got soft, fluffy cheeks that look so pliable Minho wants to reach over and squish them between his fingers. He has no idea what’s come over him, but it’s deadly.

“You do a lot of staring.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t do a lot of normal talking, either,” Jisung smiles, eyes lighting up. “But it’s cute like that.”

Minho purses his lips and takes a precautionary seat next to Jisung, leaving plenty of room between them. “I don’t think I’m cute.”

“That's precisely what makes you cute.” Minho sharply inhales as Jisung scoots just a tad bit closer. “This feels weird.”

“What does?”

“Feels like we’re…like we’re soulmates.”

The strangeness of his words makes Minho’s head hurt, though it isn’t necessarily uncomfortable to hear. He feels the confusion and pull of attraction himself, so much so that he’s let this beautiful stranger waltz into his home with no proper introductions. They’re silent for a moment as Jisung leans in a bit closer, peering into Minho’s eyes with precision.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

“I think you’re really weird for saying something like that,” Minho says, immediately brushing the feeling away. Jisung stifles a laugh, gently poking Minho’s thigh.

“Already scaring you away?” 

“You called us soulmates. I met you thirty minutes ago.”

Jisung shrugs with a genuine smile. “It just felt right.”

“I think you should go.”

The words don’t mean to come out harsh, but they do, anyway. Minho watches in regret as Jisung’s entire face falls, his sweet, endearing eyes growing bigger as his mouth parts again. The faded pink hair is losing its vivacity, dulled down in the grim hues of Minho’s empty apartment. Even his pink sweater has morphed into something more akin to a shade of brick red. Minho has the chance to take back his words but the moment is lost as soon as Jisung closes his mouth.

“You’re right. I should go.”

“Wait, maybe you sho—”

Jisung goes to leave, ready to swing the front door open before there's a deafening knock coming from the other side. The awkward tension between the two immediately fizzles away, replaced by curiosity. Jisung looks back at Minho and gives him a puzzled look, receiving a shrug in return.

“Should I…open it?” 

Minho grumbles and bounces off the couch, gently brushing his way past Jisung and swinging the door open in frustration. He’s ready to scream, ready to voice every bit of discomfort he’s felt the entire day. But he doesn’t because it’s Yeji— his friendly, non-intrusive, sweet neighbor. She’s got a twisted look on her face that sends warning bells ringing in his head.

“Yeji…? Is there something…wrong?”

“Look. The mailman dropped by way too late and…” she gestures down to the mid-sized envelope in her hand, giving it a sorrowful look. “He dropped this in my box by accident but from the looks of it…Minho…”

The two men give her a confused look. “Oh god. You haven’t heard yet, have you?” She looks between the two of them with a horrified expression plastered on her face. “That wretched clinic down the street— nevermind. Here,” she hurriedly shoves the envelope directly into Minho’s hands and shuts the door on her own, scampering down the hall to leave the two men in pure shock and silence.

“What…do you think that was about?” Jisung finally speaks. Minho gives him one look before hesitantly tearing the top off the envelope.

“Did she open your mail?”

“It’s intact.”

“Then what was she talking about?”

“Jisung, I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry. Should I still leave?” He begins to back up towards the door. Minho takes a step towards him, silently begging him to stay despite initially telling him to leave.

“Do you want to leave?”

“Truth be told, I’m kind of curious now. What’s in that damn envelope? And what clinic is down the street? And yeah, I don’t mind staying near you I guess.”

Minho gives him a playful look before motioning to join him back on the couch. The two men sit side by side once more as Minho gently empties the contents of the envelope onto the coffee table. He narrows his eyes as a single cassette tape tumbles out. 

“What is this?”

“Wait, there’s a note with it,” Jisung exclaims, snatching up the flimsy piece of paper and beginning to read it out loud. “Dear Minho. We’ve met but you don’t remember me. I worked for a company you hired to have part of your memory erased.”

Minho narrows his eyes in confusion. “What kind of…bullshit ad…” Jisung shakes his head but continues reading, anyway.

“You’ve erased your three-year long relationship with…” Minho watches as Jisung goes silent, his face pale white and sickly. He nervously thumbs the paper, sweat gliding over the printed words as he gives Minho a horrified look. “...with Jisung Han .”

Minho immediately stands up from the couch, pointing an accusatory finger at where Jisung is visibly shaking. “Stop that. Don’t fucking mess with me like that. What the fuck is wrong with you? Barging into a stranger’s house and reading off his mail like that?” Minho growls, violently snatching the piece of paper from Jisung’s trembling fingers and reading the note for himself.

For a moment, his world falls flat. He trails over the same words over and over and over again until the words Jisung Han look entirely made up. He takes the small piece of paper signed, Felix Lee and tears it to shreds. The two men are completely silent for a moment, struggling to find the right words to say in the presence of a familiar stranger.

“Play. The. Tape,” Minho stutters out, looking at the rectangular cassette on his living room table.

“I don’t think that’s a good i—”

“Play the cassette, Jisung.”

Jisung eyes the 1999 Gracioso portable tape player sitting on the dinner table feet away. He makes a careful movement to retrieve it, his eyes never leaving Minho’s as he gently clicks the tape into place. The two men hold their breath impossibly tight.

“Mr. Lee, I need you to close your eyes and tell me your name as well as who you’re here to erase. This session will be tape-recorded.”

“What the fuck,” Minho breathes out, eyes squeezed shut. “What the fuck is this?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung whispers back in disbelief.

“Three years ago I was living with this man Hyunjin— we were on and off again partners but mainly just roommates. My friends invited me to a party on the beach. I hate parties, but I went anyway. But Jisung was there, in his orange sweatshirt and his orange hair. And he was…really special.”

“We…knew each other?” Jisung chokes out. 

“Shut up, would you!” Minho bites.

“The hair— such bullshit. Being so old and dying your hair ridiculous colors.”

“I thought you liked my hair,” Jisung’s voice is barely above a whisper. Immediately, Minho catches his wrist.

“I do. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I would ever say that—”

“We fought a lot— or did fight a lot. Nothing I ever said was listened to. He elevated things, he made them worse. But he also made everything better.”

“Turn it off!” Minho exclaims, throwing a spare pen at the cassette player. His shoulders heave up and down with incredible anger, cheeks red hot and bothered. Jisung is dead silent, immediately smashing the eject button with aggression. The device clicks, and Jisung is yanking the tape right out and throwing it back onto the table.

“I didn’t make this tape.”

“It’s your voice.”

“I know! It isn’t me.”

Jisung gives him a sad look. “Well then who fucking else would it be? Maybe someone recorded you saying it about someone else.”

“I would have never talked about someone else like this.”

“Well that sure means you hated me, then.”

“I don’t know you!”

“Well apparently you fucking do! Because how else are we supposed to explain this?” Jisung points to both the torn up pieces of paper and the unassuming cassette tape sitting on the table. “What is this supposed to mean?”

Minho throws his hands up in frustration, angry tears brimming at his eyes. “I don’t fucking know!”

Silence again. Jisung’s fists are squeezed together, his knuckles turning pure white. 

“I think you should go.”

“Yeah. I’m fucking going.”

“Maybe it’s a good idea we never speak again.”

Jisung slowly shakes his head, pink locks bouncing from side to side as he violently pushes his way out of the apartment, taking off down the street.

Curiosity gets the best of Minho.

He plays the entire tape.

💭

Someone is forcibly pounding on his door at three am. 

Disturbed and upset, Minho thrashes at the side of his bed for his metal baseball bat and curls weak fingers around the base. He swings himself out of bed and quickly makes his way to the door, peering through the peephole. With a sigh, he lowers the bat and lets it clamber to the floor.

“What the fuck , Jisung.”

“You don’t have to let me in,” he whispers, eyes wide and red with evidence of heavy crying. He holds up a cassette tape of his own. “I got one, too.”

“Go away,” Minho says, though there’s no real threat to his tone.

“And arguably, mine is worse.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You would have thought I wanted you dead with the way I spoke about you. How I mocked you for every little pet peeve,” he sniffles.

“I really don’t want to hear it.”

Minho can feel Jisung slide down the other side of the door. “We erased each other, Minho.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Dr. Chan is under quite a bit of scrutiny,” he sadly chuckles. “I asked around. They say he’s a nut. I don’t remember him one bit, do you?” Suddenly, he lets out a boisterous laugh. “Who am I fucking kidding— of course you don’t remember him. And well fuck, I don’t either.”

With one quick motion, Minho yanks the door open, watching with indifference as Jisung falls back onto the floor below him. They make uncomfortable eye contact; Minho peers down while Jisung looks up, the chirp of crickets droning on in the background. He pulls himself off the ground and levels his gaze at a fatigued Minho.

“You can listen to the tapes if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” Minho admits, resting his head against the door frame. “I just don’t want to believe you.”

Jisung presses his lips into a thin line. “That’s about what I thought.”

Minho breathes in a shaky sigh. “I don’t want to hear the tapes either way.”

“I don't want to hear them again, either.”

“Then go?”

Somehow, the troublesome words feel familiar on his tongue.

“Already?” Jisung gives him a pained look, motionless. “I think at some point in time, we must’ve really loved each other.”

“People who love each other don’t erase each other.”

“People who loved each other too much might do that.”

Defeated, Minho sinks to the floor and studies the features on Jisung’s face. Pretty, alluring, irresistible. Who is he kidding?

“I should go like you said.”

Jisung sighs and lifts himself off the floor, dusting away the dirt and beginning to make his way down the hallway.

“Wait.”

Almost too quickly, Jisung whips around. “What?”

“I don’t know. I just…wait. Just for a while.”

They’re standing across each other in the hallway, locked into a longing gaze. The lights are dim and in desperate needing of a replacement; there’s a wafting scent of mildew feet away. The silence is deafening.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

Jisung sighs. “I just want to be taken seriously— not as a concept, but as a real human with real problems and real illnesses. I’m anything but perfect and I want to love but…I have this fucked up view of what relationships are supposed to look like.”

Minho looks down at his feet. “I can’t think of anything I dislike about you at this moment.”

“But you will. You will . You’re going to think that dating someone fun and impulsive and ill like me is a novelty until you actually experience what it’s like to deal with it. You’re going to find things you don’t like about me and I’m going to find ways to villainize you for it.”

Minho knows that it’s true. Running away from the inevitable isn’t in his cards. And he’s sure that he can’t help it.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”